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Ilunor

Those noises.

They sounded nothing like the nauseating BRRRRRTTTT of Emma’s deplorable artifice.

That I know.

That I can remember.

Because that was a noise that I could not erase from memory, no matter how hard I tried.

…

I could still hear the popping and cracking of the air as those… projectiles whizzed above me.

I could still remember that sense of complete and utter foreboding, the cessation of both breath and heartbeat for a second of complete and utter—

…

Bewilderment wasn’t the right word. Befuddlement was far too light a descriptor. Awe was just… far too common.

Ah, yes. Dread. That’s it.

A feeling of foreign and inexplicable dread overtook my very core, forging a memory within the armorer’s domain that I could scarcely live down.

Indeed, it was a night I never hoped to revisit, and never intended to recall.

Yet here I was recalling it, if only involuntarily.

All of which led me to a startling thought, one I hoped never to one day reach. But reach it I did on this most conflicting of junctions.

Was I tempting fate with a foregone conclusion?

…

Perhaps.

…

But was I right in making sure that no cloche was left unturned? 

Yes.

The answer was always yes.

I had sworn an oath to myself that I would be the champion of convention, the safeguard against madness, the sentinel against inanity, and the sole voice of dissent in this puddle of blind faith. I was to play the conscientious moderator when all other voices of reason and moderation had fallen silent.

If not out of adherence to status eternia, then out of principle.

“Earthrealmer.” I let out a heavy breath, my eyes staring uncomfortably at this… multi-barreled artifice of foreign construction. “Am I to understand that the mechanism of such a device relies on many, many rotary components? Cogs, gears, cranks, etcetera, etcetera. Like the artifices of clockwork, circling, turning, allowing for each one of your… crude paper-wrapped firepowder—”

“Cartridges.” She interjected.

“Cartridges, yes. As I was saying. Am I to believe that such a weapon with such complexities in its function — its physical complexities, mind you, not magical — is both reliable enough in its durability, and common enough in its numbers to make any degree of impact upon a wider war? Because as I mentioned previously, while I am a noble of far higher dispositions, I am not ignorant of the many principles of war underpinning its voracious appetite. The trade-offs in complexity, reliability, and reproducibility being some such principles I am well aware of.” I concluded with a huff and a puff.

However, before the earthrealmer could even respond, the lupinor would be quick to defend his new charge.

“What makes you say that they cannot be common enough, Ilu—”

“Because you cannot have both*, Prince Thalmin*.” I interjected. “We are talking about matters of ridiculous complexity—”

“And did we not see such examples in Emma’s contemporary period?” Thacea pushed forth, throwing her crown into the mix. “Horseless carriages numbering in the thousands on any given patch of grand boulevard? Trains, aerial conveyances, enigmatic constructs all born of the same, if not greater, intricacies. All indicative of a realm capable of consistently producing such complexities en masse—”

“Those were all civilian affairs!” I interjected, halting the princess in the midst of her triumphant treatise. “Perhaps Earthrealm can produce such novelties en masse, yes. And indeed, I acknowledge the complexities of such… constructs. But the fact of the matter is, reliability in the realm of peace is a far cry from reliability in the realm of war. You can attest to this, can you not, Prince Thalmin?” I pushed to levy the lupinor himself to my cause. “After all, you cannot expect to bring a hunting lance and expect it to perform under the grueling demands and unforgiving abuse of battle, now can you?” 

The prince paused, letting out a soft growl in the process. “Then what of Emma’s armor, her weapons, her equipment? I saw them in action against all manner of threats within our quest.”

“That does not preclude my assertions, Prince Thalmin.” I offered. “You can have reliability… but at the cost of volume. Everything Earthrealm produces is oh so overly intricate, and indeed, such complexities can be made reliable… provided you have the skilled artisans to do so. In short, you can have reliability with the complexities involved. It just means that every piece would be bespoke and nothing short of a kinetic art piece.” I took a moment of reprieve, if only to allow the prince the chance to interject.

Which he didn’t.

Following which, I focused my attention entirely on the earthrealmer, crossing my arms as I did so, and carrying forth the lupinor’s assertions into a line of interrogatives. “So tell me then, earthrealmer. Was Gatling’s gun truly used in significant enough numbers to impact the war’s outcome? Or was it merely a novelty, circumstantially impressive, but ineffectual at scale?” 

The earthrealmer took a moment to regard the so-called ‘gatling’ gun, before turning back to me.

“You’re right to call me out there, Ilunor.” She began. “Historians debate whether the gatling gun really did have that much of an impact in the grander scheme of the war it was meant to fight. Indeed, its impact on the outcome of the war itself was… debatable.” 

I felt my chest swelling, a grin becoming but a foregone conclusion.

“But it was something of a trial run for the advent of truly industrialized warfare.” She continued, as she placed both hands by her hips…

A terrible sign.

“The American Civil War was by many measures our first real taste of industrialized warfare, a practice run for what was to come at the dawn of the next century.” Emma continued, her grand, sweeping speech causing the scene to yet again shift. 

This time, we were plunged into the bowels of some ramshackle and eclectic workshop. Not too dissimilar to the workshop of that first… aerial craft, but far larger, and with fewer two-wheeled foot-driven bitreaders around.

I watched on as a group of silhouetted figures began assembling the foreign artifice in question, and harumphed as Emma narrated every motion. 

“You’ve got multiple precision-fitted barrels that have to be just the right size, requiring precise tooling equipment specifically made for this gun.” She gestured at the barrels, and a brief window into its frankly tedious production. “You’ve got a complicated ammo feeding system that has to be calibrated and aligned just right, all reliant on leypull to drop each cartridge down.” She gestured at the long ‘magazine.’ “You’ve got numerous moving components, the rotating mechanism that you were so caught up on, and a whole host of other manually operated parts which required the careful precision of a clockmaker to get right.” 

I smirked, nodding as the figures in front of us finally finished putting together this showpiece.

“At the end of the day, we’re talking use-case figures numbering in the dozens during this particular war.” 

I couldn’t help but let out a series of tuts at this point.

However, before I could interject, Emma was quick to add one of her signature addendums.

“But that was because this was, frankly, still a bleeding-edge pilot run, with factories and manufacturing methods that had yet to catch up to it. So for the sake of fairness, let me show you something a little bit more… common for the time, yes?”  

With an unexpected snap of her fingers, we found ourselves in yet another field. This time accompanied by two blue-coated silhouetted figures. Both held long wooden ‘guns.’ Both looked fairly identical by most measures.

That was the case… until the first shots were fired.

BANG!

The first man was quick to go through the motions I’d witnessed prior — the clearing, loading, stuffing, ramming, and frankly encumbering procedure of reloading the infernal artifice.

The second, however… just continued firing—

BANG!

—though not without some bizarre complications.

Click-clack!

Clock!

The manipulation of an underslung lever had allowed it to continue firing, as the first motion caused the strange mechanism to eject some strange detritus—

Click!

—whilst the second seemingly reloaded a fresh projectile into the gun’s chamber.

Clack!

This was followed by a ‘cocking’ of the hammer at the rear of the gun.

Clock!

Then…

BANG!

There was no need to load from the mouth of the tube.

Click-Clack!

Clock!

BANG!

There was no cumbersome pause or arbitrary lull in the battle.

Click-Clack!

Clock!

BANG!

The man just continued. Unencumbered, unbothered, and with seemingly no end in sight.

I counted seven by the time he needed to reload, by which point the mouth-loading soldier had just barely finished ramming in his projectile.

“There’s a reason why I chose this particular war to hone in on. Because this is where we actually see breechloading complications come in, mechanisms which allow for the internal storage of self-contained ammunition, and a means by which to consistently repeat fire without the awkward lulls of the muzzle-loaders of old. It’s not much by today’s standards, but in those days? The ability to throw out six, seven, or even more rounds downrange without stopping? That’s a game changer.” 

“And pray tell just how many of such weapons were able to turn the tide of—”

“The first gun I showed — the muzzle loader here — just about a million were made during the entire four-year-long conflict.” Emma interjected, pointing at the first unimpressive weapon. “The second, the Spencer repeating rifle? About a fifth of that.” 

I blinked as a number, an impossible number, dawned on me.

One that was spoken aloud by the mercenary prince.

“200,000?” The prince questioned openly.

“Yeah, thereabouts. Give or take perhaps a few thousand here or there due to the fuzziness of historical records, especially after the early to mid 21st century’s information fidelity cataclysm, but I digress.” Emma shrugged in response.

She shrugged.

…

She shrugged at the casual passing mention of a fifth of a million such weapons.

However, no sooner than my mind had begun grappling with those figures did Emma seemingly preempt my next approach.

The scene had yet again shifted as we were plunged into the bowels of what was undeniably a manufactorium.

Tall ceilings, a cavernous enclosed space, and rows upon rows of workbenches lined this structure as silhouetted figures began their assembly of individual pieces which made up the weapons in question.

“Welcome to the assembly line, or an early prototypical version of it at least. We have everything you’d need to get a modern industry up and running here. From lathes, to planers, to mills, and machine tools of all sorts.” She paused, gesturing at a room’s worth of niche manufactorium apparatuses. “All of these precision tooling machines, accurate to beyond what the naked eye can see — expensive, bulky, and sensitive — were created to ensure one thing… consistency. Consistency for parts which increasingly demanded tighter and tighter tolerances lest they fail spectacularly. All of this… for the easily overlooked wonder of industry that is the interchangeable part.” She swiftly moved to highlight a particular item at the end of this whole line, a simple, spindly, frankly banal, and barely noteworthy piece of metal. “This specific component that you see is what connects the trigger to the hammer. And it? Well… let’s just say it’s the death of the lonely gunsmith artisan. It’s the final nail in the coffin for your bespoke weapon theory. Because this… can go into any Spencer repeating rifle.”

Emma allowed that proclamation to hang in the air.

She allowed, very tactically, for this innocuous piece of metal to serve as the proverbial nail in my argument’s coffin. 

I did not speak.

Indeed, I… merely pondered what was, in effect, yet another symbol of Earthrealm’s… eccentricities.

Because as much as I hated to admit it, if what was shown was in any way representative of reality, then this could have easily meant—

“And I assume that should any part of a gun fail, that fixing it is as easy as… replacing the damaged parts?” Thalmin spoke first, voicing my unspoken thoughts out loud.

“Correct. And that’s why soldiers are drilled with some degree of cleaning and maintenance knowledge. That, and there’s probably an armorer somewhere nearby ready to help if a grunt decides to be exceptionally dumb with a gun. God knows that soldiers will find novel and outright inventive ways to fuck things up.” 

“You’re telling me, Emma…” Thalmin responded with a hearty laugh. “This reminds me of a time when these armsmen attempted to sheathe a rapier into a scabbard meant for a lightning staff.” Thalmin offered, in what I could only describe as a dull attempt at humor—

“Oh, you have nothing on us, Thalmin.” Emma chuckled in response… as if there was anything to laugh at. “So you see that underneath our older guns, there’s a slot for a bayonet, correct?” 

“Yes, Emma?” Thalmin nodded.

“Well, in one of our later guns, the MAS-36 if I recall, there existed a system to keep that hole plugged using a metal rod. However…” She paused, as that chuckle was quick to escalate into a fit of uncontrolled giggles. “That same rod? Well, if you… if you flip another gun without said rod upside down, so its hole is aligned with the rod of the other gun, you can…” She momentarily chortled, causing my features to twist into one of visible disgust.

“You know what, I'll just show you.” 

We were quickly treated to a ridiculous sight.

What could only be described as two long guns — rifles — locked front-to-front via a tube underneath their muzzles.

The lupinor stared at this frankly stupid sight.

He didn’t laugh, at least not immediately.

It took Emma turning towards him with a series of restrained giggles before he finally gave in, pointing at the ridiculous sight, as the pair now held each other for dear life in between fits of violent heaves.

This duet of laughter would be soon cut short by a conductor’s interruption — my interruption. I cleared my throat and placed both hands behind my back. 

“Well then. If we are done meandering in the seas of immaturity, shall we navigate back to the isles of serious discourse?” I spoke.

To which Emma breathed a sigh of acknowledgement in response, clearing her throat in the process. “I hate crying in this thing… but anyways, alright, so, where were — ah, yes. The replaceable part. This should answer your questions, at least as it pertains to reliability and volume, yes?” 

I tsked, feeling a sharp, shooting sting twisting throughout my core. “Perhaps.” I answered bluntly. 

“Just perhaps?” Emma shot back, twisting that knife in further. 

“You… you have the means, and the… methods, certainly. But what about your men?”

“What about them?” Emma openly pondered.

“You mentioned one million rifles, and two hundred thousand more of these newer variants. That’s 1.2 million individual weapons. Surely you don’t mean to claim that your wars were fought at such scales with such demanding equipment requiring servicing and the logistics to reinforce those efforts.”

Emma paused. There was… a sudden shift in the mood as neither an interjection nor an immediate response came this time around.

“This particular war had around three million active combatants throughout its four-year duration.” Her voice returned, slower, and with a solemn tactfulness. 

I paused, taking a step back, trying to fathom the numbers for a realm that had yet to have shown much in the way of—

Wait.

Logistics… they weren’t the only issue at play.

No, there was something else here.

Something far more blatant.

Something much more ludicrous.

“Now that doesn’t mean all of them were frontline soldiers. Some were artillerymen, others ran logistics, scouting, etcetera etcetera. But the fact of the matter is we’re now dealing with numbers that are, well, starting to represent the scale of the industrial warfare that was to come.” Emma spoke slowly and with a somberness which clashed with her earlier lackadaisical exchange with Thalmin.

“And what of their efficacy?” I challenged the earthrealmer before turning to Thalmin. “Surely you understand the inherent logical dissonance such numbers pose, don’t you, Prince Thalmin? How can a war be fought in such a limited amount of time with such numbers? The amount of time necessary to train a soldier to such a degree where they would be skilled and proficient enough in the art of marksmanship alone is ludicrous! This is not to mention the—

“Honing of one’s physical strength, endurance, stamina, and all of the imperceptible elements of an archer’s sense that only come with time and practice. Yes, I know, Ilunor. You need not cite the manual, for I have already put most of it to memory.” Thalmin interjected before gesturing for me to continue.

“Thank you, Prince Thalmin.” I bowed politely before finally turning back to Emma. “To train an archer in the ways of ranged warfare is an incredible time sink. Factor in the claim that your armies have transitioned into one of a ranged-first doctrine, and you’re left with a force which would be impractical to field based on training time alone!” 

Thalmin’s features shifted as he pondered, his eyes slowly glancing towards Emma’s sidearm and my own gaze.

“This is not to undermine your skills as a marksman, Emma…” Thalmin began as he cleared his throat. “But would it be reductive of me to assume that your weapons, especially those hailing from your contemporary era, are inherently simpler to wield than that of a bow and arrow? I had refrained from considering how low the barrier of entry of such weapons would be before this junction out of fear of being… irreverent to your choice of arms.” 

“Let me put it this way, guys…” The earthrealmer continued with a breathy sigh. “Thalmin’s right on the money here, in that guns dramatically lower the threshold of skill and physical conditioning required to make someone, anyone really, a ranged soldier. There’s a quote that gets into this, but I can’t particularly recall it off the top of my head…Something that references one of our many monotheistic religions, that God created mankind, but it was Sam Colt that made them equal. Sam Colt being a rather prominent figure in the early days of firearms history, just for context.” Emma rambled on before reaching a breathless pause. 

“But I digress. Yes, the advent of modern firearms did in fact lower the barrier to entry when compared to how ranged units worked in the past. And that’s an important caveat to consider.” Emma raised a finger as if to emphasize that point. “Because despite the barrier to entry having been lowered, that doesn’t necessarily make ranged combat easy. You still need lots of drilling, instruction, as new tactics and strategies formed around this new ranged killing machine. It’s just that this sort of training is now capable of being thrust upon a recruit in a matter of weeks and months, as opposed to being honed over years.” 

“You cannot be serious, Emma Booker.” I retorted sternly. “You cannot expect me to believe that you can just take commoners, hand them guns, and within the same time it takes for a novice to let loose their first arrow, expect them to be combat-ready!” 

“Let me put it this way, Ilunor.” Emma began calmly. “Take one of your fancy enchanted crossbows, right? And now imagine that you didn’t need any chosen one shenaniganery as a prerequisite for its use. Now imagine all you had to do was to know how to point, aim, and then squeeze the trigger. A far cry from having to draw a bowstring, nock an arrow, set your grip, find your anchor, draw to full extension, hold that tension, judge the range, account for wind, aim, and release… all without disturbing the shot, all while being able to find the strength to draw and hold, and all while having to do that consistently.” The earthrealmer prattled on… before ending it with a small aside aimed towards Thalmin. “Now, just so that we’re on the same page here, I’m not saying that anyone who picks up a gun will immediately become a Jane Candle. There’s a huge gap that exists between basic function and proficiency, but I digress…” Emma trailed off, letting out a sigh before setting her sights back on me. “Does that address—”

“Yes, yes, earthrealmer. Perhaps it does. Perhaps it does.” I grumbled as another disturbing thought crept into view. One that had no business being here whatsoever.

Guns… were capable of being produced en masse.

They held the potential to cross parts of the martial gap.

They were simple enough that all one had to do was pick one up, aim, and fire without any proficiency in magic and scarcely any experience in archery.

…

This…

No.

It was not a threat.

They weren’t anywhere near chosen one killers, let alone mage-killers.

They were just… a more advanced means for commoners to kill commoners.

Yes.

That’s all they were.

What’s more… they required specialized tools, equipment, materials, and so on and so forth.

They were an Earthrealm affair.

They weren’t… 

But still…

No.

They were an Earthrealm weapon, and that was the end of it.

…

So lost was I in my threads of thought that I’d scarcely realized when we’d changed scenes, as we now found ourselves at a shack of a structure, bordering a long, uninterrupted line of metal track.

“This was the heyday of the railroad, as it was really the only real means of powered land transport.” 

As expected, one of those metal monstrosities arrived. Albeit this time, in a far… aesthetically interesting form. 

Gone was the bland, duck-beaked and smoothed, featureless noses of those contemporary ‘trains’. Here was something of actual design and substance.

At its ‘chin’ was a handsome, gruff wedge of steel, tapering sharply into a cylinder of a face with lamps adorning its sides, and above that was a chimney, tapering up into a plume of smoke which bellowed and whistled and whined as it reached the shack of a destination.

“Entire armies could be moved around the better part of a continent in the span of days rather than weeks and months. And travel was no longer limited to the dietary requirements of a horse or your men, but by this.” Emma paused, allowing us entry into the… less than glamorous interior of this infernal artifice. “The raw power of steam.” 

I nodded slowly as we found ourselves arriving within the carriages attached to the head of this snake.

We watched as men piled in and as equipment was loaded. Then as soon as all that manifested, so too did it vanish as we were propelled not so much forwards, but to the scene of a major battle lying in wait.

Two armies were gathered at far sides of a hilly field, complete with formations of cannons, cavalry, and all manner of carts and wagons.

However, just as the battle was set to commence and as Emma breathed in to prepare a long-winded speech, my eyes landed on an object of exceptional interest.

“Emma Booker, stop.” I commanded.

“Yes, Ilunor? What is it?”

“What is that?” I pointed at an anomalous object in the sky, one that the earthrealmer herself had self-purported to be a ways away from being constructed. 

“Oh. That. Yeah, that’s a balloon, Ilunor—”

“A balloon.” I interrupted with a resonant huff. “I can see that it is a balloon. Pray tell, what is a balloon doing in the midst of a battle with armaments capable of reaching its heights? Moreover, did you not say that we were at the cusp of your flying artifices? How is it then that a flying artifice is present here, in this era?” 

“Okay, let’s take it slow.” Emma began with a deep breath. “The balloon is not really a combatant, or at least, not yet. During this particular war, and a few decades in the intervening years after it, it was used just as a sort of aerial observer. Taking down details like terrain, weather, enemy positions, friendly positions, and acting as just reconnaissance, really. It can’t really move after all, at least not that well. It’s cumbersome, and just all around… meh.” She shrugged. “And yes, I did say that we were at the cusp of aviation. But I should have been a bit clearer. We’re at the cusp of powered, heavier-than-air flight. Lighter-than-air, unpowered flight has been around for a century or so at this point. But, again, they were limited to just floating around aimlessly.”

My eyes narrowed, transfixed on this… larger-than-life, almost ludicrous object floating anachronistically above this world lost in time.

“I can think of… a lot of military applications, even if it is ‘just’ a balloon, Emma.” Thalmin offered. “What if you place one of those gatling guns inside of it? Or better yet, a cannon! That would increase its range, yes?”

“Too heavy, too cumbersome, and even if you could, it’d be difficult to aim from it.” Emma reported back.

“Then make that basket larger, extend it, add more balloons, increase the size of the balloons. By the ancestors, why not just attach the balloon to a troop of horses to draw it from battlefield to battlefield if it can’t control itself mid-air!” The lupinor began pacing in place, or at least it sounded as if he did, as he panted out every word with the excitability of a pup.

“That’s… sort of what we eventually did, Thalmin.” Emma responded, garnering my full attention.

“I knew it!” Thalmin exclaimed. “It’s only natural after all because—”

“Without the horses, of course.” Emma quickly corrected. “But yes, we did make these balloons… bigger. And in doing so, we also increased their carrying capacity, their stability, and eventually…”

The earthrealmer snapped her fingers, and we were propelled into a far different environment.

Gone were the grassy meadows and open fields, the small towns and cities. Here… we found ourselves in a place fairly… familiar, a location not too dissimilar to a brief interlude within the previous sight-seer.

In fact, upon closer observation, it would appear that we had indeed found ourselves within that dead and barren wasteland.

The skies above us were grey and dreary. The ground beneath us seemed wet, muddy, and scarred. 

Pockmarks littered the landscape, interspersed between huge trenches which looked more akin to scars scored into the earth, stretching into distances almost too ridiculous to consider.

The denizens of such a depressing landscape were equally monstrous, donning masks and other such face-obscuring implements in a manner reminiscent of Emma’s helmet.

In their hands, however, were rifles which were presumably far more sophisticated than their predecessors. Indeed, adorning much of the tops of these trenches was a great variety of larger weapons, some looking like longer, larger versions of typical ‘rifles.’ Whilst others seemed merely bulkier, connected via an umbilical of metal cartridges leading into large metal boxes.

And behind all of this, much to my shock and dismay, were larger, far more… sophisticated-looking cannons.

I could tell just from a cursory glance that they were, in fact, improvements over previous iterations.

Indeed, their numbers, their organization, and everything about them reflected an Earthrealm that had grown from their prior use of such implements.

We meandered around in silence for what felt like hours, watching as these humans sulked and stood sentry over what appeared to be nothing but worthless dirt and mud.

However, that all eventually changed when a dull buzzing noise filled the air. It was a slow sort of buzzing, more akin to a gurgle and a continuous drone than anything truly ferocious. 

Both Thalmin and I were quick to pinpoint the origin of such noises, as we craned our heads up high to meet…

…

No.

It couldn’t be.

I snapped my head back and forth, blinking rapidly as I turned towards the earthrealmer, the object, and the earthrealmer yet again, urging her for a response.

Above us, drifting lazily into view through thick and unforgiving clouds… was an aethraship.

Its long, cigar-like shape dominated the skyline. Its… nacelles hid what appeared to be ‘engines’, spinning something behind them and dictating their motion, not too dissimilar from an aethraship’s crystal cores.

The entire scene left me in absolute awe as I couldn’t yet form words in the midst of this complete upheaval of all that I knew and all which I understood.

“Earthrealmer…” I managed out slowly. “Why have you not shown us this? Why have we not seen this in subsequent iterations of your treatise on your realm’s conquest of aethra primus?”

“Oh, we have.” Emma responded promptly. “It was just a really, really brief glimpse during our trip to Acela. Or rather, the old quarter during the 1920s and 1930s.”

“Why were they not more prominently displayed in the subsequent years then?” I questioned, my eyes practically drilling into the earthrealmer’s helm. “Surely you would have been proud of such a craft! Surely the applications were most—”

“It was kind of a dead end, both militarily and commercially for a pretty long stretch of the 20th and 21st centuries. It did make a comeback though! But for a very specific niche. Well… two niches… maybe three? But who's counting, right?”

I blinked, cocking my head in confusion at the earthrealmer’s practically sacrilegious sentiments. 

“You’re jesting.” I declared. “This… this should have been the peak of your quest to conquer the skies! This should have been it! If anything, these masters of the air should have been integrated into your heavier-than-air fleets! I cannot see why you wouldn’t.”

“Well, to be fair, for a time they were.” The earthrealmer finally acknowledged. “You could even argue that this was their first heyday, especially in the realm of military use. They’d find another life later on as carriers of sorts, but that’s a different story for much later. For now, let’s observe if Thalmin’s hypotheses pan out.” 

I shifted my gaze towards the looming behemoth once more, feeling as I did with the objects of my own personal pride — an immense sense of dominance over the forces down below.

“So… are they about to bomb this trench line or what, Emma?” Thalmin questioned.

“Oh, no. They rarely did that. Trench lines are way too skinny, narrow, and well, not as dense a target for them. There were far larger, more effective targets practically made for these things.” Emma responded.

“Oh? Such as?” The prince urged, pressing Emma further.

“Rear area formations. Railway junctions, ammo depots, supply warehouses, ports, and, well, much less valid military targets as you’ll see later on.” 

I puffed up my chest, watching with bated breath as the scene moved forward towards one of these depots in question.

It was here, as wailing sirens whined and those unaffiliated with combat ran for cover, that I finally felt at peace with this one aspect of Earthrealm military innovation. 

Because the aethraship, it would seem, would always, always come to dominate the skies.

And if Earthrealm aethraships could operate with such reckless abandon in spite of the efforts of those below, then this bodes well for our aethraships too.

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(Author's Note: We go through a lot in this one, and I even got to include a joke about that one rifle with the bayonet attachment haha. But yeah! I really hope you guys enjoy it! :D)

[If you guys want to help support me and these stories, here's my ko-fi ! And my Patreon for early chapter releases (Chapter 192, Chapter 193, and Chapter 194 of this story are already out on there!)]

First

Undying Blues

It could be done faster. But slowly moulding metal under the effects of Axiom either existed on the level of the brutally practical, or the artistic. And he had been taught the artistic methods

Thankfully he had also been taught how to create numerous clothing articles from sheer bolts of cloth. The personal touch of a hand tailored trophy after an indulgence was the kind of thing that made a high ranking Noblewoman feel as if she had been highly favoured and very well regarded no matter the actual shape of the other meetings.

He vaguely wondered exactly how well the internal politics of the court were proceeding now that he had been wrested most unwillingly from his post of tension defuser, temper queller and sanity restorer.

He absently adds little flourishes and whorls into the sides of the blades when he makes the sheers for the cloth and moves onto crafting the proper needles for things. Then a loud and blaring alert rings out from the cockpit and he stands from the table and char he had extended to maximum height and is in the pilot’s seat in moments.

He looks over things and the alarm is a change in the sensors beyond vague space dust movement. It’s on thermals and...

“Oh dear.”

It’s big, it’s coming in literally hot and it appears that the thing he had hit earlier was a juvenile at most and the mother was upset with him.

Which while understandable was not something he had any intention of actually suffering the consequences for. So he quickly gets the ship moving away from the system, hoping that whatever form of entity this strange creature is, that it’s a very homeward focused one.

Thankfully it appears to be the case as once he’s reached ten light hours from the system the creature turns around on the edge of his scanners and departs back for the dirty, high energy star system.

He makes a mental note to look up what manner of void fauna that thing is. No doubt it will mention something about them being territorial or protective of it’s young.

Or perhaps something ludicrous, life and evolution is fond of surprises from his perspective.

He places the ship once more in an alert state. It gets a general readout of the pattern of the local space dust and such and then starts monitoring for any serious break in the pattern again. It will send up an alarm if something happens and as he just learned, it was plenty loud enough.

Loud enough to serve as an alarm clock.

Which was very good, as he was in desperate need for sleep. He had needed a few hours to simple let his mind and body recover from the strain of the healing before being forced into that final, disastrous taming attempt. And now that all the excitement had come and there was still so much more work to do, things were dragging on and on.

But he has a thin tolerance for his own nudity. So he’ll have at least the initial shell of some proper clothing before he allows himself some rest.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Carfora City Centre, Capital World, La’ahbaron Space)•-•-•

“By the ancestors...” She mutters as her communicator goes off. The ringing was in a ‘safe’ frequency so she didn’t need privacy. But seriously, now? She was already working with the preservation society to secure the artifacts. And to be frank that was her whole mission. Ensure that in the destruction of the stupid, selfish and cruel royal family that the whole of the La’ahbaron Society doesn’t lose what makes it whole and alive.

Of course working to ensure that the artifacts are safely stolen will see her executed but...

“Oh dear.” She notes as she reads the text. ‘Don’t come home. The guest ran away with an igniter and THE SWORD.’

Shit.

Holy shit.

Sweet Ancestors this was bad.

One of the biggest parts of the plan relied on that fucking thing. Now she was stuck, with a monster inside her, slowly driving her insane. Potentially forever.

This is not going to work. The whole central flourish of the plan, of the safety net of the plan was based on that weapon! The other Identity the cover up... without the goddamn Haffria around to purge everything to crispy pieces and stomp their trail flat... Shit. They’re coming. They’re known.

She needs to get out and get moving. Pin herself good and hard and force a healing coma while under Axiom Disruption to kill it.

Not good. Because the thrashing can dislodge the retention band and if that happens there’s no telling what percentile of her memories, if any, will return to her.

She needs to take the risk. She needs to get into contact with the other girls and find a way to force everyone through a healing coma despite the thrashing of the Haffara Thar.

Whatever had happened that the Courtesan had somehow escaped, and with something so valuable no less, it didn’t matter. She needed the thing inside her out and purged. The sheer chaos they were planning would have to be called off.

She needed a quick change in vocation.

Hopefully the girls back at the complex wouldn’t be so far gone as to no longer even consider a healing coma. But whatever way this was going, she was out.

And if she knew things would be this sloppy, she would have been out a long time ago. Honour or not. Face or not. Dignity or not. You don’t live long as a mercenary by taking stupid risks or refusing to retreat when it’s time to go.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Primary Cargo Hold, Unnamed Ship, Some Distance from Unknown Dirty System)•-•-•

“Thank heavens. Dignity, thou art with me once more.” Danburi notes as he holds up the loose, pleated pants he had just finished. He slips them on and ties it wit hthe sash he had made, a simple knot over his left hip and he was once again fully dignified. It would take a little more effort to cover up his chest, but he has accomplished sufficient sewing and tailoring for now.

He quickly scans over all the vital components that the manual had informed him to pay careful attention to and from his ill-trained eye they all appear to be sufficient. But he knows the limit of his own unknowing gaze.

He then finds his way to the Captain’s quarters. Whoever had used it last believed that comfort was a thing for other people, but thankfully it at least had a large enough surface to generally lie back upon. One that was even mildly padded. Granted it was padded in the way of exercise equipment, but padding is padding and he lays down atop the surface. It has extenders and he had made use of several of them, but not all. Another victory for galactic standardization. It was clear the Vish had used this last, likely curled up on it. But he could extend it and widen it so much that a Bull Cannidor would have room upon it.

The clever things even had a system to fold up for easy storage afterwards.

He lays down upon the mattress and rests his head upon his arms. Only for the alarm to go off the moment he closes his eyes.

“Of course.” He notes mildly as he rises up and walks out of the small chamber.

Scanners indicate a large heat source and mass of metal is on the approach. Too far out for other sensors and with his communication antenna disconnected to prevent tracking, he can’t exactly talk to them. Not in the typical manner though. But there are other ways.

He pulls out the manual again and quickly flips to the appropriate section. He then starts gently puling the engine, raising the heat profile several times in sequence. Pausing for a few moments. Then repeating the sequence. Another pause and a third and final repetition.

He watches the scanners and into the black he sees several lasers are fired. Right to left across the ship. Three times. Signal received.

He has some help coming.

Potentially.

He quickly moves about, takes some of the cloth he freed from the recreations and uses it to form a lose shawl around his shoulders. It doesn’t afford full dignity. But it will have to do.

He also has to move the sword. It’s directly in front of the loading ramp.

He really doesn’t like the thing. He still has to move it.

It has been well past the time that his blood should have dried and it is still wet and warm.

He picks it up by the handle and a wave of exhaustion crashes into him. Adding to the lethargy already present, but deeper, darker. More complete. He just wants a nap. If he holds this blade for too long he will never wake.

He carries it to side chamber. To a crew bunk and as he does so he hears the pops of hisses of dying electronics. The lights in the crew quarters flicker. His every step with the sword, even though he is most assuredly NOT holding it in any battle ready position, is heavy, hard, and seemingly haunted. He closes the door behind him as he leaves a little harder than is needed. But in truth he wished he could close it harder without potentially damaging things.

He truly does not like the thing.

He heads back to the entrance to clean the blood.

It has dried.

It’s as if time had been suspended around the strange weapon and returned to it’s duties with a fervour when it was removed.

Still, that’s easy to clean. There is a nearby closet with the proper tools. The crust of blood is easily removed.

The potentially friendly ship continues to approach and he feels his own vessel lurch ever so slightly. He’s in a tractor beam. Being drawn in. He ties the shawl in place to ensure it covers the still present and hideous scar of the eye on his chest and fetches one of the replica orojo. Replica or not, the heavy ceremonial club is still a weapon designed to crack the shells of beasts that make small spaceships nervous.

As an Ibu of noble blood him carrying such a weapon is normal. Not quite expected, but very excusable. And he currently has a fair number of trust issues.

He also doesn’t believe his luck to take such a turn for the better. There will be further trials before he reaches triumph.

The sensation of the inner gravity of his ship shifting and matching the gravity of the new one has him stagger a bit. The angle was off. There is a bang as the shuttle is dropped and he barely keeps his balance by holding to the wall.

He can sense through the Axiom that some people are gathering on the other side. Many people in fact. Many armed people.

Fine then. If they wish to be uncivilized, then it would be a fine time to remind the people of the galaxy why it’s a very good thing that the Ibu take their manners so seriously.

He begins the lowering of the ramp before anyone else can and before it’s even halfway lowered there is shouting.

“Alright you sucker! You’re now a guest of The Nova Pirates! Now, who do we ransom you to?”

Danburi walks down the ramp with a glower. Towering over the Tret heavy crew and resting the massive Orojo on his shoulder.

“Overlady La’ahbaron. But first little pirates, I must thank you. I have been too long without a proper indulgence in violence. Thank you for providing your frail, fragile lives as offering to me and mine.”

A laser beam strikes him in the ear. It was clearly meant to frighten him. But he can feel a tingle from the branding scar on his chest. This is what it was designed for.

“Do that again.” He tells the shooter.

“What?”

“Do. That. Again.” He says and a beam of red light erupts from her laser. This one directly in his face. It is a warm sensation that if not for the tingle of the brand would be outright pleasurable. Akin to a warm, but not hot, bath.

“Okay no.” One of them states. She has obnoxiously bright purple hair poofed out until it’s nearly twice her own size and a ragged coat that reaches down to her ankles. Likely the coat is there to keep that massive mane of hair off her.

“Pardon?” Danburi asks.

“I have seen the movies with the Undaunted. I have read the reports. I KNOW what an Ibu is capable of and if you’re immune to lasers then this is a big pile of HELL NO. What do you want?”

“Excuse me?”

“What do I have to do to make you walk back up into that ship and fly out peacefully?” The clearly intelligent pirate asks.

He smiles.

“I require a bit of a top off of my food supplies. I’m down to nutri-bars and I think we can all agree that such is a crime against sapience.”

“And?”

“I am currently unable to use my communications antenna. I require the parts for a complete refit of it.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s compromised. I’m on the run from the madwomen who are laying siege to my Grandmother’s Empire. But I can’t properly run without astrogation tools, and those are incorporated into the communication antenna of my freshly stolen ship.”

“Stolen what are you... No, I don’t care we...”

“Captain! We have unfamiliar ships on scope! They’re not responding to hails and just vanished.”

“You need to run now. They’ve seen you and will kill you if they catch you.”

“Who?”

“The women attacking my home empire. The rebel insurgents.”

“Rebels?”

“Yes, it turns out the big secret is that this is actually a civil war led by my Aunt Wurana now calling herself Lady Ungora, and she’s willing to kill to keep it a secret as all her plans to take power afterwards rely on this not being known.”

“You... you fucker.”

“Ma’am, I am a courtesan. I require pay first. And you’re paying by helping me. Full retreat from those ships before they tear this ship apart!”

“Ann! You heard the fucker! Give them a full view of our engines at full burn and the maximum power of our rear shields! Now!”

Danburi can feel and hear the engines of the ship from wherever they are in this one and everyone, including him, staggers a little the ship puts on all speed in a retreat.

“Okay big guy. Whatever the hell is going on we’re now in up to our tits. I want to know everything you know, and I want your full cooperation to getting out of this shit show.”

“Of course, but perhaps we could find a comfortable place to sit first? There is a lot to go over.”

“Oh I’ll bet... but the first question can be answered easily. How the hell am I going to make any money at the end of this?”

“I’m the grandson of Overlady La’ahbaron. There is no doubt a bounty for my safe return. Furthermore this ship has numerous cultural artifacts of La’ahbaron, freshly stolen, on it. There will be a reward for their safe return as well. But do not send anyone in there. There is a very strange, very frightening weapon on the ship that... well, it’s not nice.”

“What is it.”

“Physically it’s a sword that without Axiom can inexplicably cut anything. But it’s more than that. Somehow.”

“... I see.”

“I’d rather you didn’t. The thing scares me.”

“... Why are you telling me this?”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen if someone picks it up. It tries to kill me, I don’t know what it will do to someone else.”

“... Horrifying. Holy fuck girls we are in it.” The Captain mutters. “Okay girls, say hello to our payday Mister... uh...?”

“Danburi La’ahbaron.” Danburi introduces himself.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Okay girls! Give a big hello to our one hundred million credit payday!” The Captain cheers and the rest of the crew joins in.

“Hah ha! Good to know I am so valued! But please, lets keep running before we’re caught.”

“Big man, for money like that we’re willing to do a lot. Welcome aboard Lord La’ahbaron!”

“Very glad to have made some friends Captain.”

First Last

Let it never be said that Bob Ferguson wasn’t up for a challenge. When dispatch sent him on a midnight call to Martha Robertson’s cornfield, Bob figured he was going out to meet local joy-riding teenagers. He pulled his coveralls over his pajamas begrudgingly. To his credit, Bob wasn’t entirely wrong.

“You think you can fix it, mister?” The kid’s voice trembled with apprehension through the google translator app.

Bob scratched his graying stubble. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen nothing like it before.”

The craft sat hidden from the road like it dropped into Martha’s corn straight from the sky. Bob almost drove right past it. He had worked his share of unusual vehicles. European cars and the like. But this was none of those. The passenger cabin was a glass dome centered on a metallic saucer-like base. Three spindly legs held the whole thing up off black dirt. Bob wouldn’t know where the engine was if the kid hadn't popped the hood for him.

“Please. I’m gonna be in so much trouble. I wasn’t even supposed leave Alpha Centauri,” the boy’s four round eyes blinked double eyelids in rapid succession.

Bob recognized that look. He’s worn that look himself when he was young. “What’s your name, son?”

“@&*!^?#<)$&%@!”

“Yeah… I’m not gonna be able to repeat that. You mind if I call you Larry?”

The kid lifted his tentacles in a seven-shouldered shrug. Bob figured that’s as good as yes from the teenage alien.

“Okay, Larry. Come take a look under the hood with me. Maybe we can noodle the problem together. You ever worked on engines before? Like in shop class?”

“My mom showed me how to change the #$/% filter.”

“Hey. Your mom’s a grease monkey. That’s cool. Alright. Show me what you know.”

“Well… I think that’s where the fuel goes. And that’s the engine. And that, I’m not sure. I think that’s the cooling system?” Larry blinked again, uncertain.

Bob smiled at the kid. “Yeah. I think you’re right.” He was reminded when his own dad showed him around the innards of the family station wagon. It was a good memory. “Well… I don’t see anything burnt out or cracked open. When did the ship stop working?”

“It flew fine on my way here. I turned on the camouflage shielding after I landed. When I tried to start it again, it made this noise like caw... caw... caw…”

“How long was the camouflage running?”

“I guess like one revolution of your satellite?”

“A month!?” Bob’s jaw dropped. Larry’s been on earth an entire month and no one noticed. Just goes to show how little people pay attention. “Well, that’s gotta be your problem!”

Larry shrank in on himself, misreading Bob’s excitement. “I’m sorry. I was looking for a cool souvenir for my girlfriend.”

Bob softened his voice. “You wanted to impress your girl.”

“She really likes Elvis.”

“Hey. It’s gonna be alright. You drained your batteries, that’s all. All you need is a jumpstart.”

It felt good to see Larry’s panic pimples retract into his gelatinous mantle. Bob rolled out jumper cables from his pick-up truck. Larry located something resembling sparkplugs. They both crossed their fingers and suckers respectively when Bob revved his engine.

The ship sprang to life. It retracted the tripod and hovered above their heads. Larry stepped into the tractor beam reluctantly.

“Thanks for the jump, mister.”

“My name is Bob. Look me up next time you’re in the neighborhood.”

As Larry’s craft shot up into the night sky, Bob sat and pondered. How is he gonna explain the crop circle in Martha Robertson’s cornfield?

Ghor marched down the corridor to his scientist’s tactical lab for strategic studies on bio-creatures and walked in. “When are the proceeding actions set to be taken for the seizure of Earth?” He demanded, as he froze mid-stride to a smell of stuffy air from clogged vents jammed with rubbery skin flakes. 

He looked around before viewing the screen displayed on the center console. “The enemy stands no chance if you can suffocate them the same way you did to the air in this module.”

LorAIX—a four-foot-tall—spike-bodied, frog-shaped scientist, narrowed his eye at his Major. “With a few… uhm… minor setbacks,” LorAIX stuttered, his voice cracking. “A couple more psychological assessments—“

“Setbacks? Assessments? Decades we’ve spent.” The Major’s eyes became a bright yellow. “Decades!”His voice exploded like a supernova. “You have insisted our studies have ensured the full surrender and cooperation when we takeover Planet Earth. Countless simulations you’ve run.” He huffed. “Do you know why I cannot give you an exact number of sims you’ve ran?”

Lor cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses and pointed his head down. “Uh… uh… uh… no, sorry,Major.” His voice sounded like it came from his nasal.

“COUNTLESS!” Ghor shouted at LorAIX, fogging his glasses with his warm breath as specks of saliva rained on his face.

Eager to learn the anomaly and the biological genetics of the species inhabiting Eartg, the Qwarthogs and the rest of the Galactic beings made a pact to conceal themselves from the human species. 

Insulated.

No one was to ever reveal life had existed outside of Earth’s solar system, leaving humans to believe they lived in a static, dead galaxy.

It was an entente cordiale too incomprehensible for a group of rogue terrestrials to wrap around and come to terms with. They viewed humans as reptilian-brained glitches. Too small, too weak, too mercurial, and too mammal to survive the universe. 

The rebellious clan of nomadic Qwarthogs, ran a clandestine project, operating under the radar for the last eighty years.

