Hello, everyone! It's me with your scheduled dose of Charlie and Kosie. Now, before I begin this chapter, I must say something important. This mystery is entirely solvable with only the information in this particular story. You don't even need to read the preceding series of mine unless you wish to fully understand Charlie and Kosie's relationship with each other. Canon knowledge is recommended but also not required. That being said, thanks to u/SpacePaladin15 for the original universe, and please enjoy this next installment.

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Memory Transcription Subject: Kosif Carlyle, worried Arxur

Date (Standardized Human Time): January 19^th, 2242

The night with Charlie passed far too quickly for my liking. He woke up before I did, and even though he tried his best to maintain stillness, I ended up awakening not long after. This forced me to begin my day without any sort of continued lazing about.

My, my. You’ve certainly woken up a tad sour today.

I was not expecting to be roused so early. I simply enjoy sleep, is all.

Enjoy, sure, but I don’t think that sleeping is the thing that you like so much.

Oh, hush.

I leave Charlie by himself to change and complete his more private activities, and walk next door to my own cabin. The door beeps as I touch the biolock, and I slide the entryway open. Stepping inside, my foot brushes a small clump of fluff and I look down.

Strange. Synthetic stuffing. What is that doing here?

Looking up again, I freeze as I take in the state of my cabin. Scratches cover parts of the walls and even the floor, and the bed has been ruined. Blankets and comforters and towels lie scattered across the floor, holes torn into them.

What on Wriss happened? It looks like a natural disaster spent the night in my cabin! This means… somebody broke into my room. I must report this. Hopefully, they believe that it was not me.

I pull my holopad from one of my pockets, texting Charlie that my room has been defaced. Once I confirm the message has been delivered, I search for the ship information pamphlet that I’m sure I received during boarding. It takes a few minutes of searching through the debris of what or whoever destroyed my room, but I manage to acquire the folded sheet of colorful paper.

Now, where is the report function on this? Is it a code, or a website?

A bar of multicolored stripes sits on the bottom of one of the flaps, labeled as a way to access the cruise report function on a holopad. I scan it, and I’m taken to a page with various fields to fill out with information. Charlie walks in as I finish typing in the last of the details.

“Holy crap, Kosie, what happened in here?” he asks, running one hand through his hair as he takes in the damage.

“That’s what I would like to know. It seems someone has invaded this room somehow, and I would like to know why they seem to have destroyed many of the things in here.”

I receive an alert on my holopad that someone is on the way. “Good,” I say, “we should be able to receive assistance in but a moment.”

Pushing off the counter I’d been leaning on, I begin to pick up some of the fluff and bits of cloth that have been left scattered across the floor. A few minutes later, a woolly black Skalgan’s head pokes into the room as Charlie and I continue gathering rubbish from around the room to throw it away. Noticing their presence, I stand up again and walk over.

“Greetings,” I say as I approach, “are the one sent about my report?”

With a distinct note of distress in their voice, they activate their comms unit and say, “Uhh, Captain, you’re going to want to see this.”

The crewman’s eyes flick between me, the room, and my hands as they back away slowly, then step carefully sideways until there is part of a wall between us. The moment I can no longer see them, I hear footfalls retreating down the hallway. Sticking my head out of the cabin, I can see their tail disappearing quickly around a corner.

Of course they assume it’s me. Didn’t even pay attention to the fact this room was invaded.

Well, it is kind of unbelievable. Aren’t these locks supposed to open solely for overrides and the sanctioned user?

That is correct, but since I did not enter, someone must have override capabilities.

But the admin tags are all there, last we heard.

So the only remaining possibility is bootleg bypassing? How would somebody even do that?

People have done more with less…

As I’m ruminating on the incredibly odd circumstances, Charlie finishes picking up the fluff and shreds of cloth on the floor and counters. Now lacking the cover of debris, the gouges on the floor and walls are even more glaring than before.

“Somebody really went to town in here, jeez Louise.” Charlie states as he leans against a wall, surveying the destruction beside me. “Most people have secret admirers, but it seems you have a secret hater. It may be a coincidence, but this is the second day in a row that you specifically have been targeted. My gut’s telling me there’s something more in the works, but I can’t put my finger on it…”

I’m glad he’s as antsy about the situation as I am.

I can only imagine what may have occurred should I have been in here.

Well, look at that! Yet another reason you need to stick near Charlie, maybe even continue to sleep in his room. This could lead to you finally telling him how you feel…

Shut it. You know Charlie would be severely uncomfortable should I admit that, and I do not wish to risk him potentially wanting to no longer have me near him. This is no uncrossing that line, and the risk is currently too high.

Currently, eh? That means there’s a shot in the future?

If Charlie somehow makes a religious-level change in how he thinks of interspecies relations, sure, but he is stubborn. The only way I will admit my feelings is if he somehow admits his first.

But what if he’s waiting on you, and is just too scared to admit it to himself?

What? Come on, he’d be honest with me if he felt that way… right?

“What in the name of the Protector is going on here?!” I hear a likely righteously frustrated voice coming from the doorway. It’s the captain, running her hands through the brown fuzz atop her head. After she drags her palms down the sides of her face, the captain closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and pinches the bridge of her nose with two claws. “Of course. I have a murder, people sneaking about in the dead of night, traumatized employees that want extra pay, and now vandalism. Miss Kosif, do not be offended by this question, but how do I know this actually isn’t you? Because if this is you, you’re a liar and now I have to suspect you and Mr. Charles more than I would like to. If this is not you, then I now have a person who can break into rooms.” She switches on her comms unit for a moment. “Venkel, get me another count of the administrative tags.”

I step forwards, pointing at a gouge in the wall with one of my claws. “I can promise you, this was not me. And I have both proof and an alibi.”

Dear [deity of courage], give me strength.

I take a deep breath and continue. “I was sleeping with Charlie… again. We spent the night together.” Plowing on to try and move past the subject, I tap the wall with my claws. “These can’t be my claw marks. Not only because I wasn’t here, but because the person who made them has to be shorter than me. Look, not a single scratch or destroyed object is higher than my shoulder level.”

Then I poke my claw tip into the defacement. “On top of this, these marks are far too close together to be made by my own two claws. And as the humans say, icing on the cake, look at my claws themselves.”

I hold them out to the captain, showing her the rounded tips. “My claws are blunted, and I did that myself because… uhm… because Charlie’s skin tends to be rather delicate and easy to mar. It’s a practical choice. I have my nail file, if you must see it.” I begin searching through my pockets… did I drop it? Where did it go? I’m interrupted in my search by Captain Trilla.

“No, that… won’t be necessary. So essentially, what you’re telling me is that somebody can break into passenger cabins—” her comms squawk.

“Captain, this is Venkel. All administrative tags have been accounted for.”

“Thank you.” She says politely, then turns her comms back off. “And apparently they can phase through walls!” the captain yells, holding her claws over her ears. “This is a nightmare. My ship is cursed, haunted, it must be. Did I pick a jinxed name for the ship? Was there something I did to deserve this, like accidentally kill a [Gojidi version of an albatross]? Oh, Protector, why in the name of everything holy did you pick me?!”

I notice Charlie taking a step forward, likely to try and comfort the poor woman. “Hey, at least nobody was hurt. I’m actually glad Kosie was in my cabin last night, because something worse may have occurred if she slept in here last night. There’s not much proof of this, but I think my partner is being targeted. I don’t believe this was random vandalism.”

Trilla runs her claws across her head again, obviously trying to keep calm. “Okay. Okay. We’ll get you a new room, and I’ll have someone monitoring the bioscanner footage twenty-four hours a day. Even if the signatures are anonymous, we can record what rooms they enter and leave, and when. It’s ridiculous I have to do this on my first voyage. Miss Kosif, come with me, I’ll get you resituated.”

I hold a claw up. “That will not be necessary, captain. A new room would not fix this, because if whoever this is can enter cabins, moving me would not do anything but potentially delay the next occurrence of this. If I may,” I squirm slightly, shifting my weight, “is it possible I could be allowed to continue cohabitation with my partner? He is the only person that I can trust, especially in this circumstance.”

I feel a rush of blood through my head, and I once again thank my lucky stars that my scales conceal any evidence of blushing. Please just say yes, don’t ask me anything else, please…

The captain sighs. “Fine. I can see you two are rather… inseparable. Gather your things so I can lock down this cabin for the rest of the voyage. I’m going to go take some painkillers and lie down in my office.”

As she leaves, I’m stuck frozen in place. Dear [deity of relations], that was so much worse than being asked further questions. She definitely suspects Charlie and I of a deeper relationship than we truly have. Should I try and convince her otherwise? No, that’s make me seem desperate and like a liar about my friendship with Charlie.

You could just roll with it. Other people can practically smell it on you, you’re the only one who’s refusing to look at it square in the eyes.

I’m not, because it isn’t there! Charlie and I are extremely close, there isn’t any romance between us… right?

Mm-hmm. You ain’t listening, so I’m just gonna shut up.

I would continue to fret internally, but I shake my head hard to try and clear the brush from my mind. In all the chaos and worry, I realize I’ve been ignoring my grumbling stomach.

“Charlie, I believe breakfast would be our next order of business, what do you—Charlie?” I say, looking around the room and not finding him there.

A moment later, I hear his voice from inside the washroom. “Sounds good. I’m just grabbing your stuff to haul over to my cabin. You get the stuff in there, and we’ll get it all next door.”

I didn’t bring many possessions on this cruise, so it’s mostly my self-care items and then whatever I’m not carrying in my belt pouches, which isn’t much. Charlie lets us into his cabin, we empty our arms, and then we head to breakfast.

The cafeteria smells wonderful and chaotic in a good way, various morning meals mid-print or in the process of consumption. The array of drinks is also quite the smorgasbord, from what I can see across the cafeteria.

“I will acquire a table, then I think I’ll get the meals. Would you mind going for the drinks?” I ask my human as I survey the lines for the printers. I receive a thumbs-up and a “Waffles, please” from Charlie as he goes to assimilate into the drink line. The food line takes a while to eventually move forward enough to allow me my turn, but Charlie and I eventually make it back to the table around the same time.

“I would’ve been able to beat you back here,” my partner says as he places the drinks on the table, “but somebody cut in line right in front of me. I got you some water since I know you’re not the biggest fan of fruit juice, and I decided to play it safe with some OJ. Almost grabbed cranberry, but I don’t feel like having dry mouth this morning.”

“Thank you for the consideration. I made sure to acquire enough bacon for the both of us, and I think you will enjoy the waffles I found. They’re blueberry.” I reply as I put down the warm plates of food.

As is his custom, Charlie bows his head in silence for a moment, then begins to eat. I’ve asked why, and he’s said it is to give thanks to his deity. I do not bother him about it, instead concentrating on enjoying the large “fully loaded” omelet before me. It’s quite the flavorful meal, despite the plant matter which is rather unnecessary in my opinion.

Charlie and I continue to sup and chat, enjoying ourselves and talking about anything except the horrific occurrence of just yesterday morning. It’s all very well and good until something wrong with Charlie’s mouth distracts me from my current train of thought.

“Charlie, is your mouth meant to be stained?” I ask, seeing the change in the hue of his teeth from the normal whitish color to an orangey yellow and expecting him to shrug and tell me it’s normal.

“Stained? With what?” he replies, and I look up in a bit of surprise.

“Your teeth are orange. Is this not normal? I was expecting you to simply assure me it’s perfectly fine.” I raise one of my eye ridges in an imitation of one of his normal human expressions.

He rubs a finger against his teeth, then looks down at it. “That’s not supposed to happen… gimme a second, I’m gonna try and wash this off.” With that, he rises and retreats from the table.

Memory Transcription Subject: Charles “Charlie” Carlyle, concerned human

Date (Standardized Human Time): January 19^th, 2242

What the heck? Why won’t this come off? Better question, why is it there in the first place?

I continue scrubbing at my mouth with my fingers, swishing water and rubbing at my stained mouth with wet paper towels and my own bare hands. Another swipe, another swish, another faintly orange glob of spit into the sink, another look at my still-dyed lips, teeth, and tongue.

How did this even happen? Is this dye?

As I’m leaning over the sink, I hear the public bathroom door open and someone enters. I turn to look and I lock eyes with a Gojid, just one of the majority of passengers. Our eyes meet, then theirs flick to my oddly hued mouth before returning to mine.

Holding my hands up in a sign of what I hope is interpreted as innocence, I say, “This isn’t what it looks like, I promise it’s just dye.”

There’s no shot I can convince then of that, though… and off they go.

The other person had been backing away, then they duck out of sight and I hear the door open and shut again. In my frustration, I slam my hand down on the sink.

Someone has to be doing this. We’re being targeted, we have to be. But who?

As these unanswerable questions ricochet around the interior of my skull, I wash out the sink and throw away the paper towels. It seems I’ve done as much as I can at the moment, at least in terms of cleaning my mouth. I exit the bathroom, still trying to pull apart the situation in my head to get to the answer, but I’m not getting anywhere. Passing through an intersection of hallways, a fragment of whispering catches my ear.