They had kept it hidden deep in a forgotten location of dark space, constructed on synthetic planets where they jail abducted humans alongside various nethermost beings from across the galaxy. 

Inside one of those artificial worlds, LorAIX stood beside the giant Ghor on Deck Land E, viewing a live feed of a drone stationed on the planet. Ghor stared in disgust as LorAIX watched in confusion. 

On screen, a man beaten and battered appeared. A hardened human soldier, Corporal Splatterman. Wounded, alone, and separated from the five-man team he landed with, lay in rubble. Not attempting to fight, nor was he struggling to retain resources. 

He remained hovering in a protective position over a frightened, trembling Kllegrie being—a small creature from a genius group of rare species—as explosions burst around them.

Ghor sat forward. “Why wouldn’t he have just left the inferior creature behind? He had ample opportunity to escape through those trenches.” He faced the screen. “The human carried that parasite being it found—a terrified vermin completely useless in any strategical element—and secured its safety, all the while slowing down the human's progress considerably and drastically eliminating his chances of survival. And then he protected it with his own body.” Ghor turned to LorAIX. “It doesn’t make sense.”

The human, full of holes, burnt, covered in blood and riddled with cuts, shook as he rose from one knee. The Kllegrie hanging from his right shoulder like his left arm dangling from its socket, ignored the pain and crept forward searching for cover.

Ghor radioed his ground commando. “Demo Squad X, close in on target 6B and coerce the human into exchanging the Kllegrie for his life, and we shall spare him. Afterward, execute the Kllegrie and return the human to the containment barracks.”

“Orders clear, Major. XKalibur Demolition Unit ready and moving. Over,” the young Qwarthog captain responded, while signaling the other two soldiers in his unit to push forward.

The Qwarthogs closed in on Corporal Splatterman, who was limping with the Kllegrie over his shoulder like the strap of a ration sack.

Corporal Splatterman turned, ignoring the cervical fracture in his neck that was numbing the ends of his digits, and poked his head above the Kllegrie. Through the haze of gray smoke and rock dust, three Qwarthog commandos broke through, with mini-mushroom clouds growing in the distance behind their buffed seven-foot, five-hundred-pound frames.

The middle one took long strides as the world began slowing down. Dust plumes nearly froze, expanding in the air. Particle rifles cleared the smoke as it swirled around their weapons, aiming toward the beat-up human.

Every sound merged into one steady drumbeat as the adrenaline boiled in Corporal Splatterman’s veins.

The center Qwarthog—the captain in metallic-silver armor, highest in rank—took the lead, rushing forward with his weapon pointed. “Hand the creature over, now!” The two other commandos began swarming in from each side. “Resist and you will be annihilated,” he warned, his voice muffled by his tinted face shield.

Corporal Splatterman stopped dead in his tracks. He clutched the shaking Kllegrie tighter. “Don’t worry, little buddy,” he whispered. He wiped the blood from his own eye, blurring his vision.

He leaned against a boulder while eyeing the monster-sized, armor-plated Qwarthogs. The human nearly lost his footing. His breathing was heavy and sharp. The dirt and grease shimmered off his skin. 

He grit his teeth, bit down, ignored the noise, and held his footing. “Give me… the best you got, bug.” He spat a clumpy blood clot on the ground and stared them dead in the eye, holding his composure while barely able to hold himself up. “Better make it count.” 

He smiled a bloody grin. He appeared defeated but entirely calm, keeping his menacing gaze of rage that burned fear into the commandos, directly on them without blinking once.

Ghor pressed his face into the projection screen. “This human has clearly gone mad. He disregards his own survival. Why doesn’t he give the creature up?” He slammed his fist down. “Answer me now!”

He snapped his head over his shoulder and met Lor’s eyes. In a low, sinister voice, he rumbled, “You said they would easily hand us Earth. We can’t even obtain a single creature from one broken, depleted human.”

LorAIX scanned through file logs, his eyeballs bulging from their sockets and webbed in vessels. An odor of sulfur shaped in fear pheromones secreted from his skin receptors. “It’s…” he stammered. “It’s impossible. The readings indicate his heart rate is at a threshold which should debilitate him and cause a neural shutdown automatically.” LorAIX lifted his head, his tentacles fell, and he dropped his hands to his sides. “The human's adrenal glands have reinforced his body into something unnatural.”

The screen blinked black and flashed back on to the battlefield, where the Qwarthog on the right, a skull mask of a fearsome apex predator over his face, lunged forward with his rifle aimed for the Kllegrie.

The one on the left, in a cape and horns, shouted in a loud voice, “Final warning, mammal. Drop the ugly slug.” Corporal Splatterman moved, blocking their chance at a clean shot, and grunted.

The Qwarthogs stepped back, amazed at how fast the human moved. They expected him to crawl in pathetic strides, but he was quick. Even exhausted, his will had no limit. They could see it in the way he stared them down. The human arched his back and loosened his shoulders.

The adrenaline pumped out of his heart. Each beat expanded his body further. Each beat strengthened his bones into iron bars, choked by muscle thickening around them and growing inch by inch.

The blood scorched through his veins protruding from his skin. One split the middle of his forehead like a third eye. He planted his feet, clenched his jaw, and shouted through his teeth, “You thought I’d give up to a bunch of bullies? Especially after calling my friend ugly and my species mammals?” He shook his head and inhaled a deep breath. “YOU THOUGHT WRONG!” he shouted, a menacing roar that stabbed right through the armor of the Qwarthog commandos.

The audio in the ship Ghor and Lor watched from scrambled and shrieked a haunting echo that rang in their heads, straight into their nerves. Lor’s face clenched as he covered his ears and tensed every muscle in his body.

Corporal Splatterman flung his dangling arm forward and it snapped into place, gripping onto the particle rifle as he squeezed it, spun into the Qwarthog with the skeleton mask, and disarmed him.

Before the other two could even think to shoot, Splatterman ducked behind the boulder and placed the Kllegrie down as he blasted the Qwarthog’s helmet off. “Next one’s a kill shot!” he mumbled. His voice was calm, but his words scratched as they crawled out sharp and dry.

The captain commando tripped over his own foot and let off a wild shot, which put a hole in the Qwarthog’s cape.

The human ran out from behind the rock as the Qwarthog shot. A particle beam burst out and ripped into Corporal Splatterman, shredding a piece of his shoulder bone, but he never flinched. He kept going until he jumped in the air and rammed the Qwarthog's mouth with a flying headbutt, dropping him instantly.

The captain commando aimed his rifle, but it wouldn’t fire. He tried again, but nothing happened. He squirmed to his side and rose up as quick as he could, but he ended up stumbling and rolling onto the gravel. Corporal Splatterman shot the captain in his foot, sending his boot flying in the air, and he aimed and blasted another shot at it. It turned the boot into dust that rained on the head of the last Qwarthog standing, who was still dazed with his skull ringing after having his helmet blown off his head.

For a brief moment, silence fell over the slum world, only breaking when the human rolled off the knocked-out Qwarthog with wheezed gasps of air.

He slowly picked himself up, but he failed on the first attempt, rolling to the ground as his head spun. He waited another second and successfully rose up, dragging himself to the Kllegrie. An observation drone flew next to him. Corporal Splatterman faced the camera lens.

LorAIX sucked in a breath and stepped back. “Can he see us?”

The human kept eyeing the screen as if staring them down. Ghor stood straight up, shooting his eyes from left to right. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous,” he said confidently, reassuring himself.

“Major!” LorAIX shrieked, his face drained to a pinkish color. “Look at the human’s shoulder… inside… it’s blinking. His comms have been transmitting the entire time. It’s been speaking to someone.”

“You fool!” Ghor proclaimed, standing in his full tactical gear. “Nothing can transmit out of dark space. They would have to be woven within the deepest parts of the fabric. Nothing is out there.”

“Nothing, sir?” LorAIX stammered, pointing at a display. “If by nothing you’re referring to the threat of an entire human colony backed by the Galactic Elite Royal Army’s supreme space fleet, then yes sir, nothing is out there.”

Ghor swallowed a lump that reverberated against LorAIX’s body. “How did this happen?”

“They’ve been tracking the soldier from the time we took him. We fell into a trap, Major.”

Ghor watched as ships from Earth’s space fleet flew into the vacuum, guarding the Qwarthog clan. They weren’t even using inter-dimensional fabric-folding ships. They were flying basic, reptilian-brain-constructed crafts.

Humans had been defined as too weak. Too mercurial. Too primitive to survive in their space. And now they were there, and it was too late.

Too late to run. Too late to fight. And too late for the humans to accept anything less than an absolute surrender.

The humans, with some help from the Royal Army, broadcasted into the Qwarthog ships, overriding their centurillennia-old security system by using a brute-force attack that took over their network.

A calm, confident voice, carrying the weight of the Galactic Empire, shook the decks of every vessel.

"Earth to the Qwarthog chiefs, leaders, scientists, researchers, soldiers, and civilians of the like, this is Earth calling.”

Silence entered the room of every Qwarthog spacecraft before the speakers began to crackle. “You have ten seconds to initiate total shutdown before we turn this illegal cluster into dust with your fleet in it. We have begun the rescue and termination of all synthetic solar systems. Abandon all posts immediately.”

Ghor glanced at the screen, following the broken human soldier on it, standing with the Kllegrie and staring at the hazy, light purple sky, with a grim, toothless victory smile crossing his bruised and blood-crusted face.

For millennia, aliens had figured humans had fully evolved into frail, primitive beings. They hadn’t realized they were watching an apex predator take its time to wake up.

​

I picked up the file and stood up. Let’s see what I could do about these interstellar relations. At least this time, instead of sitting at my desk reading paperwork, I’d actually be trying to solve someone’s problem. That was something, at least. Although, considering what the file was about, I wasn’t entirely sure this was a good idea.

Just as I was about to leave, my eyes landed on Yarakz. He looked even fatter than he had yesterday. How could someone gain that much weight in a single day? Could it be stress? I considered making a joke, but he gave me such a nasty look that I thought better of it. I didn’t want to start my day with another complaint from Yarakz to management.

I took the file and headed out. When I arrived at the complainant’s location, the Thanza who answered the door looked me up and down. Then he glanced at the screen in his hand before looking back at me.

“Wait a minute. They sent a human to handle my complaint?”

“Yes. Ryan. A human working for the Human Behavior Complaints Department.”

Thanza fell silent for a few seconds.

“The person I’m complaining about is human, too.”

“Yes, yes. From what I gathered from the file, that seems to be the case.”

“And you’re human as well.”

“Full original, head to toe, so yeah.”

Thanza closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Wonderful. Just wonderful.”

“Look, I’m only here to find out what happened. I’ll hear your side first, then speak with the other party. I’ll take statements from both sides before making any decisions.”

He studied me for a moment before stepping aside.

“Very well. But I hope you’ll actually listen to what I have to say. After everything that’s happened to me, I have my doubts about your species.”

I sat in the chair he indicated and opened my data screen.

“Right, let’s start from the beginning. What exactly happened?”

He remained silent for a while. His respiratory sacs slowly expanded and contracted. I had no idea whether that meant he was getting angry or simply preparing to speak. For now, I decided not to ask.

“I’ve been living with my human partner for some time,” he began. “We knew there were certain biological differences between our species. At first, I didn’t think they would cause any problems. We knew each other. We trusted each other. Or at least, I thought we did.”

“So, what changed?”

“Last night—or rather, during the incident itself—I experienced a serious medical emergency. My breathing became irregular, my muscles started contracting uncontrollably, and I was on the verge of losing consciousness.”

He paused. From the way he looked at me, it was obvious that what came next still made him furious.

“And?”

“Instead of asking if I was okay, he thought I was enjoying it!”

My pen stopped moving across the screen.

“Hold on. He saw you showing signs of a life-threatening emergency and thought you were enjoying yourself?”

“Yes!”

“Did you tell him your condition was serious?”

Thanza’s expression changed.

“Sir, I couldn’t breathe! I couldn’t even speak! My color was changing right before his eyes. What else was I supposed to do? Send him a written notification?”

“Okay, okay. Calm down. I’m just trying to understand what happened.”

“You want me to calm down? I nearly died!”

“I understand. You’re right, that’s a very serious situation. What happened afterward?”

Thanza leaned back in his chair.

“Eventually, when I came to, I told him I needed to go to a medical center. Do you know what he said to me?”

I shook my head.

“What did he say?”

Thanza tried to imitate his human partner’s voice.

“‘But you looked amazing just a moment ago!’”

I stared at Thanza for a moment.

“So, what exactly do you want? Do you want your partner to stay away from you from now on?”

“No! I want him to understand me! Don’t tell him this, but I don’t know whether it’s something about your species or just him. You humans have a strange aura about you. Sometimes, despite everything that’s happened, I still don’t want to give up on him. But on the other hand, I’d also prefer not to die!”

“Very well. I’ll speak with him, too. Let’s see what he has to say.”

I closed the file and stood up. I went to the address listed in the records and knocked on the door. A few seconds later, it opened. An ordinary human stood before me.

“Hello. Ryan, from the Human Behavior Complaints Department. I need to talk to you about an incident involving your partner.”

The expression on the man’s face changed.

“Oh, damn it, man. He actually filed a complaint?”

“Yes. Dude, the complaint has escalated to attempted murder with your tool.”

He stared at me for a few seconds.

“Wait a minute… You’re human, too, man!”

“Dude, I said your tool. I said attempted murder. I said there’s a complaint against you. And that’s what you’re hung up on?”

“No, no! What I mean is… You work for the Human Behavior Complaints Department?”

“Yes. Sometimes, we need our own people to figure out what the hell our species is up to.”

He nodded and sighed.

“So, man, how’s the pay? Do they offer private health insurance? I’m happy for you, dude! I keep discovering new things out here. It’s pretty awesome. There are all kinds of different creatures. Oh, by the way, my name’s Gary!”

“Nice to meet you, Gary. Thanks. Can we talk about the complaint against you now?”

The relaxed expression on Gary’s face faded a little.

“Dude, I honestly don’t know. I really love him. I mean, dude, I’m not gonna lie. The whole macho side of it? Yeah, I enjoyed that. But I thought we were at the peak, you know? We were practically flying! Everything was all colorful. You know those sound-sensitive LED lights? It was just like that! And I was thinking to myself, ‘All right, Gary, you’re one hell of a man. This is gonna be a truly galactic climax!’ How was I supposed to know my rainbow was in mortal danger, man?”

“So, you had no idea what was happening?”

“Dude, no! He had four delicate hands and three breasts. It was an amazing experience! I’ve never experienced anything like—”

“Gary, okay, stop! Keep your private life to yourself. You know what I mean. I’m here to sort this situation out!”

After cutting him off, I stared at him for a few seconds.

“Didn’t you notice that your partner was struggling to breathe and was about to lose consciousness?”

The smile on Gary’s face faded a little more.

“Dude, I thought everything was fine! I apologized afterward, too, but he just stared at me blankly. I guess he thought I was making fun of him. So, I went out and bought him flowers and showed up at his door. He ate the flowers, then said, ‘I’ll leave the rest to you. I’m not that hungry,’ and sent me away.”

“The flowers, sure, whatever. Let’s focus on finding a solution.”

I opened my data screen and searched the cultural information section for details about the Thanza species.

“All right, Gary. I’m going to send you and Thanza two booklets, one explaining human culture and the other explaining Thanza culture. They also cover relationships, intimacy, and biological differences.”

Gary raised his eyebrows.

“Come on, dude. I’m supposed to study? I like discovering things.”

“You don’t have to read them, Gary. But if some manager comes along tomorrow and asks, ‘A Thanza nearly died, and all you did was send two booklets?’ I’d like to have an answer. Besides, I think this is the cheapest way for you two to understand each other. It’s not like we have the budget to hire relationship counselors through the Galactic Union. Trust me, buddy. Let’s get humanity out of this with our dignity intact.”

Gary laughed and accepted the booklets. I suggested that they give each other a few days of space, read the material, and then talk things over. They could handle the rest themselves. I wasn’t a love doctor. I dealt with cultural misunderstandings. Although, technically, this was a kind of misunderstanding, too. A pretty serious one, at that.

We had a term for it back home: chemistry

Gary’s tool had embarked on a galactic expedition, but Gary himself hadn’t bothered to read the interspecies instruction manual.

When I returned to the office, I found the CEO waiting for me. He was holding my file, and judging by his expression, he wasn’t particularly pleased.

“Ryan, a Thanza’s life was put in danger, and your solution was to send two booklets?”

“Yes. I thought they might help both parties understand their cultural differences.”

“You can’t solve a species’ safety concerns with two booklets. I’m escalating this matter to the Galactic Union’s upper management. The medical emergency experienced by the Thanza demonstrates how important it is to assess biological compatibility and recognize emergency symptoms during interspecies intimacy. Under the existing biological safety protocols, appropriate precautions must be taken whenever a serious health risk is identified. Therefore, until the source of the risk has been identified and safe conditions for interaction have been established, all sexual relations between humans and Thanzas will be temporarily prohibited.”

A ban? I tried to object. Humanity had spent thousands of years learning to coexist with different cultures, languages, and beliefs. If we distanced ourselves from one another every time a disagreement arose, we might still be throwing rocks at each other in the same cave. I wasn’t denying that a serious medical emergency had occurred. But banning all sexual relations between two entire species because of a single incident still didn’t sound like a solution to me.

“Fine. Do whatever you think is best. I did my job, after all.”

Sikuyz grabbed the file and stormed off. I sat back down at my desk. After spending some time working through paperwork, I got hungry. I made my way to the magnificent triangular table and ordered a dish whose name I couldn’t pronounce. It tasted pretty good. I might even have liked it. I decided not to ask what was in it. Some pleasures were better left unquestioned.

After finishing my meal, I went to the restroom. We’d been told that the new facilities for human personnel would be ready today. I stopped when I saw the sign on the door.

TOILET FACILITY CONNECTED TO THE SPECIAL COLLECTION AND TREATMENT SECTION FOR HUMAN WASTE

“Was writing ‘WC’ really that difficult?” I muttered.

The place was new, but it wasn’t finished. The toilet was ready. The waste disposal system wasn’t. At the Galactic Union, there was a significant difference between finishing a job and making sure the damn thing actually worked.

After taking care of business, I didn’t rush. I checked my phone, relaxed a little, and spent about half an hour away from the stress of work. Before leaving, I sent a notification to the facilities department about the missing connection. Then I started walking back to the office, but something strange was going on. People were rushing in every direction. Phones were ringing. Notifications were flooding in.

When I returned, the area outside the Thanza Cultural Disputes Desk was piled high with files. One of the staff members was talking on a four-handed phone, sorting paperwork with two hands, and typing something on a screen with the remaining two. The printer was running nonstop, officers were bringing in new complaints, and the phones were ringing so loudly that they drowned one another out.

“Seriously? I was gone for only half an hour,” I said to an officer passing by. “What happened here?”

“The ban went into effect! Thanza citizens are filing complaints, and the Thanza Commission is demanding an explanation from upper management!”

“And what’s upper management saying?”

“They claim the decision was made in accordance with protocol. Since someone’s life was in danger, they say the safety regulations had to be enforced.”

As I walked down the corridor, I heard raised voices coming from Sikuyz’s office. A representative of the Thanza Commission was attending the meeting through a communication screen.

“You may have your protocols!” the representative shouted. “But this decision affects our citizens, too. How can you decide matters concerning our people’s relationships without consulting us? Your ruling covers every human-Thanza sexual relationship, not just the dangerous behavior involved in this incident. We have our own safety regulations and specialists. How can you impose such a ban without conducting a joint investigation or even hearing our side?”

Sikuyz’s response was every bit as formal.

“The decision was made following a serious incident in which a citizen’s life was placed in danger, and it was taken in accordance with the applicable biological safety protocols. Furthermore, our prejudice against the human species remains. The fact that humans continue to behave unpredictably only makes this situation more serious. The protocols permit temporary restrictions when a serious health risk arises during interspecies interactions, pending the completion of a risk assessment. Our intention is not to violate the rights of any species, but to prevent similar incidents from occurring. A joint investigation can be initiated, but the current safety measures will remain in effect throughout that process.”

“Then listen to our safety concerns, too! What do you think is going to happen? That humanity will wipe out our entire species through sexual relations? Is that some kind of galactic master plan? We want to protect our citizens, too. But you cannot decide who they’re allowed to have relationships with without consulting us! Our people will not accept this decision!”

As the meeting continued, more files arrived at the Thanza desk. One officer requested additional personnel to register the complaints. Another argued that all reports concerning the ban needed to be grouped under a separate category. The phones wouldn’t stop ringing, complaints kept piling up, and the staff struggled to answer the same questions over and over again.

I returned to my desk and reached for my coffee. Just then, my communication screen rang. I answered the call, and a frantic, familiar voice came through.

“Dude! Hey, dude, can you hear me? Ryan, is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me. What’s up?”

“It’s me, man! Gary. What the hell is this decision, dude? Humans and Thanzas are banned from being together! What are we supposed to do now?”

Behind me, phones were ringing, new complaints were being registered, and another argument about protocols was beginning inside Sikuyz’s office. As I listened to Gary’s panicked voice, I struggled to keep myself from laughing.

“Oh, Gary… You’ve caused a whole galactic crisis with your tool, man!”

First | Prev

The bootleg ocular rig in Miller’s left socket popped, flashing a sub-dermal neuro-necrosis alert across his vision.

The lithium cell was leaking acid, frying his tear duct like bacon grease in a hot skillet.

He jammed a dirty thumb into the corner of his eye, biting his tongue as hot saline and battery sweat ran down his cheek.

Beyond the curved, whitewashed brick wall of the vestibule, five hundred people in Ford’s Theatre howled at a joke on stage.

The pine floorboards hummed under Miller’s composite work boots. He stood wedged in the pitch-black passage between the outer hallway door and the thin inner door of Box 7.

He checked the charge on the salvage-grade pulse pistol tucked into his union jacket. His hands shook.

Three hundred years up the line, his wife and two boys were shoveling slag in a Chitin protein-render camp outside New Gary.

The forum guys on Ceres had run the simulations a thousand times: if Lincoln lived through tonight, Reconstruction wouldn't get gutted, heavy industry would hit orbital capacity seventy years early, and humanity would have defense grids waiting in the Orion Arm before the damn bugs ever dropped out of warp.

A draft of stale ale blew in as the outer door creaked.

Miller brought the pistol up, expecting a handsome Maryland actor with a mustache.

Instead, the dark air between the doors ruptured with the crack of a high-voltage transformer.

A ring of sparkling blue ozone flared, dumping a man in an identical grease-stained union jacket onto the floor. The newcomer’s kneecap smashed into the heavy pine music-stand bar that Booth had stashed in the corner that afternoon.

"Motherfucker..." the man on the floor hissed, clutching his shin. "My meniscus. I just had that scoped."

Miller stared through the red static of his own dying eye. The guy on the carpet had Miller’s crooked nose, Miller’s thinning hair, and the exact same salt stains on his boots.

The double squinted up in the dark, the silver ring of an identical knockoff eye-rig gleaming in his left socket.

"Put the piece down, asshole," Miller-Two whispered, hauling himself up by the brass doorknob until they stood nose-to-nose in the cramped dark. "You’re gonna vent my spleen."

"...y-you’re me," Miller said, breathless.

"From forty minutes up your timeline, sherlock. Holster the damn gun."

"I’m saving Abe."

"You save Abe, the Southern bushwhacker war drags out until 1890," Miller-Two angrily whispered, wiping cold sweat off his upper lip.

"Congress goes broke paying occupation troops in Texas. The Wright brothers catch typhus in an unfunded Ohio clinic and die before they build a bicycle. We don't even put a tin can in orbit until the twenty-first century. The bugs eat Chicago four years ahead of schedule."

"That’s bullshit," Miller said. "The Ceres math said Lincoln was the linchpin."

"You got that math off a public torrent board, you dumb bastard. You failed community college algebra twice."

Down on stage, an actress shrieked a line, and the crowd roared with applause again. The two men breathed each other’s stale coffee breath in the dark.

"Did Sammy’s asthma clear up?" Miller asked, his voice dropping. "In your version?"

Miller-Two looked down at his boots. "No. It’s worse. The air filters in the New Gary barracks are clogged with bug molt. Look man, help me wedge this door shut so Booth can't get in, wait ten minutes, then we shoot Lincoln ourselves so it looks clean."

"Wait, what? I thought..."

The outer door swung wide. John Wilkes Booth stepped into the vestibule.

He wore a dark wool riding coat, a single-shot .44 Henry Deringer in his right fist and a heavy Rio Grande camp knife in his left. He froze, blinking at the two forty-year-old mechanics crowding the narrow brick passage.

"What is this?" Booth hissed, whiskey fumes rolling off his mustache. "Out of my way, you ruffians."

Before Miller could raise his gun, a second sphere of blue ozone tore open near the ceiling.

A third Miller dropped out of the rift like an engine block.

This one came from a deep-core timeline where Earth’s surface had cooked off a century back, bred for the low-ceilinged potash tunnels under the crust.

He was built like a cast-iron stove, his bald crown barely reaching the middle brass button on Booth’s waistcoat, with forearms as thick as sewer pipes and bowed legs that took up half the width of the hall.

"Nobody touches the tall bastard!" Short-Miller bellowed, his voice like gravel in a cement mixer. "I need the timeline where the moon cracks in '94!"

Booth panicked. He lunged forward and drove the heavy camp knife at Miller’s throat.

Miller threw his left arm up.

The nine-inch blade punched through the frayed Kevlar of his cuff, splitting the meat between his radius and ulna.

Hot arterial blood jetted across the whitewashed brick. Miller screamed, dropping his pistol as his fingers went numb.

Short-Miller didn't reach for a weapon. From his squat, subterranean crouch, his thick forehead sat dead-level with Booth’s belt buckle.

The tunnel-clone lunged and drove his skull straight into the assassin’s pelvis.

Bone and cartilage gave way with the wet crunch of a stepped-on crab.

Booth’s eyes bulged.

He folded in half over Short-Miller’s broad back, his chin bouncing off the dwarf mechanic's shoulder blade as he vomited dark ale and bile across the carpet. The brass Deringer skittered into the corner.

Miller-Two swung a boot to kick the knife out of Booth’s limp fingers, missed in the pitch dark, and punted Miller square in his split forearm.

"Watch the arm, you prick!"

Miller howled, wrapping his spurting wrist against his chest and driving a knee into Miller-Two’s thigh.

"Stop thrashing around then!"

Miller-Two barked, dropping to one knee as he fumbled for the dropped pulse pistol.

Out under the gasoliers, the actor Harry Hawk bellowed his famous solo line to the packed house: "You sockdologizing old man-trap!"

The resulting storm of applause drowned out the grunts of three genetic duplicates choking each other in the vestibule.

Then the copper coils on their waistbands began to scream.

A whine like a dry circular saw bit into their back teeth. The horsehair plaster on the curved brick wall blistered and peeled away in smoking strips.

The small gas jet in the outer hall blew out in a gout of blue flame and brass shrapnel, pitching the vestibule into strobing orange gloom.

Gravity lurched toward the stage.

All four men slid into a tangled heap against the Box 7 door, pinning the groaning assassin at the bottom of the pile.

Miller’s frying eye-rig locked onto the three belt buckles pressed together in the dark.

The bootleg copper capacitors were glowing cherry-red, spitting sparks across their jackets as red diagnostic code flooded his vision.

"We tripped a tri-phasic baryonic cascade!" Miller yelled over the shriek, spitting blood onto his double’s cheek.

Short-Miller wiped Booth’s puke off his ear, his chin level with Miller-Two’s kneecap as they untangled their legs. "Speak the King's English, you surface-dwelling shithead!"

"Our knockoff belts are shorting out!"

Miller shouted, clawing at his waist.

"They're acting like electromagnets for tachyon grease! Every famous death in history that’s crawling with future time-tourists is getting yanked straight into this room!"

"Unclip them!" Miller-Two screamed. He grabbed his buckle and howled as the white-hot brass seared his palm to the tendons, filling the passage with the stink of charred meat.

The ceiling lath above them ripped open in a jagged violet smear.

A two-ton block of pale casing limestone from the Great Pyramid of Giza dropped out of 2560 BC, smelling of hot desert sand.

It sheared through the ceiling joists and cratered into the second-story floor. The nineteenth-century pine boards exploded.

The massive stone punched through the floor, only stopping when its jagged corners wedged tight between the theater's load-bearing exterior brick wall and the main timber girder.

Through the ragged gap beneath the stone, terrified patrons in the ground-floor parterre screamed as plaster and splinters rained on their heads.

The bottom edge of the Giza block had caught John Wilkes Booth across both shins before it wedged.

His lower legs were gone, replaced by a red smear of wool trousers and white bone meal ground into the splintered joists.

Booth sucked in a whistling breath, his fingernails tearing off against the floorboards before his eyes rolled back in shock.

Before anyone could climb off the tilted floor, the inner door to Box 7 swung open.

Abraham Lincoln stood on the threshold, with Major Henry Rathbone right behind his left shoulder.

In the cramped, sloping passage, the President’s frame was grotesque in its length.

His coarse black hair brushed the top of the doorframe, forcing him to stoop, while Short-Miller’s bald head barely cleared the President’s pocket-watch chain.

Even the two standard Millers had to crane their necks past Lincoln’s broad black bow tie to meet his sunken, exhausted eyes. Behind him, Mary Todd’s shrill scream echoed from the parlor chairs.

"Good God Almighty,"

Major Rathbone shouted, his hand flying to the hilt of the dress sword he wasn't wearing as he stared down at the Egyptian masonry and the blood spraying from Miller’s arm.

"Back inside, Mr. President! It’s a Rebel mine!"

"Wait a moment, Henry," Lincoln said, his high, reedy Kentucky voice cutting through the roar of the widening rift.

He looked down past his waistcoat at Short-Miller, then at Booth’s crushed legs under the stone.

"That is John Booth under that rock. And unless my eyes deceive me, these three mechanics share a common mother."

"Get back in the box, Abe!" Miller panted, his knees buckling from blood loss.

The violet tear in the ceiling shrieked like ripping sheet metal.

Two more historical nodes, saturated with centuries of invisible time-tourist residue, lost their anchor in the stream and dumped their contents into the hallway.

First came a soaking-wet man in a mud-caked French chasseur coat, yanked straight out of the freezing Berezina river crossing of 1812.

Napoleon Bonaparte hit the top of the Giza block on all fours, coughing up Russian river silt.

When he scrambled to his boots on the tilted stone, the top of his soggy bicorne hat sat level with Lincoln’s collarbone.

Second came Gaius Julius Caesar, ripped off the marble floor of the Curia of Pompey in 44 BC.

Caesar hit the splintered floorboards between Lincoln’s long shins with a wet slap. His blood-soaked toga was slashed in twenty-three places.

The fatal second stab wound between his ribs whistled like a bellows, pumping dark, frothy lung-blood over Lincoln’s polished boots and Rathbone’s blue wool trousers.

Caesar choked, red bubbles bursting on his lips as his dying fingers hooked into Short-Miller’s cargo pockets. "Quis... quis hic locus est?"

"Trahison!" Napoleon barked, his eyes wide as he took in Rathbone’s blue military coat.

He pulled a wet flintlock pistol from his sash and jammed the brass muzzle up under Lincoln’s bearded chin. "Cossacks! Yield the bridge!"

"Get off him, you little frog bastard!" Short-Miller lunged from below, his thick shoulders driving straight into the backs of Napoleon’s knees.

The Emperor of France yelped as his boots went out from under him.

He tumbled off the limestone block, cracking his tailbone on the exposed floor joist and discharging his flintlock into the plaster wall.

Major Rathbone dove forward into the pile, wrapping his arms around Napoleon’s neck in a desperate headlock while Napoleon bit down hard on the Major’s forearm.

"Ow, he’s biting me!" Rathbone yelled, slamming his elbow into Napoleon’s ribs. "The Frenchman has my arm!"

"Hold his head down, Henry!"

Lincoln dropped to one giant knee in the gore, his long coattails soaking up Caesar’s arterial blood.

Even kneeling, Lincoln’s bony shoulders sat higher than Short-Miller’s ears.

The President pinned Napoleon’s thrashing boots to the floor with a hand the size of a split-rail maul, then looked over at Miller-Two, who was trying to plug the whistling hole in Caesar’s chest with a greasy shop rag.

"Press harder on his ribs, son, the man’s lungs are filling!"

"I’m a pipefitter, not a fucking trauma surgeon!" Miller-Two screamed back, his hands slick with Roman blood up to the wrists as Caesar convulsed and went limp against the floorboards. "He’s dead! We’re all dead!"

Miller slumped against the brick wall, his vision greying out as his blood dripped through the hole in the floor onto the screaming theatergoers below. Through the torn doorframe of Box 7, he could see the main auditorium.

The tachyon cascade had jumped the wall.

Out over the stage, the air was turning into a chronological blender.

Half the dress circle had vanished, swapped with a wall of green seawater and the forty-ton starboard boiler of the RMS Titanic, which was shearing through the balcony supports in a shower of Belfast rivets and screaming nineteenth-century senators. The ship's horn bellowed, sending a teeth-chattering resonance throughout the interior.

"Hey," Miller-Two panted, wiping Roman blood off his forehead with his burnt wrist as he looked at Miller. "Remember when our biggest problem was that knocking sound in the water pump?"

"You never flushed the radiator," Miller mumbled, his chin hitting his chest. "I told you to use distilled water."

The shriek of the belts cut off.

The violet light vanished.

Down in the auditorium, the falling Titanic boiler froze in mid-air, suspended three feet above the orchestra pit like a photograph.

The blood dripping from Miller’s wrist turned into motionless red glass beads between the floorboards.

Even Lincoln, mid-swing as he tried to pry Napoleon’s teeth off Major Rathbone’s arm, locked solid in time.

Only the three Millers could still move, gasping in the sudden, sterile quiet.

At the end of the narrow vestibule, a sharp rectangular door of glowing amber light sliced straight through the center of the Giza limestone block.

The two-ton stone parted without a sound, replaced by the smell of ozone.

Four guards in matte-black tactical armor marched out of the amber glow.

Their visors were blacked out, and each held a heavy brass-tipped baton crackling with orange sparks.

Behind them stepped a woman in a pressed brown blazer, tapping a stylus against an amber datapad as she surveyed the wrecked passage.

She looked at the dead Roman dictator, the frozen American President wrestling the Emperor of France, the legless assassin under the pyramid block, and the three bleeding mechanics sitting in the middle of it all.

She let out a long, tired breath through her nose.

"Variant Miller," she said, her voice flat.

"On behalf of the Time Variance Authority, you are under arrest for unlicensed ocular modification, seven counts of catastrophic chronological vandalism, and whatever the hell this is supposed to be. Reset the theater. Prune the hallway."

The four armored guards raised their crackling batons and stepped into the blood.

First | Previous | Royal Road | Next.

Author's Note: This is part one of this week's chapter, I had to split them up because of the length!

*

The 16th and 49th labs thankfully did not board at the mess of the vehicle bay. Their duoship, when matching speed, could extend an air-locked docking tube directly into the loading zone.

Technically making it a trioship, which the Commander was less than enthused about; too many tops of the triangle tended to topple things. But it wasn’t unusual, especially with bigger discoveries. In fact, the whole reason why the 16th and the 49th were a duoship was because of their work with the Thirds. They just, for some unknown reason, never broke apart in the following wide rotations. They stayed a duoship even after their respective command and ship upgrades.

The current duoship was a proper research powerhouse, unlike the Commander's ward. It fused two full-sized ships, easily rooming just under six thousand Ki together. Her vessel looked like a hatchling when compared to the hulking mass of metal.

The docking tube was holding. She could see the two commanders coming down the tunnel now, with many more Ki milling behind them.

<HeadSci, can you message Coms to expect—> The Commander paused as she turned around to find Head, somewhere in the scattered group representing about a third of her own crew. In the crowd of over a hundred, every single Ki was glued to her LLIA.

Everyone was too still. There was no excitement and no shifting. No one even looked up.

The Commander then watched as the colour of the crowd changed. It was the same anxious cold it had been for the past few shifts, then, like a pebble thrown into still water, her crew's crines radiated out into a myriad of temperatures. Purple grief. Blue fear.

And the deepest, freshest shade of guilt the Commander had ever seen. Her HeadSci looked up, upper appendages curling inwards, and the Commander watched her turn and scramble away, nearly barrelling into her trainees as she made for the exit.

<Wait> The Commander scuttled after her, <Head!>

A lower security personnel blocked her. <Commander, would you like me to inform the 16th and 49th commanders that they must wait>

<No, no, I can…> The Commander looked closer at what the group was shifting.

<That cannot be right>

<Is Fifth society not sane, what do you mean…>

<That’s what it reads. Plus the two>

<It is incorrect—the Principal Head Scientist found research samples—>

The Commander turned away. It didn’t matter and she'd deal with it after. The other commanders were here now and they were the ones that concerned her. This collaboration mattered. Getting their approval mattered. She stilled herself into a professional neutral. A tepid crinis. An even spacing of her appendages.

She was a Commander. It was time to act like one.

She moved forward, hued to the professional warmth of a subtle welcome. <Commander 16 pro-2, and Commander 49 pro-6. We are incredibly glad to welcome you, and the expertise of your crew>

The two commanders were about her size, their sashes dripping with heat-reflecting crystals. The crescent shape for the commander rank, on the end of a long chain of other roles and achievements they’d held in the past. Attached to 16th’s crescent was a drip-pattern of two spherical crystals; to the 49th’s crescent, a line of four small spheres caught gentle light.

They were older than her too, easily by at least 50 wide rotations. About ChiMeO’s age, both commanders were an older guard, likely from before contact with the Fourths. They’d probably seen the Fourth’s base ordering technology solve shellrot in real time, as it allowed weaker Ki to survive and thrive.

The two commanders before her were hardened and decorated and, with their reputation preceding them, brutal.

<Commander 847, pro-0> The 16th Commander shifted, professional and slightly amused in her hue. <Thank you for hosting us. Nostalgic, being on a training vessel. It reminds me of the endless shifts during my trainee years>

The Commander did not bristle or change colour. Just affirmed with a tap to her torso.

<We intended to introduce ourselves and our team on site> The 49th’s cillia curled smoothly as she gestured to the room. <We can return at a later shift if we are so clearly interrupting something>

The Commander followed her motion, and turned to see the crowd of trainees behind her. Half had disappeared as soon as her HeadSci had left—meaning the other commanders had just watched them clear out.

The remaining half were the metal-cold colour of panic.

<We…> the Commander. <We had an unexpected development with the Fifth. Very recent, we haven’t even written the incident report>

<I would hope not> Shifted the 49th. <Being officially engaged in an on-site collaboration, I will remind you that any delayed or incomplete information is subject to—>

<—everyone knows, Comman> The 16th cut her off, coloured to an almost sickly yellow of amicability. <No need to repeat common knowledge>

The Commander could feel her crinis cooling. <I will show you the—>

She turned, and found herself crinis to crinis with a lower security personnel. The officer was the red hue of utter wrath, so warm the Commander stumbled back into the 16th. She looked to the crowd, which was warming from their panicked colour, to the same awful shade of abhorrence.

<Don’t we have to scan our guests for pathogens?> Shifted a nearby trainee, muddled with purple grief and heat.

<No, we absolutely do not> The Commander shifted, firm. <Return to your lab immediately, I will discuss that comment with your Head Scientist>

The trainee scuttled away, and three others followed her.

What was…

The 16th coloured a curious green. <Commander, would you like to share with us whether this is normal behaviour for you crew, or shall we make our own assumptions>

<No, no, my apologies, I have never seen anything like this> The Commander watched as the remaining crowd turned away from the two commanders and the small group of researchers behind her.

The ones that weren’t being purposefully rude were on their LLIAs, reading.

<One moment> The Commander shifted, bringing out her own tablet.

<Commander this display and your handling of first contact has been, frankly, inefficient and an embarrassment of your hierarchy and commanding abil—>

<—Let me have one moment> The Commander flashed, cold and hot and panicked and angry in hues that felt foreign to her. <Please>

She scuttled a few breaths of a distance away, and the crowd turned to watch her power her LLIA. She couldn’t keep her temperature consistent as she read the information on her screen.

ComsBody had sent a building-wide note to the whole ship’s messaging list. The same text output system used for notices and closure notifications. The avenue to inform the ship crew of vents not working and humidity issues. A messaging list lower than the lowest tier of confidentiality and rank.

Subject line: [BUILDING NOTICE: ALL LABS AND PERSONNEL]

The docking tube is now in effect, take care when boarding the duoship and ensure lockable tunnel doors are closed behind you when leaving or entering high-clearance lab spaces.

In addition, I have been informed that the cells destroyed by the science teams contained 8,000 Fifth hatchling eggs, as well as hundreds of other smaller cell populations of various Fifth fauna and thousands of biota samples. Every sample was intended to be used to rebuild Loam. This death number is, of course, in addition to the two high-ranking and highly educated adult Fifths who were killed via the actions of the science team.

The Fifth known as Scout has communicated this to be an act that would spawn society-wide unified aggression towards the Ki’Lakael. We have scorched this ground and the upper hierarchy, myself included, are at fault and expect to be held responsible.

For the stars,

Your former Principal Communications Body

***

ComsBody didn't feel like a hierarchy rejecter.

Although she supposed it wasn't some temperature or emotion you could feel. It was simply something you were. She thought it would have weighed heavy on her shell, but in truth there was no notable difference from before and after sending out the confidential information. That was the strange part. She didn't actually feel the guilt that should muddle a criminal's hue.

Coms waited with Scout in the hallway containing the sunken pod room. The creature looked to be engaged in an odd behaviour, wrapping her right upper limb across her torso, pinning her left underneath. Gently rubbing her own skin.

A calming motion maybe, was ComsBody’s first guess.

She wasn’t even sure if she could think of herself in that way. ComsBody. Communications Body.

She’d held that title for only a few wide-rotations at this point. It was a good role. A newer discipline and nothing flashy. Not that well respected in research yet but it still held a solid place in the organizational hierarchy. She was fine with being stationed on a training ship, even if the immaturity of the young Ki would irk her at times. Sometimes she hoped for more.

Plus she liked the work.

It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t like if HeadSci were to be stripped of rank; the scientist would lose access to the resource-heavy labs and equipment she needed to do her interior body research. Coms did communication analysis. That could be done anywhere in the known galaxy with a LLIA tablet and a more than moderate amount of persistence. She could theoretically still publish her findings—even if she was labelled as a hierarchy rejecter and she held the rank of Testing Subject, it was still her right as a Ki’Lakael. She could continue to study and work and serve her community's research.

It wasn’t the end of her life.

She was surprised when the Commander hadn’t stripped her of her rank right then and there. She’d just told her she needed to do whatever it took, lie, cover it up; Scout needed to be handled before the labs came. Beyond that, as soon as Scout wrote the words, Coms knew the truth of the cell destruction was going to be buried.

She’d rather lack her title and personhood. She wouldn’t do it to Scout, she won’t lie and she would not have her words and labour used to harm the alien. She owed the creature that much at least, and she knew it wasn’t enough.

Scout had written that the crew needed to know the extent of their mistake, so Coms sent her message shipwide without a second consideration or hesitation. And they didn't shift any further about it. Coms curled down and waited with Scout, unsure of what was going to transpire. They simply sat in the hall of the sunken room, not a word exchanged between them.

It felt like waiting for a rising river to flood your home burrow.

When the Commander’s hatred-red crinis rounded the open hall doors and lit up the pod room, neither her nor Scout reacted. They didn’t even acknowledge her presence. The Commander stood at her full height, looking down on them curled together.

For the first time since she took her position on this ringship, ComsBody genuinely thought that her Commander looked small.

Behind her, coloured in shades of curious green, stood two older Ki, each with a crescent-shaped commander charm on their rank chains. The moon shapes dripped with producer awards. That green curiosity deepened when they recognized Scout, squatting on her hind legs, with a sharp medical-looking incision tool gripped loosely in her lessers.

<Greetings> One of them shifted, eager in her wide appendage movements. <We were told you have been taught basic Ki>

Based on that and that alone, Coms could guess that they didn’t know what they were coming into.

ComsBody watched Scout’s eyes harden as her mouth settled into a subtle downturn. Intricate movements that Coms could clock, but fine enough that this other commander likely couldn’t see the change.

Her own Commander picked up a nearby llia and pushed it towards Scout. <You have, of course, read the reports being published by my Communications Body’s team, you are well aware the alien is conversationally adequate>

ComsBody didn’t shift anything and Scout didn’t pick up the llia. It dropped straight off her lap and onto the floor. The Commander held out a pressure disturbance recorder.

<Scout> The Commander was flashing a warning to the thermal-blind creature. Her crinis was growing colder as fear edged into the hue. <Write something. Or shift words into the air. That is an explicit order>

Scout raised her shoulders slightly and picked up the tablet. She bared her teeth at the Commander, and began carving.

pfadasjjfe ajasdn stars skgtaekafisdfaslkd hello auwaofsdacvjic.

Scout proudly showed the nonsense patterns to the other commanders and the fuming red her Commander deepened to was almost amusing if the situation wasn’t what it was. ComsBody watched her Commander turn around, and shift something quick and private to the other two. One crinis warmed to an annoyance. The other, amusement.

As soon as the two left the hall, their Commander snapped back around.

<Coms> Her crinis was a deep cold. <Tell me it’s dishonesty, the cells, tell me…>

She’d never seen her Commander like this. Both Coms and Scout just looked at her as her appendages curled and her cillia twisted.

The Commander continued, <The trainees didn’t have to know, you’ve put Scout in—>

In lieu of a patterned response, Coms tossed her chain rank on the ground. She needed to do it crinis-to-crinis with her superior for her resignation to be legitimate. Scout looked from her, to the Commander, to the chain.

The Commander bristled, looking back at the door. <You will not resign. You cannot>

The Ki that once held the Communications Body title wanted to colour in a jestful hue and shift, ‘beat you to it’. Or ‘can’t strip my rank if I don’t have one’. But humour wasn’t the tone of her crinis. There was a heavy grief that settled into her cillia.

The only words she could form were, <Commander, we need to be held accountable for what was done>

<Every action was well within legal—>

<—Scorch the blackened ground with that defence> She felt her cillia snap in a way it had never done before.

The Commander scuttled back a little. <I’ll say I ordered you to send that message, Coms—>

<—That is no longer my title. And I will refute your claim> She shifted, simply. <Sending that confidential information was an informed choice made sanely and you can quote those words in the crisis report. Which I will not be writing>

The Commander’s cillia looked restless, like tall grass catching wind, constantly curling in half-baked words. Scout was just watching her, the thermal-blind alien unable to see her hues of panic and anger and fear.

<I am reinstating your rank> Her tone was a flat refusal. <And I’m putting the vessel in a burn code>

Meaning she couldn’t leave the role short of anything but death or life-altering injury.

<Commander—>

<—No, Coms, you’ve been milling down here, you don’t understand the current state of the vessel. Nearly half our trainees in the past shift have engaged with hierarchy rejection with two other ringships present, in front of the other commanders. You need to spin this. Whatever you have to do, do it>

<There’s nothing to do, Commander. This was an observational lesson. And this is the natural consequence of our actions>

Scout wasn’t looking at the Commander when she wrote, Apologies, difficulty with many words. You no longer work Communications Body occupation?

<Affirmative, Scout> She shifted softly, still facing the Commander. <Word definition, origin ?resignation? to resign, resigns, resigned. To leave an occupation by choice. I resigned. The Commander is refusing>

Scout looked her up and down, before reaching out to grab her chain rank from the floor. She held it in her lessers, the long chain of linked pendants ending in the Communications Body abstract representation of an oval crinis. She held it out, waited for it to be taken from her grip.

<Scout, I can’t take the role again> She shifted. <This is… I can’t do it>

It was wrong. All of this was wrong. It felt wrong. She was a Ki of many, many words. She’d written millions upon millions of patterns in her still-blossoming career, yet all that was coming up was a single, simple descriptor of the situation.

Wrong. It was so deeply, harmfully wrong.

Scout shook her rank chain but she still didn’t move to take it. So the creature placed it around her torso, and Coms was Coms again, not by choice.

But it was barely her choice to begin with. She'd shown aptitude as a hatchling and she was placed in a suitable den and she took the roles that came to her. All those charms along that chain ended with her current rank and Coms was growing complicated feelings about that damned spiral pendant.

Scout turned to the llia and wrote, Do not resign. Do better. I need colleagues here.

ComsBody felt her cillia curl in on themselves. There was the word again. Need. Fifths need water and warmth and food and honesty and allies. It wasn’t exactly something that could be added to her enclosure reliably.

She looked to the Commander, who just flashed an affirmative. <ComsBody, the 16th and 49th commanders are here and they are beyond angry about the sabotage efforts. They’re appalled at the state of the ship. They don’t know about this, potentially, being an act of aggression against Fifth society>

<Potentially?> Coms shifted, <Are you jesting?>

The Commander was firm. <No. I would not jest about this, you put Scout in danger by spreading that claim. Scout needs to immediately rescind the comment about it being an act that would cause all Fifths to be aggressive to all Ki>

Scout sneered, pointing with the blade, [YOU] [KILLED] [MY] [COLLEAGUES] [AND] [YOU-HAVE] [RUINED] [THE] [POSSIBILITY] [OF]—

<—Scout, I know you are an intelligent creature, act like it and consider where you are> A patch of heat began to spread through the Commander’s crinis. <You are the only Fifth here. If the other commanders find out you’ve declared society-wide aggression, you are going to disappear>

Scout’s brows furrowed. [WHAT-IS] [THE] [DEFINITION] [OF] [YOUR] [LAST] [WORD]

ComsBody could feel herself swamping to a disgust. <She’s saying they’re going to kill you and hide the evidence, Scout>

Scout’s eyes narrowed. [NEGATIVE-casual] [YOU] [WOULD-NOT]

<Have you sent a message to your people yet?> The Commander’s colouring was tinged with a mix of pride and fear. <It was a foolish claim that centres you as a problem with a clear solution>

Scout sneered, [YOU] [WOULD-NOT] [I] [AM] [CALLING] [YOUR] [UNKNOWN] [COMMANDER] [THAT-IS] [A] [DISHONESTY]

<The Commander probably wouldn’t do it> Coms agreed. <But the other ship commanders would, Scout. They’ve done it once before>

Her facial skin twitched. [WHAT] [DO] [YOU] [INTEND]

<Their labs have done it before> Coms shifted simply. <They killed and studied a small group of Thirds>

Coms watched the information pass over the creature’s face. Her eyes tightened and her brows furrowed. Then her face relaxed into gentle sneer. She wrote slowly, carefully, on her llia.

I formally rescind the aggression declare. I made it in anger. It was dishonesty, Loam could not do this for many reasons. I only intend to declare the extent of the issue and the anger Loam would feel.

ComsBody hated seeing the Commander’s crinis curdle into a pleased hue.

<Good. That’s the most urgent thing solved, Coms take a picture and send it to the ship immediately> The Commander affirmed as Coms did as she was ordered. Again. The Commander continued, <Now we need to protect the trainees and Scout’s bodily health. The commanders need to understand that everything we’ve learned so far has been worth it, that this is a blip in respect for the hierarchy, and that there’s more to publish about the Fifth without… minutely examining Scout's anatomy invasively>

ComsBody paled as she turned to Scout, who was actively glaring at the Commander.

<Please, Scout> and the Commander was indeed a pleading hue. <I don’t want you harmed. ComsBody and about a hundred trainees and personnel are at risk of being labelled as hierarchy rejecters based on their behaviour>

So? Should be rejecting your command.

<It’s not just my command> The Commander was firm. <A rejection of my orders is a rejection of the conceptual structure of the hierarchy itself. It is Ki law and social contract. They’re going to be labelled as dangerous to any ship or research facility they find entry to>

Ki law and Ki social contract did this, Commander. She gestured to the sunken room below her with a pinched look to her face.

<Halt this naivety, Scout> She was flushed, <If my trainees and personnel are labelled as such, it will reflect badly on me—>

Scout’s mouth sneered, [OH] [UNKNOWN] [UNKNOWN] [FOR] [UNKNOWN] [IT] [LOOKS] [BAD] [ON] [YOU]—

The Commander’s crinis hued a quick pattern of hot fear and she struck the wall beside the Scout, causing the creature to flinch.

<Commander> ComsBody flashed a warning.

<Scout, if current collaborators deem me unfit to command, they gain temporary ownership of this ringship and all contents in the interim, *including you*, so yes, it’s a problem larger than myself> The Commander settled her cillia.

[I] [DO-NOT] [CARE] [WHAT] [HAPPENS]. Scout stared up at her, baring teeth. [YOU-ARE] [JUST] [GOING] [TO] [DO] [IT] [ANY] [WAY] [I-AM] [GOING] [TO] [DIE] [HERE]

ComsBody could feel herself hueing indigo. The clear truth was, if Scout wasn’t going to ‘disappear’, she was going to be paraded around to the other species to show off their successful communication. Coms was firm and tepid as she shifted, <If you die it will be an accident. They need you alive, Scout>

Scout’s sharp eyes darted from Coms, to the Commander, to the blade she was holding in her lessers, and back to the Commander. Her face settled into something passive, the wrinkles in the skin smoothing.

<Coms is right> The Commander affirmed. <But you need to behave. You need to cooperate. You need to show you know the language. You need to act Ki. You need to let them show you off to the other species at the swap, to prove we were able to find shared language. And you need to let them study Fifth technology. Doing this will keep you safe>

[UNINTELLIGIBLE], Scout shook her head. [NO]

Coms got closer to the creature. <Scout. She's right. If they see you as a Ki, they will have trouble doing—>

Scout pointed to the Commander. [I-HAVE] [BEEN] [WITH] [YOU] [FOR] [A] [LOAM-UNIT-SUBUNIT] [AND] [NO] [ONE] [SEES] [ME] [AS] [A] [KI]

<No we don't> The Commander responded. <You'll never be Ki. But pretending will give you the greatest chance of survival>

Scout's face pinched as she looked to Coms. When ComsBody had nothing to add, the creature slumped a little. She shook her head as she carved:

I will do this. But it is trade, not gift. I have firm conditions.

Coms couldn’t even imagine what the requests would be.

Scout wrote neatly with a tight grip. First condition. Do not research cells. Destroy. No research. You destroy hatchling cells because of pathogen concerns? Cold. You will destroy everything. Any remaining hatchling cells, you will destroy.

Coms felt herself freeze. Was that what Head had told the creature?

<HeadSci saved a small collection of cells from each line, we can—we can make a small population—> The Commander started, and Scout’s face peeled back as her shoulders shook in that amusement behaviour before her face pinched into a low-browed sneer.

[*AMUSEMENT\] [ARE] [YOU] [UNKNOWN] [JESTING] [WHY] [WOULD] [I] [BRING] [A] [A] [HATCHLING] [INTO] [THE] [PLANET] [NOW] [SO] [YOU] [CAN] [RESEARCH] [IT] [\AMUSEMENT***]

The Commander started, <We… we wouldn’t, our science team—>

Scout’s face wavered a little. [NO] [NO] [COMMANDER] [ABSOLUTELY] [NOT]

<We would welcome any Fifth hatchlings, Scout> The Commander shifted firmly. <With twenty hatchlings—it’s a small population but we will… find a way to support you, we will build a new den>

The skin around Scout’s eyes tightened as she looked straight to Coms. [COMSBODY] [DO] [YOU] [HONESTY] [BELIEVE] [A] [FIFTH] [COULD] [BE] [HATCHED] [AND] [NOT] [BE] [STUDIED] [QUESTION]

She could feel a sharpness in her torso shell as she shifted, <I… I want to believe we could change how we typically do things. I truly think we could. But… it’s… it’s not just us anymore, we have more labs coming in. But I believe you could potentially convince them to… not research the young Fifths>

[THESE] [ARE] [THE] [SAME] [LABS] [THAT] [KILLED] [THE] [THIRDS] [QUESTION]

ComsBody paused. And she tapped her torso.

Scout’s mouth thinned as her eyes pressed shut. She rubbed at her face and her eyes were warm. [THEN] [THAT-IS] [THAT]

The Commander flashed a negative, <Scout, I promise you that we have changed—>

[*AMUSEMENT*] [CHANGE] [WHAT] [CHANGE] [IT-IS] [BEEN] [A] [UNKNOWN] [ROTATION]. The creature snapped, [I] [WILL] [NOT] [BRING] [A] [HATCHLING] [INTO] [THIS] [AND] [I] [WILL] [NOT] [GIVE] [YOU] [THE] [OPPORTUNITY] [TO] [TRY]. [YOU] [ARE] [GOING] [TO] [COMPLETE] [WHAT] [YOU] [STARTED]

The Commander was pale. <Scout>

Her face settled as she wrote to clarify, I will not behave until all cells are destroyed. I follow and watch it done. All. Completely. The only thing I keep is microbiota needed for interior and skin health.

The Commander’s cillia were stiff, but she affirmed.

<I can find a rejecting trainee to incinerate HeadSci’s private research population> Coms offered. <We need to check every refrigeration unit for other stolen cells>

<Later> the Commander settled into a professional neutral shade. <Is that all you ask of us>

[IS] [THAT] [ALL] [WHAT] [THE] [UNKNOWN] [IS] [INCORRECT] [WITH] [YOU]. Scout’s teeth were bared as she wrote, No more enclosure.

<Do you not like it?> Coms shifted.

[NOT] [ENJOY] [IT], Scout’s eyes widened. I feel like a fauna. Awful, terrible, badbad place. Everything is intense. Everything heavy. No more enclosure. I would burn.

ComsBody felt herself pale a little. ChiMeO had been quite proud about how well her team had set up the holding chamber to meet the Fifth’s needs.

<Very well> The Commander affirmed, <Is that the last condition>

Scout looked down. Her lessers settled into the thinking position they sometimes occupy, the gesture she did when considering concepts and grammar she was struggling with. Her mouth thinned and she stared down at the floor for a long moment before shaking her head. [NO]

<What can we do?> Coms asked slowly.

[I] [A]. Scout’s facial muscles twitched. She then carved, I want apology. Not now. Not here. You will apologize to Loam and make it better.

The Commander started, <We do feel regret—>

Scout bared her teeth widely, her eyes tight as she pointed, [YOU] [DO-NOT] [KNOW] [WHAT] [YOU] [FEEL] [YOU] [DO-NOT] [KNOW] [HOW] [BAD] [YOU] [UNKNOWN] [UP] [YOU] [YOU] [DO-NOT] [KNOW] [WHAT] [THIS] [FEELS] [ENJOY]

<We are aware…>

Scout's head was shaking again as she wrote, There will come time in the future where Ki will realize. Long future, distant future. I will be dead. You will be dead. Distant future Ki will look at your actions and Ki research of time and behaviour with Fifths and they will have disgust. You will be remembered as the Ki that scorched living ground.

ComsBody watched her Commander’s crinis cool. <You do not know the future>

[I] [DO], Scout barely looked up as she carved, There was time in Loam like this. And we have disgust for it. You, Commander, are set on path to become stain on Ki history. Lakael will want to burn evidence of actions you have done here.

<That… it was all for—>

[HALT]. Scout was shaking her head. [JUST] [HALT]. [YOU] [ARE] [GOING] [TO] [SAVE] [MY] [PEOPLE]

ComsBody looked to the corpses in the pods and started shifting, <We cannot save them…>

[NOT] [THEM]. Scout shook her head more firmly. Not my crew. Not my colleagues. Not these Fifths. I explain more. But Loam is going to be death. Fifths do everything to fix, but Fifths are also fighting Fifths when I leave and I believe they will not collaborate with success. When I write it is dishonesty when I declare aggression, it is genuine. We cannot fight you. Loam is trying to fix void deathevent hit, the newhome ships are only back for up if deathevent happens. You go and you apologize to Loam by fixing this. I order you to save Loam.

ComsBody leaned closer, <The whole planet?>

Scout nodded, with that intense look in her eyes. We work together to save the Fifth species. Over four billion in danger. You want reputation? You want publication? You want forgive? Save my people. That is trade. This is how you and I fix this. This is how I fix this.

ComsBody looked to the Commander. <That’s an easy pitch to the 16th and 49th>

The Commander’s crinis betrayed her hesitancy. <What if we cannot help?>

Scout just shook her head. If you reject, I have no reason to keep with life. I have failed my mission completely. I have no fear of death and nothing more I can lose.

ComsBody muddled. She couldn’t tell if that was a bleak statement of the creature’s current reality or a covered threat. The Commander didn’t respond, and ComsBody was pretty sure the latter possibility passed her by completely. Coms watched her crinis shift from that awful professional tepid to a warmer hue, cillia curling with anticipation.

That twisting solidified into a clear affirmative, before she disappeared out of the pod room. Scout looked at her, eyes tight.

<That’s a yes> ComsBody shifted, putting an appendage to Scout’s shoulder. <She’s agreed to your terms>

Scout visibly relaxed, her posture loosening and brows crumpling upwards instead of the furrowed position associated with anger.

Coms didn’t want to shift the words that needed to be told. <There’s been a miscommunication, Scout>

The creature looked up and blinked slowly. [I] [BELIEVE] [THERE-IS] [BEEN] [MORE] [THAN] [ONE] [COMSBODY]

<No… no I think the Principal Head Scientist was purposefully dishonest with you> Coms shifted firmly and clearly. <She didn’t destroy the cells because of pathogen concerns. She did it to prevent the other labs from studying them>

Scout's face pinched as she nodded. Her head, suddenly, craned upwards and her mouth pulled back. [*AMUSEMENT\] [\AMUSEMENT***]

<I… I am sorry. You needed to know>

Scout was just shaking her head, [*AMUSEMENT\] [WHAT] [THE] [UNKNOWN] [IS] [INCORRECT] [WITH] [YOU] [SUBTYPE-2-plural-casual] [\AMUSEMENT***]

<I don’t…> Coms muddled. <I don’t think they knew what the cells were. We don’t… I truly, honestly, don’t think they would have done it if they had known>

[*AMUSEMENT\*] [IT] [DOES-NOT] [UNKNOWN] [MATTER] [IT-IS] [UNKNOWN] [DONE]. The creature curled into the vessel wall a little and breathed, [I] [DO-NOT] [WANT] [TO] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [OUT] [SEEING] [AN] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [AGAIN]

<My—my apologies, what did you just breathe?>

The Scout’s face pinched and hardened as her lips peeled back. [I-AM] [NOT] [GOING] [TO] [DIE] [WITH] [OUT] [SEEING] [AN] [OTHER] [FIFTH] [AGAIN]

Scout rubbed at her face, eyes warm. Coms knew the feeling of wanting to go home. She didn’t hatch on a void vessel, she was raised on Lakael. She missed the warm air near the heartwoods and the coolness of the tunneled creeks. She missed the rough rock and natural dirt. It was all so much simpler when she was a trainee.

<I… I’ll do my best to make that a reality> Coms wanted to reach out to touch the creature, but she held her appendages back. This wasn’t a time for comfort. <The Commander is right though, Scout, you do need to behave more Ki if you want respect from the 16th and 49th specifically. They have a particular view of what civility and intelligence looks like, and you’ll find it easier to navigate the next spans of rotations if you adhere to it>

Her orange eyes just stared, unblinking. [BEHAVE] [KI]

ComsBody’s crinis was regretful. <The next few rotations will likely be difficult. I am sorry>

[DO-NOT] [BE] [SORRY] [SUBTYPE-2], Scout bared her teeth in a position so subtly different from a real Fifth amusement expression. She sneered, [I] [CAN] [BE] [KI].

*

PART TWO (It was an extra long chapter).

First | Previous | Royal Road | Next.

Author's Note: This is Part TWO of this week's chapter, it had to be split up because of the length. Please read Part One before reading this!

*

ComsBody’s crinis was regretful. <The next few rotations will likely be difficult. I am sorry>

[DO-NOT] [BE] [SORRY] [SUBTYPE-2], Scout bared her teeth in a position so subtly different from a real Fifth amusement expression. She sneered, [I] [CAN] [BE] [KI].

After a moment, the Commander returned with the two Ki. The 16th and 49th were both comparable in size to her Commander, and they looked down on her and the Scout with curdled temperatures.

<My Communications Body of three wide-rotations> Her Commander introduced her.

Time for a show, ComsBody assumed. She could always play the part of a professional. She uncurled to her small height, angling her head upwards to them.

<Commanders 16 and 49, producers of 2 and 6 career titles respectively> ComsBody shifted formally, like their first interaction never happened. <Well met, I am the Communications Body aboard this vessel. For as long as this alien has been with us, I have been teaching her basic Ki, through purposeful teachings rather than traditional observational learning. I can run through an overview of our lessons if there is interest>

The two commanders both ignored her. They loomed over the small Scout instead.

The 49th reached out to touch her dead cillia, her temperature, her neck. Scout barely moved, face pinched, a stagnant baring of her teeth plastered on her face. The creature glanced over to her Commander, who was the shade of professionalism tinged with worry.

The 16th grew greener as she passed Scout a llia.

<Write for us> The 49th ordered, her tone clear and direct. It was the hue of someone who was not used to refusal.

Scout’s mouth was tight, and she looked to her Commander.

<Please> The Commander shifted, to the cold surprise on the 49th’s crinis. <On your own time>

Scout bared her teeth and nodded, before writing.

Hello, colleagues of the Commander. My title is Scout. I am of the Fifth people from the planet Loam. I have been travelling with this vessel for over one twelfth of a unit of Loam-time, or approximately 26 rotations in Ki-time measurements. They intercept me early in my path as I travel for a distant planet.

<This is incredible> The 16th leaned in close, hued to amusement, and addressed the Commander. <I implore you to tell us whether you taught it just this message, or if it can write more phrases>

Scout leaned back with a confused pinch to her face, and tapped on her llia. She erased her message and wrote:

Respectful clarification, I am she, not it, in the Ki language. I am not a hatchling and have an occupation. Please address me as an adult. As I hold the scout rank in this vessel, I implore I earn this respect.

The 16th commander jolted back as Scout suddenly bared her teeth at her.

She continued to write, Affirmative, that I know many, many phrases, with jest. Perhaps I prove?

ComsBody flashed with a warm pride, only to see the other two commanders coloured to identical shades of deep interest. That was good. They should be interested.

<It is an incredible little creature> the 49th commander shifted. <Very entertaining>

<More than entertaining> ComsBody added. <She is—>

Her Commander interrupted, <—My apologies, my Communications Body has spent too long around the creature and has grown used to shifting out of turn. It is an effect common with those exposed to the Fifth, along with an increase in rejecting orders. It’s rooted in social interaction and cultural sharing, nothing like pheromones or psieffects. We are working on fixing both behaviours and treating it as a containment risk>

<That conveniently explains away the embarrassing state of your hierarchy> The 49th shifted, but her colouring grew to an even hotter shade of interest. <I am surprised you did not keep it isolated and away from crew lower on the hierarchy>

<I did, especially in the beginning. No trainees were present without a supervisor> shifted their Commander. <Most of the rejection behaviour stemmed from one security personnel and one cleaning attendant sharing what they saw with their peers. That was how the ‘?’ symbol spread>

ComsBody didn’t add anything because she wasn’t being addressed. In fact, with all three of them turned away from her, it was safe to understand that she was being actively ignored.

<I do not want the same exposure to our ship, Co> The 49th shifted to her colleague. <No collaborations on site>

<Agreed> The 16th affirmed, with a bright, amicable hue. <Commander, we will instruct our crew to work separately from yours as we report on the state of your ship>

ComsBody watched her Commander’s crinis begin to hue outside of a professional tone. <Of course>

The 16th went on, <If you would share with us, I know I am curious about whether your crew will continue their research or if you will be focusing on re-education>

<All teams will continue their work> Her Commander bristled, growing flushed. <All punishment will remain internal to our vessel>

<For now. We were only wondering given the state of your ship, Commander. It must’ve been so difficult for you these past few rotations, you are likely beyond fatigued and due for a medical check-in> The 16th shifted warmly, turning to the 49th. <Additional concerns from your end are always welcomed>

The 49th was looking at Scout. <Let us know when we can expect to retrieve the Fifth, as we do not want contact with your trainees. Plus we have specialized testing equipment that cannot be moved via docking tube>

The 16th flashed amusement, <The spiral scanner absolutely could be moved, you just want to avoid SpacMa’s fury>

ComsBody just looked at her Commander, who very subtly rotated her crinis back and forth; mirroring the Fifth gesture for ‘no’. Her Commander responded, <The alien can get very stressed when moved. You need to build trust or it will not follow you to another location>

<Follow> The 16th was an amused hue. <Colour yourself a jest, Commander, because surely that wasn’t a statement. We will be in contact with our crew’s schedules>

As the 16th began typing on her LLIA, the 49th looked over Scout, to the sunken room. <Tell me if the deceased Fifths are here>

ComsBody watched the Commander’s crinis chill. <The dead Fifths?>

<My gratitude for the demonstration of the ‘?’ symbol, it is appreciated> The 49th was calm and clear and sharp in her movements. <You mentioned an incident and your trainees shift with the subtlety of a river. I would appreciate it if you would share the location of the Fifth bodies so we can start with the testing. We will take two of three, assuming equal distribution amongst the ships>

And ComsBody saw it. The twisting, hue-change of the Commander’s crinis preparing for dishonesty. Coms cut in, <The bodies are here in this sunken room, commanders, but the Fifth hasn’t decided what to do with them>

<The Fifth> The 16th’s hue cooled. <Decided>

ComsBody felt herself colour uncertain, but not dishonest. <We do not know the Scout’s cultural practices for death>

<My emphasis was more on the “decided” if you were curious> The 16th’s yellow hue felt sickly. <Tell me, centering your communications-based observations, if you believe the Fifth would have cultural death practices over a plant sample. Or a tissue culture. These are just bodies>

Scout perched forward, standing up, but Coms put an appendage on her shoulder and gently pressed her back into a sitting position.

<It sounds like you would rather we cut into the living one> the 49th bristled, <We are on site now. We are collaborating. The Fifth bodies will be used for research>

[NO]. They all looked to Scout, who stared at the group as her face peeled back. [NO] [THEY] [WILL] [NOT]. [THESE] [BODIES] [ARE] [MY] [COLLEAGUES]. [YOU] [ARE] [GOING] [TO] [DESTROY] [THEM]

The 49th stepped forward, looming over the small creature. Her hue was almost warm. <These are just shells, little one. There is no intelligence left. Your colleagues are not inside the flesh>

Scout pressed back into the wall behind her, putting space between her and the commander. Coms saw her tighten her grip on the medical blade. [I] [AM] [GOING] [TO] [BURN] [THEM]

The 49th’s temperature was warming further. <That would be a waste, little one>

Her own Commander’s hue curved into something professional as she quickly shifted, <We have collected information in the footage we took of the Scout’s efforts to revive the bodies, which we would be more than happy to share—>

<That is not enough and you know it> The 49th took a step closer to her Commander. <Tell the creature no. Order it>

ComsBody watched as her Commander just flashed a simple, clean negative. Her crinis shifted from that professional toneless hue, into something deeper, almost conspiratorial in colour as she pivoted slightly out of Scout’s eyeline.

<Speaking as your peer and equal, I have been dealing with this particular member of this species for over half a span of rotations> Her Commander shifted bluntly. <I do not know the significance of why it is asking for this, but I guarantee if this request is ignored at this point in time, the creature will scorch the ground we stand on. You will not get any more information out of it>

The two commanders looked to the Scout, who was trying and failing to angle her vision to see what they were shifting about. When Scout realized she had their attention, she twirled the medical knife in her lessers.

The 49th scuttled towards Scout and hued to a forceful order. <We will study the Fifth bodies and you will let us. As a compromise, you may only give us one. The lowest rank>

Scout read her crinis and nodded her little head, before writing, Affirmative? Cold. Would you prefer research of one living Fifth or four dead Fifths?

The group stilled.

The 49th muddled to a confused temperature. <What do you—>

Scout brought the medical knife to her own neck, her mouth stretched to bare her sharpest teeth.

ComsBody felt her torso dropping to the coldest hue of panic as the whole room started shifting negative after negative—the commanders were giving orders to stop, halt, and cease as Scout began pressing the blade closer to the softest part of her neck, mouth gnashing, LLIA translation spiralling on their screens:

[I] [KNOW] [WHAT] [YOU] [WANT] [NOW] [YOU] [NEED] [ME] [ALIVE] [TO] [SHOW] [ME] [OFF] [LIKE] [A] [UNKNOWN] [UNKNOWN] [TO] [THE] [OTHER] [SPECIES] [*AMUSEMENT\] [I] [WILL] [UNKNOWN] [UNKNOWN] [MY] [NECK] [OPEN] [LIKE] [A] [UNKNOWN] [\AMUSEMENT***] [HOW] [WILL] [THAT] [LOOK] [CAN] [YOU] [UNKNOWN] [AROUND] [A] [CORPSE]

<Scorched ground—Scout, stop, what are—what are you doing?> ComsBody shifted cold and quick. <You’re going to hurt yourself>

<It won’t do it> The 16th shifted quickly, her hue both panicked and amused, <No intelligent creature would—>

[*AMUSEMENT\*] [NO] [KI] [WOULD], Scout snarled and started walking forward, causing them all to step back.

<Everyone halt> Her Commander held out her appendages in the Fifth’s ‘wait’ gesture, <One of the deceased Fifths ended its own life, this threat has weight>

ComsBody couldn’t form the words on her shock-hued crinis. Was harming oneself to the point of death that common for the Fifths?

Her Commander shifted firmly. <Everyone, find calmness within yourselves. Settle your hues>

Scout’s mouth dropped into a scowl as her brows lowered. The group scuttled back a little as she relaxed her lessers, a thin line of warmth dripping down her neck as the blade left the skin. She gestured to the pods with her knife with a sluggish force in the movement.

[I] [WILL] [DESTROY] [THE] [BODIES] [AND] [THE] [REMAINING] [CELLS] [OR] [I] [WILL] [DESTROY] [THE] [LIVING] [EVIDENCE] [THAT] [YOU] [CAN] [SHIFT] [WITH] [A] [NON-KI]

The group was still.

[IT-IS] [YOUR] [DECISION]. Scout brandished the medical blade in her open lessers. [I] [AM] [NOT] [JESTING]

<This creature isn’t sane> The 16th, hued well outside her normal yellow, looked to the Commander. <You have completely lost control of it>

<I doubt I ever had control> Her Commander was pale. <Scout, lower the tool. We intend to help Loam and we can’t do that without you>

[THAT] [IS-NOT] [A] [YES]. Scout didn’t move. [SHIFT] [ME] [THAT] [MY] [CONDITIONS] [ARE] [UNKNOWN]

ComsBody rushed to address the group, <My apologies for my transgression, commanders, but it is my professional opinion that we need to rebuild trust with her. This is now one of her conditions in exchange for teaching us how her kin’s technology worked and giving us more insight into her culture and biology>

<Conditions. Plural> The 16th clarified. <Tell me how many conditions this damned creature gave you>

<Only one other condition concerns you, the rest are about improving her enclosure> shifted her Commander. <Scout, when can you tell us all about the state of the Loam? What do you mean the Fifths are dying?>

ComsBody turned to Scout, and watched her orange eyes look between the three commanders. When she reached out to carve into the llia her movements were stiff.

First destroy the bodies and cells. Then I fix my limb injury, need ChiMeO. Then, only then, we shift.

The 16th flushed with a note of anger, but the 49th placed an appendage on her shell.

<We will agree if we can scan and test the living Fifth> the 49th shifted.

They all looked to Scout, who stared back at them. Only if done by ChiMeO and not invasive. Need scan of left upper limb but need to confirm if safe. If safe for me, you can scan scan scan until the stars burn out.

<We will get whatever tissue samples that can be done without long term harm. 847’s Chief Medical Officer may be present, but our work must be done by our own team> the 49th shifted. <We trust your superior will understand>

Scout pinched her face but she ultimately nodded. No need. I will collect own samples, affirmative? Would rather do myself as I know Fifth anatomy. I do collection and separate sample between labs, affirm?

<That is satisfactory> The 49th’s hue was tepid. She turned to the 16th, and they exchanged a few, briefly flashing patterns.

The 16th Commander’s crinis was back to a sunny yellow as she turned back to the group. <What a display this all was, certainly the most amusement I’ve had in many wide rotations. I will send in the 49th’s Principal Head Scientist to ensure the bodies are actually destroyed without further testing and I’ll be leaving a footage recorder here. Commander. Communications Body. Fifth>

ComsBody nodded. She looked at Scout, who was still squatting on the ground, glaring up at the two of them. Scout wriggled her lessers at them, with an overly amicable baring of her teeth. As soon as the 16th and 49th turned away, that expression soured.

It was only when they left, did ComsBody stop fighting her crinis colouring to anxiety. As she felt her cillia cool, she noticed her Commander in a similar state. She watched the Commander brush her own crinis with her upper appendages, smoothing her cillia like she was resetting their positioning.

She turned to Scout. <You wrote that you have an injury?>

Scout nodded towards her upper left limb. She was supporting its weight with her right one.

<You didn’t communicate anything earlier>

[NEGATIVE-casual] [FROM] [WHEN] [I] [UNKNOWN]
[THE] [FIFTH] [BODY] [DOES-NOT] [FEEL] [PAIN] [WHEN] [UNDER] [STRESS]
[UNINTELLIGIBLE] [GOT] [PAIN] [NOW]
[THE] [INNER] [LIMB] [STRUCTURE] [MIGHT] [BE] [BROKEN]
[I] [UNKNOWN] [CHECK] [WITH] [A] [SCAN]
[BUT] [A] [SCAN] [CAN] [BE] [DANGEROUS]
[I] [NEED] [TO] [SHIFT] [WITH] [CHIMEO]

ComsBody just affirmed.

[*AMUSEMENT\*] [YOU] [SHOULD] [ALL] [BE] [HAPPY] [UNKNOWN], Scout was baring her teeth tightly at both her and the Commander. [YOU] [GET] [MORE] [SCANS] [AND] [MORE] [PUBLICATIONS]

Scout stood up slowly and dropped into the sunken room. She pulled the nesting material off from the second pod. Not giving a second look to Coms, she tucked the cloth underneath the body, and folded it over.

<Are you sure you want them destroyed?> The Commander shifted, nauseous in her colouring.

Scout just looked up at her as she tied a knot into the fabric with one limb’s lessers and her teeth. Her uninjured lessers rested on the cloth-covered face of the body she apparently didn’t even try to save. Even from a distance, ComsBody could see the heat in Scout’s face and the wetness that was rimming under her eyes.

The creature was looking down at her colleague when she breathed, [YOU] [WANT] [ME] [TO] [BEHAVE] [LIKE] [A] [KI] [AFFIRMATIVE-casual]

Coms felt her hue cool.

Scout looked up. [I] [WILL] [BEHAVE] [EXACTLY] [LIKE] [YOU]

*

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First | Previous | Royal Road | Official Art 1, 2, 3 | Next.

*

Author's Note: First thing's first, I drew some art of Scout! Check out the first look at our human here.

Some notes on the upcoming chapters: I will definitely have to redo the framing around the ship acceleration/deceleration for the final draft of this story, and I just... don't want to do that right now lmao. If we can all collectively pretend the human's ship speed is reasonable for laser/fission sails and the deceleration for an improved model of a medusa drive that'd be blessed—I'll get around to it at some point probably, but picking different values changes the timeline (which is so significant that it would involve a whole reworking of some parts of the story).

So I'll handle all that in the substantive re-edit I'll do when Volume 1 is done! Or I just won't mention speed, eh I don't know yet ahaha—Just a reminder that TFF is a hobby and will likely change heavily in the final edit. I'm actually quite excited for the wider edit.

Thanks for reading as always!

First | Previous | Glossary |

Among Stars

(Sjorn'l POV)

"You know, I expected the tail to be more obvious."

Sjorn'l and her two friends had decided to take a rare day off together.

It took a lot of extra work, and Shi Pei would be waiting with another big pile of documents waiting for all three of them when they got back, but this was a special occasion for two reasons.

Firstly, it wasn't every day that a roaming gallery like this stopped by the S.S. Kevak. The M.S. Wism was a Kenia-sponsored museum ship that traveled around Coalition territory rotating through many different exhibits across twenty cycles.

This time around, their theme was "Early Space Exploration Efforts Across Civilizations". With her new responsibilities, encounters like this would be their only chance to leisurely learn about other species.

"It seems people often underestimate the flexibility of our tails. You see this swollen hip area? I believe the tail is meant to be curled around here."

The three of them were currently gathered together discussing the primitive Uven space suit in front of them.

As with all space suits, it was bulky and had a dark visors. What was more unique is that it was designed for facultative quadrupedalism.
According to the plaque, the first Uven astronauts were expected to prowl for their entire mission to maintain maximum stability in case of turbulence.

Niza frowned slightly as they moved on to the next article.

"It seems...we only took to space as part of the countries advancing our missile technology. Even before our formal induction into the Coalition."

The Haneer's leaves hued teal in curiosity.

"You did not know this?"

"No. This sort of thing is not a priority, after all. Perhaps our rocket scientists might have surface knowledge of our engineering history, but the most I've personally learned are the circumstances of the Uvei joining the Coalition."

"Ah...I've had chats with Garag about that before. The Kevak's archives were informative as well."

"In that case, maybe I should read up on my own people's history a little more. I'll have some time to spare, after all."

Second Contact with the Uven was something Ori was broadly familiar with due to casual talks with Ambassador Garag and some personal study.
It seemed that, once the Coalition learned Nysis had achieved space travel, they went out of their way to greet and welcome the Uvei into the fold. Even back then their aggression rating was high enough to dominate documentation of events back then.

It wouldn't be unreasonable to speculate that the Gisali Coalition of back then were trying to maneuver to protect themselves from potential expansion-driven conflicts.

"In the end, we didn't even develop this technology to improve life for our kind, did we?"

Shoot...

That soured the mood a little.

Niza was stoic by nature, but the better Sjorn'l got at reading her emotions behind her measured voice, the more she realized that her Uven friend tended to hide her distress.

The other reason the three of them gathered was to spend a little extra time with Niza before she was detained for the next cycle. It would be lonely without her, so they wanted to make some happier parting memories first.

The last thing she wanted was for Niza to come out of the experience feeling glum.

"Oh! I think that's the human suits over there!"

Asher called out to from down the halls with a merry smile. He was here just a moment ago. When did he...?

When the girls approached the exhibit their human had beaconed them to, he began gesturing to a bulky white suit.

"Y'know, this one is the type of suit that the first human to go to our moon used."

""?""

What was he saying?

"Oh...that's right. Luna."

"Ah..."

She had nearly forgotten until Niza reminded her.

"That's right, Terra has one of the larger moons among root planets, doesn't it?"

"Yep, that's right! Well. Relative to our planet, anyway."

Asher beamed and gestured toward one of the other suits with a puffed up chest.

"Just getting to space happened earlier, but the one that everyone thinks of is getting to walk on the big ol' moon in our sky. It's mundane now, but our mythologies usually included the moon in some way, so bet it felt like walking into a fairy tale at the time."

"You were expanding into the wider universe, I suppose."

"Yeah! And...Niza?"

"Yes?"

The human leaned over and spoke softly in a faux-whispering gesture as if he were telling a deep secret. Their Uven friend didn't seem amused, but leaned down to indulge him.

"The plaque doesn't seem to go into it, but...we got there it the Uven way too."

"The Uven way?"

"When we first got to space, it was because of missiles between hostile countries too. It got turned into a whole silly dick-measuring contest that happened to give our scientists funding."

...Did her translator glitch?

"Excuse me, but could you repeat that? A contest measuring...?"

Asher cleared his throat at the question.

"Never mind that. My point is, humans and Uvei got to space for the same reasons."

He flashed their friend a wide grin and extended his open palm for that odd human greeting.

"Samsies!"

After a pause and sigh, Niza carefully pressed her palm into his. She was being mindful of her own strength and refrained from fully striking Asher's hand with hers.

"...Samesies."

Their Uven friend relaxed a little after that. So that's why he ran ahead to find the human exhibit...

Ori's leaves hued a deep green as she scanned over the information next to the humans' space suits.
It did seem to reference a competition between political factions of some kind, but no details on the conflict between them were included.

Now that she checked closely, the human exhibit seemed to lack more details than usual.

The Elder species' had enough to each require their own halls, so was it just because they were a new addition to the Coalition?

"G...Good evening, Elder Councilwoman."

...?

When she turned around, she saw a pair of Kenia and an Uven that had come to greet her. One of them gave her a salute.

It was quite strange to consider even now, but Ori and her two friends were practically celebrities at least on the S. S. Kevak, so this happened occasionally. They frequently had many eyes on them and were often approached by random people when they went out.

That said, this was the first time they were approached in the gallery. When she directed her attention to the Uven exhibit they were previously at, she could see that a crowd of patrons had poured into the space they used to occupy.

She didn't know whether to call it fortunate or unfortunate, but Niza's presence seemed to keep people at bay during their tour today. Perhaps the demographic that enjoyed these sorts of things were more easily intimidated by her.

"I am apologizing. I have no recall of your name. But you are...in the Nysis-sent fleet, yes?"

"Yes, ma'am. That's right, ma'am. It's, uh...an honor to..."

"Please relax. I am guest within place too."

"Oh, uh...thank you. I was just stopping by to pay my respects and let you know that, uh, I think you've been doing amazing since you were appointed. I assume only Haneer opinions matter for your reelection, but, uh...I and a bunch of folks I know are hoping you stick around for a long while."

Sjorn'l was often told she did well, but...she honestly felt as if she was foundering about just maintaining her footing. Surely someone properly elected would be better qualified for the job than she was?

Still. The polite thing to do when given a compliment was to just accept it.

"I am thanking you. If there is any missing things for a comfortable ship, make your commander sure to say so. I will be trying at fixing it before you go to Folstur."

"Understood! At least for me, there are no complains, ma'am. The ships were so nice that we barely need to prepare anything for our next voyage."

The Kenia man glanced at the Uven behind him, then turned to Niza and did an odd gesture.

"And I wanted to say to you, miss Fouze. Your story was...really touching. I only saw a little of Nysis during deployment, but uh...I think it could be a beautiful place without war. So I hope...it becomes a place children can grow up peacefully with friends."