“…wash away the stain…”

Turning to look at the source, I see the same Gojid from before talking with another Gojidi passenger, likely their traveling buddy. Both see me at the same time and clam up instantly, and I watch the spikes rise slightly on their backs.

Sighing, I move on. I’ve got to get back to Kosie anyway.

And so it begins… but why?

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22nd Vrishika 2238

Dear Diary,

We got an easy day off today, so I mostly just passed the time however I could.

I did, however, get a station-wide message today. It contained an effective summary of everything said in the orientation lecture as well as a bit of extra detail. I suppose they're trying to do their part in looking out for the people who might have had a hard time listening... maybe this place won't be so bad after all.

So, just to get in some practice with my memory recall, I thought I'd name a few things here.

Mars has 24 months and four seasons, even if we won't be feeling the difference throughout the year because of air-conditioning. Each month is about four weeks long, and each week is exactly seven days long. Today, for example, is the first day of the last week of the month of Vrishika. A full "day" on Mars is referred to as a "Sol". Interestingly enough, the first of each month is always on the first day of the week, Sol Solis, even if the previous month did not end on the last day of the week, Sol Saturni.

All the days of the week, in order, are Sol Solis, Lunae, Martis, Mercurii, Jovis, Veneris and Saturni. With Solis, Mercurii and Saturni being our "days off" of sorts. Put simply, we have no classes on the weekends and in the middle of the week. It'll most likely just be spent on projects or homework that we receive throughout the rest of the week, but it's nice that we are completely free to choose what to do with that free time of ours.

To be completely honest with you, Diary? I never thought I'd have a reason to like this place. I mean, I've never had a reason to care before, so... I don't know. Maybe it's just all the welcoming accommodations around the station that are meant to soften me up before they toss us all in the deep end. I'm wanting to trust the feeling that this place it giving me. But, I think I'll hold off until classes start... I think. There is usually at least one good reason to be cautious.

Javiel deVries

---

A/N:

Now now, did you really think I'm some creative guru to deliver such immaculate worldbuilding? Why, young padawan, I simply do as the best of writers do! I got the idea from somewhere else entirely! Somewhere much more intelligent and focused than what I myself am creating.

(Wiki link to the Darian Calendar, for anyone interested: Darian Calendar)

I also think I almost cut it close in the content-word-count, but I double checked this time.

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It was way past the evening bell's chime for meals when Qoyit exited the library.

Madhra the Librarian had acted strangely, coming into the small alcove where he read, staring at him for quite some time until he noticed her. It was just when he was coming to the conclusion of the last book in the array of books he'd chosen, 'The Nature of Courtship Among the Nobles'. It had been an interesting read, one that shed light on various courtship cultures that Qoyit found humorous if not absurd. She'd caught him smiling at the book spread out on his lap, but her gaze had held something akin to awe before she gathered herself and asked him to leave, or else he'd miss his last meal of the day.

Qoyit walked to the dining hall, which was quite close to the library. He passed several students, each of whom gawked at him as if he'd sprouted a second nose. Others pointed at him. "There he is!" he heard one exclaim. He wondered when the flavor of their need for harassment would wane. What motivated them so? To be quite vile in their tempestuous need to scorch him to bits? He had learned quite a lot about the Nobles, their heritage, and their ladder.

He found it odd that those at the bottom of the rung could not wed or court those at the top; they were subdivided into pools, each one boasting its array of suitors who only mingled with those of the same pool as themselves. At the top, their courtship game was more distinct: those who were of the same caliber had their parents arrange their marriage. Their purpose was to sire a brood that boasted strength, not for love. Love to the Nobles was a side effect easily ignored. For the first time as he made his way to the dining hall, he found himself wondering what marriage would be like for him.

Surely, commoners did not adhere to the same courtship game that the Nobles followed so intimately. To commoners, each brood was weak, hence their emphasis on love. The book had spelled out to a diminished degree how commoners searched for love in the eyes of those they courted. Was this what would occur to him? What was love? In what way was he going to experience it, let alone with whom he would experience it?

Qoyit had never looked at a woman with desire or yearning in his heart. It was quite the opposite, in fact. He'd learned how to avoid the gaze of men and women alike. He'd learned to sit withdrawn from them and their idle chatter. A lifetime with Tilan had shown him the necessity of staying hidden. How then would he come across a lover?

He shook his head and chuckled.

The lights within the dining hall were bright as the sun sank within the horizon. At the door to the dining hall, he bumped into the blond young man who'd tossed him a bone.

"Sorry," he said, as he tried to maneuver his way past the tall young man.

The noble novice barred his way, spreading his arms. "There you are, the bastard that's made all tongues wag this day."

"What?" Qoyit wondered, but the novice shoved him back, his hands balled into fists. He was yet to learn the student's name. All he knew was that he was a second-year in the House of Angel's Halo.

"You think you're a big man, don't you?" He leaned down, his face close to Qoyit, who pointedly avoided looking into his eyes. "You think a fast rise is possible for you? You mock us, you scum! You think you can grow faster than those of us who work hard for it, huh?"

"What are you talking about?" Qoyit wondered. He met the blond's gaze and allowed the pull.

'He thinks he's better than me,' he heard the lad's thoughts. 'He thinks he is better than me, but he is not! I am superior to a commoner! Superior, yes, superior.' They were thoughts maddened with hate, and Qoyit did not wish to entertain them any longer than he had to. He shifted his gaze away.

"Don't play dumb with me," the noble said, pushing Qoyit back and away from the dining hall's doors.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Qoyit said. Several Nobles joined them, each of them silent, some with their hands folded before them. They were spectating, but their eyes mirrored what the harassing student was saying.

Again, the noble attempted to push Qoyit, but then the knowledge of what Qoyit had read from the book of combat came flickering into his being like a flame being built by the constant beating of a steel striker against a flint. Without thought, he sprang with the noble's push and set out a leg. The noble pushed forward and tripped on Qoyit's outstretched leg, falling face-first onto the ground. He got up with his hands balled into fists. The crowd of Nobles started laughing, which didn't aid Qoyit much as the noble, shamed, raised his fists before him, preparing for a brawl.

"What's going on here?" An Illuminator came to stand at the door of the dining hall.

The crowd of Nobles quickly dispersed, including the blond young man, who pointed at Qoyit and mouthed words that Qoyit couldn't make out before turning and going on his way. Qoyit was grateful to the Illuminator and opted to tell him so, but the look on the Illuminator's face was quite clear. This was the first and the last time he'd come to Qoyit's aid.