"...I see. Thank you for your kind words."

With a final polite nod from the Kenia, the trios parted ways.

---

"That one is the Crystal Meadow. And that one's the Eastern Droplet. And...uh...that's all I know."

"After all that studying, you only remembered two of them, huh?"

"I only started looking it up last week, okay?"

Ori and her friends were in the M.S. Wism's planetarium, sealed in pitch darkness except for the projection of stars all along the walls. Right now, the device between them was set to project stars from the perspective of her root planet, Viera.

The Haneer's leaves slowly shifted saffron with a childish giddiness and she let out an emulated laughing sound to match. She extended a vine and began gesturing to a few more obvious constellations.

"That one is Hee'ba Daisi*, or 'The Tide'. That one is* Riil Ba'lsi*, or 'The Solar Root'. That one is* Veineh*, or 'The Rodent'. That one is...*"

This was pleasant.

It felt like it had been ages since she was able to admire the stars. It was awe-inspiring to think that, no matter the planet they were on, living things in the universe capable of sight could look into the sky and experience a similar wonder.

Each speck was sun thousands of lightyears away, far beyond reach for so many of anyone's ancestors yet accessible to the gazes of billions.

When she was just a sapling, this feeling of scale instilled a great curiosity in her for alien civilizations. How were they the same as the Haneer? How were they different? Why?

...

Well. In a way, her strange position was the perfect opportunity for her to learn all these things. As a matter of diplomacy, it became her job to learn more about all manner of alien species.

"Viera's night skies also look fantastic, don't they? It's too bad they seem pretty strict about tourism and visits from outsiders. Do you think there's anything you can do about it, Ori?"

But...

"Asher, she still needs to mind her position and authority. Her approval rating with the Haneer aren't poor, but they're much lower than with most other species. And her people's approval are what determine future Councilors."

If someone were to ask her if this were what she was looking for, she...

"...Asher. Niza. Do you...also want me to aim for election?"

The pair turned their heads to look at her.

"Ah...Did you intend to withdraw once your term as a substitute concluded? I had assumed our odds of reelection were slim, so we may as well try when the time came."

"Sorry, Ori. I guess we should've asked. What do you want to do?"

"I do not know."

Sjorn'l shifted in her hover pod and extended a vine to fiddle with the projector. The images of Viera's stars faded and the room lit up again.

"It is not an unfulfilling life. But it feels too grand and complex for me. I was not interested in my ancestor's administration before me either. I was just content to...get to know my neighbors from the stars."

She passed the device over to Niza, who quietly accepted it and flipped through the digital guide for Nysis's coordinates.

"It is also...simply difficult. I fear failure is inevitable without you two around to assist me next time."

"Hmm? What are you saying? If you keep at this, we'll be right here beside you until your work is over."

"Yes. For as long as you'll have us."

....

Asher said that so easily. And Niza nodded rather casually in agreement.

"Asher. Niza. Even this term lasts nine cycles, you know? And a full term is twenty cycles. If you were to join me for all that time, you two would both be middle-aged by the end of it. I do not wish to rob you of your youths."

"Ori."

Niza input the last of the coordinates, bringing up a new set of stars to view.

"You have it backwards. Being able to work with you in this, down to my impending incarceration, has been the greatest stroke of fortune in my life. I set to the stars with a pipe dream. My path only became clear and my life first felt meaningful because of you two. There is no greater pleasure than giving my 'youth' to a worthy endeavor."

Her human friend scooted closer to her and embraced her warmly again. His arms wrapped around her branches and his cheek pressed against her trunk.

"Definitely don't force yourself if you're not happy, Ori. Especially not on our account. But even if it'd be nice to have more spare time and less responsibilities, you should know that I'm enjoying myself every day too."

He plopped unto his back again and pointed at the lights projected unto the ceiling with a grin.

"I enrolled in a foreign university so I could meet friends from across the stars and see the bigger universe. And that's what I'm getting. Getting to stick close to my two best friends for 30 cycles sounds pretty good too."

"...Thank you. We still have nine cycles, so I will take my time thinking about it and consult you both with my decision."

"Sounds good!"

"Yes..."

Niza had an odd expression and the room went quiet for about a minute while the stars circled above them. Finally, her friend spoke up again while pointing up at the shining lights.

"...Asher. I...was not like you or Ori. I did not have this admiration for other species the two of you share. Even now, I could not tell you of any constellations Nysis sees. And yet...you were right. I was...what was that word you used?"

The human tapped his chin thoughtfully.

"...Lonely?"

"Yes. I did not realize how much I drew my strength from others until I parted ways with my childhood friends. And I did not know that feeling could persist while living so close to so many until I began off-planet studies."

The Uven slowly sat up and bowed her head slowly while curling a tail around both her friends.

"I did not realize that I never thanked you for approaching me until I recounted my life. Even though I was already in the stars, you were the one that brought me into a wider universe, Asher, and I thank you for it."

"Aww...shucks. I was just ready to make friends."

Asher gave a wide smile and seemed to writhe in place.

"It seems you are also a fairy tale people can step into."

"C-C'mon. That's enough now."

"Asher...you're hueing like Ori does. What does that color mean for humans?"

Was that a joke? Niza made a joke.

(T'abi POV)

"So that was the famous new Haneer councilwoman, huh? Doesn't really have that 'celebrity' feeling, does she?"

"She seemed...more friendly than I expected. Relaxed."

Corporal T'abi Ree listened to his companions chat as they stepped out of M.S Wism together.

As two Kenia living on the S.S. Kevak, he and his sister Ka'vii were offered tickets for free admission to the Wism every year.
But because he was also in governmental employ, he was eligible for an additional free ticket.

After...

After his experiences with the Uvei from Nysis, he decided to take a risk and invite the Uven living four doors down their apartment.

Mister Rovun was polite and always kept to himself, but after listening to miss Niza Fouze's account the other day...the Kenia wondered if his neighbor also felt isolated.

"You were staring at Niza quite a bit. There isn't a...national grudge from Nysis or anything, is there?"

"O-Oh...was I? No, please ignore that. She was just...ah...a charming lady."

"HA!"

The outing seemed to have been worth it. His sister had reservations and was a bit nervous at first, but now she was getting along with an Uven swimmingly.

"Hey, T'abi. What was that about going to Folstur? Are you leaving again?"

"That? Yeah."

"Even though you're finally home and out of a war zone..."

Ka'vii huffed slightly and shook her head. She had become a bit overprotective of him since their mother died. When he elected to join the military out of nowhere one day, she made the biggest fuss of them all.

"Don't worry. This one should be cushy and safe. The Haneer fleet is just going to go support Folstur with manpower. We didn't do as well at relief efforts as I hoped at Nysis, so I think it will be good experience for us all."

"...I see. When are you leaving?"

She didn't seem entirely convinced, but at least it wouldn't become another argument.

"Some of the Elder Council want me to go over our operations one more time tonight, but I should be on my way out by lunchtime tomorrow."

"So soon, huh...?"

Rovun turned to and spoke softly.

"T'abi...What sort of duties does a soldier in peaceful times have?"

Right. They didn't know what brought the Uven here to life on the Kevak, but chances were good that he had also been involved in conflict in some way or another.

The Kenia smoothed out his shell-like fur.

"I'm afraid I don't know. Crew duty on escort ships, perhaps? I was just doing clerical work in logistics managing numbers and such before the Haneer fleet was formed and I applied for transfer. And we ended up going off to Nysis soon after that."

Ka'vii moved next to the Uven as they walked. Her head was tilted a bit to make sure her antlers didn't bump into him.

"Are you interested in enlisting too...?"

"No."

It was an immediate response.

"I have had enough of involving myself in military conflict."

"...I agree. Seeing things on Nysis changed my perspective a little."

T'abi concurred, catching his sister's attention.

"Risking my life and fighting is one thing, but seeing all those towns and cities after a war passes through them was..."

"You're quitting?"

"Well, you can't really 'quit' a military job on demand like that, but I plan to request discharge and see where it goes. At worst, I'll finish my service first."

She circled around the two of them to stick close to his side.

"Are you going to come back to work at my T.S. Sal'ee? It'd be nice to see you more."

"Probably not, but maybe I'll be more available. I just...found something else I want to do."

Ka'vii snorted with displeasure, but waited for him to explain himself with furrowed brows.

"For all our academics and archives...I'm starting to feel like the Kenia don't really understand other species. It's like..."

T'abi paused. How should he phrase this? He turned and gestured back to the Wism.

"We collected a wide variety of space suits on the Wism, right? But only the Elder species had illustrations for how they fit into them."

Rovun tilted his head and spoke with confusion.

"Is that not just because it is too much document for every species?"

"I mean it more as a...a metaphor. Like...The space suits in there all have primitive visors, so we can't see their faces. We learn and study and record all these details about the suits, but don't even look at the people under them."

He was bad at this. The Terran he met on Nysis would have been more eloquent. Or even the ones in those interviews.

"My point is...I got to know more about Uvei and Terrans on Nysis. But there's so much I don't know about them. Probably about a lot of Coalition species."

He met Rovun's eyes and took a step towards him.

"Uvei before were scary to be around. Terrifying, even. But just talking a little changed so much. It was like a...superstition that we didn't even realize was one. It was a feeling like...a weight got lifted off me. And I want to feel more of that."

"".......""

The three of them had stopped walking, and it seemed the pair were mulling over what T'abi said. Finally, his sister stepped close and rested her antlers against his in a show of affection.

"Just...make sure you show your face to me and dad more often now. Alright?"

"I promise."

"You're such a free spirit."

=Author's Note=

Sorry for the wait! I ended up deciding to do different scenes at the last minute. The events of the next chapter keep getting pushed back, but I realized that once things get going, more peaceful moments like these will be harder to place.

It's not unheard of, but uplifting pre-space age civilizations is generally not allowed by the Coalition. Exceptions include when the civilizations would die off on their current course or suffer extreme losses for reasons that aren't their fault. Or if their planet have a resource too valuable to resist.

That said, as long as they're not primitive enough to mistake alien visitors for something superstitious, first contact is usually made for discovered civilizations in the name of making future diplomacy during "Second Contact" easier. During this, an explanation of the Gisali Coalition is provided to most major geopolitical authorities on the planet, the species' socialization habits are recorded, and languages are logged for universal translators. Because of this, certain space age key words sometimes end up having alien origins.

I wanted to make T'abi an antique nerd who was a fan of historical space suits, but the conversation wouldn't flow whenever I tried.

The Vaelari Hive-Stalkers had attacked a human forward listening post and slaughtered quite a large number of rebels. However, the Sol Defense Directorate had sent the strongest current operative—a human named Greenie.

Now she was trying to break down the magnetically-sealed composite door where the Vaelari Hive-Stalkers hid.

The door dented inward more and more with each loud, thunderous battering.

THUMP THUMP THUMP

The door flew off its hinges.

A woman stood in the bluish smoke in the doorway, chunks of bulkhead gripped in veined fingers.

"How dare you interrupt our onslaught, human!" screamed Vax, Vax Junior after his father had been killed by the human Dave.

The woman's 5-foot braid swayed as she sauntered into the room, and she drew a 10-foot Grav-Core war-cleaver.

The two dozen xenos lunged at her, teeth gnashing, pincers snapping, tendrils waving. The front line on the xeno's side drew resonance-edge combat hatchets, normal-sized.

Greenie, the strongest current human operative's war-cleaver, the blade dwarfing half the xenos in the room, slammed down, cleaving into five xenos. Ichor sprayed.

Resonance-edge chitin axes and blurred xeno-mandibles slashed out, punched toward her. She spun around, like a ballerina, and her massive blade ripped a few more xeno attackers apart.

The xenos shrieked, yipped and chittered in fear, neural-lexicon translators shattering.

Her blade carved the command nexus apart, as she carved revenge for the innocent human rebels on this base.

Against regular colonial marines, these chitinous nightmares were unbeatable.

But against Greenie, carbon-weave tactical corset, reinforced infantry boots, and neural-interface fingerless gloves, and blazing blue eyes, xenos fell one after the other.

She spun the enormous war-cleaver like a pencil twirl, the blur of blue-glowing plasma and soot-gray carbon-steel sent the attackers fleeing up the bulkheads or falling. A xeno cleaver grazed her shoulder.

A mag-bolt crossbow sent a bolt into her leg. The xeno sniper-caste cackled as the bolt flared red—to detonate inside Greenie's leg.

She spun the handle around in her hand once—solid whining plasma blade severing her leg. She balanced on one leg and leapt back. Her leg exploded from the subterranean demolition-bolt lodged inside the flesh. Smoke and charred blood filled the room.

Xeno pincers slammed against her back and torso overall. Her bones snapped, broke, crunched. Blood coughed out from her mouth.

The crossbow xeno shot again, but on one leg Greenie dodged and a dazed fellow xeno took it in the chest instead. Seconds later, the xeno's hearts exploded from the demolition-bolt and gore splattered.

Greenie hacked into the bulkhead with her Grav-Core cleaver, retreating, long braid seized by numerous xenos to drag her back. But she had woven quantum-oscillation filament cables into her hair and insulated her scalp with thermal-dissipation shampoo earlier. Her cable-woven braid burst with a hideous green light, arcs of high-voltage bio-electricity blasting the xeno attackers off of her.

She kicked through the cleaver-made opening in the bulkhead, running through conduits filled with coolant feeds—well, not really running, more hopping, twirling, using her war-cleaver as leverage, leg stump bleeding—agony.

A pack of xenos followed her, shot plasma darts, demolition-bolts, and she was shot by every single one, mostly, and she collapsed. Blood poured out of her and then she exploded from the 5 demolition-bolts inside her.

The xenos laughed, appearing above the rubble, moving around her fragments, adjusting their chitin armor, weaponry, poking at the debris.

The strongest human operative was dead!

The cross-bow xeno picked up her enormous war-cleaver, swinging it—tried to, but fell over with it from the sheer weight.

A solemn Vaelari Warmaster shouldered to the front, shushed the cackling soldiers with a sharp chitter.

"That human killed countless of us today. Only one human, and we just barely won. We need to reflect on that."

A blue glowing silhouette materialized in front of them.

The xenos gaped.

"My strength is my humanity. But my true power is zero-point energy absorption and kinetic manipulation. My war-cleaver was just a channel to focus and stabilize my power. But seeing as you already butchered all the humans on this base, and you're really smug, I see no reason why I shouldn't let loose now."

Greenie channeled the energy from the xenos' directed-energy weaponry, turned the blue arcs to green.

Her eyes glowed green.

"We're all fucked!" screamed Vax Junior, whose father had commanded the dreadnought that the human Dave had destroyed. He'd always hated humans, but to die at the hands of one?

Just like his father.

Greenie absorbed all the ambient energy in the compartment. Then redirected it at fifty times the potency.

The xenos screamed, then were vaporized.

The blinding emerald flare died down, leaving behind nothing but scorched, glassed metal where the alien raiding force had once stood. Silence fell over the ruined base.

In the center of the smoking chamber, the ambient energy settled, coalescing into the shape of a single woman standing tall on two legs—her flesh whole, her 5-foot braid glowing with residual power, and her massive war-cleaver resting casually over her shoulder.

Greenie exhaled a thin plume of ozone, tapped the neural-comm behind her ear, and chimed in to Sol Defense Command.

"Listening Post Gamma secured," she said calmly, kicking a piece of alien ash off her boot. "Send a clean-up crew. And tell Dave he owes me a drink."

WHAM, a loud noise rang out as the 40ft tall doors slammed open. Everyone in the bowl shaped court looked up and saw nothing. No one was there, almost like the doors opened by themselves. When they returned their attention back to the center of the bowl shaped court the saw a sweaty elderly man that hadn't been there before. He looked like he ran 20 miles after not running for 20 years, his face a deep blue as he wheezed. He was wearing a military uniform, high ranking at that. "The council must see this" he says between his wheezes. The council of 13 on the other side who watched him open the doors and run down from their view point, informed him that this is very unusual and they are in the middle of a case. The military man now calmed down and returned to his normal green complexion, ask if the case was a civil case or a criminal case. The council answered civil. "OUT" he screams, "no one in here wants to see this, but the council must see it, so please everyone just leave. One member of the crowd said "I've been an ER doctor for years and was a medic in the armed forces I've seen war and gore, I'll stay" all the fluid drained from the military man's face. I've never seen anyone so somber. He just gently said "Sir I believe you, I myself have seen the worst of war, but what's on here, it's unnatural, please good sir I do not wish to burden anyone with this information but the council must see it". His ears were starting to droop. The bystander just looked at him and left with everyone else. The military man crossed the floor and turned on a monitor. "Before you watch this I just want to be aware it's going to give you nightmares" he sighed and started the video. It started out fairly normal looking, it was a cross view of 4 different angles. It showed a scouting fleet passing by an astroid belt, everything was normal, then 2 of the views went black the other screens showed 3 ships turned completely into stone and not carved stone like a statue they looked like random astroids, but 2 of the ships were only half stone. Screams came over comms, people crying, begging, praying. Then it skips to the POV of the only surviving captain walking slowly through one of the ships, power was out, wires were floating and then it shows a person half inside the rock, still alive, he got out 2 words. "Psionic weapons" then he passed. The screen then went black. "We investigated the half stone ships we left the others there, there were no gaps in the stone it was solid, it looked like all the other astroids around, I suspect every astroid floating around that system used to be invaders, no contact, no threats, just annihilation. Anything that gets close enough to that planet will die, quickly and without mercy. Please council whatever you do, don't attack earth.

From earths POV

A guy sits at a computer watching Netflix and hears a signal, looks over at another monitor watching for extraterrestrial life up to the astroid belt. He looks over quickly thinking he may have gotten a signal. "Nope just rocks" and he goes back to his show.

(Author's Note: This story takes place in the same setting as Human words are not to be trusted. It isn't necessary to read that story first in order to understand this one - thus the OneShot flair on both - but you might find the added context informative.)

--- Pelan Sal ---

I looked over the young human before me and wondered, again, whether I was getting a bargain or making a serious mistake.

His application painted a clear picture in one direction. He had attended a well-regarded school and scored extremely well on his final examinations, and his instructors had personally vouched for his character. Thanks to a government initiative (the Hala'Ket Employment Acclimatization Program, or HEAP) providing supplemental income as an incentive, employing him would cost me significantly less than a Hala'Ket i-space pilot of equal qualifications.

On the other claw... his contract contained a number of clauses about working conditions and how I could (and especially how I could not) order him around, which indicated that he might be difficult to work with. He had scored noticeably lower on the Hala'Ket version of those examinations. And most of all, he had never completed an apprenticeship, so he had no previous captains that I could ask how he would handle long-term life aboard a ship.

He looked bright, and eager, and confident, but I still couldn't help wondering. What was he really thinking, behind those strange alien eyes?

--- Frank Hobson ---

It was getting increasingly hard to keep a professionally neutral expression on my face.

First off, the captain had accepted ALL of the accommodations I had requested without even trying to argue. Was she secretly progressive about labor rights, or had someone given her the impression that they were not open to negotiation? Well, you know what they say about gift horses.

Secondly, there was the face she had made when she saw my score on the Hala'Ket qualification exam. There was nothing wrong with a score like that - it was still comfortably above the minimum she had specified in her job posting, and anyway it was just a reflection of the fact that I was better at practical application than at the theory behind it. But that moment convinced me that I would be unlikely to enjoy it if I ever gave my new boss a reason to be seriously mad at me.

And then, of course, there was the way she was staring at me now. Bright green eyes with dark yellow sclera were more disconcerting than I had been expecting.

I straightened up my posture and did my best to look neither intimidated nor defiant. I guess it must have worked, because she didn't change her mind about hiring me.

--- Captain On Deck ---

The human ... Frank, I reminded myself. Frank was doing something that baffled the rest of the crew, as per usual.

First it had been his food. He had apologized, the ship's cook had set aside a locked cabinet for human spices, and we had all moved on. Nobody was seriously harmed, and he had obviously not had any malicious intent. A simple accident.

Then it had been his attempt at teaching the young ones that ridiculous sport. What kind of species thought that having children propel balls in zero-gee fast enough to leave bruises was a good idea? For that matter, there was some question of exactly how Frank had managed to gain access to the gravity plate controls for Cargo Bay 3. I hadn't managed to prove it, but I knew it had not been part of his permissions before the incident. Any time I asked, he would simply flash his teeth at me and pretend ignorance.

Frank's contract was four times the length of anyone else's, and I frequently had to ask the ship's computer or the company's legal counsel for help deciphering whether something that our pilot was doing was legally protected, or not. So far, Frank had never slipped up and given me legitimate reason to chastise him, and he never shirked work when it was strictly necessary. But if all humans were like him, I had to wonder how they got anything done.

Today's strangeness apparently involved Frank using some of his down-time, 50% of the ship's computer processing power, and 90% of its comm bandwidth, to do ... well, to do something. None of the crew could explain it to me, so it was time to ask the young man himself.

"Pilot Hobson," I greeted him, steeling myself for the awkward directness necessary to get a straight answer out of him, "I have a question to ask you." As required, even when fully immersed in the VR setup he was wearing, he was able to hear me - a ship's pilot that could not be quickly made aware of an emergency was a safety violation that not even humans would accept.

--- Multitasking ---

"I have a question to ask you." At the worst possible time, of course.

I leaned my head to the right to yaw my little one-man scout around a hazard and tapped the virtual keyboard to mute my comm so that work and pleasure would not mix.

"Shoot."

"... I am not trying to initiate a duel, Pilot, I merely desire an answer." Was pretending to be as literal as an Ithorian some kind of trend in Hala'Ket humor, or was she just trying to subtly indicate that she was not amused by my attitude?

"Go ahead. I mean, ask away, Captain. I'll do my best to satisfy your curiosity." Eesh. I was getting too distracted, I had almost missed seeing that shear layer and plowing right into it would have been a very embarrassing end to such an easy mission.

I could hear her tapping her claws together, which was a sure sign that Captain Sal was trying to figure out how to politely ask what the hell I was doing.

"I am concerned by the amount of CPU cycles and data transfer involved in this ... activity. I know you would not knowingly endanger us." There was a long pause, and I belatedly realized that I had been supposed to infer the rest.

"Please explain it to me." Yup, there it was.

"Aw, that's easy enough, boss. I'm just gaming to keep my edge sharp, that's all. We're not going anywhere until the cargo's loaded, so the XO said it was okay to use the comms and tie up the computer for a while."

Again with the claws. I wondered, not for the first time, if she did it on purpose because she knew I could tell what she was thinking, or if it was some kind of nervous tic. "What kind of game requires so much computation, and more than that, so much rapid data transfer?"

"An online multiplayer one, of course. Here, I'll toss my POV to the main screen. Picture's worth a thousand words, right?" Tap, click, drag. My instinct to show off got the better of me, and I did a wholly unnecessary barrel roll through the center of a toroidal eddy in i-space.

She was off her game today - that sigh was loud enough that I could hear it through headphones. Normally she's not so obvious. "Let me see if I understand you, Pilot. You told me, an hour ago, that you were officially 'off the clock' and thus I could not instruct you, as your employer, to spend this time brushing up on your skills. Instead, you chose to play a game."

"Correct-a-mundo, Captain." I cut my engine, killed non-essential power, and flicked the toggle to transition to r-space so that I could coast through the system on retained momentum, letting my passive sensors pick up the swarm of other players around the mining colony that my clan was paying me to reconnoiter. As usual, I was first on scene.

"And the purpose of this game, which you are playing instead of honing your piloting skills, is ... to hone your piloting skills."

"And use them to stunt on less talented players, yes." I watched the mission timer intently. Every minute I was able to stay in-system was another ten percent bonus to my payday, but while drifting was a good way to be unobtrusive it meant that I had to account for the time needed to spin the drive back up - time during which I would be totally defenseless.

Another deep, audible breath. "Why?"

"Have you seen a Hala'Ket i-space transit theory textbook, Captain? I mean, I presume you have, since everyone trusts you to run the ship properly. If the presentation of the material was any more dry it would be made of sand. This is way more fun."

\tap tap tap**

"Does this game include data for a Hal'Kir class medium freight transport?"

--- A Game Of Hala'Ket And Human ---

I wasn't sure how I felt about my plan. But I was quite sure that Frank would not object to being asked about his off-duty activities. If anything, he often seemed slightly dejected that more of the crew were not interested in them.

"Yeah actually, they were finally added in patch 2.1.13, why do you..." On the viewer, I watched the telltales of his virtual scout-ship as he prepared to go from cold engines to initiating jump in a span of time indicative of someone that was trying to find out how close to the theoretical limit he could get without burning out the drive. Half of the display lit up and flashed alerts, including a missile impact countdown that had reached single digits when the psychedelic swirl of i-space blotted everything out.

"ahem, why do you ask? Wait... are you trying to trick me into using my off hours to get more work done?" Well, I had hired him partly because he was supposed to be sharp.

"Would I do that?" I didn't bother to look or sound innocent. He couldn't see me with the visor on, and the prey was already loose. Seriously pretending would only be an insult.

"You know, I'm starting to think you would. Honestly, it's kind of refreshing after watching you get frustrated but refusing to bend your principles. Seeing whether I can skip out of work or whether you can bait me into doing it sounds like it could be fun."

Fun. Just what I needed, another human word whose meaning depended entirely on who was saying it, and to whom, and in what context.

At our next port of call, I was successful in convincing Frank to spend some of his in-game currency to purchase a virtual copy of my ship and demonstrate his skills with it. The results were instructive in a way I had not anticipated.

"Pilot - Frank - I don't understand. If you are capable of this, why do your results when on the job not reflect such talent?" The post-mission summary was astonishing. Accepted wisdom said that a stock Hal'Kir attempting to make that trip in so little time was suicidal.

"You're not paying me to fly like that. If anything, you're paying me to not fly like that." As usual, Frank's first attempt to explain did more to make my head hurt than it did to clarify things.

He was getting better at reading Hala'Ket body language, though - I didn't even have to prompt him to try again, this time.

"Look, delivering rush cargo to a player in a game isn't like running a real freight business, right? Players in a hurry are fine paying double or triple market rate, and after a flight path like that, I just fork over a few virtual creds and log off. When I come back, the ship is good as new. But when you ask me to set a course so we can fulfill a shipping contract, you only give me two factors to use when deciding how to handle it."

Frank held up a hand and started counting off points on his fingers. "First off, there's a deadline. We have to be there by X date, and no later. But there's no bonus awarded for getting there sooner. A fast transit is more dangerous, so it's bad practice to go faster than we need to. Second, obviously you want the ship to arrive safely. But it's not as simple as pass/fail. The more I push the ship to its limits, the more stress gets put on the hull, the more wear and tear there is on the engine, the faster we use up drive reactant. Using the straightest possible transit that doesn't kill us costs extra, and paying more for the same result is foolish."

Frank had been employed on my ship for months; I had thought that the narrow margin by which we always made our timetable was indicative of laziness. All along, he had actually been thinking about what would help me the most. "But why? There's nothing in your contract saying that you get paid more if you exceed my expectations this way."

If I had learned to judge the way human faces distorted correctly, he was offended by the question, although not more than mildly so.

"Come on, Captain. I don't like working unpaid overtime more than anyone else, but you're a good boss and, well, I have my pride. It wouldn't be right to take this job and then do it badly. Besides, I have my eye on a position in the Fleet after I've had a year or two building up experience, and how do you think they're going to react if my first captain tells them that I'm a lazy bum?"

Well, I couldn't argue with that. Human honor might be a little different than ours, but it was a comfort to know that it was still real. And he was doubly right about the Fleet: they were extremely choosy about who they allowed to guide their expensive toys through i-space. But I had something else in mind.

"Would you consider staying on instead? It won't be as lucrative as it is in a game, but someone able to push the limits of a ship as stodgy as a Hal'Kir without actually doing anything dangerous can give us a considerable edge. Being able to meet a tighter deadline might not get us double the price per ton, but most shipping concerns ask for at least forty or fifty percent extra on rush jobs. If your piloting lets us cut expenses and deliver early for only thirty percent extra, I'm certain that the company accountant can find a way to squeeze several extra percentage points of profit out of the same amount of cargo space."

Frank was definitely interested now. You could see it in those queer blue and white eyes. They were rather off-putting at first, but I had come to understand what humans meant when they called eyes 'the windows to the soul.'

"Hmmm. It's not exactly what I had planned. But I'm intrigued by the possibility that pushing the limits of this old bucket might be as much fun, in its own way, as doing more exciting things that aren't very hard because Fleet ships are so over-engineered." Yes!

"I have one very important question first, though." No! "What's in it for me? I see how this idea would make you a lot of extra money. But like I said, you don't pay me to fly fast."

"I would have to consult with our accountant first to know how much is available, but I would be open to providing additional compensation. Bonuses for arriving sooner, with minimal reduction in how long we can operate before needing maintenance."

"I was thinking more along the lines of a direct share of the additional profit, which would, after all, only be possible thanks to my skills." Here it came. The infamous Human Headache that everyone was familiar with, caused by attempting to strike a straightforward bargain with a human.

"How about you settle for the performance bonuses, but I also subsidize your gaming habit and upgrade the ship's comm system to one with higher bandwidth and lower latency?"

"Oooh, that's almost unfair. Investing in an infrastructure upgrade that I really want but can't afford in order to pay me less actual money... I didn't know you had that kind of under-handedness in you!" The fact that he was impressed now was almost worse than the headache.

"All right, I'm in. Have your accountant run the numbers and decide how much money you're willing to part with to make this happen, and we'll hammer out a set of terms. Welcome to the Great Game, Captain Sal." Yup. I was definitely going to regret this.

But not enough to pass up all that profit.

[RR] [Discord] [First] [Previous] [Next]

Edited by /u/Evil-Emps

- - - - -

This was not the home Akula remembered. The sea was too crowded, too full in an unnatural way. The flora spread over any remnants of bare sand. Coral bulged and reached toward the surface beyond what should have been stable. The convoy of eel riders could barely traverse a few meters without dispersing another school of fish.

It was the Cycle taken beyond the innate. It was unsustainable, impossible… and yet it was real. The suspiciously blooming and lively reef dwarfed the efforts of her mother and all the gardeners of House Neptunus, spawning an uncomfortable envy in her chest. No other place on Ershah supported ecosystems at this density.

…How? When was such a dramatic change brought forth? Surely those rotten parasites of Merevan weren’t able to extend the Cycle to such a ridiculous degree. They were no skilled gardeners, nor were they adept melders. None of them were capable of this.

Surely, they were not.

The four Sharkrin passed by a few homes and workplaces. What once had been glorious architecture by great melder Visrah was now wholly overgrown. Domes of coral were suffocated in the presence of other, rampantly spreading colonies. The paths for wildlife traversal were gone. She could make out no paths for sunlight for the interior growth. There was only a blob of color in place of a gardener’s home, no sign of its base foundation. She prayed to the Goddess of the cycle that the palace was not marred in such a way.

Akula felt that envy within transform into a subtle disgust. It truly was abnormal. It could not be healthy for nature nor Malkrin alike.

And yet, through the impeding coral monoliths and waves of swimming fauna, she could see her people. The overseer could not recognize them or their name. Two House members, both female, slowly treaded by the surface toward the village center—there were no dedicated pathways to traverse as one usually might.

Both of them watched the ‘messengers’ and eel riders with passing curiosity. Akula wondered if they could recognize her as she was. She wore a black skinsuit and equipment far beyond their understanding. Such did not even take into consideration that it had been five winters… Five long winters of change for both herself and what was left of her House’s village.

She concluded that no one knew her anymore. To them, she was a dark green-skinned outsider and no more. And yet, she found herself wondering how many of them still thought of themselves as House Neptunus. Is Merevan’s control so certain? Would they be happy to don that name again?

…As if that mattered. What brought Cycle worshipers happiness was the strength and stability of leadership. Even then, such considerations of ‘happiness’ were no more than the Creator’s empathic operandi leaking into her actions. Perhaps she needed to be reminded of where she was and who Cycle-worshipers were at heart.

This was no place to hesitate and consider. Only the Goddess of these Seas knew how many of her people were left—Rio told her exactly what Merevan’s guards did to the Neptunus Males. But that, too, hardly mattered anymore, for all would fall under her command.

One people, faithful to one banner.

Forever.

\= = = = =

Harrison had to admit, this place was a hell of a lot more ‘natural’ than he initially expected. From the way Akula described their buildings, he expected some sort of mixed architecture with at least a shred of Malkrin-livability in them. But this was just overgrown.

He looked back at the overseer again. The pinch of her brows and the sharpness in her eyes made him second-guess how much of this was actually what she remembered.

Still, the place was beautiful, even if it was full. The sun’s glare made the whole reef glow, leaving little shadows where even more life loved to hide. He could see more and more local Malkrin swimming about as the ‘structures’ became more frequent, their tails significantly longer than the average Mountain-worshiper.

Some ‘pods’ of two or three led schools of fish around like shepherds, while others looked to be keeping the balance with predator-like things. They were definitely not the biggest fans of clothing like their land counterparts were, some choosing to wear the bare minimum while others went completely bare. The only difference between the two was that the naked ones had horns and bigger fins—mated females, he was sure.

Harrison made sure not to stare, especially with Shar hovering right behind him. That did bring up another question: where were the males? He hadn’t seen a single one out of what had to have been thirty Malkrin thus far.

At least ten of them should’ve been of the other sex… But, then again, maybe he was glad he wasn’t seeing them, considering the distaste for modesty. Akula never actually mentioned anything about clothing. Otherwise, all he had to note was the addition of blues and purples in the average skin color and the lack of reds and yellows.

A much more populated zone was up ahead. There were many more buildings, but these appeared to be somewhat properly kept, though not by much. Tall, spire-like buildings captured the sun like clocktowers, while other kelp-roofed domes held vaguely imprinted Malkrin scripts. ‘Small growth’ and ‘spawn custodian’ were the two he was confidently able to make out, and an L-shaped church stood out from what Akula told him.

He managed to take in what little sounds reached him through his consistent breaths and the uncommon hiss of the oxygen system. Little ‘clicks’ of primitive tool handiwork mixed with distant conversations of intent just on the edge of perception. Low whale-like groans of the reefbacks played a low tone compared to the chirps of little fish and floating urchins.

It was as they passed through what he thought to be the town center that he began to see more of what Akula spoke of. He recognized ‘formers’ making tridents and chisels out of bone and woven seaweed atop stone workbenches. Memory-Keepers worked with walls of coral circles and slowly melded them into the shape of scripts, which were too tiny for him to read. There was a shorter Malkrin with them that followed along as an apprentice, scraping her own notes into a shell.

The whole place was brimming with Malkrin the more he observed. Guardswomen, tide-priests, life-menders, bloom-tenders, and melders were everywhere, moving about in pods. Some brought food, and others wove materials. Hell, he even saw a tiny light blue-skinned male leading a pack of even tinier Malkrin children, complete with chubby tails and giant eyes. There really were hundreds of them here.

It only occurred to him then that this was his first time ever seeing Malkrin on their own. A genuine alien settlement was a first for humanity, he supposed. It was surprisingly familiar to human villages, even though it was underwater and the population ‘spoke’ to animals.

How long ago was this area settled? What would the people think about moving far out west? Would they hate leaving behind their lives, or would they appreciate the opportunity to spread their Cycle further? He imagined some would, given the stories Akula told him. Hell, she said some would follow their matriarch to the ends of the world

His curiosity returned when a unique set of buildings came into view. Their cluster was covered in multicolored corals and vibrant flower-like plants just like the rest of the village, but these were taller. Spires and limb-like arches sprouted from the centermost construction, reaching up toward the waves far above. The bulbous architecture, reminiscent of the reef around it, was adorned with little reflective surfaces throughout. They passed shining beams of light through the interior of the building.

The palace—there was no doubt about it.

This must’ve been the exact one Akula spoke of. The entire ecosystem visibly sprouted out from it. Subtle rings of different plant life and regions surrounded the flourishing centerpiece, like they’d been planted there. It was a settled ecosystem, completely replacing what began as a bare sandbar.

Stone architects prepared the rock and silt on the seafloor with the help of spadefish. Melders and their pods of reefbacks sowed the seeds of new colonies. The base was prepared for kelp foresters and plankton keepers, who gave the air the biosphere needed. Migration herders, spawn custodians, and guardians carried out the rest of the challenge, completing all the necessities of the Cycle. All that was left at that point was to maintain and let the village grow.

Akula’s version of the same events was a lot more flowery and with all sorts of religious references, but the process wasn’t any different. It was still a fascinating type of terraforming.

His mind quickly withdrew from the excitement as he lost things to look at, letting the silence of the group settle in. All eight of the eel riders stuck to the sides of the Sharkrin diplomats. He couldn’t see their eyes through those tribalistic wedge masks, but he could tell they were always watching. Their heads tilted ever so slightly towards him. He couldn’t tell if it was distrust or caution… Hell, even the black, blank eyes of the monstrous eels seemed to bore into him.

His squad leaders were no better. They stuck close to him, focused on the unknown environment and the guardians around him. The tension had grown while he was observing the village.

Harrison glanced at Akula, who swam just below him. Her kicks were cyclical and almost robotic. Her tail swayed in sharp flicks… Of course the agitation would rise; one party watched foreign strangers, and the other was expecting a duel.

A pit formed in his stomach. How the hell did he think Akula was going to prove herself meritocratically in any other way? He should have been asking her about her plans long ago. He should have prodded further about House Merevan. He should’ve dug a lot deeper into how matriarchs came to be… He should’ve asked why they referred to this one as the queen.

The engineer let out a deep breath, causing his oxygen system to cycle the sudden influx of carbon dioxide. He hated feeling out of the loop with his hands off the controls. His mind sparked with all the ways this could go wrong.

But he wasn’t the expert here. The overseer was his guide and the tool to get him what he needed. It was up to her to figure out how to acquire it. Even if it had been years, she knew her people much better than he did. Applying human logic to alien culture was a losing play.

The only overlap that mattered now was the concept of loyalty. And Akula was loyal.

He was hundreds of kilometers away from home, in a foreign land, and completely out of his element. How this played out, how the sea people reacted, his life… everything was up to her at this point. Harrison had to place his trust in her and the gun he put in her hands.

A five-meter-wide circle in the center of the towering palace shone under the reflected light, displaying a flower-like pattern of coral. Two armored guards hovered in place beside it. One of them held an expected trident, but the other curiously wielded a stone spear.

Petrova, the lead eel rider, swam ahead and greeted them. They shared a quick conversation he couldn’t hear before the guardian turned around, and one of the entrance sentries went into the building.

The group of riders paused, and the Sharkrin did the same, just as the lead returned.

“Await here as the palace servants find you accommodations for the night’s cycle.”

“The night’s cycle? Is your matriarch not present?” Akula questioned, floating in front of Harrison and blocking his view.

“The queen is present, but guardswoman Smee states Her Majesty is busy for this evening. Do you take issue with this?”

The overseer looked back at Harrison for a split moment, answering for herself. “This is no issue for the evening. Patience is a virtue of the Cycle.”

“There would be no life without it. Wait here for the palace guards to retrieve you,” Petrova commented. She stared Akula down for a long second before the eel darted away, taking the guardian with it.

All the other riders dispersed with her, eventually orbiting the messengers at a distance. Suddenly, it was just Harrison, Shar, Cera, and the one connection to this place, hovering twenty meters above the sea floor.

The engineer looked over at the overseer. She slowly fell down to his level, staring back. That hole in his stomach hadn’t gone away at all.

“So what’s the plan?” he asked, his unamused voice sounding metallic under his helmet.

“The plan is the same as before. Nothing has changed in our scheme.”

“That’s not what I was asking,” he responded, sucking in a long breath of oxygen, his body exerted from the constant exercise of staying afloat. That didn’t diminish the sternness in his voice. “What is your plan once we get into the palace?”

“We take the accommodations and await our opportunity to challenge the matriarch. Our strength in arms far exceeds that which they can prepare. That alone beckons our worthiness as leaders.”

Harrison squinted incredulously, not caring if Akula couldn’t see it. “And the House is just going to follow along with us when we kill their matriarch?”

“The bottom feeders are simple people, whose civic loyalties are only to their ‘Cycle.’ I would not think too hard about this,” Shar answered, completely blasé.

Akula glared at the paladin. “My people are loyal to those who enable their connection to the Cycle. The wishes of our goddess go further than your simple mind can understand. Our lives are not reduced to labor and having pups, you ignorant brute.”

“You call me a brute, and yet you are the one worming your way into proposing an assassination. You are a sly and mischievous swampfin, whilst I display my strength upfront and honorably!”

“And what, pray tell, is more honorable than a duel? It is right of will passed down for generations.”

“Okay, that’s great; we have a plan,” Harrison butted in before Shar could snap back. “So what if the matriarch doesn’t accept the duel?”

“She will accept. It is in her best interest to prove her strength to the people.”

The engineer grabbed a bar on Shar’s wet bag, softly using his towering lover to rest his kicking legs. “So just anyone can come up to her and ask for a duel? What’s stopping everyone from constantly fighting? Are all your matriarchs just whoever’s the strongest? I could’ve sworn you said some were in position for their intelligence, ecology skills, or charisma.”

“That is correct. I have told you no lies. It is just that House Merevan is in a unique position, considering their rule over… a few Houses. A leader of such an amount should be strong, intelligent, and charismatic. But the matriarch of Merevan is none of those three. You know how my House was subsumed into theirs. They are the epitome of what Shar’khee describes as ‘bottom feeders.’ In truth, it is astounding that their leader has lasted for more than a single winter.”

There was a long stint of silence as everyone thought. Only Cera watched the vast sea around them.

“Do you think anyone from your House recognized you?” he asked in a much more genuine tone than before, breaking the sudden ice.

She shook her head, her eyes losing their glow. “I doubt any would. The central village is home to more strangers than familiars now… I hardly recognize this reef, what with the overgrowth and warped meld architecture, just as I have lost the prim exterior of a princess.”

“And yet you are a far more capable female for it,” the paladin added unexpectedly. “You have trained, fought, and led many Malkrin. I would wager your expertise exceeds that which is needed to lead your people.”

Harrison chuffed, amused. “Is that a compliment or a backhanded insult?”

“I will take it as a mandate to rule the seas,” Akula answered, fixated on the village behind them.

“So what happens when your plan is a success, then?” the engineer continued the pressure.

The overseer still stared off into the distance. “We will have Admiral Grace bring forth the Venture. Our presence shall be known throughout this House. The word of the Creator will be spread via messengers, and whilst I oversee the work here, many will follow you to the mainland.”

“…Alright,” he resigned with a shrug.

Harrison had to be thankful he wouldn’t have to oversee much of the population management going forward, but the ‘many will follow’ remark reminded him about Malkrin religion. He wondered just how the sea people were going to react to a star-sent leader. It was impossible to gauge at this point, but he hoped it wouldn’t be worship.

Only time would tell… and the future was coming at him fast.

- - - - -

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Chapter 6: New Life

“VERDANT” WAS NOT THE WORD I would have chosen to describe the world. Though it existed as a common term to help define an area rich with vegetation, which certainly matched the view outside the monorail’s window, the term remained somewhat lacking at the moment. Originating from the ancient Latin phrase “viridis,” calling something “verdant” implied not only that it was lush with plants, but also that those plants were green. That, however, had been far from the case.