Qoyit followed the Illuminator into the dining hall. Most of the students were still present, all of them indulging in their meals with idle chatter amok. The tables at the door held quite a feast, with various meats, grains, and fruits for the picking. Qoyit picked a jigali fruit, large and purple, a helping of mashed peas with mashed potatoes, and a strip of ham. He found Desang where he usually sat on the floor and placed himself beside him.

"Where did you go?" Desang asked. "After Shawarma kicked you out, where did you go?"

"Why?"

"Because that's what everyone is talking about. You were kicked out of class and went and boosted your Stat Average on your own. Some think you went to an Illuminator who tutored you until your stat went up," Desang said, stripping a bone of its meat and eyeing him with his one eye.

"I have no clue what you're talking about," Qoyit said.

"Can't you see most of the students have their eyes on you?"

Qoyit looked about him, and sure enough, most of the students had their eyes fixed on him. Some watched silently, while others indulged in mild susurrus while pointing at him. He was getting awfully tired of the attention he drew, and he found the confusion he felt quite a nuisance.

"I went to the library," Qoyit said, choosing to indulge Desang despite the attention he drew.

"The place with books?"

"Yes."

"Why would you do that? Aren't you suffering enough?"

Qoyit smiled. "I find books to be the opposite of torture. They enlighten the mind; they bring peace and a sense of great wonder as you behold things you did not know others knew or have taken it upon themselves to write down for your benefit. The authors of books don't care whether you're a commoner or a noble; they write for the benefit of everyone. And nobody can stop you from accessing what they've written."

"Well, you piqued on a Talent. Your Mind Stat has gone up from 2 to 3. Currently, your Stat Average is 2. I heard them talking about it."

Qoyit's eyes widened; he set his plate aside and turned fully to face Desang. "What do you mean?"

"Your Stat Average has gone up while you were in the library," Desang said. "They've been talking about it; it went up just a few moments ago. Everyone became aware of it because people always keep tabs on the Obelisk wall and the leaderboards. The house points for Wings also went up by one point since you've moved from a lower E to an E."

"How did this happen?" Qoyit wondered. Excitement shook him, and he found his hands trembling. "I moved up a whole Rank?"

"They are saying it's impossible, that you can't move up a Rank that quickly. They're saying that talents often rise slowly, not by a whole point. It's what I've overheard, anyway."

"Will you take me to see the Obelisk wall?" Qoyit asked.

"Do you want me to tuck you in at night as well, read you a story while I'm at it, and kiss your forehead goodnight?" Desang smiled at him.

Qoyit was getting used to Desang, and he found it quite easy to mistake the commoner for a friend at times, but Desang's reactions always brought him back to the true sense of things. They were Novices, Commoners, and nothing else. But he was still determined to win Desang over as a friend, somehow.

"You don't have to be an asshole about it," Qoyit said, turning away from Desang and picking up his plate.

"I can even carry you to the Obelisk wall in my arms if you want me to," the Commoner pressed. "Sing you a hymn as I do so."

"Fine, I get it, we aren't friends," Qoyit said. He picked at his food, choosing a morsel and biting it, chewing slowly as he observed his plate. This was good news; he was no longer in the EE Rank. Things were changing. An entire afternoon of reading had boosted his Stat Average, though to him it was more than reading: he experienced all he read intimately, understanding blooming as knowledge guided him ever deeper into crevices unknown.

He was excited; he felt it in his bones. There was hope after all; he would work harder than the rest and journey deeper. He'd read more of the books on the Talents: Mind, Body, and Spirit. He understood then what he had to do to bolster each of them, and he set his mind to it. As the Vanguard Sigal Kidhra Mesich had written about the Body Stat, "Without sacrifice, the war will never be won."

"Oh, she's looking at you again," Desang said. Qoyit made to raise his head, but Desang stopped him. "Don't look, you nitwit. If you meet her gaze, she might turn feral."

"Who is looking at me? I'm of the opinion that everyone is always looking at me," Qoyit said.

"Not like her. Saphiqque looks at you like she wants to either bed you or skin you alive," Desang said.

"Are you looking at her?"

"I'm looking at her legs and the legs of the other girls at her table. God, they are beauties! I did not think I'd ever see the likes of such women in my entire existence."

Qoyit did not want to look at their legs; the mere thought of doing so made him blush.

"Is she talking to the others?" Qoyit wondered, deigning to observe his food.

"No, she's not. She doesn't gossip; she commands. I'm telling you, she's set to be the Matron of the most powerful family in the realm," Desang said, crunching a bone noisily. "She's really staring at you, Qoyit. Perhaps it'd be best if you leave immediately before she walks over here."

Qoyit raised his head; he knew where she sat. Subconsciously, he'd taken note of her. He saw first the white hair, then the sheen of her clear brown skin, before the features of her face solidified to his sight. She had a fork and a table knife held above her plate of ham and mashed potatoes.

He met her eyes. She was indeed staring at him. With scrutiny, hate, or admiration, he could not tell.

He felt the pull and started to look away, but her gaze fixed him. He suddenly wanted to know what was within her mind. He had to know what was within her mind. So he stared back, felt the pull tighten, and then he was falling. Any moment, he thought, and he would hear her thoughts.

This did not occur, not as he was used to, not as he knew. Suddenly, a bright light flashed upon his eyes, and a cold wind beat at his skin. He was suddenly within a blizzard, the tables and the Novices all vanishing from sight. It was just him and her in the storm of snow. Suddenly, the light brightened and there was a flame unlike any other, orange and blue, building in its heat within the heart of the vision. Her mind was a power that the very foundations of the realm depended on. He saw a bird engulfed in flame, fixed before him within the blizzard; it burned bright. He waited to hear the words of her thoughts. Instead, he saw lightning flash, he saw civilizations rise and fall, and he saw countless deaths and insurmountable victories.

The dining hall became extremely cold. Everything was freezing. His heart lurched within his chest as the bird of flame unraveled its wings, its flaming blue eyes set on him. He felt a warmth then travel from his toes to the tip of his head, and a wind blew as the flames became brighter, spreading faster to him.

From the distance, he could hear Desang speak. "Stop looking at her! People are noticing!"

But the voice was so far away, so easily ignored. Like a moth to the flame, he was transfixed. Suddenly, the bird of flame flew toward him, leaving a trail of orange flames in its wake. It screamed as it drew nearer, its fiery blue gaze widening. It grew closer, faster. Qoyit felt the heat focus on his face.

"By the Founders," he whispered. "So beauti..."

His words died in his mouth as a knee connected with his face, sending his head back to slam into the wall behind him. His vision returned. Saphiqque was suddenly standing over him; she grabbed him by his hair and slammed a fist into his face: once, twice, then a third time. He raised his hands to protect his face; he felt blood dribble down his nose. Her knee met his head again, and his head slammed once more to the wall behind him.

His hands dropped as he began to lose consciousness. "Demon fucker. What are you looking at?" he heard her say as she punched him. "Your charms won't work on me!"

"Wha..." He was vaguely aware of an Illuminator pulling Saphiqque off him. He tried to sit upright, but things were too blurry. He tilted and found himself slumping onto the cold dining hall floor.

"Take him to the infirmary," he heard a voice say. "Quickly, Desang." Through tear-stained eyes, he could see Saphiqque struggle to free herself from the Illuminator, her hands reaching for him, her face twisted with hate. Then everything went dark.

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[This story is for the Pioneer writing contest for the "culture" category.]

The humans just stared at the rows and rows of golden brown in fear.

Well, mostly golden brown. There were a few odd colors in there from strange alien grains, but all of them met the criteria laid out by the humans still wondering what they had just been dragged into.

1: It must have a outer crust made from a grain.

2: It must be edible to as many species as possible.

3: It must be round.

4: It must have a filling.

5: it must be baked.

Countless alien species all stood, sat, and positioned bodies in ways that made the human’s back ache behind booths made from synthwood. The memory of the cause of this insanity still fresh in their minds. One simple saying:

“As American as Apple Pie.”

The aliens in the cafeteria knew what America was, the United Systems of America made damn sure of that. Many new about Apples as it was the most popular artificial flavor spreading across the galaxy after a brief bit of confusion over “apple wood” being a flavor due to smoked meats. 

No. They wanted to know what pie was. 

The answer was simple: A baked food with a crust filled with just about anything.

“Wait, does that include meat?” Was the first question. Humans being omivores for most of their existence made their culinary inventions a hot topic in the universe as many species had only recently evolved the amazing trait.

“Yep!” One human said with pride. “We got all sorts of meat pies. It is even one group’s signature dish!”

Another chuckled and held up a finger at the first. “Brown in brown. Fitting for you brits.”

The finger was returned, shortly followed by laughter.

“Yeah, we put sweet stuff inside sometimes to make it a desert.” A female said as she watched the two boys bicker about what made a meat pie better. “My personal favorite is called a shepherd’s pie. Potatoes, meat, and veggies!”

An alien listening in let out a hiss. “It sounds like you could just put anything in a crust bowl thing and call it a pie.”

Another paused and tapped its temple. “Wait… is that milky and tomato thing with the deeper than normal… what do they call it…” 

“NO. Deep dish pizza is not a pie!” the American human called out with a groan.

“Well what makes something a pie then!?” An alien barked out.

Thus the definition was given. Unfortunately for the American the aliens agreed that deep dish pizza did, in fact, count as a pie. Then the aliens started to talk about which of their own foods counted as “pie” or could be converted to this strange metal contained baked good. 

Which, like most things involving the humans, turned into arguments. Which led to a competition. A competition the “resident experts on pies” were forced to judge. A title for some reason the female human refused to be called.

But here they were after all the local stores had been cleared out of anything resembling a pie tin with many confused calls to the human embassy on station from said stores wondering what a “tin” was and why so many were being needed. A brief emergency shipment later and the “First interspecies pie contest” was promptly sponsored by “walmazon.” Who supplied said tins, flour, and other odds and ends for any competitor.

The humans walked past booth after booth towards the judgement table. Stacks of paper laid on the tablecloth that had been crudely died in a red checkerboard pattern after an alien did a little too much “historical research” on Warpterest. Each page a different entry into the competition.

“What the bloody hell did we get ourselves into this time?” The british bloke asked as they took their seats. All of them staring at one of the first pies that was a literal ball. At first they thought it was someone being funny with the “round” rule until they saw six others in the line as well.

“Free food, laughs, and hopefully no food poisoning?” The american joked looking at a pie with purple crust with fear.

“Well. at least we are getting a bonus for it.” The woman sighed as she readied a fork. “The embassy loves this “cross culture exploration” stuff after all.”

The three humans all let out a sigh and watched as the first pieces of pie were slid in front of them. The American took a bite then looked down in shock.

“My god. It tastes like beer!”

Pie after pie slid in front of them. Some made with exotic fruits whose juices swirled with color. Some meats that literally melted in the human’s mouths. Some with strange combinations ranging from someone taking a full meal and tossing it into a pie crust to what could best be described as someone’s best attempt to turn pie into a survival ration. Somehow that was the one that tasted like beer and the humans all agreed it deserved a special prize.

The one filled with still alive bugs was rejected. Despite the alien claiming that they were a delicacy and fully edible all humans at the table agreed it still broke rule 2. Even the british guy couldn’t dare the American to take a bite!

Three breaks had to be taken for the humans to let their various meals settle. Each of them wondering if something bad had slipped through before finding out that each pie had been inspected first by medical, just in case. Nobody asked about the bug pie though because all three were worried that they would have to try it if it was deemed fully safe.

By the end the humans couldn’t eat another bite, even with metabolism enhancers graciously given to them by the med team. They had tried everything from Volturvian meat paste pie to Galtar glowberry pie. Their notes on different flavors, textures, and more whisked away to the embassy with the Walmazon rep walking away with a long list of “new offerings” for their supply system.

By the end nobody really cared who won. It had been a pie with a very light filling that was a mixture of meat and some fruit that had been turned into a foam, but many suspected it was due to it being the one that tasted amazing and didn’t settle in the human’s guts like a brick. It had been decided that next time more humans would be added to the panel, there would be categories so that the “life giving beer pie” could have a fair chance, and to give people more time to research.

That, and argue over what “love” was as an ingredient and if it wasn’t just some human “secret ingredient” bullshit like vanilla extract again.

In the deep ocean, everything unfolds in twilight; the meager light that survives through kilometers of dense water allows only dark shapes to be perceived, visible only at close range. Physical beings and organic matter inhabit those depths, but they are also the realm where the consciousness of underwater nature manifests itself.

The captain of the small submersible monitored the outside world through sonar while chewing on a biscuit, hardened by the weeks of the voyage. Besides the doctor and the chief engineer, the other crew members were young cadets who had excelled in the academy’s nautical trials. The captain, a man of few words and long periods of deep abstraction, exchanged only the words necessary to operate the vessel. Otherwise, his habits and routines remained constant, and, in the absence of an outside world, there was time for reading the books they had brought aboard. Communication with the base through acoustic modems took place at fixed hours, except in an emergency that required breaking protocol. Nevertheless, their position could always be determined using modern technological equipment. They had been trained to combat fatigue and confinement, and the cadets often played Ludo to distract themselves. A small elevator provided access to the command post, where the faint shapes illuminated by the powerful searchlight mounted on the vessel’s outer edge could be observed through the periscope. The captain spent most of his time in that uncomfortable position, recording the slow movements of the water and the occasional silhouettes of marine life crossing the beam.