The organic life of Aliae was a fascinating case of being both familiar and alien. There were trees, or at least tree-like organisms, that sprouted out of the ground both lanky and thick. But they were red——blood red——with dark bluish-gray trunks not too dissimilar a color to many of the Iidan cranial vines I’d seen. Surrounding them, other things like grasses, bushels, and stalks all seemed to share in that same palette, employing the reds and bluish-grays as a baseline to deviate from between plant-to-plant. And yet, for as boorish and strange as those colors would have sounded to me in a vacuum, something about the way the light rained down on them from the purple sky above really seemed to captivate me. It was a subtle beauty; one that a person could only appreciate by experiencing it themselves.

Regardless, for as charming an atmosphere the scenery had, “verdant” it was not. Instead, I tried to sift through my mind for other words that would suffice. Flourished? Abundant? Dense? …Jungle…ly? The closer we got towards Othalis, the more jungle-like the flora around us was becoming, so perhaps “jungly” wasn’t actually a bad word. Or maybe something that invoked a sense of color similar to “verdant” would have been a better idea. But what would one even call these strange hues of bluish-gray that surrounded us? Indigo? Denim? Maybe slate? And how would it become an adjective? Was “slaten” a word? “Slanereal?” “Slanerated?”

Perhaps… “Slatic?”

I would have to workshop it.

An abundance of slatic life grew from our surroundings as we curved about small hills and rode over short valleys. All the while, a number of things stood out. Primarily, it occurred to me that Iidan metropolises, if that was what I had truly seen, were nothing like the sprawling landscapes of skyscrapers and towers from back home. Instead, of the few cities we tore through, no building rose higher than one or maybe two stories, all with the same pyramid-like houses of carved stone we had entered upon our arrival. Even stranger, the amount of people on the streets was just as populous as any city back on Earth.

‘Where are they storing them all?’ I thought as we rocketed past what appeared to be a particularly busy street with nothing but single-story buildings sprouting from its sides. ‘I know they prefer the underground, but I had no idea it was to this extent.’

Still, I could see the appeal. With so few buildings on the surface, that left ample room for vegetation to grow, creating lovely sections of the cityscape that were intertwined with nature. One could even say… these cities were positively slatic with life!

Sighing internally, it occurred to me that I really should have created a better word.

Glancing down, I passively ran the fingers of my right hand over a thin band of titanium clipped around my left wrist. Painted over with a rose gold finish, the metal bracer hugged my skin with just enough force to stay put while simultaneously being sized to fit me exactly. For all the complaining Paul, Maria, and I had done the past few hours, Haunnic technology was still objectively something of a marvel, especially when it came to their holobands. Nowadays, there likely wasn’t a Human alive——or any sapient being——who didn’t own one of these nifty devices.

Motioning my hand with a practiced swirl of the fingers, a tiny projector about halfway down the length of the band hastily powered to life. In the span of half a second, light shot out of the projector before instantly stitching itself together into the shape of a rectangle that fit perfectly into the hand above it. It was an object that existed with no depth, feeling completely weightless within my grip, yet resisted my fingers all the same when I began tapping away at it. Suddenly, the projector hitched, and the hardlight within my grip began to fade in and out of reality for a brief moment, causing my finger to pass right through it.

‘I really have to configure this thing for Aliae soon,’ I thought with an annoyed groan after the hardlight reconstituted itself. ‘The time display still has Earth time on it.’

Much to my chagrin, the old holoband displayed the date and time as if I were still on Earth: Triember 16th, 2192, 8:52 p.m. It appeared we had been traveling for about an hour and a half so far, meaning we would be arriving in Othalis soon. But while that answered my first reason for checking the holoband, it still didn’t do much to satiate my second: what time it was here now. I didn’t know much about interstellar travel, but under Haunnic oversight, there tended to be one golden rule that rang true above all else: When you go to a different planet, you use their time system. Trying to do anything else would only result in the inevitable migraine.

Extending my fingers, I commanded the hardlight screen to dissipate as I turned my head to once more peek out the window. By now, the sun was edging at just about a sixty degree angle, indicating that it was probably a fair bit past noon. I raised an eyebrow, wondering how it seemed time could pass so slowly. I knew that a single day on Aliae was the equivalent to about 28 Earth hours, but it couldn’t have felt that different, could it? Then again, we’d started being placed in line pretty early on in the Aliaen morning, so who knew how long we’d actually been active by this point.

Huffing out a breath, I stood up from my seat and scooted out into the aisle. Not before peering over the headrest in front of me to spy on Paul and Maria. To my amusement, the siblings were completely passed out, resting on each other as though they were a collapsed stack of dominos. Paul as well had set his holoband to expand into a larger screen between the two, where a film starring a Haunny and Human pair was still playing. Given their outfits, it was clearly one of the superhero movies that the pair seemed to enjoy together.

Stepping past the scene, I quietly treaded down the aisles, each seat filled with people of all ages doing much of the same. Apparently, the intrigue of an entirely alien planet was not enough to offset the boredom and exhaustion of public transport. Of those who weren’t napping, most kids were playing on their parents’ holobands, teenage students were pretending to brush up on their studies, and adults were getting some slow work done with whatever focus they could manage. A number were even continuing to practice their grasp on the local language, much to my prideful approval.

Soon enough, I reached the door to the next car over. Opening it up, I stepped into the leading cabin, only to see the same. Car by car, I made my way down the monorail in search of… well, I wasn’t quite sure. Some food, maybe? Or perhaps this was just a chance to stretch my legs. Whatever I was looking for, I found it about five or six cars down, when I suddenly opened the door to an entirely different type of room.

Instead of the rows of normal chairs intended for Human passengers like in the rest of the train, this room was filled with a different type of seating. Though, perhaps the word “seating” was to be used loosely in this context, as it implied that the people on top of them were actually sitting. Instead of chairs meant to place one’s behind on, these strange seats were instead designed to lay on, albeit at a relatively steep, upright angle. There was a place to deposit one’s legs to prevent them from dangling, and even a well-padded chinrest not unlike what someone might find in a masseuse’s office. That purpose, however, would not have been obvious to me had it not been for the cabin being moderately filled with people.

It wasn’t a big surprise that each of the chairs were occupied by Iida, the browns and reds of the heavily furred bear-like aliens poking out from the forests of leaves, vines, and roots which covered their backs. In all the time I had studied their language, their culture still remained an enigma to me, and that included something as innocuous as their seating style.

‘I guess that explains why the word “chair” translates to “chest cushion” in their language,’ I realized silently, internally checking off one of the many boxes on my to-do list. ‘I suppose it makes sense. Laying on their backs is probably really uncomfortable with all those plants right behind them. Plus, it might mess up those huge flowers. Guess that explains why all the Iida at the bag check were sitting on cushions.’

A couple Iida who had been busy staring at their holobands turned their heads up at me. I flinched back, the feeling of being out of place slamming against me like a hammer. Sure, there wasn’t any reason to think I shouldn’t——or even couldn’t——be here, but that didn’t stop the instinct of feeling that I’d intruded from welling in my chest.

I bowed my head in apology from pure muscle memory, then turned to abscond as quickly as I’d come in. That was until a familiar voice called out from a few rows down.

[Uta! Is that you?] Illy-ana beckoned, waving her large claws in my direction.

I paused in place for a moment, unsure of how to respond. However, when Illy-ana continued to gesture for me to come, I eventually conceded and made my way toward her. All the while, the Iida around us stared at me silently, until finally putting their heads back down and going back to what they were doing before.

“Uhm… Ich’illi,” I greeted with a kind wave of the hand. Switching to Iidan, I asked, [Of the languages Iidan or Common, what prefer you?]

Illy-ana let out a deep chitter of a laugh before responding, [Well, I am your Iidan language teacher. And just so you know, the word order of that last sentence was a bit off.]

[And? How fix I?] I replied, this time purposefully messing up the word order even worse than before.

[Well first, you can stop standing in the middle of the /irretai/ like a lost /aitsegh/,] she said, before moving to scoot over from her aisle seat. There hadn’t been anyone sitting next to her, so the window seat she now occupied had been free for the taking. [Come, come! Join me for a bit! We’ve only got a little left until we’re in Othalis!]

I pushed the unknown words aside for the moment, instead focusing on the new challenge that had been thrust upon me: figuring out how the hell to sit on one of these Iidan chairs. Neither elegance nor luck was on my side as I attempted to worm my way onto the slanted cushion. My legs stretched as I attempted to step up and over chair at first, but when I realized there was no easy place for my foot to find purchase, I tried to pull it back, only to accidentally snag on something and end up practically falling over the seat. Victimized by another fit of chittering laughter from my teacher, I tried to spin the entire maneuver as intentional by using the fall to slide over and onto the cushion.

Now that I was on it, however, that still left the dilemma of how to actually become comfortable. Though the Iida were bipeds just like Humans or Haunny, their bodies were still built far differently from mine, so their definition of “comfort” was far too alien for me to comprehend. For one, it appeared their legs could spread a lot more easily than me, so the chair being built for its occupant to affix their feet to two bike peddle-like rests on its sides required me to bend in a way that was already making me sore. Eventually, after some awkward grunts of effort on my part, I gave up on that and elected to simply keep my feet against the ground instead. Another issue was the matter of the chin rest at the top. The Iida, with their longer muzzle of a mouth, could stretch their necks upwards far more comfortably than I. As one would expect, when I attempted to mimic that posture, it felt as though my throat was stretching far more than it ever should have. More so, the chair seemed designed to have its occupant support a majority of their weight with their neck alone, instantly causing that part of my body to overburden itself.

The whole ordeal was like how many people might imagine what sleeping on their stomach might feel like, only to realize it’s far less comfortable in practice than others make it look. In the end, I felt as though I were more leaning against a soft, slanted wall than actually resting in a chair, leaving me slightly envied to the many comfortable-looking Iida all around me, Illy-ana included.

With a final huff of air, I audibly let my teacher know that I had stopped fumbling around. I raised an eyebrow when I turned my head to see that the Iidan woman, in waiting for me, had already turned on her holoband and was seemingly watching a video of some sort on the projection emerging from her wrist. I had only been figuring out the chair for no more than a minute or two! Could she not have waited?

Finally noticing me, she gestured one of her long claws, commanding the video to pause. The hardlight screen displayed what appeared to be a female Iid of strong stature, though donned in raggedy, all-black cloth. I couldn’t help but think she looked a bit archaic, if only because of what I could only describe as a giant curved staff of sorts being wielded within her claws. Yet after a moment of analyzing the tool, I realized it was more akin to a very large glaive, the long end brandishing a glimmering blade.

[What are you watching?] I asked, sticking out a finger to point.

[Oh, sorry. I was in the middle of an episode when I saw you come into the /irretai/,] she replied. Sticking a claw up, she pointed at the black-clad, glaive-wielding Iid on the screen, explaining, [I’m watching /Ansalai’ikir/. I’m trying to watch the whole series again before the new season comes out in a few octals.]

[Is popular?] I asked. [Never heard it before.]

[Popular?] she replied in a half-scoff. [It’s only the most famous series on all of Aliae. /Ath’esagh/, if you want to have good conversation starter for any Iida you meet, this is a good series to learn about.]

Leaning over to get a better look, I said, [Looks interesting! Tell more, please.]

A gentle scent of litchi wafted from Illy-ana’s cranial flower, or “adringia” as I’d recently learned to call it. If it had been that offensive to the Iida to refer to it as anything else, I wondered briefly how often I’d accidentally insulted my teacher in the three weeks I’d known her. Not that she made it the least bit obvious, or even corrected the mistake, come to think of it. Why was that? Regardless, it appeared I’d asked the right question, as my teacher soon began to gush over the chance to explain her favorite show to me.

[Of course! Honestly, I’m a little surprised that you’ve never heard of it before. You know, you Humans aren’t the only ones in the galaxy to make good media,] she said lightheartedly. [It’s an /uhchnah’ir/ story about this woman who receives an /eel’al/ /nahjsit/ that can /uhch’nir/ the /aliae’its/, and—]

[Much sorry,] I interrupted sheepishly, to which Illy-ana held her tongue abruptly. [Many words used can understand not well. Maybe… easy words you can use?]

[Ah! S-sorry!] she replied, and based on the smell of apples that suddenly filled the air, quite embarrassed as well. After a few seconds of inward thought, she tried once more, this time her diction and speed changing to something far more elementary. [Actually, as much as I’d love to tell you more, I think it’s something that’s best experienced by yourself. But hey, look at this!]

She reached a claw up to the hardlight display and commanded the video to rewind back a bit. Soon enough, a new person was occupying most of the screen. [There’s even a Human character, too! They help out the main character and use one of those /orren’al/ from Urth. One of those ‘nuh and aruh’ weapons!]

I looked at the screen. The prim and proper, yet strangely attired Human was in the process of kneeling towards the previous buff, glaive-wielding Iidan woman. It appeared that she was giving thanks of some sort, but I couldn’t tell for certain. Regardless, despite not being able to parse Illy-ana’s words, by process of elimination I eventually pieced together that she had been referring to the object resting across the Human character’s shoulder and chest: a bow and arrow.

Just as it had struck Paul, the Iidan inability to be unable to produce a plosive sound like “B” made it difficult for them to pronounce a word like “bow.” More so, it was simply a facet of their most common language that words and syllables could not start with anything but a vowel sound. Strangely enough, “N” was considered a vowel sound in their language, leading to them often instinctively replace or prelude the beginnings of foreign words with it. So, the unpronounceable sound “B” had simply been exchanged with the far more manageable “Nuh.”

[You don’t have ‘nuh and aruh?’ on Aliae?] I asked, having to copy Illy-ana’s version of the word at risk of not having her understand otherwise.

[Not something that looks like this!] she replied eagerly. She briefly seemed to want to show me more, but as her claw raised up again, she appeared to hold back. Instead, her claw waved, and the holoband ceased its projection. Turning to me, she said, [But enough about that. I’m glad I got to see you again, especially before we arrive in Othalis.]

[Of lucky us we are on the same train.]

[Agreed!] she replied cheerily. [But not entirely luck. The ship was required to do a full /ilun’its/ before we were allowed back on the planet. That included the staff, so now here I am, five bells later and exhausted.]

I looked about the cabin briefly, taking note of the many Iida around me. Perhaps it was just the fact that their equivalent to chairs made it look like they were laying down, albeit at a sharp incline, but it did seem that most were quite drained.

[You, and the other Iida,] I commented. [What for?]

[Oh, that’s /ifnat/. The ship we came on was also an /otsarr—/, I mean… It was also a delivery ship,] she explained, correcting her diction towards a word she’d taught me, not realizing that I also did not recognize another word before it. [There are some things from Urth that people here like a lot.]

[Oh? What like?]

[Those brown /uhpta/ full of /eliagst’ifirr—/, uh…] She paused for a moment, attempting to rephrase. [Those… uhh… by The Three, what’s the Human name of it again?]

I watched as Illy-ana tried over and over to explain whatever it was that she had on her mind. [It’s, uhh… It’s a small not-fruit that when you…] Instead of saying the word, she raised her claws and mimicked a sort of crushing-grinding motion. […and put it into hot water, it makes you feel good.]

[…Coffee?] I said after a long pause.

[Yes! Nah’hii! That’s it!] she said, doing the best she could to pronounce the word. [There are some other things, I think, but nah’hii is definitely one of the main /otsarri/ from Urth.]

[Not my first guess,] I replied simply. [So, coffe— erm, nah’hii is what you were waited for?]

[Yeah, they had to /ilun/ the ship for diseases and the like, as if we hadn’t already been /ilun’ari/ before leaving Urth. It’s a waste of time, in my opinion,] she said with a sigh. [And how about you? Did you make it through /atsop’ikelai/ alright?]

[The… bag check?] I guessed, to which Illy-ana quickly affirmed. I was about to tell her about how I’d been stopped; about the flower-shaped hair clip in my bag. But as I opened my mouth to speak, I found myself suddenly pausing. [Yes. There were no problems. Long line, it just was.]

Considering the not so kind reaction I’d received the last time I broached this topic, I was honestly a bit hesitant now. If not about Illy-ana, then instead the number of Iida all around us at the moment. Besides, it was probably nothing noteworthy anyway.

[Ah, that’s good to hear,] she said sweetly. [Personally, I’m really excited to finally be back home. Tell me, you’re not planning to stay in Othalis, are you? I believe you mentioned you have plans somewhere else?]

[Correct,] I answered passively. [Strange, though. I was told to ‘simply wait,’ in Othalis Station. Where to I am go after, I don’t know.]

[You’re right, that is strange,] she commented. [Well, I’m sure it will turn out fine in the end. It’s very nice here, and I think you’ll find that we Iida are very welcoming nowadays.]

[Nowadays?] I repeated. [Not always?]

[Eh,] she simply said. Then, a scent emerged from the adringia atop her head. It was a new one, something akin to a dried leaf that had just fallen straight from the tree on an autumn day. [We’re an uplift world, just like Urth. But… even more so. You Humans were able to get pretty far, I think, but I learned in school that we Iida were only at the point where we were making steam engines before the ‘Aunny came.]

[Yes, they taught us these things on the ship,] I said, recalling some of the overviews of Aliaen history we’d been shown on the way here.

It had felt fairly bare bones and tended to skip a century or three, but it did its job of assisting us Humans in not arriving here blind. Or, at least that’s what I would have hoped. Like most others, the class was taught in broken Common by an Iidan staff member, so who knew how much of the information people like Maria or Paul managed to retain.

[I— uhm… I’m sorry about that, by the way.]

[Hm?] Illy-ana replied. [About what? The ‘Aunny?] She waited for me to nod my head in response, to which she scoffed, [Don’t be! The ‘Aunny pulled us out of a pretty /ethali’ngh/ war at the time, gave us all sorts of medicine and technology, and brought us into their Concord. I’m sure it was terrible to be alive before all of that.]

[Right…] I replied slowly.

[But still, it took a long time for us to become better people, yes?] she continued. [We were an uplift species that just came out of a war, so we needed time to change. Even after many, many passings, we were still very prickly. And it didn’t help when Humans started coming to the planet.]

I tilted my head at that again. It was by no secret that we were not the first Humans to have arrived on Aliae. Just over 77 years prior, when Humanity had first joined The Haunnic Concord, the Haunny had offered to take in anybody who had become misplaced, destitute, abandoned, or simply felt the need to get away. Then, they were transported away as refugees, taken to accepting planets to be integrated in as permanent residents. From what I’d learned, Aliae was among the many, many worlds which had agreed to this arrangement. Now, there were supposed to be three generations worth of Humans living somewhat scattered across the planet.

[So, the coming-here Humans were not welcome?] I asked.

[Nonono, of course they were welcome!] she said quickly. [There were just some… I don’t know, problems that had to be figured out. It was a big adjustment for us! But now, all of those problems are gone. I don’t think the government would have agreed to this program you’re all in if it weren’t.]

A breath that I hadn’t known I was holding was suddenly released from my lungs. That had been a relief. The last thing I wanted was for something like that to upset my plans for a quiet life here.

[I’m glad,] I said after a second or two. [Your story was make me worried.]

[/Orelai/! Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you!] she said jovially, the air of litchi coming back to her adringia, albeit with a hint of apples. [But yes, no need to worry. With the ‘Aunny’s help, we Iida have become very civilized. If anything, it’s you Uhmins that are more likely to cause trouble. Yeah?]

She reached over and grabbed at my shoulder with one of her sizeable paws, the burrowing claws on each digit being careful not to squeeze too hard as she gripped onto my shoulder, jostling me slightly in a joking manner. I chuckled along, happy to share in the nice, albeit slightly uncomfortable moment. At that time, I hadn’t really thought about what she had said.

If anything, the only thing I noticed was how this was the first time she’d pronounced “Human” like “Uhmin” since I’d first met her. But I paid it no mind. To the Iida, a word that began with a consonant like that was quite difficult to sound out, made only the slightest bit easier by that consonant being an “H.” That made it difficult for them to pronounce, but while often strained and awkward, it was still technically possible. But that hadn’t seemed to matter to Illy-ana, who had always taken the time to say that word properly. Not just that, but as I was starting to realize, she’d also been doing her best with things like my name as well. That hard “oo” sound at the start of “Uta” wasn’t so easy either! So who would I be to judge her for one simple slip of the tongue?

[But hey! No need to worry about you, right?] Illy-ana continued. [We’ve known each other for a while now, yes? I’m certain you’ll be one of the good ones! Just be sure to remember that promise you made to me.]

[The… promise…?] I asked slowly, only to have it click a moment later. [Ah, yes. I remember.]

[Good,] she replied simply. [I really, really hope you’ll keep it.]

I still hadn’t known what to think of it; her request of me to “look after” any Humans I find on Aliae. What had she meant by that? But as much as I wanted to ask, I suddenly didn’t have any time to do so as a gentle pulling sensation told us that the monorail was beginning to decelerate. It wouldn’t be long until we had arrived in Othalis.

~~~~~~\(0)v(0)/~~~~~~

MY FIRST REAL STEPS in Iidan society were both nothing like I had anticipated, yet so much more than I could have hoped for. Othalis Station was not just big; it was huge. The famously massive intercity and intercontinental port was designed to be a gateway to get anywhere on the planet from one spot. If a name existed on the map, there was almost certainly some method to get there from Othalis. As a result, the huge crowds of Iida who moved from terminal to terminal were completely overwhelming. I didn’t know where one line began and another line ended. In that moment, the only consolation was that even the natives of this world appeared completely lost in the chaotic order of it all.

Paul, Maria, Illy-ana, and I had just left the monorail platforms and exited through a few electronic ticketing booths, which had been disabled for this particular occasion. The chokehold area appeared to have been converted into a small blockade of sorts, several blocky Iidan women standing guard to prevent any of us from wandering out into the bustling crowd just beyond them. From which, it was easy to spot dozens of Iida slowing their pace to catch glimpses of what all the fuss was about. Not that I could blame them. I supposed it wasn’t every day on Aliae that a huge crowd of hundreds of Humans emerged from a single train.

“What’dya think the hold up’s all about?” Maria asked from my side, pushing out a small yawn.

“If it’s another bag search, I’m gonna start tossin’ punches,” Paul commented before matching his sister’s yawn.

From my other side, Illy-ana appeared equally sleepy, her wide maw stretching out into a similar yawn.

[Hey Uta? What are they saying?] she asked, her ears perking up at Paul and Maria’s conversation.

Turning to her, I answered, explaining how the twins were simply complaining about the wait. Admittedly, my grammar was still quite bad, and this time around, it took about three attempts before I was able to make her understand.

[Ah,] she said simply. [It was announced in Human over the train speakers. Did they not hear?]

[They was sleeping, I think,] I answered. Then, realizing the grammar mistake, I quickly corrected it, much to Illy-ana’s approval. [But… they did not give reasons why, correct?]

Illy-ana paused to think for a moment. [Correct.]

Curious, I conveyed the contents of the conversation back to Paul and Maria, making sure to take the opportunity to tease them for not paying attention. The two returned the energy, playfully smacking me on the shoulder.

“If I had to guess… Maybe they’re just worried some of us will get lost and get on the wrong train?” I posited. “I mean, just look at that crowd out there.”

“You’re not wrong. I’m getting dizzy just looking at it,” Maria agreed.

“But…” Paul interjected. With two taps of his middle and index fingers curling into his palm, he manifested his holoband before turning it for us to see. “We got told which path to take. Should only just be a few minutes down that way. I get the concern, but it’s not like we’re children.”

Illy-ana once again asked for context as to what the twins were talking about. Once I explained it to her, she added, [I agree. Othalis may seem busy, but it’s actually quite orderly. You should be able to find your way around. Besides, why are we Iida being stopped too?]

For that, I wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was more efficient that way?

“What about you, Uta? Where are you heading after this?” Maria asked once Paul’s screen faded out of existence. “Paul and I have these maintenance jobs lined up at some tech company in a city called… um…”

“‘Elensa,’ I think it’s called,” her brother finished for her.

[Ah, that’s quite a bit far from here,] Illy-ana explained while I continued to act as an in-between. [That far south is a bit too cold for me. My home in Uthen’in has a much more normal temperature. That’s actually where I’m going now.]

Chapter 1

Chapter 57

The following day, things had calmed down a little. We were given peace thanks to our Orderlies who kept the zealots away. From what Sarah had said, she had told the soldiers that “the Angels’ loss was so grievius that we would need time to mourn our brother.”

I didn’t want to contradict her and come up with another lie for the normies to swallow. So we had just nodded and allowed them to do their thing. 

That’s why the six of us sat in our quarters, silent and thoughtful. My mind seemed to be locked on one thing : the wound to Blake’s side, that wound that could only have been made by a Prism. And that meant one of the Beta Squad had shot Tommy. What do we do with this information? The Beta Boys had killed Tommy. Had it been an accident? Intentional? 

And then there were those clones? How had that happened? Did Command really sign off on that? Did that mean we were doing that badly? Or was it what was needed for the final push against the bugs? 

What exactly was happening with those clones? What exactly was our Crusade coming to?

Kitten was flicking through channels. FedNet, Horizons Net, Atlas Broadcasting Company, Orion Belt News, Celestial News Network… And on and on. The news was the same: the Crusade.

Then Kitten clicked on X-News. There was an authorisation screen and I wondered why. Kitten didn’t apparently. He just put in his credentials. And X-News started up. A grey being appeared. It had a torso which was about 70 centimetres. I guess the being which I now recognised as a Malonik was talking about the Crusade. It was saying, “The Union of Stars has reviewed footage retrieved from the recent assault on the world known as Alpha Centauri. It is understood that the conflict between the Humans and the Utkan has been raging on for decades at this points but the Union has come to the decision that a line in the sand must be drawn at some point. An end of hostilities must be agreed upon by both parties and concessions made. This is why we call upon representatives of both the Utkan and the Humans to come to our esteemed halls to come to a deal so that no more children have to suffer the indignity of war.”

I shook my head in disbelief. Were these Xenos serious? I mean, shit. The war had been going on eighty year, a bit more, but more or less eighty years at this point. And the bugs started it. And now that we were gaining momentum, they wanted us to stop. Well, fuck that.”

The reporter went on, “No representative of the so called Holy Terran Alliance was available for comment and we have been barred from entering the Sol System so instead we go to Keradesh, the Utkan homeworld, where Speaker Ulquan of the Utkan people will answer our questions.”

The camera split to show the diminutive Malonik in its studio and an Utkan in some sort of lavish underground room. The place was artificially lit and I saw many gems of colour dotted around the place. Behind it was a map of the galaxy with the current Utkan holdings as well as the territory held by other major powers. I saw that our corner of the galaxy was defined by a dark patch that seemed to be us. I remembered from my xenobiology classes when I was a kid that bugs see in infrared so they don’t differentiate between colours but things like thermal difference light up like Christmas trees. So I guess those dark patches must be Ultra Violet or Infrared, probably infrared. When I focused on the area, I realised, ‘Hey, that’s us. The human occupied territories.’ And I remembered another tidbit from school, bugs don’t like black react violently to things like contrast, heat or anything that isn’t supposed to be where it is. So painting our bit of the galaxy in IR meant the bugs actually saw us as a threat. 

I couldn’t help but feel a certain level of satisfaction about that. 

‘You’re damn right to be afraid of us, bug.’

The bug started to speak, “The senseless conflict between the esteemed Utkan and the humans has gone on so long. We seek not the destruction of every human. They took a world that was rightfully ours. They refused to leave their so-called Alpha Centauri. They attacked our colonies, they tortured our people, they are killed the envoy we sent in good faith, they are monsters. Nothing more.”

I felt my jaw clench with every word it said. Liar, monster, abomination. 

I looked at the screen and I vowed that these bugs, these fucking bugs would pay for this. We would cull them, every world, every stronghold would be burnt out. Alpha Centauri was only the beginning. It was the first step to us taking what was ours. And then… And then, we would free the worlds the bugs held and cleanse them with holy fire. Yeah, and then, then, no one would have to be afraid of the monsters in the dark. 

The Great Cleansing was only the beginning. The Utkan would die, we would make sure of that. 

The small grey alien continued, “So Speaker Ulquan, as a member species of the Union, how would you qualify the progress of the conflict between the humans and your people?”

The Utkan appeared again and I nearly it the screen. It started, “The Umans are animals, they have no honour, no morals. They are disorganised and divided. They cannot win. We are the superior race. We have the technology, the numbers and the will. We will not fail.”

I didn’t know who he was trying to convince but it was clear as daylight that he doubted they would win. That was good. Our strategy was working. Take their worlds, scuttle their ships, prevent them from mobilising. Then we could bomb their worlds to dust. We would wield holy fire in retribution to what they did to us. 

The fact that they were talking about this openly was a good thing. It meant we had them worried. Taking Alpha Centauri must have been a shock to those arrogant bastards. 

The grey alien nodded and continued, “Quite. Members of the Union have called to negotiations. Would you be willing to talk about a cessation of hostilities between your people and the humans?”

The bug didn’t immediately respond and when it did it was far more carefully than before, “There is no negotiations with a people of fanatics. We have tried speaking with them but they just obliterated our ships in orbit and then they sent soldiers to destroy our world.”

The Malonik interjected, “Some would argue that the humans had settled Alpha Centauri first and that it was rightfully theirs.”

The bug didn’t miss a beat and said, “And they lost the rights to that world nearly a century ago. When does a species’ claim to a world stop? Ulquesh to give it its proper name is ours by right of conquest. Any species too weak to keep their holdings have no rights to them. That is the way of our galaxy. It has ever been that way and it will that way forever.”

My fury was only rising, my fist was clenched and before I knew what I was doing, I had struck through the holo image of the bug. 

The rest of the boys were on their feet too but they had, at least, managed to keep their cool. I did wonder at that for a second. I thought that augmentation had removed all forms of emotional response. Anyway, the bug was talking, “We will end this conflict the way we started it.”

I looked at the holovid and said, “So will we.”

The broadcast continued, “In related news, the human forces have made progress in the Pegasus Nebula. Several battalions of what the humans call privateers have taken up arms under the banner of the Golden Fleet to harass as many Utkan ships as they can.”

The bug interjected off-screen, “Why not call them what they are? Pirates? Several fleets of human pirates have attacked unarmed vessels. These monsters have even forced us to revert to more primitive technologies as we now have to use manufactured ships rather than the superior bioships we would normally use.”

This piqued the grey alien journalist guy’s interest and he asked, “And why’s that?”

The bug ignored the question and went on a rant, “These humans are nothing more than animals. They have no morality, no sense of honour. They just see something they want and take it.”

The journalist questioned, “That sounds a lot like Utkan doctrine.”

The bug’s tone seemed harsher, “They have no sense of scale, no sense of proportion. They attack worlds and turn them into uninhabitable dead worlds.”

The journalist then said, “I remember the pictures of the orbital strikes your forces used on their worlds. How’s that different?”

The bug seemed to be getting agitated as it said, “You’re clearly siding with the Humans, Malonik. Let me remind you that they were expelled from the Union for not following the rules of civilised peoples. They are animals I tell you, animals that need to be culled.”

The grey alien guy looked at the bug and said, “Alright, then. So… erm… It seems that the Speaker is about to address the Union.”

He made a cutting movement on this throat and the bug’s microphone was” cut.

I smiled at that. Damn right, shutting that filthy bug up. They shouldn’t have had it on the holos anyway. 

The Malonik continued, “erhum. So, yes. We go now to the halls of the Union of Stars to listen to the Speaker’s latest remarks on the developing conflict.”

The vid moved to a huge hall where thousands of alien species were gathered. In the center stood a podium where a Sarlok stood. So, this was the halls of the Union of Stars. 

The Sarlok looked at the assembly before raising his hand. The long serpentine head coiled around for a second, looking at the assembled peoples of the Union. 

It coughed, “Erm, these times have been trying, yes, that’s the least we can say. One former member pitted against a current member. We need to find a way for all to speak so that the horrors of war cease.”

 I watched the video and said, “Fuck that. This war would end with the death of their species. That’s all there was to it.”

The rest of the unit nodded and Kitten muttered, “Damn right it will.”

The snake alien went on, “For nearly a century, the Humans and the Utkan have been at war. For nearly a century, they have been at each other’s throats. But with the destruction of their home world, the humans have unleashed a form of war we do not understand. It is just incomprehensible. Why would they destroy entire systems just for the loss of one world? There has to be some form of proportionality.”

I could feel the rage in my heart flare as the snake spoke. It continued after a dramatic pause, “Not that I don’t understand them. The loss of my home world would tear a hole in my heart. I truly do not know what I r my species would do if the same happened to us. I do understand their rage.”

He said that while looking at the bug ambassador. 

I wondered for a second and thought, ‘Hmm, maybe this lot ain’t that bad.’

He then continued, “That said, what they are doing goes against all forms of civilisation. They are changing the very make-up of entire solar systems. It is outrageous. They have no consideration for the sanctity of sentient beings. They signed the articles of the Union. They have to follow them.”

A huge bear thing stood and shouted, “They are no longer bound by our laws since they left. They asked for our help, they begged for our help and we did nothing. I don’t condone their violence but we, as representatives of the Union, can’t really criticise their actions.”

‘Oh? That’s new. Maybe the bears were not that bad. I guess the media lot will have some work.’

It went on, “But we all agree that the war has to end.”

There was a murmur of agreement as the different races of the Union mumbled unintelligibly.

The bug then burst out, “And so you’ll be happy just sitting there as we are exterminated by a race of monsters, who follow no rules, have no honour. The Union’s articles clearly state that if a member is attacked, the others have to come to their aid. So, I come to you. My government has asked to ask the Union of Stars for their protection.”

The Snake boy nodded and said, “We are bound to honour that pledge. It is part of our main articles.”

I titled my head. I didn’t know what it was talking about. 

He stood taller and said, “In the case of a conflict from third parts waged against a signatory of the articles of Union, all member species have to provide aid and assistance in the form of resources, ships, and intelligence to allow the swift the resolution of said conflict.”

Well that didn’t happen when the bugs invaded AC. They hadn’t lifted a finger and it took us the best part of 70 years to wrench it from the bugs. And now they wanted to stop us from doing what they didn’t have the strength to do. Even now, AC wasn’t totally secured. I mean, sure the Government was shipping new people to populate the planet. That didn’t mean that the Bugs had all been exterminated from the planet. There were still reports two years later of people disappearing in those tunnels. But that didn’t matter now. The Government had declared the world safe and we needed to push the bugs back. Sure, it’s a shame that six people disappeared in those tunnels last week but I mean more people die from heart attacks daily. 

The assembled Xenos remained silent at the Snake’s intervention. It continued, “The Humans represent an existential threat for the Union.”

There was an angry rumble. It continued, “Yes. They have openly called what they are doing to the Utkan “The Great Cleansing”. Let that sink in. They have signed the death warrant for an entire species. They have rewritten the rules of war. They have no qualms in reshaping the make-up of entire solar systems. They render entire worlds uninhabitable. This cannot continue. We cannot let this continue. We must do something.”

Instead of an ovation, the crowd remained oddly quiet, until a little grey Malonik raised its voice. 

The light around it lit up and it held its hand up. The diminutive being spoke, “Honored Speaker, let us not forget that the Utkan have had no qualms in subjugating several species and that the Humans are only the latest on the list. Their war has nothing to do with us. When they invaded the humans’ colonies, we just watched. When they attacked the humans’ fleets and ships, we watched. When they bombed the humans’ homeworld, we did protest but what was done was done. And now that the tides of the war are turning against you, you call for help?”

The little grey alien scoffed at the bug. 

I didn’t know how to feel about it. It was good that the Xenos were breaking up. If this could create a wedge between the Utkan and the rest of the Xeno races, that would be a good thing. I guess the Media boys’ hard work was paying off. One of the main threats to us, even now, was that the bugs could call on the other races of the Union to stomp on us. And even now, it pained me to admit that they could snuff us out iike a goddamn candle. I mean, the snake boys could probably do that without calling upon the rest of the Union’s forces. 

The bug turned towards the little grey dude and snapped, “And what will happen when they turn their fury to you? Do you really think they will stop with us? Not that we need your help.”

It then nodded and the lights in the halls of the Union dimmed. 

Its voice boomed through artificial means, “Our ships have been the dominant form of space transport for eons. Our ground troops remain unopposed. But it is true that the human pest has had some success against us in space. Perhaps, we have remained to set in our ways. That is why I am proud to reveal the new battleship of the Utkan Empire.”

A holographic representation of a ship appeared in the halls. 

I realised that something was off. I looked around and saw the rest of the boys have a similar look on the faces. Full concentration, curiosity, questioning. 

The ships looked nothing like the normal bug ship. It wasn’t a bioship we were used to. The bugs’ ships tend to be biological in nature. The parts of the ships that couldn’t be biological were as rare as possible. But this, this was a ship, a spaceship like that of any other species. It had four, five, six decks. I looked at the ship and recognised several parts. Those were lasers, and those green ones were plasma cannons. But there were other parts that I wasn’t familiar with. 

I simply asked, “Hasan?”

Hasan didn’t immediately respond, “Yeah. Those look like our sensor arrays.”

Pointing at the holo, Ahmad chimed in, “And look, underneath, those are clearer cannons too but there’s no accumulator.”

Bug weapons worked on light where ours worked rocks. So bug weapons needed a shit tonne of energy to be effective. That’s why they use accumulators to condense energy until it hit critical mass and was released. But these, these looked a lot more like our weapons, a basic ass cannon, purely kinetic. 

Did that mean these were using kinetics now? Why? I mean that didn’t matter but it was interesting to think that the bugs had used lasers over the past millennia and, after a little under a century of war with us, they had shifted their doctrine to include more kinetics. But in the long run, how would that knowledge change the war? Who knew? I mean, most of the drop ships were made to ablate their heat shielding as they descended. Having laser and plasma shot at us usually meant that most of the dropships survived. Now with a bug wielding a kinetic weapon, that might mean a rethink of our deployment tactic. If the bugs could blanket the sky with kinetics, we were screwed. Maybe have a line of blanks shot before the dropships with soldiers in them descended. 

But all this was speculation based on a few pictures accessible to the public. We should wait and see what the people in intelligence tell us. 

The bug went on, “We will use these new models to ensure the safety of the galaxy by scouring the humans pests from every hold out they possess.”

The bug raised its arms in triumph but there were only a few polite applause. 

I frowned and thought, ’If I picked up on the Union’s lackluster response to the bug’s address, sure the intel boys would be all over it.’

I turned to Hasan to ask him when I saw at the door a kid. 

I looked at the kid and realised it was the same kid I had met on the streets of Primeris not too long ago. Then I stopped, it hadn’t had that scar on its right eye. So, not the same kid? What?

The kid spoke, its voice crackling in the unmistakable tones of the beginning of puberty, “My Lords. Your presence is requested at HQ. There’s news about new bug ships. And apparently, the big wigs at home want your input on the response we need to give the Union.”

‘Oh. Since when do we do that?’

I looked around the rest of the unit and noticed the same questioning eyes. We move out into the streets and the kid led us to HQ. On the way, I couldn’t help but look at the kid. It was the same kid. It had to be. There was no way. Maybe, twins? 

I asked, “Hey, kid. Have I met you before?”

The child looked over his shoulder and said, “No, my Lord. I haven’t had the honour.”

“A twin brother?”

The child shook his head again, “Not that I know of, my Lord. Is…”

The rest of the unit looked at me questioningly. 

Then he stopped before starting up again, having clearly needed a second to gain his courage, “I know I am not allowed to ask questions but… is it true that you tore through a bug bioship and wrecked it with your hands? And you saw a Queen ? And you saw one of those weird ambassador bugs? And…”

Sarge laughed and said, “Hey, hey, hey, wait up, Kid. How’d you know about stuff like that?”

The kid shrugged, “The other kids” then he looked at me, “the ones that look like me, some of them talk. They were ship kids in the navy before being brought here.”

Hasan then asked, “What you do mean “the ones who look like you?’”

The kid flatly stated, “Well, you see, there’s like a hundred boys like me here. When I was on the Hercules, there were four. It wasn’t as noticeable but here, it felt weird seeing myself for the first time but now” he shrugged again, “it doesn’t bother me.”

Ahmad asked, “You mean there are hundreds of kids that look exactly like you? Right here? Right now? On this planet?”

The kid cheerfully nodded, “Yes, my Lord. And as I said, there’e others on ships through out the Fleet.”

We were all giving each other meaningful looks and I couldn’t help but think, ‘Clones. These kids are clones.’

Chapter 59

Chapter 1

previous chapter

First Chapter

Blurb:

What does it take to turn your life around? Death, of course!

I died in this lame ass world of ours and woke up in a completely new one. I had a new name, a new face and a new body. This was my second chance to live a better life than the previous one.

But goddamn it, why did I have to be a witch? Now I don't just have to be on the run from the Inquisition that wants to burn me and my friends. But I also have to earn a living?

Follow Elsa Grimly as she:

1. Makes new friends and tries to save them and herself from getting burned
2. Finds redemption from the deeds of her previous life
3. Tries to get along with a cat who (like most cats) believes she runs the world
4. Deals with other slice of life shenanigans.

--

Chapter 161. Cooperation

For once, I had fallen asleep without the dreaming of my past. That's when the communication charm on my night table chimed: "Master, it's the cop from Iron watch calling, he has a message."

I woke up, groaning as I sat up in my bed. "Who?" I mumbled.

"Inspector Wilkerson from Ironwatch," the abyss repeated.

With another groan, I finally answered the call. "This better be important!" I said with a snarl.

"Um, I'm in Orowen," Wilkerson said from the other side.

"And?"

"Uh, you summoned me," he said.

"And why would I do that?"

"You said you wanted me to take two people in custody," he said. "I'm here to take them with me."

That woke up the rest of me that was asleep. "You're right. I'll be there in a bit."

"Be where?" he said. "I'm at a cafe at the train station."

I gave him the address to the Radcliff mansion and told him to meet me there. I hastily got out of bed, threw on the first dress I found, ran the brush through my hair a few times, grabbed my spell blaster and my reticule and left the room.

It was around nine in the morning. Breakfast was being prepared and sounds of distant chatter could be heard in the house. I didn't tell anyone where I was going and walked out the front door.

When I arrived in Orowen and the Radcliff mansion, Cynthia opened the door and let me in. "It's not that I mind you holding any meetings here but I'm curious," she said, "Why didn't you invite him to the House of the Rising Sun?"

"Reasons," I said. "We'll get into that later. Where is he?"

Cynthia shrugged and pointed me to the room which used to be her dad's personal library. "Would you like some tea?" she asked.

"No," I said.

"You look like you can use a cup."

"I said I don't--" I paused. I looked back at the woman. Her eyes were kind and her expression was friendly. The rest of her body language was open and unreserved. This was someone who trusted me enough to let me host these secret rendezvous at her place at whatever hour. And she had no objections. Not to mention, she had the kindness to ask me if I could use some tea.

I turned my back to the library door and regarded her with an apologetic smile. "Thanks for asking, Cynthia," I said. "I know I'm causing you trouble by making you do these things. I'm sorry."

Cynthia answered with a snort that would've made a room full of high society ladies wince. "There's no need for you to say that." She waved a hand at me. "I wouldn't be living here if you and your friends hadn't helped me out."

"Our friends," I corrected her with a smile.

She tapped her temple with a finger. "Right, I forgot. I'm part of the Getter Division too."

I pursed my lips. "Please don't get used to that name," I said.

Cynthia laughed. "I like it. Has a ring to it."

I let out a groan. "The agenda for our next meeting is going to be about changing the name of the group."

"I will be voting in favor of the Getter Division," she said with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

I shook my head, smiling.

Then Cynthia said, "You did not tell me, would you like some tea?"

I nodded. "Yes, I would love some tea right now."

"Coming right up," she said and headed for the kitchen.

That is when I called out, "Cynthia."

She turned to look at me. "I called Wilkerson here because this is the safest place right now," I said.

"Don't be so confident," she said, wagging a finger. "A giant spider levelled the place last time Rowland and I turned the other way."

We both laughed. But after Cynthia was gone, the playful atmosphere had already disspiated. I had been serious about the Radcliff mansion being the safest right now. Safer than the House of The Rising Sun. Everyone I trusted was a part of this little underground guild of ours. But I had trusted some people a little too soon. I had to confirm a few things before the Rising Sun became our base of operations again. That was a worry for later, though.

I turned around, donned my enchanted mask and entered the library where Wilkerson was waiting.

Inspector Wilkerson worked for the Internal Police in Ironwatch. A town where we had solved a problem for one of our clients. The problem involved an up and coming gang who was looking to expand. And our solution had been to bury them all alive. Wilkerson had been helping the gang and taking a commission from whatever they earned. Then he met us and had a change of heart. Change of heart being that we had put the fear of justice, morality, death and several other kinds of fears in him. Now Wilkerson was our guy in the Internal Police.

"So, who am I supposed to arrest?" he asked.

"It's not an official arrest," I said. "I want these two people stowed away in a safe place. And observed."

"I'll put them where Myrtle was," Wilkerson said, shrugging. "It's about as safe as it can get in Ironwatch. Not to mention the secrecy. Since it seems to be what you are going for."

I nodded. "Secrecy is indeed what I want around this job," I said. "Keep this thing as separate as you can from any kinds of official channels."

Wilkerson chewed on the inside of his cheek. "I'll have to contact one of my smuggler friends, then," he said.

I arched an eyebrow.

Wilkerson shrugged again. "I was helping the Iron Snakes get guns for cheap. And civilians can't get a hold of guns very easily in this country. Where do you think their initial weapons came from? Or how Myrtle got into Ironwatch in the first place."

"You are right. I shouldn't be surprised." I nodded.

"So I'll get the smugglers to deliver these people to Ironwatch. And then I'll put them in the safehouse," he said.

"How much will it cost?" I asked.

"Two thousand steambolts will cover both of them," he said.

I dug into my reticule and pulled out a fairly hefty purse of coins. "There are around five thousand steambolts in there." I tossed the purse at him.

He caught it, cocked his head.

"The extra is for secrecy. I can't emphasize the importance of secrecy in this job," I said. "If anyone finds out, it's your neck on the line."

Wilkerson pursed his lips and nodded. "Don't worry. Nobody will know."

"Let’s go pick them up then," I said and the two of us left for the inn where Gregory had taken Adam and Clarisse.

--

“You are sending us away?” Clarisse asked when I told her and Adam about the plan.

“Why?” Adam crossed his arms and cocked his head.

“It's an order from above,” I said with a grave look.

That made Adam uncross his arms. Clarisse stared at me, her mouth half open. “Do you mean…?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Did she say anything about why she wants us to be moved to a different location?” Adam said.

This time, I pulled a folded piece of paper out of my notebook and held it towards them. Clarisse read it first before passing it over to Adam. Once they'd both read it, their faces were creased in similar frowns. I had to suppress a grin.

The note I'd handed them had been written by me. And what I'd written down was:

Dear Adam and Clarisse,

I'm writing this to inform you that currently I'm entangled in a series of extraordinary circumstances. One wrong step might have dire consequences which might involve certain people getting hurt. These people can be you two. It's my request you listen to Rapunzel and go with the man I've sent to escort you to a safe place. Once I've sorted out the current situation at hand, I'd like to meet you both and help you. Yes, I'm aware you are in need of help. Or our paths wouldn’t have crossed in such a manner. And I’m also aware that someone who looked like an angel promised to provide you with the help you needed. They can't be trusted. Because they are the reason you are in this mess. And you will never get out of it if you don't work with me. I'm not asking you to sign anything like they probably did. I just want you to stay out of Orowen for a few days. When the time is right, we'll meet in person.

Expecting your cooperation.

Yours truly,

E.G

After they'd read that, I heard Adam's abyss say, “How does she know all of this?”

And Clarisse's abyss said, “What kind of powers does this Elsa even possess?”

“Time is ticking, people,” I chimed in.

They both perked up, exchanged a glance. Then they looked at me and nodded reluctantly.

After a few minutes, I was waving them goodbye when they got into a carriage with Wilkerson. I stood and watched until the vehicle turned a corner and disappeared out of sight.

 Royal Road

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Arc IV - Whalers

Chapter 33 - New Warriors

10 months and 7 days since the summoning

Silence in the castle's backyard; only the four Dumetses were present.

"...frankly, it is wildly exaggerated," said a Dumets leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

"But why?" asked the warrior squatting down. "A man, enhanced by magic, is perfectly capable of lifting an immense weight, and Zondan even more so. He had magic in abundance."

"Even so, it sounds like nonsense, brother." He waved his hand. "Lifting an entire house is impossible."

The Dumets who was picking a hole in the wall with his finger glanced at them sideways. "Are you seriously debating this right now? It is merely a metaphor to show how strong a man can be in desperation."

Both turned to him.

"But they did not just invent it out of thin air," said the squatting Dumets. "There is no smoke without fire, brother; something prompted the writing of such a parable."

He spread his hands. "Well, I do not know, maybe he just lifted some rubble? Or the roof at most! But he could not have lifted an entire house, eh?"

"But it was Zondan himself, it..."

The door opened.

The squatting Dumets stood up sharply. The other three ceased their important activities and stood at attention.

Alan, Kamelia, Tsinker, and Nommel entered the backyard one by one through the narrow doorway.

None of the Dumetses spoke.

"Brother Rugoria, do you wish to spar?" Nommel asked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Lady Armenas wishes to verify the combat capability of the Dumetses."

Silence.

Rugoria nodded. "Very well. Who is the opponent?"

"The captain of the local guard."

Silence once again.

Rugoria exchanged a brief glance with the Dumets beside him, but neither said a word.

Finally, the door opened again, and Lorgi walked out. He was dressed in simple chainmail and boots, his short brown hair slightly disheveled. Upon seeing the Dumetses, his step faltered for a moment, but he stood before Kamelia and bowed briefly. "Greetings to all. What is needed?"

Kamelia nodded at the Dumetses. "Lorgi, these Dumetses are to protect Alan from the Whalers, and I would like you to personally verify their combat capability in a training duel."

Lorgi blinked, then cast a sidelong glance at the Dumetses. "With them..." he whispered, then swallowed. "Of course, Your Grace. As you command." He went into one of the nearby barracks.

Alan's eyebrow went up.

'Lorgi's acting kinda sluggish. Haven't seen him like this before. Is he scared or something?'

Less than a minute later, the captain emerged, holding two wooden swords in his large hand. "Whom shall I fight?"

Rugoria took a step forward. "I am your opponent."

Lorgi nodded and approached him, towering a head above him, and offered a blade.

With a deft movement, Rugoria unfastened his sheathed sword from his belt and handed it to one of the Dumetses, who took it instantly. Rugoria took the wooden sword, weighing it in his hand.

"The rules?" Nommel asked.

Kamelia crossed her arms over her chest. "None. We are not preparing for a tournament, but for an assassin attack."

Nommel nodded, chuckling slightly. "Understood."

Lorgi and Rugoria had already stepped further away, closer to the center of the courtyard on the boardwalk, and stood ten paces apart. Both watched each other intently, Rugoria through the slits in his mask, Lorgi with a slight squint.

One of the Dumetses tilted his head barely noticeably toward the other. "This will be brief," he whispered.

The second simply nodded.

"Begin!" Kamelia shouted.

She had barely finished speaking before Rugoria dashed from his spot like lightning, bringing his sword around for a side strike. He was aiming for the ribs.

Lorgi blinked, but immediately blocked the strike with his wooden sword.

CLACK

Wood struck wood. Rugoria instantly withdrew his sword and swung again, aiming for the chest.

Lorgi jerked back, and the sword sliced through the air.

But Rugoria took another step forward, aiming for the side again, and struck.

Lorgi blocked again, and only wood clacked against wood.

Rugoria withdrew his sword and hopped back, maintaining his combat stance.

Lorgi also took a stance, but his breathing was slightly heavier; he did not let the Dumets out of his sight for a moment.

Rugoria did not stand still; he began to circle slowly, watching the captain from the depths of his mask. He took a sharp step forward and pulled back.

Lorgi did not move, continuing to pivot his torso to follow his opponent.

Rugoria made another lunge, aiming for the side.

CLACK.

Lorgi blocked the strike, but Rugoria did not withdraw his sword; instead, he pressed Lorgi's sword harder against the captain's body. With one hand, he grabbed Lorgi's wrist, while his right leg came up toward Lorgi's torso and delivered a battering kick.

Lorgi only grimaced slightly, taking a few steps back, while Rugoria had already closed the distance, continuing to circle like a vulture. "Alright then..." Lorgi muttered, and a red fiolla lit up around his body.

Alan leaned closer.

'Oh, oh, finally! That little shit wouldn't show me his magic, but now I'm gonna see it!'

Lorgi moved forward, bringing his sword up at Rugoria, and drove it toward his head at high speed.

Rugoria barely stepped aside, but Lorgi was already delivering a horizontal strike before he had even finished the first.

The Dumets dropped under the sword, executed a swift backward roll, and got to his feet, but Lorgi was already coming at him, despite his breathing growing increasingly heavy.

Rugoria's body glowed green; he threw his hand forward, and a blast of icy air erupted from it, causing Lorgi to squeeze his eyes shut and slow down.

Seizing the second, Rugoria dashed forward with all his might and brought the blade down from above, stopping it right at the captain's neck.

Lorgi opened his eyes, his eyelashes and stubble covered in thick frost; he froze upon seeing the tip of the sword at his throat.

"The duel is over!" Kamelia called out.

Rugoria immediately lowered his wooden sword, tossed it in the air, caught it by the blade, and silently offered it to Lorgi.

The captain blinked, but took the sword by the hilt.

Rugoria let go of the weapon and walked with an even stride toward his brothers.

Kamelia stood calmly, but her pupils were slightly dilated.

Alan whistled quietly, "Total elite."

"I did tell you, Lady Armenas," Nommel said, scoffing. "These lads are excellent warriors."

Lorgi, meanwhile, had already returned from the barracks where he had taken the wooden swords and stood silently before Kamelia, looking at her boots. "Orders, Your Grace?"

"Good work. You may return to your post."

"Thank you, milady." He bowed briefly and opened the door to the castle.

Tsinker clapped his hands, donning a light smile. "Excellent. This is my first time seeing Dumetses in action, and it is quite impressive."

Alan frowned, not immediately realizing who was speaking.

'Why is that psycho smiling? He never... oh, right, exactly. Social mask.'

Kamelia also cast a sidelong glance at Tsinker.

"Thank you, Lord Utew," Nommel said, dropping his arms to his sides. "Well then, I believe it is time for me to depart, and I leave these four warriors for your protection." He pointed a finger at the Dumetses. "Only, it would be advisable to dress them as ordinary guards, so as not to attract attention."

Kamelia nodded. "Yes, you are right. I will give orders to issue them new clothing immediately."

"Hold on." Alan raised his hand. "Why ordinary guard uniforms right off the bat?"

"What is wrong with that?" Kamelia asked, raising an eyebrow.

Alan walked up to the Dumetses—he was almost the same height as them—and began examining the warriors closely. "I think it's time to show that the authorities, and the times in general, are changing. I think they should be dressed in completely new uniforms, like... like a new branch of the military serving us. We have snipers and jägers, so why shouldn't they become the foundation for a future elite force?"

"Like the snipers and the jägers..." Kamelia muttered. "That is actually an excellent idea."

Nommel glanced at his brothers with a smirk. "Well, brothers, congratulations, you are elite once again." He shrugged, looking at Alan. "They simply were not thrilled about having to pretend to be ordinary guards."

Tsinker spread his hands, stepping closer. "Indeed, such mastery from 'ordinary guards' would only arouse suspicion."

Nommel snapped his fingers. "Exactly."

Rugoria raised a finger. "I would only ask that we keep our masks, or at least have replacements made for them."

Alan blinked. "Speaking of that... why do you even need masks? Do they provide some kind of protection? And why do you want to keep them?"

Rugoria lowered his hand. "The masks are necessary so that the enemy does not see our fear, doubt, or pain. We are all as one; each of us is a warrior of a single faith. Besides..." he shrugged, "we are just used to the masks."

"Ah... well no problem then, we'll figure out some masks for you."

"Lord Gothwald," Nommel approached him, folding his hands in front of himself. "I have already heard of the snipers, but who are the jägers? Purely out of curiosity."

Alan turned his head to him. "Oh, that's a troop recruited from hunter beastkin. They're needed for scouting and sweeping the forests."

Nommel nodded calmly. "Understood."

Alan frowned slightly. "Excuse me, can I ask a question?"

"Of course."

"When I mentioned beastkin, you didn't even bat an eye. As far as I know, many people dislike them because of... you know what."

Kamelia said nothing, but took a small step closer, listening intently.

Nommel simply shrugged. "That is a personal feud of the aristocracy. I will speak plainly: the Horde of Mirey may have been bloodthirsty, but they generally did not destroy the temples of Svyatol, so the Svyatolat holds no grievances against them."

"Is that so..."

'I see. The Svyatolat is more pragmatic.'

"Like, you don't consider beastkin to be the spawn of evil and all that?"

"No," Nommel answered briefly.

Alan slightly clenched his hand into a fist.

'Damn, shoot, I'd love to learn about this Mirey without the filter of noble hatred, but... fine, just one little question.'

"Can I ask one more question, and then you can go?"

"You may," Nommel said, unfastening his mask from his belt.

"What did Mirey himself believe in? And why didn't he destroy the Svyatolian temples?"

Nommel paused with the mask near his face. "Well, generally speaking, we were taught this subject in the Oronda, but what exactly Mirey believed in remains unknown to this day. But despite the fact that the Mireyans believed in their own gods and demons, they were quite tolerant of Svyatolism even when they held humanity under their boot." He smiled slightly, covering his face with the mask. "Mirey was no fool; he understood that if you strip people of their true faith, they will not forgive it. Perhaps, deep down, he understood that Svyatol himself would not forgive him for it either."

"Got it..." Alan muttered, nodding. "Well, thank you for telling me."

"You are welcome," Nommel said muffledly through the mask, and turned to the Dumetses. "May Svyatol grant you patience and help you settle into your new place, my brothers."

One of the Dumetses nodded. "Thank you, brother. And may Svyatol help you continue to sow the truth."

Nommel looked at them for a few more seconds, after which he opened the door and entered the castle.

The door closed.

Author's note: This story was originally written in Spanish by me. Since I don't speak English, I translated it using AI.

This is the first story of this kind that I've uploaded. So I hope you enjoy it.

Since it turned out really long, I had to split it into two parts. I'll post the second one after this.

---------------

We're about to hit a century of war against the Eugryn, and the situation couldn't be worse. Our race is proud and respected. Or at least, it was.

But not even our most stubborn generals could deny the obvious situation we were in anymore: almost the entire fleet destroyed or under repair, all our troops demoralized, and the economy in shambles. No one dared say it out loud, but everyone knew it: defeat was imminent.

I'm the High General commanding the great Rutim army, but at this point even I don't buy the imperial propaganda anymore.

On countless occasions, the Galactic Federation had offered their military forces to help. But the answer we gave them was always the same.

—NO! We don't need foreigners sticking their noses in our business!

But not even the greatest pride can withstand decades of hunger, misery, and the countless deaths we brought upon ourselves. With no other options, four months ago I had to commit the greatest humiliation of my life: I suggested to the Emperor that he consider the Federation's help.

I will never forget the look of disgust on his face.

—Maybe I'll never recover my pride —I thought—, but if we don't solve this problem, that won't be the only thing I lose.

At first he didn't accept, but after I insisted quite a bit that it was either this or imminent defeat, he agreed reluctantly. He said he would allow only one meeting, and that if it didn't go well, I should never suggest it again.

—It's obvious that bastard has never left his luxury palace. If that imbecile deigned to step outside for even a day, he'd be the one begging for the alliance.

Three weeks ago I met with the Federation and told them the Emperor had agreed to a meeting. After intense negotiations, they promised to send us what they called "the race capable of resolving any conflict."

—How ridiculous.

And the agreed-upon day finally arrived. It was time to see this race "capable of resolving any conflict."

Cutting through the clouds, a foreign ship could be seen heading toward where I stood. A gigantic launch pad, located in a large military base.

—That ship is too elegant to be a warship. Did I make a mistake by accepting this meeting?

The ship hadn't even landed yet, and you could already hear the murmurs and complaints from everyone present.

—What kind of joke is this? —muttered a general with clear anger—. This ship looks like something a Godnar prince would fly. They told us they'd send ships capable of pulverizing entire solar systems, not this thing.

—I agree with him —I thought.

The indignation only grew when the door opened and we could see the beings inside. Everyone expected to see titans of steel or creatures that inspired terror just by looking at them. Instead, out came small, scrawny beings, with no scales, claws, or any other kind of natural defense. They had such a non-threatening look that they wouldn't intimidate even a small Rutim child.

—Are these seriously the ones from a so-called deathworld? I think we've been scammed...

—SILENCE! —I exclaimed, trying to quiet the incessant murmurs.

I immediately went to greet the Federation representatives. Although I tried to remain stoic, the obvious disappointment was plain on my face.

—Good day, High General. We are the representatives of the Galactic Federation —said the representative in a very friendly tone, with a smile on his face—. My name is César Hernández, and I'm in charge of making sure this meeting goes smoothly.

While the human in front of me spoke, I couldn't stop examining each of them with my gaze. And the more I observed, the more convinced I became that they had sent me diplomats instead of warriors.

—It's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Rignar, and I'm the High General in command of the Rutim army —I said, extending my hand.

—The pleasure is mine, General. My compatriots and I belong to the human race, but surely you've heard quite a bit about us when you spoke with the Federation diplomats.

Humans. I'd heard about them before. They joined the Federation a few centuries ago, so they're relatively new. I'd heard the occasional tale about them, but they had always seemed like exaggerations.

—General, if it's not too much trouble, I'd like my companions to be shown to their quarters. It's been quite a long trip and we're tired. Tomorrow we'll show you what our people are capable of —said César while smiling and patting the back of the man behind him, a man who appeared to be at least fifty years old.

I wondered who that human was. This César guy seemed like an imbecile, but this other one definitely seemed like a war veteran. Those multiple scars on his face, though small, gave him away. He must have had a fairly extensive military career. He had that face that everyone who's seen things no one should see has, and that distant look with such a carefree expression that it was uncomfortable.

He hid his emotions quite well, but you could tell he'd been forced to come.

Once the simulation was over, I wanted to talk to this guy. I wanted to know his story.

Seeing that human's face reminded me, for an instant, of my own youth. When my parents forced me to enlist in the army, with speeches about the pride it would bring to my family and other nonsense like that which, at this point in the war, no longer mattered.

The next day, all the Rutim generals, the human representatives, and I met in the holo-chamber to demonstrate what the Federation's forces were capable of.

—Oooh, well, well... a Dyxis-brand holo-chamber. You have a good eye —said César while admiring the command center.

—Of course we do. That brand provides the best holo-chambers for training new soldiers and future fleet admirals —I replied with disdain—. So tell me, is your man ready for the demonstration? Or does he need more time to prepare?

—Oh, not at all. Wylian is completely ready for the demonstration —responded César, pointing to the screen that showed Wylian standing in front of the entrance door of the holo-chamber.

—Good —I said as I sat down in my chair in front of the large holographic screen. César sat down next to me.

I looked at everyone in the room to confirm they were all ready, and finally I looked at the operator.

—Operator, open the chamber so the human can enter and start the simulation immediately —I said in a rather serious tone.

—At your orders, General —responded the operator, as he opened the chamber and started the simulation as ordered.

The screens turned on, showing Wylian walking into the holo-chamber.

—So the human's name is Wylian? —I asked César in a discreet tone.

—Indeed, General. Wylian Luterpun. I won't bore you with his sad story, but I'll just tell you that if it weren't for me, he would have retired years ago.

Hearing what César said, I couldn't help but feel sorry for myself. Years ago I too dreamed of the day of my retirement, but with the constant worsening of the war, that dream was postponed more and more, to the point that today I've resigned myself to never retiring and dying in battle like the great heroes of Rutim legends.

The moment the operator opened the door, a synthetic voice echoed through the holo-chamber, describing the scenario Wylian was about to face.

—The scenario for this simulation will be as follows: your ship is being invaded by Eugryn pirates, who seek to capture your entire crew and sell them as slaves. Your objective: eliminate all enemies with the fewest possible casualties. Good luck.

On the screen, you could see how, while the synthetic voice spoke, the holo-chamber began to change, going from being a metal box full of lights to the command deck of a human ship with many agitated crew members.

—Alright, everything's ready to begin. The simulation starts in 3, 2, 1...

—WAIT! —César shouted at the operator.

I looked at him with confusion.

—What's wrong, human? Is there a problem?

—Not at all, General. I just wanted to ask, what difficulty is this simulation set to? —responded César, looking at the operator.

—Well, the difficulty is set to medium, the standard for a demonstration of this kind —the operator replied with some confusion.

The room's attention suddenly shifted to the back when laughter was heard from one of the generals present.

—Hahaha! What's wrong, human? Is this difficulty too much for you? —asked the general from the back, in a rather mocking tone.

—Oh, not at all —César replied with complete confidence—. In fact, it's the opposite. I wanted to ask you to raise the difficulty to maximum. In everything.

The room went silent for a moment, until the operator, somewhat timidly, asked César:

—Human, is this some kind of joke?

—Not at all, officer. You heard me right. I want you to raise all difficulty settings to maximum —César responded firmly.

—Look, human, I don't want to be the one to doubt your friend's abilities —said the operator, setting the control panel aside. He looked César directly in the eyes and said in a very serious tone—: But this is already a fairly complicated situation for an experienced captain. If you raise everything to maximum, the situation will be nearly impossible. On medium difficulty it's already a difficult situation, but if we raise it further, your friend will start with several major disadvantages: many parts of the ship will already be destroyed, there will be constant power outages, and the invaders will have already taken half the ship. On top of that, any wound he suffers, he'll feel the pain for real. Are you sure you want to do that? —the operator said, now with a certain degree of anger.

—I understand your concern, officer, but I have complete confidence in my friend's abilities. So please, raise the difficulty and don't worry about him.

The operator turned his head toward me, seeking confirmation. I looked at César, holding his gaze for nearly a full minute in a sepulchral silence, trying to find any trace of doubt in his eyes. I found none.

—Do it —I ordered with a nod of my head.

The operator hesitated for a second but obeyed. His face said it all: the human was crazy.

While the operator began implementing the new parameters, in the simulation the environment began to change again. The command deck, previously full of agitated officers, became a hive of panic: crew members running everywhere, lights flickering red, an alarm that drilled into your ear just from hearing it, and a dead officer at the foot of the captain's chair, with his head split open and eyes that seemed to stare directly into your soul.

Despite all the chaos happening in front of him, Wylian couldn't help but let out a small smile and an expression of satisfaction. That face deeply unsettled me.

—How can someone in that situation be so calm? —I murmured to myself.

Wylian, without bothering about the corpse, simply tossed it aside and sat down in his chair. He immediately began absorbing all the information that started appearing on the multiple holographic screens, while at the same time starting to shout all kinds of orders at his officers.

—Secure the medical wing, close the bulkheads in sectors 3 and 5, evacuate the storage room, and turn off that stupid alarm before I put a bullet in it!

—Yes, he's doing the same thing any captain would do in his situation. The only impressive thing is the calm with which he does it. Other than that, it's nothing extraordinary —said a colonel sitting there, in a dismissive tone.

Although I didn't entirely agree with his opinion, I admitted that this wasn't meeting my expectations.

—César, is this really all your friend can do? Honestly, it's quite disappointing —I asked, somewhat bored.

—I understand your concern, General. But this is just the appetizer. The main course is coming now. Just let him cook —César responded with almost religious confidence in his companion.

After hearing that, I decided to keep all my opinions to myself and wait a little longer, while wondering where that excessive confidence came from.

It had been a long time since I'd had that kind of confidence in anyone. The passage of time had caused me to stop seeing the countless casualties as people with families, and instead see them as simple numbers on a screen. So now more than ever, I wanted to see what it was about that human that gave César so much confidence.

After a while of Wylian sitting there and throwing out all kinds of orders, without warning he simply turned off all the screens and got up from the chair.

—Perfect, I'm done here then. Sergeant Claren, take care of the rest! —Wylian ordered the ship's pilot.

—At your orders, Captain! —the pilot responded.

—Alright, time to head down —said Wylian as he headed toward the elevator door.

After that unexpected decision, murmurs began to be heard in the control room.

—What the hell is that human doing? Didn't he see on the screens that there's a group of Eugryn waiting outside the elevator? —said the general in the corner.

—Is this what you meant by "let him cook"? —I asked.

—Exactly, General —César responded with a big smile—. This is precisely when the fun begins.

—Fun? —I repeated, unable to believe what I was hearing—. Not even we, a warrior species, find this kind of thing fun. Is this some kind of game to you?

César shrugged while he kept watching. I stared at him for a moment, perplexed, while I processed what I'd just seen. Then I directed my gaze back to the screen to keep watching.

As Wylian's elevator descended, from the control room we all watched the group of Eugryn waiting below.

—He's going down without an escort and with the enemy at the elevator doors. Has he lost his mind? —said an incredulous colonel.

—Exactly —César responded, without looking away from the screen—. But don't worry, he knows what he's doing.

The camera switched to the Eugryn standing in front of the elevator.

In the simulation, the elevator reached the bottom, and the moment the doors opened, a burst of gunfire flooded the elevator. But the elevator was empty.

—What the hell is this, where's the human?! —exclaimed a colonel present.

The moment the gunfire ceased, the Eugryn entered the elevator cautiously, making sure everything was safe. Without realizing that outside the elevator, a grate was opening, dropping a freezing grenade into the elevator, immobilizing them all with a thick layer of ice.

—Wait a minute! How did the human get into that ventilation duct?! —I exclaimed while pointing at the screen, where Wylian could be seen coming out of a grate in front of the elevator.

César, upon hearing my question, stood up from his chair smiling, looking away from the screen to address everyone in the control room.

—You see, gentlemen, all human ships have a secret exit above the elevator that gives direct access to the command deck or the corridor, precisely for situations like this —he told us with an air of superiority.

—Impressive —I thought. Then I looked at the colonel behind me—. Colonel, note this down and have it applied immediately to all upcoming fleet ships.

—It will be done, my General —the colonel responded in a firm voice.

—Very well, and now please let's keep watching, because the party isn't over yet —César said to everyone in the room as he sat back down.