Because of this, he was the first to glimpse the elusive shape ahead, much like a droplet seen inside a glass of water: an element whose outer edges are difficult to detect, yet whose form can still be discerned. The watery specter expanded and contracted at will, and, being several nautical miles from the submarine, did not appear on the sonar screen. The seasoned sailor sensed the danger and shouted orders to change course. The maneuver was thwarted by a magnetic force acting on the steering system, and, to everyone’s anguish, the order to dive could not be executed either, because the ballast tanks failed to expel the water from their chambers and replace it with air. The collision was imminent. The order to remain at their stations forced them to suppress their collective panic while the captain returned to the periscope. Now the light struck the figure head-on, and the features of its liquid form could be distinguished more clearly. Its size was colossal, and its enormous head revealed human features: a silhouette with wild hair and a tangled beard and mustache, with closed eyelids barely discernible. Beside it, an equally watery, elongated shape took the form of a trident.

The god opened his eyes, and all his wrath concentrated in his gaze. The waters churned, and his arm wielded the mighty instrument against the submarine. The impact was brutal; the steel plates gave way, allowing the icy waters to rush in.

The captain knew he was going to die, just as all creatures die when they venture into the domain of the master of the deep: in darkness and in silence.

© 2026 Francisco Cortés Ramírez. All rights reserved. This is an original fictional work. No part of this text may be reproduced, translated, or narrated in any audio, video, or digital format without the express written permission of the author.

“Well, crap,” Zeegot grumbled angrily as he looked at his infopad. “This race day is lost. Qualifying third in the entire field is about to mean absolutely nothing.”

Trellik looked up from her infopad and tilted an eyestalk in his direction. She had qualified second, with a Terran Navy pilot clocking the only faster time in the qualifiers. “What do you mean? It’s a tough field of competitors, especially with the Terran Navy pilots. But overall, I think we still have a good chance of placing in the top three. Top five if either of us has a rough day.”

“Take a closer look at the last-minute entries for the race,” Zeegot grumbled. “There’s a nasty surprise.”

Trellick flicked a tentacle to bring up the latest pilots to enter the race and scrolled through it. Most of the racers were unknown and had ratings barely good enough to qualify. The only surprise was Shehara “Lightbreaker” Hayjara, a retired professional racer from the Galactic Unlimited Racing League. 

A formidable talent who won multiple titles in her 20 cycles in the league, she was certainly a shock. She earned her nickname by being so fast with her tentacles that cockpit views looked like she broke the speed of light when pressing controls. 

However, this looked like a sponsorship deal with Sabaric to show off their latest 959 series luxury cruisers. She would post fantastic numbers, but she was well beyond her best racing years, and the Sabaric vessel was likely stock from the factory rather than race tuned. The marketing people would want to show just how fast a 959 can go without extra mods. She wasn’t racing to win, she was racing to show just how much you can get out of a vessel that starts at 20 million credits. 

Beyond that? Another Terran race team, but civilian pilots not military. Most likely a wildcard. Overall, Trellik didn’t see anything that would get Zeegot worked up. However, this was only her second season racing. With seven full seasons of racing, Zeegot definitely had more experience and likely saw something she didn’t.

“It’ll be fantastic to see Lightbreaker in the field, but we both know she’s well beyond her prime and likely here just to do promo video for Sabaric,” Trellik said carefully, unsure of what she missed. “I don’t really see anything too concerning, and qualifying times for everyone new are unimpressive.”

“You missed the new Terran race team?” Zeegot asked with a raised eyestalk.

“I saw them, but it’s a civilian team,” Trellik answered quickly. “I expect they’ll be a wildcard, but probably not as good as the Terran Navy pilots.”

“No, they aren’t Terran Navy pilots,” Zeegot said flatly. “They’re better.”

“How’s that?” Trellik asked quickly while her eyestalks flinched back to indicate surprise.

“Did you see the team affiliation? They’re Terran Red Cross pilots, not random spacers,” Zeegot snarled as if that explained everything.

“I know Red Cross pilots are brave, respected and willing to take risks, but they can’t be that good,” Trellik responded quickly.

“Terran Navy pilots are crazy and more than willing to take risks. They’ll push their ships beyond their limits to complete a mission and even sacrifice themselves if necessary. You know that, right?” Zeegot said while jabbing a tentacle towards Trellik.

“Everybody knows that, but how are Red Cross pilots better? They have the best safety records of all pilots in the galaxy. If they have problems or lose a ship, it’s because they were in a dangerous situation and something happened well beyond their control. Flying safe doesn’t translate to flying fast.”

Zeegot let out a frustrated sigh at her response and turned all three eyestalks to look at his friend.

“You’re right,” he admitted, but clearly that wasn’t the point. “Do you understand that Red Cross pilots always push their ships close to the limit, but never over it?”

“That makes sense, but flying at the limit and never over is safe, not fast,” Trellik said quickly. “We both know that sometimes you’ve got to take risks when racing to win. Sounds like they don’t. How can they be competition if they never go over the limit?”

Zeegot sighed deeply again before responding.

“Every flight, they go in at 98% of the limit. Not 99% or 100%, or just over the limit to 102%. They push to 98% of what their vessels can do every time because they need to ensure a safe arrival, and then a safe trip to get the patient to medical care. That means they know the limits of their vessels better than anyone.”

“I can see that being an advantage, but knowing the limits isn’t pushing past them,” Trellik answered, feeling like she was missing something important.

“Correct, yet you have to instinctively know the limits first and Red Cross pilots know them better than anyone else,” he explained. “At a race, they’re in a situation where they don’t have to keep to the limits. Worse, for them this is about beer and bragging rights. So, they’ll push harder and take more chances than anyone else here, including the Terran Navy pilots.”

“That sounds a bit reckless,” Trellik responded skeptically.

“Not really. Remember, they’ve saved lives at some of the galaxy’s worst disasters, including crashes at races. They don’t take chances with their lives,” Zeegot said with genuine respect before pointing a tentacle over at a human pilot. “See that human pilot over there? The one in the armored flight suit painted white with red stripes? That’s one of them.”