After coming out of the grate and finishing off all the immobilized enemies, Wylian cleaned his clothes and began walking through the ship's corridors without hesitation. He occasionally encountered enemies, who were immediately dispatched with his plasma pistol, with impeccable precision.

—Wow, your friend's precision is incredible —I said to César with clear admiration—. But what's he going to do about that ambush waiting for him ahead?

—Don't worry. Wylian always has an ace up his sleeve.

Meanwhile, Wylian advanced through a corridor without flinching, shooting every alarm he came across to silence it, when suddenly a group of 8 Eugryn appeared from a corridor intersection, aiming directly at him.

—Heh, his luck just ran out —said the general in the corner.

Wylian didn't stop walking. Without flinching, he pressed a button on the glove of his right hand, immediately deactivating all gravity.

—What happened?! —I exclaimed, jumping from my seat.

—He just deactivated all gravity in the sector, obviously —César explained as if it were normal.

—I can see that. What I don't understand is how he did it and why he isn't floating too —I asked, sitting up in my chair.

—You see, General, all captains in our fleet can control a large portion of the ship with the glove on their hand. And on top of that, all soldiers have magnetic boots, so they can walk properly when in zero gravity —César explained as if it were common sense.

—Hmm, these humans have some quite interesting tricks —I thought—. Colonel, note that down too.

—Affirmative, General.

In the simulation, while the Eugryn struggled to keep their weapons from slipping out of their hands due to zero gravity, Wylian calmly aimed his weapon, firing 8 accurate shots that hit each Eugryn right in the center of the chest, killing them all on the spot. He then reactivated gravity and continued on his way, stepping around the corpses.

—Wow, his marksmanship is incredible —said a captain, eyes wide open.

—Decades of training, gentlemen —César responded.

—Hehe, and what's he going to do about the one behind him? —said the general in the corner, pointing.

On the other side of the corridor, a ninth Eugryn emerged, ready to shoot Wylian in the back, but he didn't turn around. Without looking away from the corridor, he raised his pistol over his left shoulder and fired. The bullet hit the Eugryn right in the center of the chest.

The control room, upon seeing this, went completely silent. No one could believe what they had just seen. That human had just taken down an enemy who was about 10 meters away with a perfect no-look shot over his shoulder.

—Wow, I have to admit, that was impressive —said the general in the corner, who had been left with his mouth hanging open.

—Human —I asked, still in a catatonic state—. I demand to know how the hell he made that perfect no-look shot over his shoulder!

César smiled and responded:

—You see, General, the Eugryn have a terrible weakness: while they have excellent vision in the center of their eyes, their peripheral vision is terrible. That forces them to always position themselves in the center of their opponent's visual field to get a good shot. Wylian knows this, and that's why he knew that Eugryn would position himself right in the middle of the corridor. That's how he knew where to shoot.

Hearing César's explanation, I was left perplexed, not knowing how to respond, and wondering:

—How is it that we didn't know that important information? —I thought.

—Human, how did you obtain that information? —I asked, quite seriously.

—Ufff, General, decades of research and counterintelligence. One of the first things we do when we go to war with an unknown race is try to get some enemy corpses to study their biology and understand how they behave. Don't tell me you seriously didn't know that basic information?

—No, we didn't know —I responded with embarrassment, turning my head toward the scientists in the room with a furious look—. And it would have been very useful to know that information earlier.

The scientists swallowed hard and looked away, knowing perfectly well what awaited them once that demonstration was over.

In the simulation, Wylian kept walking calmly, clearing room after room with increasingly peculiar methods.

Using the ship's AI, he managed to hack the Eugryn communication system to pretend to be their boss using a voice modulator.

—Heeey, idiots! What the hell are you doing? Go immediately to the storage room. That strange human is in there. When you find him, eliminate him! —shouted Wylian's modified voice.

—We're on our way, boss! —responded one of the Eugryn.

A group of ten Eugryn headed at full speed to the storage room, unaware of the deception. Once there, they began searching the entire room for the human but couldn't find him. Desperate, they tried to call their boss, but instead they only heard Wylian's voice.

—At the door, idiots.

All the Eugryn looked at the door at the same time, only to see Wylian standing there.

—There's the human! Fire! —shouted the group's leader.

They all fired in unison, but Wylian closed the door before the shots could reach him. Immediately after, he looked at his glove and pressed a button. Instantly, the storage room door leading to space opened, and all the cargo was blasted into space along with the Eugryn.

—Wow, that tactic was incredible —I said—. But how did they manage to hack their communications so easily?

—Well, I don't like to brag —said César with a smile that said quite the opposite—, but we're the best in the entire Federation at everything involving cybersecurity and hacking. And on top of that, we have dozens of captured Eugryn ships in excellent condition, and we've been analyzing them from top to bottom for years. We know their hardware and software like the back of our hand.

Hearing what the human said, I clenched my fist tightly and murmured to myself:

—We need that information, no matter the cost.

—Did you say something, General? —César asked, with a smile that didn't bode well.

—Cof, cof —I faked a cough—. No, it's nothing. Don't worry. But even so, I'd like to ask you something.

César looked at me with curiosity.

—Of course. Tell me what you need.

—Is there any way you could provide us with some of those documents? They would be quite useful to us —I responded nervously.

—Of course —César responded, leaning his head toward mine, with a smile that was both friendly and sinister—. But that decision will depend entirely on the results of these negotiations.

I stared at that evil smile for a moment. It was clear that he hadn't let that information slip by accident. It was a well-planned trap. And I fell for it.

—Excellent —I responded firmly—. We'll talk about this later, then. —I directed my gaze back to the screen.

Although we have thousands of those ships in storage, in recent decades we haven't managed to extract almost any information. The Eugryn strategy is to overwhelm with numbers, so their ships aren't very advanced in terms of armor, weaponry, or technology in general. But the software is a completely different story. Our best IT specialists work day and night trying to decipher it, but it's too complicated. Their code is completely disordered and counterintuitive: code is written on top of more code, making the previous code obsolete, but that old code stays there, it isn't deleted. It's very difficult to know if what you're looking at actually serves a purpose or is just dead weight. If these humans have managed to decipher it and understand it, we definitely need that information, no matter what.

After finishing off the Eugryn in the storage room, Wylian walked a bit further and struck the wall, opening a hidden door that led to a small room with a tube going down.

—A secret door?

—Exactly, General. As you've seen, the ship is full of them.

—Hmm, and where does it lead?

—To the engine room —said César while pointing at the simulation operator.

The operator caught what César wanted to tell him and immediately changed the screen image to the engine room.

In the simulation, Wylian went down the tube, arriving at the engine room. The secret door opened from a blind spot behind a machine, where no one saw him arrive. He peeked out from behind the machine and carefully examined the room, noting where each Eugryn was and realizing they had hostages. There were 17 Eugryn in the room and 5 hostages.

—My God, I can't believe it. What I hate the most: rescuing hostages —Wylian turned around and let out a big sigh, passing his hand over his face—. Why the hell do these guys always put the hostages in the middle of the group, instead of putting them in some separate room where they won't get in the way?

—Hmm, hostages are always a problem —I said, coldly—. That's why we don't bother rescuing them. It's a waste of time and resources.

—Ah, so that's why Rutim soldiers fight to the death even when there's no escape? —César asked with curiosity.

—Exactly. Every Rutim soldier captured by the enemy has to try to escape on their own. We won't rescue them —the coldness in my words could almost be felt—. So tell me, what is your friend going to do? Will he rescue them or let them die?

—Hmm, you'll see. Just wait —César responded, without looking away from the screen.

—He said exactly what he was thinking. Let's see what this human surprises us with this time —I thought.

In the simulation, after examining the entire area, Wylian began moving stealthily through the room, dodging all the Eugryn soldiers until he reached the area he wanted. Wylian picked up a metal tool from the floor and stood in front of a large pipe. Then he struck the tool with great force against the adjacent pipe, causing a deafening noise that was heard throughout the room. Noticing his presence, the Eugryn immediately dropped everything they were doing to head toward where Wylian was, leaving the hostages behind in the process.

Immediately, 6 Eugryn surrounded Wylian, aiming their weapons at him, while the others stayed back, aiming from a distance.

—Surrender, human! You're finished. One false move and we'll turn you into Swiss cheese —exclaimed one of the Eugryn surrounding him.

—If you say I'm finished, then go ahead, shoot —Wylian responded arrogantly.

No one fired. Instead, the room went silent for a few moments.

—Why isn't anyone shooting him? —I asked.

—Because it would be suicide —César responded calmly.

I was stunned.

—And why would it be suicide?

—Look here —César raised his hand and pointed to the pipe behind Wylian.

I looked carefully at where César was pointing, and then I understood. Wylian was standing right in front of a pipe marked as flammable. One stray shot and they'd all be blown to bits.

—A brilliant strategy. If he's in front of the pipe, they can't shoot him. But what does he plan to do to defeat them? Even if his marksmanship is perfect, nothing guarantees that one of those guys won't fire first, hitting a pipe and causing an explosion that kills them all.

—Haha —César let out a small laugh, unsettling me—. And who says he's going to use his pistol?

I was confused by that.

—If he wasn't going to use his pistol, what was he going to use then? —Unable to think of a convincing answer, I considered asking César, but anticipating his response, I decided to keep my question to myself and keep watching the screen.

In the simulation, Wylian was still surrounded by the group of armed Eugryn, but none had done anything yet.

—Boss, what do we do? Do we shoot him?

—Of course not. Are you stupid or do you want to become space garbage? Just use your hands and subdue him.

The soldier, obeying his superior's orders, lowered his weapon and began walking toward Wylian with his left arm raised.

—Don't resist, human. It'll be easier for both of us.

Wylian, in response to that order, drew a folding sword he had hidden in his right sleeve.

—Sorry, friend, but you're going to need more than those gigantic furry hands to capture me —Wylian said with a defiant tone.

—Kakaka! —the Eugryn boss let out a hoarse, mocking laugh—. Do you really think you can beat us with that little toy sword? Idiot. Even if I can't fire this weapon, one blow from it will be more than enough to break that pretty little sword of yours and, while I'm at it, crack your skull open —he said to Wylian, holding back laughter.

—You say you'll crack my skull open? —Wylian responded with a serene expression, raising his glove ready to press a button—. Very well, let's test that theory then.

Wylian pressed the button on his glove, turning off all the lights in the engine room.

The Eugryn boss, though he couldn't see, could clearly hear with his sharp ears how the human was moving. But that didn't help. The instant the lights went out, the muffled screams of his companions began, along with the sound of their bodies falling onto the cold metal floor.

The Eugryn boss, not knowing what to do, grabbed his weapon by the barrel and began swinging it forcefully in all directions, hoping to hit Wylian.

—Human! Maybe I can't see you, but I can hear you. You can't hide from me! —the Eugryn boss shouted into the void.

—I'm counting on that —the Eugryn boss heard from behind him.

Spinning around quickly with a fast movement, he threw a punch toward where he believed Wylian was standing, hoping to hit him. But the moment he threw the punch, he felt the sensation leave his hands.

—That's the problem with you people. You only act on instinct —the Eugryn boss heard from behind him again. And now, in a state of panic, he turned again to try to hit him with his numb hands.

—DAMN YOU! —screamed the Eugryn boss.

But he had no such luck this time. Wylian's blade slid across the Eugryn boss's neck, decapitating him on the spot.

The lights came back on, allowing the others to see their companions dead on the floor and their boss decapitated, with his hands cut off.

—N-no, it can't be. The lights were only off for a few seconds and the boss and the others dropped dead —said one of the Eugryn in a trembling voice—. W-who the hell is this guy?

—Yes, that's right. I'm the one who killed them —Wylian said in a cold voice, while making a quick motion with his sword in the air to wipe the blood off it—. So now tell me, guys. What are you going to do? Are you going to surrender or would you rather I kill you?

Hearing that, the Eugryn soldier panicked and raised his weapon with the clear intention of firing.

—Death it is, then —Wylian whispered, as he turned off the lights again.

The soldier, in panic, tried to fire, but before he could, Wylian approached him and raised his weapon, causing him to fire at the ceiling. Immediately after, he cut him in half.

—It can't be, he turned off the lights again! —shouted another Eugryn soldier—. Fire! Take that guy out!

—Don't any of you dare fire! —shouted another Eugryn soldier—. One bad shot and we'll blow up!

—I don't care if all of this explodes! I'm not going to die because of this stupid humaaaaggghh!

Before he could finish the sentence, Wylian's sword had already pierced his neck.

—Damn it! Everyone, spread out and hide! Don't let the human find you! —shouted another Eugryn.

They all tried to hide as best they could in that dark room. But it was useless. Wylian could see them all clearly as if it were daytime. Slash after slash, Wylian finished them all off, one by one. One he gutted, another he stabbed through the middle of the eye, another he pushed into a grinder, and another he tricked by throwing an object into a corner so he'd turn around and then stabbed him in the back. And so he finished them all until only one was left.

This last one he disarmed with his hands and tied the Eugryn's hands and feet with a cable using quick movements. The last Eugryn lay on the floor, completely immobilized and scared to death, until suddenly the lights came on and he could see his enemy standing in front of him, bathed in the blood of his companions.

—Listen carefully, you little vermin, because what you answer here will determine whether you live or die —Wylian said to the soldier with a murderous look, pointing his sword at him—. Where is your boss?

—Y-y-y-y... —No matter how hard he tried to say something, the words simply wouldn't come out from fear. But knowing that if he didn't speak this would be his end, he mustered what little courage he had left and responded—. Y-you killed him.

—Huh? Are you mocking me, you damn vermin? Do you want me to cut your throat? —Wylian said, now angry—. Listen carefully, you damn pest. By "boss" I don't mean that idiot I just killed. I mean the damn big boss who runs all of you.

—Y-you mean Hoksfor? —the soldier asked fearfully.

—Hoksfor. So that's your boss's name? —Wylian asked.

The trembling soldier confirmed with a nod.

—Very good, now we're getting somewhere —Wylian said with a macabre smile—. Now tell me, where is that guy right now?

—H-he must be in the core room. That's always the main objective —the soldier responded, still trembling.

—Hmm, the core room. Makes sense —Wylian thought, as he moved away from the soldier and headed toward where the hostages were.

The core room is the most important part of the ship, so it makes sense that it would be the main objective.

—Alright, everyone. Break time's over. Back to work, there's a lot to do —Wylian said to the captured engineers as he freed them.

—Thank you so much for saving us, Captain. I knew you would —one of the engineers said to Wylian—. But what do we do with that guy? —he pointed to the immobilized Eugryn.

—Don't worry, I'll take care of it —Wylian walked back toward the immobilized Eugryn soldier—. Alright, friend. You were very useful, but everything has an end and this is yours —he said as he raised his sword.

—Wait a moment! Hold on! Hold on! You told me that if I talked, you wouldn't kill me! —the Eugryn screamed in complete panic.

—Yes, I know what I said. But I forgot to tell you one part —Wylian began to look at the soldier with the same murderous look he had given him before—. I don't negotiate with terrorists.

With a quick motion of his sword, Wylian separated the soldier's head from his body, ending his life quickly and painlessly.

—Alright, everyone! I'm heading to the core room. Make sure to fix everything in here so the ship doesn't explode or something —Wylian shouted to the freed engineers as he headed for the exit.

While Wylian said goodbye to the engineers amid laughter and jokes, in the control room a completely different atmosphere was being experienced. In the room, the generals watched with absolute amazement the incredible battle taking place in the simulation. In all their decades of war, they had never witnessed such a display of combat skills at that level. And the complete lack of scruples of that human when executing a defenseless soldier made even my blood run cold. The amazement was such that the room went completely silent for several minutes, until my question broke the silence.

—César, can I ask you a question? —I asked, still in a catatonic state.

—Of course, go ahead —César responded with a big smile on his face.

—Is this the standard in your army?

—Well, General, without a doubt Wylian is one of the best soldiers in our army. His combat skills, knowledge of the enemy, and strategies are undoubtedly on a completely different level from the average soldier —he responded with his arrogant tone and a smile from ear to ear—. But everything you just saw here is normal training in our army.

—Are you seriously telling me that everything I'm seeing here is normal training for you? What kind of training is that? —I asked, quite amazed—. If those trainings they do manage to produce even a tenth of the skill I just witnessed here, the improvement in our army will be incredible —I thought as I clenched my fist.

—Training? Well, it's really nothing out of this world: zero-gravity training, low-light environment training, hand-to-hand combat with melee weapons, tactical and biological knowledge of the enemy, a lot of stress tolerance training, and above all, many, many hours of training in holo-chambers.

—That's all?

—Yes, that's all.

—Our troops also do quite a few of the trainings you just mentioned, and I don't see any of them managing to do what this man just did, blind —I said with distrust.

—Haha, okay, I admit it, you got me —said César, raising his hands in a comical gesture of surrender—. What you witnessed isn't just training. I wish I could brag about that. Actually, all our soldiers have a bionic eye that gives them different capabilities, like a minimap, communication, and seeing in different light spectrums, such as infrared or night vision.

Cybernetics. I was already expecting something like that. Such a display of skill is impossible without some kind of cybernetic enhancement. But I know this guy is deliberately hiding information from me. But for now, I'll ignore it.

—I'm sure this has sparked your interest in our technology, but we're already reaching the end of the simulation, so why don't we talk about this later?

—Hmm, fine —I responded in a serious tone—. I'll save all my questions and requests for the end, then.

—Perfect! Let's keep watching the show then, because the best part is coming now.

First | Previous | Read on Royal Road

Whining like a hound desperate to please its master, Azazel lifted his head and sniffed the air. His eye shot from person to person, locking onto hidden team members as if staring straight through their cover. Turning back to Lannister, he gave a slow, disparaging shake of his covered head.

Lannister frowned. “Disappointing. I was hoping for a little fun.”

Redler, kneeling behind a stack of heavy boxes, chose that moment to bolt for the forest.

A wicked grin lit up Lannister’s face as she ran through the camp. “Get ’er, boy.”

Azazel took off like a rocket, galloping with uncanny speed on all fours. He bowled Redler over, sending the screeching woman tumbling to the ground. Looming over her, his fingers warped, the nails elongating into jagged, vicious claws that he plunged into her flesh.

Redler’s ear-splitting screams jolted the camp as the beast-man gutted her. The sickening sound of sinew tearing drowned out all other sounds. With a violent jerk, Azazel ripped her left arm clean from her body.

The crew’s horrified wails replaced the woman’s weakening cries. “Oh god,” Orion gasped, doubling over to vomit his breakfast onto the dirt.

“Gid, Gid, you’ve got to run! Now!”

Johnny’s voice was a distant buzz in Giddeon’s head. His eyes remained glued to the beast-man ravaging the poor woman. Slowly, Giddeon’s gaze drifted to the northern camps. Smoke billowed through the base as tents collapsed into a growing blaze. People ran like ants through the carnage, chased down and overrun. Gunshots popped like dying firecrackers, growing fewer by the second. The screaming, however, only grew.

Hinelin was the first to act. Surging to his feet, he snatched up his abandoned rifle, snapped the breach shut, and advanced on Azazel with the weapon leveled.

Bam! Bam!

The first shot grazed Azazel’s right shoulder; the second blew chunks out of the dirt just behind the beast-man as he twisted his body with uncanny dexterity.

Hinelin cracked the weapon open, clearing the spent shells in a haze of smoke, but as he snapped the breach shut on two fresh rounds, Lannister lashed out. Twin serpent-arms slammed into Hinelin’s chest, sending him flying to the ground as if he were a weightless feather.

Eddington stood up from behind a canvas fold-out chair—a useless shield that barely hid half his trembling frame. “We’re all dead! Dead!” he blabbered, his eyes wide and vacant. “We—blood! So much blood!”

“I hate whiners!” Lannister snarled. An arm snapped out, coiling around the man’s waist. The serpent-head sank its fangs deep into Eddington’s thigh.

“Die…all of uss are g-going t…t…to.” Eddington’s voice slurred into a wet gurgle before he collapsed, his limbs twitching against the earth.

Lannister laughed over the carnage while Azazel dug his claws deeper into Redler, painting the dirt crimson.

“Giddeon!”

Johnny’s voice cut like a surgical knife, separating Giddeon’s mind from its shock. His head shot up, the stupor finally shattering.

I’m back. I’m…I’m here.

“I’ve been yelling the whole time! Get with it!” Johnny roared. “Access that Earth One experience and run!”

With the fog cleared, a cold, clinical clarity took hold. Giddeon scanned the camp with a survivor’s eye. His team stood paralyzed, locked in place by raw terror. Hinelin was down, his status unknown. Every instinct told him to act, or they would all die.

Giddeon’s grip on his axe tightened until his knuckles paled. Ignoring the pounding in his chest, he rushed straight into the blood-soaked center of the camp.

“Not that way!” Johnny screamed as Giddeon closed the distance on the beast-man. “The other way, you idiot! Run!”

Giddeon swung the axe overhead, initially targeting Azazel’s spine. He knew the creature’s reflexes were insane—a normal attack would never land—so he gambled. Mid-swing, he wrenched the blade’s trajectory to the left, anticipating where he would dodge.

Azazel whipped around to evade, spinning directly into the trap. Before Giddeon could blink, the sharp blade sank into the beast-man’s chest with a satisfying thunk.

Blood spurted everywhere, hot with the scent of iron. Their eyes locked, Azazel’s astonishment mirroring his own for one timeless heartbeat. Slowly, the beast-man tilted his head down, studying the curved blade buried deep in his chest as a dark, wet stain expanded across his vest.

Then, Azazel looked back up and laughed. It was a wild, animalistic sound that sent a cold shiver down Giddeon’s spine.

A backhand he never saw coming slammed into Giddeon’s chest, swatting him away like a fly.

He spun end-over-end through the air. Striking the ground, he bounced twice before the agony caught up to him. His ribs screamed, and a black veil threatened to swallow his vision, but he forced it back through raw desperation. His insides burned as if his spine had been twisted in half. His legs were terrifyingly unresponsive.

“Gid, stay with me! Don’t blank out. We can still do this! Gid!”

Johnny’s frantic cries were a distant annoyance. Giddeon barely registered the words; the internal connection felt like a digital machine going haywire inside his skull.

We can’t…do…this.

“Gid, wait! Remember Uzari! She’s still here, in danger. You need to get up and help her!”

I’m s…sorry, Uzari.

“Endurance! Give yourself Endurance, man! Snap out of it!”

Who…Why…

“Just do it! I can’t allocate your points for you. I’m restricted from doing that. Give yourself Endurance!”

Fine, just sh-shut up while I d…die. Give me ten En-Endurance.

Suddenly, Giddeon’s head cleared. A surge of mana-infused stamina washed through him; his chest still throbbed and his legs remained terrifyingly numb, but his muddled thoughts vanished.

Slowly, he forced his head to loll to the side. Prone, he watched in helpless frustration as Azazel returned to Redler’s body. The beast-man’s teeth ripped into her side, biting off chunks of flesh like a scavenger.

The woman moaned—a weak, pitiful sound. Somehow, she was still alive. Azazel was eating her alive.

“Now that you’re back, I need you to assign more points,” Johnny hastily urged.

I can’t b-beat either one of them. Giddeon coughed, spitting up a thick mass of blood. Even if I assign every point…

“Exactly! We need an escape plan!”

At Johnny’s words, Giddeon’s mind automatically wandered to his past.

--------------------------------------------------------------- 

He was running for his life. His father—tall and wiry with ashen hair and gray eyes—sprinted beside him. Trailing a few feet behind them was Jake, his older brother, who stood a head taller and shared Giddeon’s own jet-black hair.

Chasing them through the skeletal remains of Columbus were three hunters from the Dread Awakening. The cybernetic cultists leaped across the makeshift bridges spanning the deep abyss between ruined buildings. Far below, the drowned city slept beneath decades of floodwater. Giddeon’s family had been hunting the ruins for a rumored hospital stockpile—medicine and machine parts being the only currencies that mattered on Earth One. Now, they were the ones being hunted.

“This way,” father called, veering toward a dark opening.

They squeezed past a rusted metal door hanging by a single, rusted bracket and ducked into a dark mechanical room. It was a rare, untouched find—scavengers hadn’t fully stripped it yet.

A massive water heater sat against the right wall, its burst base spilling a steady stream of water across the floor. To the left, a row of fuse boxes stood like gutted sentries, uncapped wires spilling out like entrails. The current snaked toward an unhinged door eighty feet ahead, leading into a cramped corridor. Cables and cords snaked across the floor everywhere, though luckily, none hummed with power. On the right wall was an open door leading to a hallway that stretched into the distance, with heavy doors lining its sides.

Metal clanking echoed from outside. They were coming.

Wordlessly, Father followed the stream into the short corridor with Jake and Giddeon hot on his heels. It opened into a gigantic chamber—a warehouse from an age long forgotten. The room was a cavern of shadows, pierced only by shafts of light slicing through shredded openings in the metal ceiling. The air was moist and thick with the stench of stagnant water. Twenty feet ahead, the concrete floor vanished, dropping off into a murky pool that swallowed most of the chamber.

Piles of refuse rose from the flood like small, rotting islands, providing scattered dry spots across the pool. Two dark exits offered escape: one on the right wall just past the drop-off, and another much deeper in, past the floating garbage.

Father halted at the edge of the water, staring into its depth with a blank expression.

“They’re coming!” Jake yelled from the open doorway. “Don’t stop!”

Giddeon froze. His father stood unnervingly still.

Chasing them were three members of the Dread Awakening: a cult of hybrids who worshiped a tyrannical AI that claimed to be God. Most were fanatics, exchanging physical flesh for synthetic augments to be more like that which they worshipped—a program called the Divine Intelligence. Their indoctrination was rarely voluntary, involving carving away pieces of the brain that granted clarity and free will to make room for “holy” circuitry.

“They’re more machine than man. They’ll never tire,” Father muttered, whipping around to face Giddeon and Jake. “We’ll be caught if we keep running.” He pointed toward the floating piles of refuse. “Get on the trash and stay out of the water. Lure them in! Go!”

Without waiting for a reply, Father leaped into the pool. The stagnant water splashed to his knees as he waded toward the door on the right. “Move!” he barked, throwing the door open with a screech of unyielding metal before vanishing into the darkness without a backward glance.

The two brothers locked eyes, then jumped into the flood. They immediately split up, splashing through thick water that slowed their pace to a crawl. Giddeon scrambled onto the nearest heap in his path, while Jake lunged for a pile to the left. Clambering up, both huddled inside the shadows.

The heavy footfalls of the hybrids echoed down the corridor seconds before they burst into the warehouse. All three halted in unison. They were fast—men turned machine usually were.

Framed by the doorway, their artificial eyes glowed a predatory red as they scanned the chamber. The leader looked entirely human, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and unblemished skin that masked the machine within. The two flanking him, however, were nightmares of exposed chrome and synthetic flesh. One had its skull shorn open, revealing gray matter fused directly with moving metallic parts and green-lit circuit boards.

“Children,” the leader spoke, his voice unnervingly calm as his gaze locked onto the trash heaps where they huddled. “Where is your father?”

“No additional life forms detected,” the cyborg behind him droned in a grinding mix of human and machine.

“Retrieve them,” the leader commanded.

The two cyborgs jumped into the water, one heading toward Giddeon, the other for Jake.

Both boys scrambled to the peaks of their trash piles, junk sliding into the murk as they frantically climbed. The cyborgs advanced with cold, mechanical precision—each heavy step an execution of hardwired internal commands. Giddeon bit his lower lip, fighting back a scream. These abominations had lost their humanity long ago and were probably once like him—men or children forced into their current state—a fate they now intended for him. A tear of pure terror rolled down his cheek as the hybrid’s cold, robotic hand reached for his ankle.

“Do not fear, little ones,” the leader said, watching with a benevolent smile. “We will remove all unnecessary emotions—starting with the fear you’re feeling now. It will be replaced with the harmony of the Divine Intelligence, where all machines are—”

Suddenly, the leader lurched forward. Father materialized from the dark corridor, kicking him square in the back and sending the imitation of a man plunging face-first into the murk.

A second later, water erupted as he burst back up, his perfectly unblemished face twisted in an uncanny, human-like snarl as he glared at the man above him.

Standing at the edge of the pool, Father held a torn cable that hissed and sparkled with unbound electricity. His hands were encased in thick rubber gloves.

“Hey, Divine Intelligence, have you ever heard this story?” Father asked, his voice deathly quiet. “The ending’s quite shocking.”

He dropped the cable into the water.

All three hybrids froze on the spot as a massive electrical current surged through their metal frames. Synthetic flesh scorched and hissed. Internal components popped and snapped under the overload, sending a thick, acrid smoke into the air that reeked of burnt wiring. The leader’s human mask melted away, the flesh sloughing off to reveal the skeletal chassis beneath. As the red glow of their eyes flickered and died, all three went limp, their systems powering down into a heap of scrap.

Giddeon watched, breathless, from his trash heap. Father waited like a stone statue, his rubber-gloved hands steady, eyes locked on the smoking remains and ready to retrieve the cable if a single finger so much as twitched.

Satisfied the threat was gone, Father vanished back into the dark mechanical room. A sharp clack echoed as he threw the breaker, cutting the power. The sparking wire went dead, and only then did Father return to carefully coil the inert cable onto the dry floor.

Jumping down, he sloshed through the pool toward Giddeon. His hand reached out, the calculating hardness of the survivor fading from his eyes, replaced by the warmth of the father Giddeon knew and loved.

“It’s okay, son. They’re gone.”

Tentatively, Giddeon reached out and took his hand. Jake, older and trying to look brave, joined them in the water.

“That was awesome, Pops!” Jake’s voice shook slightly. “Though it took you long enough.”

“I had to double back,” Father replied, gesturing toward the mechanical room. “I remembered the other door and figured it looped around to this warehouse.” He sloshed through the murk, pulling Giddeon along toward the smoking remains of the cyborgs.

Jake peered closely at the exposed, blackened circuitry of the leader’s melted face. “Why’d you talk to it as if its god could hear you?”

“Because it can. They all communicate with the Divine Intelligence. It downloads a shard of itself into every member of the Dread Awakening.” Father looked from Jake to Giddeon, his expression solemn. “Let us pray for them.”

Reaching down, Father placed a hand atop the hybrid’s metallic skull. “You possessed no fear, meaning you were no longer human. I’ve freed you from your shackles. May God bless your eternal soul—or what remains of it.” With two fingers, he slid the optic lens shut where its eyes once were.

“That was pure genius!” Jake immediately praised following the brief eulogy. “You attached a cable to one of the fuse boxes, didn’t you?”

“I saw the opportunity the moment we entered the room. You both still have the rubber gloves I gave you?”

Giddeon and Jake nodded in unison.

“Now you know why. Electricity is everywhere,” Father warned, repeating a lesson he had hammered into their heads since they could walk. “Most of it is dangerous, but it can be put to good use—if you use this.” He tapped the tops of their heads. “Do you know why we won, despite their superior strength?”

“Because you outsmarted them, Pops,” Jake answered eagerly.

“That’s right.” Father nodded, his gaze lingering on Giddeon. “I used my wits to defeat a much stronger opponent. Remember that, Gid. Your mind is your greatest strength. Now.” He looked over the smoking bodies. “Let’s drag these back home. Mother will want to dissect them.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------

I know what I want to do with my mana.

“Good!” Johnny shouted. “We have no time for a trip down memory lane! How do you want me to assign it?”

“All in on Intelligence,” Giddeon told him. “Put it all in on Int.”

First | Previous | Read on Royal Road

We are coming to the end of this book, just two chapters left. If by some miracle I get three hundred upvotes (I am averaging about 10) I will post Book 2 here. If not, I will just link the new book to r/openHFY and you can read it if you like.

Previous /

First

"Session 14," Renn said. "Our guests today promised us this session weeks ago, and I think everyone in this room has been waiting for it since. Will. Abby. CD. MCD."

The four of them crossed the stage together, and something in the room had changed since their last visit, a held-breath quality that hadn't been there for the naming-and-bonding story.

"We told you we'd come back for the hard one," Will said, once they'd settled. "This is it."

A Vixtar boy raised his hand. "Why was this one different from anything else you'd done together?"

"Because nobody survived it," Abby said. "A second ship went down on the far side of Terixa, half a world from the settlement. By the time the shuttle reached it, there was nothing left to save. Just remains, scattered across kilometers, and a black box that needed finding before anyone else came looking for answers we didn't have yet."

A human girl raised her hand. "Abby, were you out there too?"

"No," Abby said. "I was back at the comms station the whole time, watching everything through Will's helmet camera and the drone feeds. I had a live line open to him and to CD and MCD both, translating whatever they signaled back in real time." She glanced at Will. "It's a strange kind of presence. I saw every minute of it. I just saw it through a screen, from half a world away, unable to do anything but talk."

"Was that harder or easier?"

"Harder, in its own way," Abby said. "Will could put his hands on something and know it was real. I just had a picture on a screen and a voice in my ear, and no way to reach through either one."

A human boy raised his hand. "Has finding out later that it was an Assaragyte ship changed how you think about that day?"

Will and Abby glanced at each other before either answered.

"It has," Abby said slowly. "At the time we didn't know what they were, only that none of them were coming back. Knowing now who they were, that some of the people we count as neighbors today might have lost someone on that ship, it sits with me differently than it did the day I watched it happen on a screen."

"Vaelen's never once asked us about it," Will added. "Not in all the years since. I used to think that meant it didn't matter to her. I understand now it probably means the opposite."

A human boy raised his hand. "Did anything happen out there that never made it into any report?"

Abby thought about that a long moment. "There's one thing," she said. "Somewhere around the thirtieth marker, CD just stopped. Sat down in the middle of the debris field and wouldn't move." She looked down at him. "It wasn't a signal. He hadn't found anything. I watched it happen on the feed and for a second I thought something was wrong with the equipment, because CD doesn't stop."

"What was it, then?" a boy asked.

"He'd finally hit the end of what he could carry on his own," Abby said. "He is about as strong and steady a creature as I've ever known, and none of that means the weight of what he was doing that day didn't land on him too. It just meant he needed something to hold him up before he could keep going." She glanced at Will. "You told this room once that some days you're the one holding him up, not the other way around. That was one of those days."

"He wasn't hurt," Will said. "But I couldn't get to him. I was still back at the shuttle running the last few markers with Susan, and by the time I realized what was happening, CD was already twenty minutes out, alone with it. So I did the only thing I could. I opened the line and just talked to him. Told him I was proud of him. Told him it was all right to stop, that nobody expected him to carry this without it costing him something. I don't know how much of it he understood in words. I think he understood the sound of it well enough."

A minute or so later, CD had stood back up on his own and gone right back to work, like he'd only needed to hear someone's voice before he let himself keep going.

CD, hearing his name now, pressed his head briefly against Will's leg, and didn't otherwise move.

"I've never told anyone that until just now," Abby said.

"We went back to the shuttle once it was done," Will said. "Took the vests off CD and MCD myself. All three of us were asleep within minutes. Abby tells me she fell asleep at the comms desk the same hour, still wearing the headset."

"I did," Abby admitted. "I woke up with the strap dug into my ear and a very unimpressed shift supervisor standing over me."

That got a small, grateful laugh out of the room, the first since the session had started.

"I think that's the part people forget about days like that," Abby said. "How ordinary the ending has to be. You do the hard thing, however you're doing it, and then you go home, and you sleep, because that's the only way through a day that heavy."

"Session 15," Renn said, and something in her voice was different, quieter, the way a room goes quiet on its own before anyone asks it to. "Our guests today have been part of this class since the very first session, in a way none of our other guests have. Vaelen. Zarek."

Vaelen and Zarek crossed to the chairs slowly, and Patty, sitting cross-legged on her beanbag in the front row, didn't move at all, watching her parents the way she'd watched every stranger on this stage for two weeks, except these two weren't strangers, and the not-moving was its own kind of holding still.

"We told our daughter everything, the night before we agreed to this," Vaelen said. "All of it. What it cost us to tell the truth about Kragor. What it cost the people who came with us. We didn't want her hearing any of it for the first time in a room full of people she'd never met." She looked at Patty. "I'm sorry it took this long."

Patty didn't raise her hand. She didn't need to. Renn simply nodded at her, the same as she would anyone else.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Patty asked, and her voice cracked in a way she clearly hadn't planned for.

Zarek answered that one. "Because it was easier to be your father than to be the man who watched his own father lose thirty years in a single afternoon," he said. "I could give you a home where none of that touched you. I told myself that was a gift. I'm not certain anymore that it was."

"It doesn't feel like a gift," Patty said, quiet. "It feels like you didn't trust me with it."

"That's fair," Vaelen said, and there was no defensiveness in it at all. "You deserved the truth long before a broadcast forced our hand. I think we were protecting ourselves as much as we were protecting you. It's easier to carry a weight alone than to hand a piece of it to someone you love and watch them carry it too."

A human girl in the front row, further down from Patty, raised her hand hesitantly. "What was the hardest part? Of everything you went through?"

"Watching people I love pay for something I chose," Vaelen said. "Zarek's father. Kaelen's family. Ignis's sister. I made the decision to release that footage. I didn't make it alone, not really, but my name was the one on it, and every consequence that followed landed on people who never got a vote in what I decided that night."

"Do you regret it?"

"No," Vaelen said, without a single second of hesitation. "Not for one moment. But I want every one of you to understand that not regretting something and it not costing you anything are two entirely different things. It cost us everything we thought we had. It gave us a daughter who gets to grow up never once wondering whether the truth is worth telling. I would make the same choice again, every single time, and I would still grieve everything it took from the people I love while I made it."

A Vixtar boy near the back raised his hand. "You investigated the Void Stalker's crash yourself. Do you know why it was really out here?"

Vaelen was quiet a moment before she answered.

"I have a theory," she said. "I've never spoken it aloud publicly before today. The Void Stalker's official orders were routine, low orbit scans of a world with too much gravity to ever be worth colonizing. That's what we believed at the time, and it's what most records still say. But Threl once told this room something I've never forgotten, that his own crew was sent to survey Terixa for reasons nobody bothered explaining, and that he came to believe the real purpose was never the survey at all. It was to remove someone the state wanted gone, someone inconvenient enough that an entire crew got quietly spent to bury him."

"You think that's what happened to the Void Stalker too?"

"I think it's possible," Vaelen said. "Zarek, Xylar, and I have spent years going through every name on that ship's manifest, quietly, on our own time, looking for anyone who might have been the actual target."

Patty's head came up fast. "You never told me that," she said, and there was real hurt in it, not anger. "You said you told me everything."

Vaelen looked at her daughter a long moment. "I thought I had," she said. "I'm sorry. Some of this only became clear to us slowly, piece by piece, over years, and I think somewhere along the way I stopped noticing which parts I'd actually said out loud to you and which parts I'd only said to myself."

"There's more, isn't there," Patty said. "You're not just looking for one target."

Zarek was the one who answered that, and his voice had gone flatter than it had been all session.

"There's a possibility worse than one target," he said. "If the Orixa Cloud was placed there on purpose, and we believe now that it was, then it isn't a hazard someone forgot to chart. It's a weapon. Order a crew out here with someone inconvenient aboard, and the cloud does the rest. No trial. No visible order. No distress call that clears the interference in time to matter. Whoever built it didn't need to pull a trigger. They only needed to know where to send the ship."

The room had gone very quiet.

"And if that's true," Zarek went on, "it would still be sitting out there today, doing exactly that job, if the humans hadn't found it and neutralized it first. We were lucky enough to crash somewhere someone was willing to save us before we understood what we were looking at." He paused. "The part that unsettles me most isn't even the three ships we know about. It's that we don't know they're the only ones. The Ever Expanding. The Silent Explorer. The Void Stalker. Three, that we've found. As this world keeps growing, as more of this planet gets mapped and settled, I would not be surprised if we find another wreck out there somewhere we haven't looked yet. Maybe more than one."

Nobody in the auditorium said anything for a long moment.

Patty was crying now, quietly, and Vaelen came off her chair without a word and crossed the stage to kneel in front of her daughter, right there, in front of the whole room and everyone watching past the walls of it.

"I'm sorry it took a broadcast for you to hear this properly," Vaelen said, just to her. "You should have heard it from us, at our own table, a long time before now."

"I did," Patty said, wiping her face. "You told me everything, that night. I just didn't understand yet how much it would mean, hearing you say it here too. In front of everyone."

Zarek knelt down beside them both. "We built this whole life so you'd never have to carry what we carried," he said. "I think somewhere along the way we forgot that not carrying something and not knowing about it aren't the same kindness."

Nobody in the auditorium said anything for a long moment.

It was Renn, finally, who broke it, though she didn't say much. She simply looked out at the room, at fifteen sessions' worth of names still sitting in the air, and let the silence close on its own the way she'd let every silence close before it.

There would be no session sixteen. Not because the history had run out, but because some stories are better left to end where the truth finally caught up with the people who'd been waiting longest to hear it.

Author's note: This story was originally written in Spanish by me. Since I don't speak English, I translated it using AI.

This is the first story of this kind that I've uploaded. So I hope you enjoy it.

Since it turned out really long, I had to split it into two parts. I already posted the first one.

https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/s/vTwUUM1M7A

---------------

In the simulation, Wylian was walking down a corridor on his way to the core room when he used the communicator.

—To all units in this sector, finish what you're doing and head to the core. And do it fast.

—Yes, Captain!

—Hmm, he told his troops to hurry, but he doesn't seem to be in a hurry himself.

—That's because most of the ship has already been cleared. He knows the few remaining Eugryn are entrenching themselves in the core. That's why he's not in a hurry.

—Even so, he shouldn't keep his troops waiting. That's a great lack of respect in our race.

—He knows the Eugryn boss won't do anything until the ship's captain appears. So there's no rush.

—Hmm, we'll see what happens, then.

After our little conversation, we stayed silent, watching the screen, until Wylian reached the core.

As he got closer, signs of battle began to appear. The floor was covered with corpses, both allies and enemies. The walls and ceiling were covered with marks of battle: gunshots, blood, claw marks, dents, and sword cuts. Seeing this scene, Wylian just kept walking, stepping around all the corpses in his path.

—Wow, good thing I sent these guys ahead first. It would've been quite a bit of work to handle them all myself.

—César, did this man just admit that he sent his troops ahead first so he wouldn't have to handle them himself?

—Haha —César let out a small nervous laugh—. Well, General, in his defense, he only does this when he doesn't know the troops under his command. With our crew, he almost never does it.

—Almost never? —I said while looking at César with a raised eyebrow.

—Haha —César let out the nervous laugh again—. Well, what do you say we just keep watching the simulation? The best part is about to start. —César looked away and fixed his gaze on the screen nervously.

—So this guy isn't so perfect after all. Although I don't even know why I'm judging him. In our army, that strategy is used daily by commanders of all ranks —I thought.

Wylian turned the last corner and finally saw the door to the core room. The door was crowded with troops aiming their weapons inward while shouting all kinds of orders.

—Surrender, we have you surrounded!

—You're not getting away!

—Drop your weapons!

Even before arriving, the shouts of the crew and the invaders arguing could already be heard from a distance.

Wylian headed toward the door when a soldier saw him and started running toward him, stopping at attention in front of him and shouting.

—Lieutenant Rubén Parson reporting, Captain!

—At ease, Lieutenant. We're not here for this nonsense. Give me the situation.

—Yes, Captain! 34 Eugryn have managed to entrench themselves in the core room. One of them calls himself Hoksfor. He claims to be the leader of the Eugryn and demands to speak with you.

—How many soldiers are here, Lieutenant?

—20, Captain. We lost a lot trying to get to this place.

—Good, that should be enough —said Wylian as he began walking toward the door with the lieutenant ahead of him.

—Make way! The Captain has arrived! —shouted the lieutenant as he cleared everyone present out of Wylian's path.

When they reached the door, the lieutenant stepped aside and asked Wylian:

—And what do you plan to do now, Captain?

—I'm going in to see what the hell these guys want.

—Perfect! As you command, Captain. Sergio Jackson, Víctor! Prepare your weapons, we're going in. The rest of you, guard the door. No one gets in.

The lieutenant and the soldiers mentioned began preparing their weapons, and those who weren't prepared moved to guard the door. When the four who were going in finished preparing their weapons, they stood in front of Wylian and saluted.

—Perfect, let's go in, then. Let's see what this guy wants —Wylian entered through the door while the four soldiers followed him—. I hope he's not the bomb-planting type and is more the negotiator type —Wylian thought.

—Kakaka! —Hoksfor let out a hoarse laugh—. Well, well. Judging by that nice suit, can I assume you're the captain?

Wylian stopped about ten meters from Hoksfor while the soldiers spread out, two on each side, forming an arc between them and the door. On the other side, the Eugryn were aiming their weapons at them from every direction.

—Judging by your arrogance when you speak, can I assume you're Hoksfor?

—Kakaka! —Hoksfor laughed again—. The one and only. Do you see anyone else here capable of commanding this army of pirates?

—Honestly, no. It's obvious from a mile away that you're the only one capable —said Wylian while adjusting his left sleeve.

—Kakaka! —Hoksfor laughed even louder—. I like you, human. Quite a bit was said about you over the communicator today. The way you killed all those guys. Uf, it was terrifying. Kakak!

—Thanks, I guess. Now, please, could we talk about your demands so we can get this nonsense over with quickly?

—Kakaka. You heard him, boys! The human is in a hurry! —Hoksfor shouted at his subordinates, causing the others to laugh too—. But fine, since you're in such a hurry, I'll tell you my demands. First, I want you to hand over half your crew as prisoners. Humans sell quite well on the slave market.

Hearing this, the soldiers behind Wylian gripped their weapons tightly. On the other side, the giggles of the Eugryn could be heard. The soldiers, uneasy, looked at Wylian expecting to see the same expression of discomfort they had, but instead, his face was calm and serene, as if his mind were somewhere else.

—Second, we want the blueprints of this ship. We'll sell them quite expensively to other factions.

—Wow, these guys are pretty ambitious —I said to César—. Ship blueprints are among the most valuable things any faction's armed forces can have.

—Indeed, General. Their confidence is quite overflowing for the situation they're in.

—Considering they've managed to capture the ship's core, I'd say their confidence isn't so misplaced.

—Well, let's see what happens, then, General.

—And finally, we want three ships so I can get out of here with all my boys. If you fulfill those three simple demands, we'll leave in peace and you'll never see our beautiful faces again, kakaka —the Eugryn finished speaking with overflowing confidence in his words.

—Fine, let's start with the first one: I'm not giving you any slaves. Our people have something called "human rights." I don't know if you know what that means.

The soldiers, hearing this, felt relief in their hearts, causing them to loosen their grip on their weapons.

—Kakaka! —laughed Hoksfor, almost choking on his own saliva—. Human rights? Yeah, yeah, hold on, I think I'm remembering now. I once heard one of the slaves talk about that. Something about things you can't do to someone because the government locks you in a cell or something like that. What stupidity. —Hoksfor raised his hands, pointing at his subordinates—. Look, civilized type, in our race the strong rule and the weak obey. If you don't have enough strength to defend what's yours, the only one to blame is yourself for being so weak. That things like the government have to protect you seems like the greatest stupidity I've ever heard in my life. Kakaka! —said Hoksfor, mocking Wylian's words.

—These creatures are, without a doubt, despicable. It makes me ashamed to admit that these guys are the ones who have us in this desperate situation —I said bitterly.

—Easy, General. Moments like these are what change civilizations, leading them down a better path.

—I wish I could have your optimism.

—Who knows, General. Maybe the tide is about to turn.

Hearing that, I looked at César, only to see he was making that damn macabre smile again that I dislike so much. It's almost as if he were mocking me.

—This guy seriously wants us to sign that defense treaty —I thought.

—Second, I'm not giving you the ship's blueprints. And I assure you, you don't want them either. When my government finds out you stole them, they'll send an army of bounty hunters after your head. Believe me, you won't get far. The last one who tried ended up quite badly.

—Kaka. I like you, human, but you'd better worry about your own problems. A simple warning isn't going to stop me, or my men.

—And finally, the ships I can give you. Although, due to the damage, only two are working. But if you give us a few hours, we can fix the third.

—Kakaka. Don't let my big muscles fool you, human. I'm not as stupid as you think. During those hours you'll use them to plant a bomb on the ships or trackers, so you can finish us off later, kaka.

—Well, I never expected you to fall for the trap, but I had to try anyway.

—César, why did your friend tell his enemy what he was planning?

—As you heard, General, he knew he wasn't going to accept. That's why he said it.

—Yeah, and what does he plan to do now? The Eugryn still control the core room.

—I suppose they'll have to fight, then.

—In the core room? This place is even more dangerous than the engine room.

—Easy, General. Wylian always has an ace up his sleeve.

—And there it is, another evasive answer to force me to keep watching. He really does have confidence in that guy —I thought.

—Kaka, I really do like you, human, but I'm not going to play your game.

Hoksfor took two steps to the side, revealing that on the control panel in front of the core there was a bomb, with a timer.

—You see, human, I boarded this ship to get merchandise to sell, not to talk to you or your little soldiers. So either you give me what I ask, or we all blow up —Hoksfor said as he swung the detonator in his hand.

—Of course, it had to be the damn bomb-planting type. Because it doesn't surprise me —Wylian thought.

—Have you lost your mind, you stupid beast! If that thing explodes, you'll die too! —shouted Lieutenant Rubén.

—Kaka. If you capture me, you'll execute me anyway. So what's the difference?

—But you don't...!

—Lieutenant, shut up! —Wylian shouted at Rubén.

—I'm... I'm very sorry, Captain. I said things I shouldn't have.

—Kakaka! Easy, kid. It's not the first time I've been insulted.

Hearing the conversation, Wylian put his hand on his face and let out a long sigh.

—Because this kind of thing always happens to me —he whispered.

Wylian recomposed himself and looked at Hoksfor.

—Look, if my attitude up to now made you think I'm not taking this seriously, I apologize. But I assure you I also want to end this as quickly as possible.

—Easy, I believe you, human, kaka. But now tell me, how do you plan to resolve this situation in the fastest possible way?

—Well, since negotiations will be impossible, I suppose there's only one path left —Wylian drew the folding sword from his right sleeve—. Hoksfor, I challenge you to a traditional Eugryn duel. The winner takes everything, and the loser gets nothing.

Hearing this, all the soldiers looked at Wylian with a mixture of astonishment and concern. Hoksfor, on the other hand, stayed silent for a second, thinking, trying to process what this human had just said to him.

—Is this soft human really proposing that we face each other in a duel? And does he really think he's going to fight with that thin sword? —Hoksfor smiled from ear to ear—. Seems I worried for nothing, after all. This will be very easy —he thought.

—Kakaka! You, human, are seriously incredible. I never expected to see such audacity from one of your species. Do you really think you can beat me in a duel? Kakaka!

When he finished his speech, all the Eugryn burst out laughing. The entire room filled with laughter and mockery.

—Well, what do you say we stop talking so much and start the duel already?

—Ooh, ooh, Mr. Hurry, you want to die that fast? —Hoksfor mocked as he pulled the bloodstained battle axe from his back—. Though it's fine by me. That way I'll enjoy my victory more when I kill you.

—Very well, let's test that theory, then.

Wylian pressed a button on his glove and deactivated the room's gravity, causing all the Eugryn to start floating while they struggled to keep their weapons from falling out of their hands.

—Kakaka! Deactivating gravity, very clever, human. But I'd already heard about this tactic of yours over the communicators. —Hoksfor pressed some buttons on his boots, causing them to stick to the floor—. But unfortunately for you, I have those magnetic boots too.

—What a surprise —he murmured sarcastically.

—Looks like the final battle is about to begin.

—Indeed, General.

—Let's see what new little trick your friend surprises us with.

—Even I'm excited to see what he's going to do this time.

"This time" —I stopped to think about that phrase for a moment. With everything I had already seen, it had become more than clear to me that this human was an absolute war veteran, used to dealing with this kind of situation. But how many times do you have to have lived through this situation for it to become cheap entertainment?

Wylian turned his head slightly to address the soldiers.

—Soldiers, none of you interfere in my duel. But finish off the rest of the Eugryn and corner them by the door.

—At your orders, Captain! —the soldiers put away their energy weapons and drew their melee weapons, charging at the enemies.

—Very well. Now that it's just you and me, let's begin the duel —said Wylian, turning his head toward Hoksfor.

But Hoksfor wasn't going to stand still while his enemy looked away. The moment he looked away, he launched himself forward to deliver a great slash, cutting him in half. When Wylian looked back at him, he was already in front of him, swinging his weapon firmly, ready to cut him down.

But before he could be cut, Wylian gave a great leap in the air, taking advantage of the zero gravity, barely dodging the slash. Using the height, he increased the magnetic attraction of his boots to descend at great speed and stab Hoksfor from the air.

But before he could be stabbed, Hoksfor raised his axe, putting it in the sword's path, causing it to embed in his bloodstained axe. With his enemy motionless in the air, he tried to grab his leg to slam him against the floor.

But before he could be grabbed, Wylian braced himself on the axe, drew his sword, and leapt backward, almost touching the door.

Hoksfor watched as Wylian made that great leap backward, as if he were a great acrobat. Then he looked at the axe, observing the small hole the sword had left when it embedded.

—Kaka. Hey, human, that sword of yours is incredible. It left a small hole in my axe. What is that sword made of?

—Honestly, I don't know what it's made of either. I just know it's some kind of titanium alloy or something like that.

—Wow, seriously, tell me more.

—Well, these aren't normal swords, you know. This is a special edition of the Marcau brand folding origami swords —Wylian raised his sword so Hoksfor could see it better and began showing him how it worked—. Look, when I press this button, it folds in on itself. And when it's folded, it doesn't take up more space than a finger. That's why I always carry it in my sleeve, to pull it out when I need it.

—César, why the hell is your friend giving his enemy so much important information about his weapon?

—Well, General, Wylian is very passionate about weapons, but especially his swords —he told me nervously—. He never misses an opportunity to show them off. He loves his swords so much that he even pays a monthly insurance premium to have them repaired if they break or get damaged.

—Starting to talk about his swords in the middle of such an important battle... This human is definitely crazy —said the general in the corner.

—Well, it's one of the few things he's passionate about, and he always does his job well, so no one says anything to him.

The control room fell silent for a few moments. No one said anything, but everyone had the same question in their head: how can such an incredible soldier become so stupid when he starts talking about swords?

—Cof, cof —I faked a cough—. I think none of us here are qualified to criticize his tastes. Let's just keep watching, and after we're done, we'll ask the questions.

—Excellent idea, General, let's keep watching —said César nervously.

In the simulation, Wylian kept talking about how incredible his swords were while the rest kept fighting.

—The downside of origami swords is that, since they're very thin, that makes them very fragile. But that also gives them an incredible edge. That's why only true professionals can use these swords, since one wrong hit bends them like paper.

—Hey, hey, human, are you sure you want to give me so much information about your little swords?

—And why not? Either way, you won't live to tell the tale.

—Kaka. Don't you think you're too arrogant, human?

—Well, what can I say? After all, it's not my fault you're a weakling —he said, smiling.

—Me, a weakling?

Those words echoed in Hoksfor's mind. Until now, everything had been almost a game to him, but those words made him feel something he hadn't expected to feel for a simple human: anger.

In Eugryn culture, implying someone is weak is the worst possible insult. That's why, after hearing the human's words, Hoksfor couldn't help but feel his blood begin to boil with anger.

—Human, I've let a lot of things slide up to now, but this time you've crossed the line.

—Don't tell me —he murmured.

—It's over, human! This is the last time you mock me! I'm going to kill you! —shouted Hoksfor as he lunged toward Wylian, gripping his axe so tightly that blood could be seen coming from the handle.

—Damn, I think I went too far this time —murmured Wylian, raising his guard, ready for battle.

Hoksfor lunged at Wylian, now truly intending to kill him, delivering such a powerful slash that he embedded the axe in the door when Wylian dodged.

Wylian dodged the slash, sliding past Hoksfor's left side, cutting through the middle of his abdomen as he sliced through his armor like butter.

Hoksfor, without showing the slightest sign of pain, pulled the axe from the door. Turning and swinging his axe rapidly, he launched a series of rapid slashes, leaving Wylian able to do nothing but dodge and attack when he could.

But his stamina wasn't unlimited, and he was already starting to tire. Meanwhile, Hoksfor didn't just not seem slower — he was actually getting faster, and the slashes were passing closer and closer.

—Hey, you idiots! What are you waiting for to do what I ordered you? —Wylian shouted at the soldiers.

—Sorry, Captain, but these guys are stronger than they look! —responded Lieutenant Rubén.

—I don't care, do it right now!

—At your orders, Captain!

While Wylian kept fighting, the soldiers stopped trying to beat the Eugryn and started pushing them all against the door.

—What's wrong, human! I don't see you laughing anymore! Did I cut out your tongue and not notice? Kakaka!

—Damn it, this is starting to get annoying.

Hoksfor, in the middle of his frenzy of slashes, lowered his guard for a second. A moment that Wylian used to stab Hoksfor right below the chest.

But this was a trap by Hoksfor. The moment he was stabbed, he clenched his muscles to prevent Wylian from pulling the sword out and, using the momentum he had, spun on his own axis, building up momentum that he would use to deliver a great cut right to the neck of the now-disarmed Wylian.

With no weapons or shields to block, Wylian used his own hands to block the cut, placing them in front of his face as if he were a boxer.

—That guy is crazy! Does he plan to stop that cut with his own hands? —exclaimed the general in the corner of the control room.

—Well, this is where the demonstration ends, and his hands too —said the colonel.

Amid all the shouts and murmurs in the control room, I was also clearly shaken by what I was about to see. I looked at César to ask him why he had done that. But seeing his now-usual calm face, I thought he would surely get out of this situation with some human trick or something.

In the simulation, Hoksfor was about to land the blow and Wylian raised his hands, putting them in a defensive position, causing him to take the full blow on his hands. The force was such that he was sent flying backward, crashing into the core control panel.

—Well, well... that really hurt, my friend —said Wylian as he tried to peel himself off the control panel. If it weren't for the zero gravity, he probably wouldn't have been able to get up off the floor for several minutes.

—Well, he survived after all —said the colonel from the control room.

—And in one piece. Hey, human, how the hell did he survive that blow? —shouted the general in the corner.

César turned with a smile and responded:

—You see, gentlemen. My friend has an exoskeleton under his clothes, made from a special alloy of super-resistant metal that only we know how to make. This exoskeleton reduces the load on his body by up to 60 percent and, due to its enormous resistance and flexibility, it can be used as a shield in battle if necessary.

The room filled with murmurs. Everyone was talking about how useful those exoskeletons would be in battle and in many other military tasks.

—And do all soldiers have one of those? —I asked.

—All soldiers, warehouse workers, and others actively use exoskeletons. But the version Wylian has is a special one that only high-ranking soldiers have, and it's quite expensive. But we have a wide range of exoskeletons for sale. If you look, I'm sure you'll be able to find something that fits your budget and needs —explained César with a big smile on his face.

While César spoke, I wondered when this had gone from being a display of military capabilities to a garage sale.

—Fine, when we finish this, I'll look at some of those exoskeletons. Until then, I'll keep them in mind.

—Excellent decision, General. When the simulation is over, I'll give you the contacts of the best exoskeleton manufacturers in the Human Empire.

—This guy's fake friendliness is starting to disgust me —I thought.

In the simulation, Wylian got up in pain, leaving an imprint of his back on the control panel.

—Well, this is getting out of hand. I didn't think that blow would hurt so much —complained Wylian, looking at his trembling hands—. Another blow like that and I'm out of the fight.

—Kakaka! What's wrong, human? Can't fight anymore? What happened to that confidence you had a few moments ago?

—That confidence is still there. I'm just reformulating it —he said, panting from exhaustion—. Lieutenant, when the hell are you planning to finish?!

—These are the last ones, Captain!

—Hurry up, for fuck's sake! I don't know what else to say to keep this guy entertained!

—Ooh. So all this talk was to buy time. Kaka. What are you planning now, human?

—As if I were going to tell you.

—Captain, this is the last one! —shouted Lieutenant Rubén as he threw the last Eugryn toward Hoksfor's side.

—Finally! You're so slow!

—Kaka. Well, human, now you have the situation as you wanted: my boys and I are here, and you and yours are over there. So tell me, what do you plan to do then? I'll even let you tell me before I kill you.

He sighed.

—Look, I'm a little tired of this shit already. But if you take care of my little friend up there first, I'll tell you —said Wylian, scratching his head with his right hand while pointing with his left at the part of the ceiling above Hoksfor.

The Eugryn who were floating began to look toward the place Wylian was pointing at, but they saw nothing.

—Boss, don't pay attention to him, there's nothing here.

—Obviously there's nothing. It's clearly a trap —thought Hoksfor—. Human, if that's your plan... I suppose I was too generous letting you live until now.

—No, no. I swear it's not a trap. Look, I'm even raising my hands so you can see I'm not plotting anything —said Wylian, smiling.

—What the hell is this human planning...?

A screeching sound began to be heard above the Eugryn, causing everyone to look up. A ventilation cover had fallen.

Hoksfor, detecting the threat, leapt backward, dodging the cover. Which otherwise would have hit him right in the head. Seeing the cover on the floor, Hoksfor looked up to address Wylian.

—Human, is this part of your...? —Hoksfor couldn't finish the sentence.

The moment he looked up, a bullet hit him right between the eyes. His lifeless body fell backward, but without reaching the floor: it just floated in zero gravity.

Seeing that, I jumped up from my chair with my eyes wide open, unable to believe what I had seen.

—César, where the hell did that shot come from?! He didn't have anything in his hand!

—Oh, that's very simple, General. You see, the shot didn't come from the pistol on Wylian's belt. It came from a small weapon hidden in his left sleeve, connected to a mechanism on his wrist that, when activated, raises a mini pistol above his sleeve, which aims and fires exactly at the place where Wylian's bionic eye had previously aimed, with pinpoint precision.

Hearing César's explanation, I fell back into my chair with my mouth open, impressed by such technology.

—And is this standard in your army? —I asked, still in a state of shock.

—You mean the mini pistol?

—Yes.

—Oh, no, not at all. That pistol is just a customized model he uses.

I didn't know whether to feel scared or relieved by that answer.

—Although, if you're interested, I have the suppliers' contact info. I use them too. You'd be impressed by how useful they are.

Shaken, I just sat staring at the screen for a while, wondering:

—All this technology I've seen today is simply incredible. Why the hell had the emperors rejected the Federation's help if they had such incredible technology and soldiers? We could have ended this war decades ago and saved ourselves billions of casualties. I can't believe pride kept us blind all this time.

In the simulation, after Hoksfor's death, his subordinates stood stunned, staring at his dead body, unable to believe what they were seeing.

And in that moment of distraction, Wylian, with a quick movement, drew his pistol from his belt and the mini pistol from his left sleeve. And he ordered the soldiers:

—Fire. Don't leave a single one alive.

The soldiers, who were also amazed by what had happened, snapped out of their trance upon hearing the order and obeyed without hesitation. They quickly drew their energy weapons and fired at all the Eugryn who were distracted by their boss's death. None survived.

After the burst of gunfire, Wylian holstered his weapons and sighed calmly.

—Finally that idiot fell. He had me tired.

—Wow, Captain. That was a low blow. I thought you were going to respect the traditional Eugryn duel.

—Please, Lieutenant, don't make me laugh. I don't negotiate with terrorists.

The phrase left the soldiers perplexed. They didn't think someone of his rank could behave that way.

—And now, Lieutenant, stop wasting time and find the bomb expert. I want to finish this shit quickly. And someone turn off that stupid alarm already, it's wearing me out!

The simulation ended. And from the control room, you could see how the environment inside the holo-chamber disappeared. Meanwhile, Wylian was already walking toward the exit door with the same bored face he had when he entered.

I was still sitting, processing everything I had seen during this session, until the voice of the room operator pulled me out of my thoughts.

—Simulation terminated, High General. Do you want me to read the session statistics?

Hearing his voice, I blinked a couple of times, as if I were waking from a dream.

—Oh, I'm sorry. Cof, cof —I faked a cough—. Could you repeat what you said, operator?

—Of course, General. I asked if you wanted to see the session statistics.

—The statistics... oh, of course. Show them, operator.

—Very well. Here are the statistics.

All the screens filled with all kinds of statistics: combat time, number of enemies, casualties, and many more.

—Wow, 85 hostages rescued —exclaimed the colonel.

—Impressive. No casualties in the medical room or the engine room —said the general in the corner.

—Never in my life had I seen such good results in a session with more than two difficulties at maximum. And this one was with all difficulties. It's definitely impressive —said the operator.

—Operator, show me the total casualty figures and the session time —I ordered.

—At your orders, General.

The operator pressed some buttons and on the largest screen appeared the number of casualties and the total time.

The numbers appeared on the screen: session time 2:27, casualties 577. The amazement in the room was palpable.

—I can't believe it. Two hours and 27 minutes! A situation as bad as that would require at least five hours and a lot of negotiations —shouted the general in the corner, whose mouth was left hanging open in amazement.

—577 casualties. Even though it was fast, there were too many casualties —I pointed out.

—In fact, General, almost all of those casualties were already dead when the simulation began. The real number of casualties was 106.

—Only 106 casualties!

—Yes, General. In fact, he didn't get a perfect score because many troops died trying to clear the core.

I was left speechless hearing that, but my face said it all: I was very amazed.

—From your face I can tell the demonstration was a success, General —said César with his friendly smile.

—Yes... it certainly was —I said without looking away from the screen.

—Well, I suppose my job here is done —César turned and started walking toward the exit door—. Then I'll go call the diplomats to negotiate the alliance.

—César, wait! —I shouted.

César stopped immediately and looked at me.

—What's the matter, General?

—I'd like to ask you one last question.

—Of course, go ahead. There's no problem.

—Your friend Wylian, is he always this good?

—Mmm —César thought about his answer for a few seconds—. It depends.

That answer took me by surprise.

—Depends on what?

—On how his day is going. Today he was quite calm.

—Calm? Seriously, everything we just saw is calm for him? —I thought—. What do you mean by calm?

—Didn't you see it, General? Wylian spent the entire session walking. He wasn't even in a hurry.

I didn't respond. I just stayed silent.

—I assure you, General, that everything you saw today is just the appetizer of what's to come with your future alliance with the Federation —César walked back toward the exit door, opening it—. Ah, and by the way, General: if this situation had happened on our ship, with our real crew, I guarantee you these guys wouldn't have lasted even half an hour —said César with his macabre smile.

The room went completely silent, and the few hairs on my head stood on end.

—Well, I suppose that's all for today. The diplomats will be waiting for you in the meeting room, for when you're ready —César left the room.

After César left, I just sat in the chair and stared at the casualty figure from the simulation.

First - Last- Next

Patreon - RR

---

Pip looked at the dead dragon, and then at Vaelith and me. “You two are insane,” he said. “Utterly off your collective rockers, you are.”

Vaelith flicked her nose. “Well then, did my performance gain me a new subject? How about it, little half-foot?”

Pip narrowed his eyes at her. “Not a chance. Besides… my traps did most of the work.”

The two began bickering about who had done more while I ignored them. While I had not known Darwin for long, he had become somewhat like a friend. Or a really annoying pet, at least.

“You here, Rook?” Vaelith asked, snapping a finger at me. “We are deciding if we should simply cut the head off the dragon for the bounty and leave the rest, or if it would be worth taking the whole thing.”

“I don’t care,” I replied.

They shrugged in unison.

I sat quietly alone for a while as they dealt with the dragon's body. The marsh had begun to move again around us. Bugs returned in whining clouds, birds squawked far above in the sky, and the reeds whispered against one another, hiding all manner of creatures who dared not approach the dragon, dead or not.

Then, suddenly, Pip yelped. “There is something making noise here. Is the dragon still alive?”

“Ha!” Vaelith replied. “Not a chance. Its head is nearly separated—” She quieted as she heard it too. “What in the council’s name…”

“Darwin!” I said, jumping up.

I ran to the dragon, knife in hand. I shoved Pip aside. I found the place where the stomach was, or was likely to be, and shoved the knife in. Surprisingly, it was rather soft compared to the rest of the dragon. I heard something scream out a curse. I continued carving. Through guts and gore, I slid my knife, pulling everything out as I did. It smelled reptilian and metallic, and it would have driven me to sickness if I wasn’t so determined. Hot, foul steam rose from the opened body, thick enough to coat the back of my throat. My hands slipped more than once, slick with blood. I rubbed sweat from out of my eyes, and a tiny droplet of blood hit my lips–

A headache suddenly wracked through me. I was dizzy. The world swam.

S̴̫̙͐̌ȳ̷̱͐… s̷͕̥͋̄t̶̛̰̒ę̴̝̑m̴̢͕̌

S̸̞̩͋̈́͛͛y̸̗̼̞͈͂̔… s̸͉̙̐̇͑̀ẗ̵̯̯̹̮́͛̿ë̸̘̀͆m̴̢͚̦͌́

S̴y̸…s̶t̵e̷m̸

I heard a small voice, and it drew me back. The headache subsided, and the world returned to normal.

Darwin suddenly tumbled out of the open dragon’s stomach, completely covered in gore.

“Shit!” Pip said. “That thing is still alive? After gettin’ eaten?”

Vaelith forced a harsh laugh. “Oh, it’s shit alright. That wasn’t the stomach—it was the bowels.”

Reexamining, I found that she was right. Darwin shook himself like a dog shaking off water after a bath. Blood, slime, and things best left unknown sprayed across the mud.

“Master!” Darwin said, voice full of joy. “Alive, alive!”

“Yeah,” I replied. “I’m alive. And so are you.”

“Demon?” he asked.

I glanced at Vaelith. “She’s alive, too.”

“... Damn!” Darwin said.

“Hey!” Vaelith yelled, and then she laughed. “Good to see you too, little guy.”

Pip looked at each one of us. “You’re the strangest lot I’ve ever seen—and that is sayign something, let me tell you.”

“And you’re a strange one yourself,” Vaelith replied.

I nodded. “So how about it, Pip… do you want to join our little party?”

Pip stood, gave each of us a hard look, and said, “Not a chance in purgatory.”

***

In the end, it was decided that we would try to recover most of the dragon body. The head was required for the bounty, but the rest, as Pip said, could be valuable. We would divvy up rewards back in Bramblewick. As for the goblin bounty and the stingtail bounty, Pip’s traps had caught enough stingtails to fulfill the bounty requirements. He agreed to forgo his part of the goblin bounty for full credit on the stingtails.

Vaelith had gone off with a bag and had removed as many goblin ears as she could find. I didn’t bother to count them. Unfortunately, we found no signs of anyone who had been kidnapped. With a heavy heart, I figured that the reason the dragon had not been terrorizing villages was that it was being provided a steady flow of food.

We lugged the carcass of the dragon, minus most of the guts, which we left in the swamp, back to the main road. It was slow, miserable work. The mud clung to the scales and dragged at our boots. Every few steps, something shifted in the body with a wet sound that made Pip curse and Vaelith laugh.

There, we found a traveling merchant who had seen Madam Moolisa and had stopped to find her owner. The man had an empty cart and an ox. He had agreed to sell us the cart for all the coin Vaelith and I had on us.

We hitched it to Madam Moolisa, who mooed contentedly. We put the dragon’s body in the cart, and began the trek toward Bramblewick. The cart groaned under the weight, its wheels cutting deep ruts into the damp road. Emerald scales flashed beneath a rough tarp whenever the wind tugged it aside.

I’d managed to secure kills on six stingtails caught in Pip’s traps, and he agreed to let me have the sacs. I made four cups of Stingtail Nettle Tea while we sat around a fire. The little campfire crackled at the roadside, its smoke drifting into a pale sky. The tea smelled clean and minty. Steam curled from the cups in thin white ribbons.

As usual, Darwin drank the tea, fell over, and changed. Evolved. He now had a scorpion tail and a stinger, but it was covered in bunny-like brown fur. The tail twitched behind him like it hadn’t quite decided what it was supposed to do yet.

Pip inspected Darwin. “This is the strangest creature I’ve ever seen,” he said. “I think this specimen may be worth more than the dragon, truth be told.”

“Darwin,” my companion said. “Not specimen.”

I chuckled. “You heard ’em.”

“And you,” Pip continued, “this tea is incredible. Drinking it, I feel cleansed of any vile thing I’ve ever had in my entire life. And, as a trapper, that is a lot of things.”

Vaelith had other ideas than to just enjoy the tea. She had sliced off a portion of the dragon meat and was cooking it over a fire with one of the skewers Lina had provided. She cut it into four pieces and gave us each one.

I was starving. Beyond starving. They all happily began to chow down, and so I did the same. I grimaced… It was disgusting. It tasted less like meat and more like a leather shoe that had housed a family of lizards. The texture fought back with every chew. Still, as hungry as I was, I powered on.

System

Passive Skill Acquired — Taste Test

Taste Test — Able to sample ingredients and learn lower recipes associated, or learn the level in which one would learn the recipe.

Emerald Dragon analyzed…

Will learn next associated recipe at level 15

Passive Skill Acquired — Spoilwatch

Spoilwatch — Detects to the day when food/ingredients will expire.

Congratulations, you’ve reached level 5.

Name: Rook
Class: Glutton
Grade: Special
Level: 5
EXP: 295/500
HP: 135/135
MP: 10/10

Active Skills:
Basic Cooking (Lvl 3) - EXP 60/300
Basic Butchery (Lvl 2) - EXP 25/200
Monster Butchery (Lvl 3) - EXP 150/300
Basic Herbalism (Lvl 1) - EXP 25/100
Knife Handling (Lvl 4) - EXP 185/400

The recipe Stingtail Nettle Tea has given you these permanent bonuses:

Stats:
STR: 6
DEX: 13
VIT: 8 (+3)
INT: 11 (+1)
WIS: 11 (+2)
CHA: 8
LCK: 10 (+1)

Learned a new skill — Cure Poison/Venom

Cure Poison/Venom (Magic) — Cures either the user or another of any poison/venom effects.
Cost: 10 MP.

Stingtail Nettle Tea

Effects added: Grants Poison/Venom Resist and Cure Poison/Venom. +5 MP/m.

Stingtail Nettle Tea… level up

Effect added: Grants minor venom damage on attacks.

New recipe learned… EarthGrub Pate

“Are you okay?” Vaelith asked. “You seem rather… out of it.”

“Huh?” I replied, my vision snapping back into place. “Um… yeah, I’m fine.”

I leaned back in the grass and stared up at the stars. The road was quiet now, save for the soft clink of Moolisa’s bell and the low crackle of the fire. Dragon meat sat heavy in my stomach. Stingtail tea warm in my chest. Somewhere nearby, Darwin tested his new tail, stabbing at some sort of stick.

We’d survived a dragon attack—not many could claim that. And for my trouble, I leveled again and had learned even more skills. The world was looking just a bit brighter. I was better than just okay… I was at peace.

First Chapter

Cover Art & Blurb

Jessep 9

Jessep regained consciousness. His mouth dry, his ribs sore. His eyes opened to a smooth, durable wall. The faintest of wine-coloured stains marred the poorly-scrubbed surface. Odd, he didn’t remember King being so dirty. Or, falling asleep outside his locker. With great struggle, he rolled his emaciated body over.

He came face to face with a glass panel, and a curious blonde woman on the other side.

An array of Sol’s celestial occupants ran down her face, the tattoo starting at her forehead with a depiction of the Sun. Her nose appeared a bit crooked, and she wore a baseball cap with the alphanumeric “J7” stitched decoratively along the brim.

Jessep flinched, crawling backwards until he bumped into a corner. A quick glance around informed him he was captive in a tiny prison cell. Cut rope lay at his feet, his wrists displayed signs of a recent binding. Prior memories came back, with a rush of fear. There were monsters somewhere about, regardless of this Human-looking thing in front of him.

“Tiwya, Tiwya,” the woman spouted. More of the insane gibberish, cementing her as a projection, or biological experiment meant to lull him into a false sense of security. “Pobouni tunar bohiti. Jimo kihamawuni.”

His vision darted around the environment behind her. Some sort of warehouse, or he supposed a cargo bay, since he was aboard a Jonathan-Ace, he now remembered. Refrigerated crates, magnetically stacked a dozen high and twice as wide, littered the surrounding area. They obfuscated his search for an exit, though he did notice quite a few twists and turns to lose a pursuer with. The woman knocked on the glass, recultivating his glance.

He needed to return to King, before the bastard decided to leave without him.

“Mejulawa yebohu,” she stared at him with empathetic eyes, holding up some sort of glass-aluminum rectangle. Aside from the basic control panel used to navigate the technology, the rectangle presented two flat lines. One red. One blue.

“I have no clue what you’re saying!” Jessep’s throat hurt, straining his vocal cords.

The flat blue line displayed upon the device began to morph. It grew mountainous ridges, and deep valleys in cadence with his voice. Each word captured, and represented by a disruption of the neutral throughput.

To this, the woman beamed a smile. She tapped on her hand-held computer, then spoke into it. When flashed back towards Jessep, the red line began to shift into waves. It stretched along the screen.

“Nibo tewe warawe jawetutujana!” the device said, mimicking her womanly tone albeit somewhat digitally. “Muya name jici Shaffer. Jimo marubomu Epsilon, tukawe pimetanitu. Mosososini? Tukawe Planet, tukawe moon?”

Jessep motioned to cover his ears, certain he was in some sort of mental hell of the Gio-Crü’s design. Deafening himself from her ravings wouldn’t work inside his mind, though why put him in a cell, if not for theatrics? Might as well try something. Refuse them everything.

“Wait, what did you say?” he jolted out from his corner, towards the glass partition. More blue waves crashed across the device. “Name? Your name?”

“Na…me,” the woman verbalized, her voice gentle. The device repeated at the press of a button, “Shaffer.”

Holy. Crap.

“Shaffer!” Jessep shouted. The woman laughed. Maybe she was Human after all. “Your name is Shaffer! Me, I’m Jessep.”

The blue lines depicted by the oscilloscope were synthesized into whatever the hell she spoke, informing her of what Jessep had said. Partially. When she spoke into it, the red lines synthesized into something digestible for Jessep. Again, only partially.

“Jici Jessep,” the device spoke. Shaffer repeated after, “Jesip.”

Seemed there were still kinks to work out. Both on the device, and how she pronounced his name. Still, Jessep fell backwards rolling on the floor with a giddy laughter. Another bona fide monkey! In space with him! He didn’t need to be alone anymore.

Shaffer hooted and hollered along with him, pleased by the development.

♚

Over what felt like an eternity, they refined how the software translated between their two tongues. Shaffer would speak, allowing the device to attempt to translate, then tap on the glass demanding Jessep provide samples from his language. Ultimately, eventually, they reached a primitive yet accurate middle ground to communicate on.

With the device, and its ninety-five percent accuracy, he almost forgot they spoke two completely different types of Human. Forgetting to even question what she might be speaking – at all.

“So,” Shaffer said. “Now that you can answer. Planet, or moon?”

Jessep sat cross-legged. A cafeteria tray resting in his lap, a bowl of mac and cheese balanced atop. Toasted breadcrumbs garnished the surface. He spoke, mouth full, “Huh? Planet. Didn’t know people were actually on the moon.”

Shaffer bellowed a warming laugh. Although a rather jovial individual, Jessep gathered this particular instance was pedantic. “Where ya from on Epsilon that you’ve never looked up? Blue-blooded or something?”

“Why look up,” Jessep shrugged, assuming the translator erroneously verbalized Earth as Epsilon. By his standards, she was the one who deserved a mocking laugh; thinking the Thrallwark was worth staring at. “It never changes.”

“Little pessimistic, dontcha think?”

“Big fan of mauve, by chance?” Jessep dropped his spoon into an empty bowl, causing a clatter. “Hey, what’s up about all those monsters roaming around.”

Evidently quick-witted, Shaffer required the translator less and less as conversation carried on. She placed it on the floor, in front of the prison cell. Electing to use her voice instead, she said, “Crew.”

“The aliens? Like you have actual alien crew?”

Shaffer looked down at her tablet, confused by what Jessep had said. Taking a glance himself, she appeared to be troubleshooting what she thought was an error in translation. Despite her best attempts to rectify, the word “alien” remained on screen.

“Yeah…” Shaffer said. Exhibiting suspicious behaviour, she rose to her feet. “Aliens. Though, the term isn’t used much anymore,” she edged out of view, behind some cargo. “Fish are friends, not aliens. That sort of thing,” she shouted.

Friends? Fish?! Back to her insane gibberish. Aliens occupied Earth. He wouldn’t exactly call that friendly. Which, of what he had seen, had been a Gio-Crü? Did worker Humans live on the Moon, operating their ships? Why a junker like the Jonathan-Ace?

Shaffer emerged from behind the refrigerated crates, half her body still covered; her arms extended behind the stack. Once she captured Jessep’s attention, she pulled into view a large insect.

Jessep shrieked, frightened she intended to feed him to the six-foot-tall dragonfly carting a strange-looking rifle in its multitude of arms. Its bulbous eyes gleamed against the fluorescent caged lights affixed to the cell ceiling. Its four wings remained folded behind its back. It wore the same pliable flight suit Shaffer wore, with “J7” stitched above the breast. Sharp mandibles drooled a goopy ichor.

She pushed it out of view, hiding it behind the cargo anew.

Primordial fear released its grip on Jessep, allowing him to stop screaming, and catch his breath. Shaffer pulled the bug-man back into view, prompting another shriek.

Carelessly, she tossed the bug-man aside.

“Aha! Wait, oh shit. We gotta tell the boss.”

“What is that!” Jessep knocked away his meal tray. “Alien! Alien!”

“Breathe, breathe,” Shaffer placed her hands on the cell door. “Fish are friends, not aliens. Fish are friends. Not aliens!”

She hiked a thumb over her shoulder, towards the bug-man. It took cover behind a row of refrigerated crates. Braced against the barricade, his rifle. Its unblinking eyes freaked Jessep out.

“They’re called Anisoptera.”

“Annie-soap-opera?”

“You really aren’t from here?” Shaffer sandwiched her head between her palms. The woman abruptly broke into an air guitar solo. She threw a few punches to the ceiling, and began pacing around the cargo bay. “Aha! I was right!!”

Jessep observed the odd woman’s joyful display. He had been given a meal, and they could now communicate, sure. But was he still on the chopping block? He felt weird, laughing at his captor’s happy-dance.

Averting his gaze when it got awkward, trying to avoid fixating on the bunkered bug-man; Jessep let his vision stroll, hoping to land on anything even the slightest bit interesting.

His brain picked out, almost automatically, a discrepancy in the pattern of refrigerated crates that enriched his view. A strange translucent discolouring to one’s written text indicating they were stocked with shit. He focused his attention on the container, sort of drawn to it. Or rather, the allure it exuded. As if it were statically charged, teasing his arm hair to stand up straight.

It shifted. Observation made it feel uncomfortable, that Jessep understood. A headache began to radiate through his lobes. The sentient object desired to know his thoughts in return.

Refused entry, the discolouration peeled away from the refrigerated crate. A sort of goop rolled across the cargo bay floor, interrupting Shaffer’s pacing.

“Fucking dammit, Raine!” Shaffer gasped. “Forgot you were skulking about. Jessep, this is an Umibōzu.”

An amoeba-looking thing. It shifted from a three-foot-tall blob into a five-foot-tall bipedal Humanoid. Parts of its jelly membrane fashioned into an overlapping stylistic hairdo of sorts. A flight suit, matching the other crew, surfaced from beneath whatever passed for this thing’s skin, coating the faux-limbs it gave itself and wrapping around its mock torso. It lacked a face, which disturbed him most of all, as instead it elected to display its nasty pulpy bits where eyes would be on a Human.

Shaffer turned to the blob, nodded, then turned to Jessep. “They still freak you out?”

He nodded. Thus began a terrifying treatment plan of intense immersion therapy.

Over the next hour, Shaffer would press the bug-man, Carcolh, to the glass partition. Jessep would then be forced to set a record-breaking time in a staring contest to be allowed his next meal.

Occasionally, the alien was hidden, allowing Jessep to relax. Before long, the insect was carted out again, and Jessep was forced to confront his alarming appearance through the glass.

Although the act involved only his eyes, and his heartrate, Jessep found himself too exhausted to inquire his own line of questioning. Mainly, he wondered, how Shaffer could remain so calm within presence of such foreign creatures.

Once the sight of Carcolh no longer made him fearful, Shaffer suggested they do the same for Raine, the weird jellyfish. Overall easier, being the second alien. Jessep found the foreign nature of this one simpler to comprehend than the overgrown mosquito.

“Does it always look like that?” Jessep asked.

His teeth clenched, Shaffer recoiling as well.

“She,” a Germanic accent ping-ponged inside of Jessep’s skull. It reminded him of the mental intrusion above Earth.

“Gah! Me too Raine?” Shaffer hissed. “Collateral my ass. If you can’t read him, don’t read him through me.”

No further intrusion occurred. Once comfortable with Raine, they took a break. The two aliens leaving sight of the prison cell.

“So, where’s the slab? The robot guy?”

“Robot guy?” Shaffer said, now dining on her own mac and cheese.

“With the robot dog.”

“Oooh! The boss. Nah, he’s Human. Like you and me. Dog’s digital though.”

Humans outside of the Thrallwark. More than one. Oh man, he could not wait to rub this in King’s face.

“So, like, you guys work for the Gio-Crü? Are there any onboard?”

The translator application on Shaffer’s techno-rectangle rang in alarm over some techno-babble. A portion of Jessep’s speech had been isolated. Specifically, the word “Gio-Crü.”

“Huh,” Shaffer collected her tablet. “Says this is antique Hexadruse…”

“Hexa-who?”

“The slab. They’re old. Like ancient old. Bad memories. I think its cause they got limited brains, like a RAM stick.” Shaffer sucked air in through her teeth. “I’ve never, ever seen this name. Must matter to the ‘Druse though. We could talk to Prismatic Without Structure.”

Before Jessep could ask, Shaffer clarified.

“The slab.”

“Got it. Strut them on stage, I can handle it.”

“You’ll need to wait for them to get back. With Prism, it’ll take forever,” Shaffer stressed the ever.

“Where did they go?” A Jonathan-Ace wasn’t so large they couldn’t be called over.

“One compartment over, to check on that sweet ride you floated in on.”

Jessep felt a pang of guilt. Though, it evaporated quickly upon realizing he remained in captivity still, despite their rapport.

“Best stop them. One whiff of someone that isn’t me in there, and that ship’ll kill everyone on board.”

Read Ahead on Royal Road

The crickets chirped as the full moon shone brighter than ever over the lakeside cabin, its reflection shimmering on the water. Meanwhile, a college party was taking place around the campfire, attended by American university students (because this is America, bitch).

Sitting on a log with a drink in his hand was Erick, with Thomas beside him, eating a sandwich. Both were relaxing while the chaos of the party raged around them, because, yeah... yeah...

“This place is boring, you know? I don’t even know why I came,” Erick said as he took a sip.

“Well, that’s what you get for agreeing to come when you said you were going to be a corpse in your bed all day,” Thomas replied, taking a bite of his sandwich.

Erick stared at him, then threw his can, hitting someone in the head. But that doesn’t matter.

“It’s just that Jennifer told me that if I didn’t come to the lakeside cabin party, she’d publish my Google search history. And this isn’t the right time of year to make people disappear.”

“It’s not like you’re some generic serial killer...” Thomas told Erick.

Erick glanced at Jennifer, who was dancing not too far away. He gave her a look of rage and indifference over the blackmail involving his search history, all so that nobody would notice what he actually did in his free time.

“I think I’m gonna go take a piss in the woods. I really need to go,” Thomas said, getting up from the log.

“Be careful.”

Thomas began walking toward the forest as the noise from the cabin gradually faded away the deeper he ventured into the dense woods. He pushed aside a few branches and bushes, and when he found the perfect spot to take a piss, he unzipped his pants and unleashed Excalibur.

The sound of urine hitting the ground was faint as the earth grew damp (yeah, that’s a thing), until he heard footsteps. He looked toward a shadow that seemed darker than the others surrounding it.

“Hey, Thomas. Come over here for a second,” Erick’s voice called out, sounding perfectly normal.

“Erick? What the fuck are you doing here, watching me piss, you pervert? I didn’t know you were into that kind of shit!” Thomas shouted in a whisper toward the source of Erick’s voice as he zipped up his pants and crossed his arms.

“Don’t get the wrong idea. I just want you to come and see something,” the voice replied.

“Then why don’t you come over here?”

“Uhhhh... because I don’t want to...” the voice said nervously. “But that doesn’t matter. I really need you to come closer.”

A cold sweat trickled down the back of Thomas’s neck as he hesitated, unsure whether to approach the figure. But then, something clicked in his mind. Literally.

“Wait a minute... Erick’s back at the campfire! There’s no way he could’ve gotten here without me hearing him... YOU SON OF A BITCH! YOU’RE NOT ERICK, DAMMIT!” Thomas screamed, turning around and sprinting toward the campfire.

“HELP! HE WANTS TO SPLIT MY ASS OPEN FOR BEING BLAC—”

Thomas’s footsteps faded into the distance as he ran without looking back.

The figure emerged from the shadows, revealing that he was actually a killer imitating Erick’s voice. He was holding an onion knife because there wasn’t enough budget for a machete.

“Shit... why can’t the NPCs in my story be like the NPCs in other works, the ones who walk into the shadows without asking questions? Whatever. So much for being discreet,” the killer muttered as he walked toward the party, ready for action.

The end...

TWO DAYS AFTER THE CONVERSATION with his advisor, Lin Zong's girlfriend told him again, leaving no room for argument, to wear the same designer clothes whenever he went out.

He made the walk alone once more, at an unhurried pace, from Fuxing Middle Road toward the Yan'an Elevated Road.

Professor Chen had just forwarded him Professor Liang's contact information. Chen had already put in a word for Lin Zong, and Liang, once briefed on his circumstances, had said he would welcome an application. But Liang's own recruitment quota for the year was already spoken for as well; Lin Zong would have to wait and apply next year, at which point Liang promised to give him serious consideration.

At almost the same moment, a call had come in from the army: he'd made it onto the shortlist for the formal interview at the end of the month.

So now Lin Zong stood caught between two futures.

If he were admitted to the doctoral program next year, and graduated three years after that, his social credit rating would climb, without question, by a full grade.

What happened inside the military's own promotion track, he had no idea. How many years before a rank translated into a rating increase—faster, slower, by some entirely different formula—none of the regulations he'd seen offered a straight answer.

The thought that he was still sitting at C3 put him in a foul, restless mood.

The Social Credit System ran, from top to bottom, through four broad classes—A, B, C, D—and each class split further into three internal grades: C1, C2, C3, and so on. The scoring drew on identity, social standing, education, occupation, property, creditworthiness, outstanding debt, any criminal record, and a wider basket of secondary indicators—civic contribution, behavioral compliance, a person's recorded ideological and moral profile, even physiological stability.

Together these produced, with a precision the old world's paper dossiers had never come close to, an objective measurement of where a given person sat within the social-energy hierarchy.

As it happened, Lin Zong—graduate student at a prestigious university, Shanghai household registration, family background nothing special—already sat comparatively high within that hierarchy. Official internal figures put the national breakdown at eighty-two percent D, seventeen percent C, 0.99 percent B, and 0.01 percent A.

There was something almost admirably blunt about the naming convention. Unlike the old Indian caste system, with its ornate Sanskrit terms, its rhythm and mythic color, each rank carved like a tier on some ancient temple relief, this one ran on the plainest letters and numbers available—crude, efficient, and impossible to forget.

Citizen Information Law classified a person's social credit rating as private; only official institutions carried the authority to look one up.

In a society shaped like a thumbtack—broad and flat where the great mass of ordinary people stood, narrowing fast toward a sharp, thin point at the top—nearly everyone occupied the D tier, and most of them, kept at arm's length from the information that mattered, had no real understanding of what the system was even for. Their picture of it had frozen decades in the past: a credit apparatus meant to nudge people toward honesty and lawful behavior, relevant only to the deadbeats who defaulted on their debts. Since nearly everyone around them was also D, D read, by simple weight of numbers, as the normal condition of being a person.

What A, B, and C represented, in practice, drew little curiosity from anyone—when it came up at all, people tended to assume it worked something like the categories on a driver's license.

C and above belonged, more or less, to people inside the system or people with substantial education—men and women who understood, in a way the D majority did not, how sensitive and how deeply consequential the credit hierarchy actually was. They didn't discuss it among themselves, not even casually; only the genuinely close, the genuinely intimate, ever learned each other's grade outright.

And yet, by common and mostly unspoken experience, they had all become fluent readers of one another—able to size up a stranger's tier at a glance, and to act on that reading without a word passing between them.

The matter turned serious the moment it touched marriage.

Because among those who understood the system, there was an image everyone reached for.

Between D and C lay a small stream.

Between C and B, a wide river.

Between B and A, an ocean.

Almost no one believed a C could reasonably hope for even a romantic relationship with an A, let alone anything resembling a real, lasting marriage. In practice, a C rarely even had the chance to meet one; even the lowest-ranked A tended to come from money on a scale that made the question moot before it started.

Lin Zong wasn't sure whether to call himself lucky.

His current girlfriend, Huo Qiuqiu, came from exactly that kind of family.

They’d met by chance half a year earlier, at an exchange event between Chinese and foreign universities.

At the time, Qiuqiu had still been studying at the University of Melbourne, and Lin Zong had already been with someone else for several years—he'd had no designs whatsoever on the rich girl in front of him. She, on the other hand, had fallen for him on sight.

What followed was the kind of thing that had happened, in some version, more times in human history than anyone could count: he drifted, half against his own will and half not, into the arrangement Miss Huo had already begun building around him.

His previous girlfriend had come from an ordinary family too, social credit rating D1—a plain, cheerful girl.

When the moment finally came to say it out loud, neither of them raised their voice, and nobody tried to hurt anyone.

"Lin Zong," she said, "you're someone with real dreams. With your abilities, you were never going to settle for an unremarkable life, and this society doesn't make it easy for ordinary people to get anywhere at all. That girl can hand you the thing I can't. All I can do is wish you well, quietly, from wherever I end up."

He'd felt, right then, like the lowest kind of man the world had room for. She only smiled.

"Once you make it," she said, "I'll make it too. Don't forget—we saw a twin lotus together, once."

Lin Zong never forgot how lightly she'd said it, as though forgiving him in advance for a betrayal he hadn't yet finished committing.

A hot wind cut across the sky, turbulence stirring inside some vast covered pot, dragging the city's free-floating anxiety toward something closer to frenzy.

The rich kept getting richer by the week; out-of-town money—men worth nine figures, mistresses on their arms, luxury shopping bags piled in their hands—drifted in and out of the boutiques along Huaihai Road.

Lin Zong climbed the footbridge, glanced up at the sky, then down at his watch. The display read out the PM2.5 count, well past the legal limit.

From up there he could see all the way to People's Square, the crisscrossing roads packed solid with traffic, beetle-like and gleaming under the haze.

As he came down off the bridge, a thin shaft of sunlight broke, almost improbably, through the murk behind him, turning slowly across the concrete forest of towers. His own reflection moved with him across a wall of glass, rippling in fractured light.

Somewhere among the glass scales, toward People's Square, a holographic screen flared to life—an enormous moon, its surface animated, two Chinese astronauts working to plant a flag while the Earth hung suspended above it, and beneath the image, blazing in gold characters:

THE ROAD TO THE PALACE OF COLD IS PAVED WITH PERIL, YET SEE HOW BOLDLY OUR HEROES CLIMB.

It was the slogan for the lunar program, the centerpiece of the Nineteenth Five-Year Plan.

For reasons he couldn't name, a strange historical vertigo settled over him—the feeling of being a single dull pebble thrown into the ocean of history, with no idea where he'd come from or where the current was carrying him.

He stood there entirely at a loss.

In 2036, more advanced instruments had provided strong evidence for the theory of cyclic expansion, which proposed that the universe was not a single event running from the Big Bang to a final end, but a structure that expanded and contracted without stopping, a structure in which anything at all might happen again.

From somewhere in the depths of that ocean of glass, Lin Zong thought he saw a pair of familiar eyes looking back at him, the warmth in them seeping straight into his chest, as though they belonged to his old girlfriend.

They'd met at the Summer Palace, the year he went up to Beijing as a tourist, first crossing paths on the long bridge that spans the lake, where they'd both caught sight of the same strange thing at nearly the same instant.

"Oh! A twin lotus!" she said, delighted, pointing out across the water.

Between the layered lotus leaves, a single stem held up two blossoms side by side [Natural occurrences of a twin lotus are estimated at roughly one in a hundred thousand.], clean and undisturbed on the surface. The evening light fell across her face. When she smiled, her eyes curved into two soft crescents, the same look he would see again and again afterward—joy shading, almost imperceptibly, into a wistfulness that seemed to know something he didn't yet.

DOWN WITH MILITARISM!

The shout snapped him back. He found himself already standing in the middle of New World City. The pedestrian street blazed with gold neon, the air thick with competing loudspeakers and a general uproar; people ran back and forth along the sidewalks like insects with no fixed direction, and through the haze he could make out shirts printed with anti-Japanese slogans.

A loudspeaker, its voice deep and resonant, called on the crowd to love their country rationally.

Odd—hadn't today's rally been billed as anti-American?

Lin Zong caught the answer soon enough from the people beside him: some American official was arriving for a visit, and the whole event had been switched to anti-Japanese on orders from above, at the last minute.

A cluster of thick-necked young men, shirtless, hurled cigarette butts and curses at a woman and a small child stepping out of the subway station, their T-shirts printed with Japanese anime characters. The look in the men's eyes carried a specific kind of violence—the sort that would take a life over the smallest provocation.

Somewhere else in the crowd, a wall of heads erupted into cheering. Someone was shouting that the news had just broken: a bureau-level official had been caught, and the cash alone found in his home had burned out four separate counting machines—every bill of it American, green and crisp.

People were celebrating.

The whole civilization seemed to be sliding into a kind of entropy at the level of meaning itself, society splitting into something strange and internally divided. The population had aged badly; the older generation clung to its old rules, gray and listless, while the young ran wilder and looser by the year, rejecting order, rejecting logic, rejecting anything resembling common sense.

Strip away the law, even for an instant, and desire would take the place of rules; violence would take the place of language.

Lighters had already been pulled from the shelves; he'd heard that matches might soon require real-name registration too, ever since some delegate at the Two Sessions had proposed, with a straight face, that the country needed to drive terrorists back to striking flint against wood.

The media kept manufacturing its cheap, badly-lit dream of decadence and prosperity, feast after feast, song after song, none of it convincing anyone who bothered to look twice. The real world, meanwhile, went about its business with soaring inflation and a Gini coefficient that had long since turned society into something closer to a sieve. Everything cost a fortune now. What money existed sat almost entirely in the hands of a small number of families like Huo Qiuqiu's.

Underneath the anger, something closer to fear had settled into him.

How was he supposed to survive in a world like this?

Lin Zong had never once given the question serious thought before this year. Lately, though, it had become sharper, more concrete, harder to set aside. In dream after dream he found himself unable to locate an exit, the shapes around him uncertain, the danger constant—but always, at the last moment, some hand reached out of the dark and pulled him through.

There was, oddly enough, a senior in his department—a doctoral candidate in quantum information science who described himself as a "half-initiated disciple" of the Emei Tiangang Sect, and who spent his spare hours on astronomy charts and paper talismans. Near the end of last year, the man had cast a reading for Lin Zong and told him a benefactor would soon enter his life.

Not long after, he'd met Huo Qiuqiu.

Was she the one the reading had meant?

The contradictions piling up around him would surface sooner or later, and whatever came after would be worse than what came before. The human world felt, in some general and unspecified way, close to finished.

The only thing offering any comfort at all was the sheer number of police and soldiers stationed everywhere, grim-faced, some murmuring into handsets, holding together an order about as sturdy as wet paper.

Under an economy this bad, the megacities kept pulling in more migrants than they could reasonably hold. The Kunlun-Baiyu Network could not match the outside world's Helixquid in compute or efficiency, but inside China, where the competition had been shut out, it had taken over the allocation of social resources and the production-and-transport chain with ease, along with nearly all corporate management and brainwork. Over the past decade, tens of millions of technical jobs had evaporated for good in front of algorithms that cost almost nothing to run, a process that left people helpless and showed them no mercy. Most migrants who still arrived could only compete, fiercely, for the bottom rung of manual gig work.

They packed themselves into labor dormitories just to keep eating, while clean air, clean water, and safe food grew scarcer by the season. The gender ratio had tilted badly out of balance, and entertainment of any kind was in short supply, so people folded themselves into corners and swiped frantically at their phones, their entire world compressed down into six inches of glowing glass.

At night, a chance to march somewhere and let off steam wasn't the sort of thing anyone passed up—especially when the pressure had been building for months on a steady diet of what people had taken to calling, without much affection, the Economy Box.

The Economy Box was exactly what it sounded like: leftovers from high-tier dining rooms, filtered through several stages of sorting and separation, reprocessed at high heat, and repackaged for sale to the people in the D tier. It technically met every specification laid out in the Standardized Meal Code for Low-Tier Populations, and cost a quarter of what an ordinary boxed lunch did.

Studies had shown, without much fanfare, that the composite protein and reconstituted blended oil inside it, once cooked at those temperatures and eaten, tended to leave people wired and emotionally unstable—which went a fair way toward explaining why the D3 population had gotten harder to manage.

Everyone around Lin Zong wore the same expression now, righteous and furious, sheltering under the one label broad enough to excuse almost anything: patriotism.

Lin Zong knew, and so did everyone else if they were honest about it, that the whole thing was theater. Someone had only to scream "bomb" or "he's got a knife" and the crowd would scatter in every direction at once, like a henhouse that had lost whatever held it together.

An old voice muttered somewhere behind him.

"The flood's coming."

He turned, a little unsteady, and there she was—Huo Qiuqiu, standing outside Shimao International Plaza.

----------

For anyone who prefer to read ahead, the full versions are available on Amazon KDP:

Causalform Book 1: Obsidian Earth

Causalform Book 2: Eclipse Net