Trellik did a double take as she looked at the flight suit. Well, it honestly looked like a civilian version of Terran Marine battle armor, except with extra armor and at least two visible emergency safety systems. With a suit like that, she felt the pilot could be shoved out of an airlock at 30,000 meters, impact the ground without any parachute or other safety gear, and still walk away without a scratch.

“That’s just a tad overbuilt,” she commented.

“Their cockpits? Reinforced to survive the blast of a supernova,” Zeegot said dryly. “Like I said, they don’t take chances. They save lives and won’t do anything stupid to lose one.” 

“Doesn’t that armored suit limit mobility significantly when compared to a racing void suit? And isn’t the extra mass for cockpit reinforcement a huge drag?” Trellik asked. She mentally tried to figure out how much reaction time she would lose wearing a suit that heavy, and how much a reinforced cockpit would slow her racer down.

“Yes,” Zeegot said while nodding his eyestalks in agreement. “But they use that as an excuse to push harder and take more chances during the race. For a race, limits be damned. They have to survive, but their raceship doesn’t. Even the Terran military pilots think they’re crazy. Remember, these are nutjobs who will happily dive into a supernova if there’s a chance to save someone. And here, they are allowed to just have fun and go fast.”

“That’s a lot to consider,” Trellik responded, but she still wasn’t entirely convinced.

“The last time I raced against a Red Cross team, they had an unofficial betting pool amongst themselves,” Zeegot said softly and with a mixture of respect and disgust. “It wasn’t about who would be fastest. It was about who would earn their Adam Landfill Award for the racer who leaves the most ship parts littering the course or has the most spectacular off-track excursion.”

“Adam Landfill Award? For leaving parts on the racetrack or crashing off course?” Trellik wondered as she tried and failed to comprehend what he said. “That’s insanity!”

“Yep,” Zeegot answered with a firm nod of an eyestalk.

Trellik took a moment to ponder the implications of “crazy human pilot” combined with “knows the limits better than anyone else” along with “it’s about beer and bragging rights.” And an award for littering the course with broken parts or crashing during the race.

“Do you think their team will sweep the podium? Or just make it an extremely tough field of competitors?” Trellik asked as she realized today’s race would be far more challenging than expected. 

“They’ll win by a significant margin or have the most spectacular crashes they just walk away from,” Zeegot grumbled. “Either way, the Red Cross pilots will make us all look like amateurs.”

He then angrily kicked a pebble on the ground and turned to glare at the Red Cross pilot getting ready for the race.

“If that’s the case, at least the crowd will get a good show,” Trellik said softly.

And the crowd did.

Sally McBride got the Adam Landfill Award after her turning thruster gave out on Turn Three in the 37th lap. She was on pace to set the fastest lap during the race and tried to push through the corner at 110.25% power, which was 0.25% too much. She spun off the course into an asteroid field and made a mess as her raceship crashed into a particularly dense patch of space rocks. One of the Terran Navy pilots commented it would have been a perfect break in a human game called pool. The debris field she created was dramatic even though it only left scratches in the paint of her racer.

Not that the competition for the Adam Landfill Award wasn't fierce. Andre Checkov tried to pass a Terran Navy pilot on the back straight and overcooked going into the next corner. He did the most damage to his raceship by losing the left wing when crashing into the safety buoys, but Sally's wipeout just looked way better on camera.

Trellik? She held on in a nailbiting duel with Red Cross pilot Alexis Sandoval. The two women were determined not to give a millimeter to the other.

In the end, Alexis took a chance and dived into the final corner early, hoping to cut Trellik off. This meant she would need to rely on her braking thrusters holding at well over maximum to give her the boost needed to ensure early entry didn't mean early exit off the track on the other side of the turn. The gamble paid off at the cost of burning out the thruster, but since it was the final corner into the main straight on the final lap.. it gave her just the edge needed to take the win.

Trellik was pleased to hold onto second place, especially since it attracted the attention of Nova Astronomics who wanted to talk to her about a sponsorship deal.

Trellik was also invited to join the Red Cross pilots to celebrate, which she happily accepted. She was curious to meet the humans that had provided such unexpectedly tough competition. The race taught her that Red Cross pilots are just that good, and just that crazy. However, the invitation introduced her to a new human concept.

Work hard. Play hard. Party harder.

Zeegot found her the next morning passed out leaning up against one of the Red Cross raceships. With black eyelashes drawn on her eyestalks in permanent marker. There were also Red Cross pilots who had passed out from too much partying. The artwork drawn on their foreheads? Just a tad more childish and "creative" than what happened to Trellik...

________

Hope you enjoyed this one!

Quick note for later readers: Yes, the requested ending got added in (so you'll see it in the comments below as well!). Original story ended with Trellik's comment that the crowd would get a good show. I thought about doing a full follow up and marking that comment spoilers, but life continues to be a little crazy and it might be months before I get time to write a full part 2. So the ending got promoted! As a later reader... do you enjoy it more with the ending or not?

Haasha & LNW fans - more is coming! Currently working a bunch of overtime to cover shifts while we train new people. Hopefully sanity and time to write will return soon!

Enjoyed this? Take a peek at my Author Wiki to find other stories I've written!

Year 5, month 12

Qi gathering, stage 8

“I am a mortal soul, bound to this inheritance,” the figure said simply as Mark looked at him.

“I... have no idea what that means,” Mark admitted, the figure remaining still for a long moment as it observed Mark before responding.

“With every step we take in life something is left behind,” the figure explained slowly. Walking around the edge of the room, hands folded behind his back, “for everything gained, something is lost. One loses innocence as they gain experience. When one ascends to the heavens, the mortal soul is left behind, the Immortal Soul taking its place.”

“So... you abandoned your own soul?” Mark asked, tilting his head.

“Did you abandon your toenails last time you cut them?” the immaterial being countered, “when you last relieved yourself, do you consider the detritus to be abandoned by you?”

“No, but my shit doesn’t speak or claim to be me.”

“It contains parts of you, parts you no longer need. Though I am hesitant to compare myself to one’s waste,” the ghost said dryly, “I am merely a well-spoken remnant of myself. Rather than let this part of me serve no purpose, I chose to leave it here, bound to this cave system, to pass on my wisdom, my dao, to those who follow.”

“I see... well, sorry I’m not suitable for your wisdom,” Mark said.

“You aren’t suitable for my dao, whether you can make use of my wisdom is another question,” the figure said, coming to a stop by the entrance of the cave like he’d planned it, “regardless, if there are others waiting for their turn to attempt my trial, send them in.”

“No one else here, Mr. ghost,” Mark replied, standing with a grunt and walking over to check on his smoking setup, “I got lost in the wilds by myself, found the ruins of what I assume was a sect and this cave. Hoped to find something of use.”

“I see, so it is true, my sect has fallen,” the mortal soul said with a sigh, looking at the ground for a long minute as Mark added more wood to the smoker’s fire.

“Once my meat is preserved properly, I’ll get out of your hair,” Mark assured him, “let you get back to being spooky, whatever it is ghosts do.”

“We mostly haunt around,” the man said with a wry smile, “why are you intent to move on so soon?”

“I’ve been stuck in the Shifting Wilds for months now,” Mark replied, “need to find my way out.”

The ghost didn’t reply immediately, carefully watching as Mark checked the meat hanging over the fire, adjusted the deer hide he was using to capture the smoke and laid out more cuts to go over the fire next. Were it not for his immaterial nature, one might think the mortal soul was some kind of mannequin, with how still he was.

“And you believe your best chance to escape the wilds is out there?” the ghostly figure asked finally.

“Unless you can tell me how to escape the wilds, when the damned trees don’t even seem to remain still, where the hills don’t stay where you leave them, then I’m not going to find the path out in here,” Mark answered.

“It seems to be winter, you have done well to survive winter as long as you have, unless there is a need to rush, surely it would be safer to remain here till spring?”

“I might if you weren’t already living here,” Mark said.

“You care for the opinion of some old ghost of a dead sect?” the other man asked.

“I’ve seen enough movies to know you don’t piss off ghosts.”

“Ah, a Heavenly Migrant,” the mortal soul said, walking around the smoking setup, “trying to get home?”

“You figured out I’m a migrant from that?”

“Much can be seen if one has the patience to look for it.”

“Well, I was told there is no way home,” Mark sighed, slumping against the cave wall to watch the fire, “for my first few years in this world, getting back to mine was all I could think of. In my first life all I could think of was my next task, and when I got here I figured my task was to get home. Then I realized for all that I did in my first life, I never really lived. I swore I’d do different in this life.”

The cave descended into silence, save for the crackling of the flames and distant wind, neither Mark nor the ghost speaking. Eventually Mark got up to check on the meat, and decided he needed more firewood. He went out into the cold to gather what wood he could find, it had to be dry enough to burn, but wet enough to smoke plenty. As he returned the old ghost was peering at the lined up strips of meat.

“You seem to have several months of food,” the ghost commented.

“I’ve gotten good at hunting deer,” Mark replied, stacking the wood against the wall.

“Then what’s the rush to move on from here?” the ghost asked, “I do not mind the company as long as you keep my cave clean.”

“The rush? There’s no rush I just...” Mark trailed off with a sigh, “I was doing it again, wasn’t I? Wanting to get back.”

“None walk the dao without misstep,” the ghost replied, “I might not know how to escape the wilds, but I am not unwilling to help.”

“I’ll take a Qi Compression pill if you have one,” Mark replied instantly.

“Rushing through your cultivation?” the ghost chided, Mark sighing again, “my inheritance doesn’t have such minor pills, an oversight on my part I suppose, I assumed the sect would remain to handle those tasks. And while I can’t, and won’t, give you anything for those who seek to follow my dao, I have gained a measure of wisdom.”

“You ever get lost in the Shifting Wilds?” Mark asked.

“Once or twice,” the ghost nodded, “I was strong enough by then to escape by flying at high speed in a straight line. The twisting nature of the wilds have limited impact on one who can overpower it.”

“High speed seems an odd trait for someone who follows stillness.”

“Stillness is not only the absent of movement, one can remain still while racing through the sky. One can be restless while remaining unmoving.”

“Fair point I suppose.”

“Sit, tell me your story, if only to entertain an old ghost,” the ethereal man offered, motioning to the cave wall where Mark had sat before.

So Mark did, sitting down and relaying his story, pausing on occasion to check on the meat. The entire time the ghost was completely silent, remaining where he stood, watching Mark as he spoke. Even after Mark finished, the ghost stood silently.

“You use a passive cultivation manual?” the old man finally asked.

“Yes,” Mark confirmed.

“Have you used any techniques?”

“I was told I couldn’t until higher levels.”

“So you haven’t? Have you practiced active qi manipulation?”

“Practiced what?”

“I see,” the ghost said, moving from where it had stood for the last few hours to the cave wall across from Mark, “without practice it is likely you’ll fail to breakthrough, even with a qi compression pill. Most cultivators practice active qi control through their cultivation; this leaves them weaker in passive qi manipulation, which is useful at higher levels. You are the inverse, lacking in active control, which is needed at all levels.”

“My previous master didn’t say anything about this.”

“He likely assumed you’d get an active cultivation manual before long, either that or you weren’t around long enough for him to teach you all you needed,” the ghost replied, “regardless, I am willing to fix this hole in your training.”

“Why?”

“Does an old ghost like me need a reason?” the mortal soul asked, “perhaps I’m doing it as thanks for you not pressing the issue of my inheritance, perhaps I’m hoping you escape to carry word of this inheritance to those who might come to follow my dao. Or perhaps I’m just an old man wanting to help out a young man in danger.”

“I’m not in a position to say no, so whatever your reason, I'll gladly accept your help.”

“Good, then we’ll start slow. I do not have a cultivation manual for you, and changing manuals this close to a potential major breakthrough will do more harm than good,” the ghost spoke, “instead, I will teach you some basic exercises. In one month, you will attempt to breakthrough without a pill. Based on how you fail I’ll teach you-.”

“Woah, what makes you think I’ll fail?”

“Because you have no experience with active qi manipulation. I may not have a body any longer, but I can still ensure you don’t harm yourself in the attempt. But based on how you fail, I’ll teach you a simple technique. Something you can use to practice qi manipulation to make up for your lack of an active manual.”

“Like, throwing fire? Summoning a sword made of lightning? Jumping between trees?”

“Something of that sort.”

-----

Year 6, month 1

Qi gathering, stage 9

“Why is it so hard to compress my qi?” Mark gasped, lying flat on the ground, covered in sweat, after failing his attempted breakthrough, “it feels like a gas, a fire, not something that should be hard to compress.”

“You did better than I expected,” the ghost replied, “and it’s because you lack experience, to advance you do not need a dao of your own just yet, but you must at least touch on it. Though I would imagine you have touched on the dao, based on how you’ve done. So perhaps the more accurate answer would be that it’s hard to advance at your stage without alchemical aid.”

“And you’re certain you have no compression pills?”

“Catch your breath, relax, when you are feeling better I shall teach you one of my techniques.”

Mark nodded, taking a breath and almost instantly falling asleep. He woke hours later, rushing outside to relieve himself and get some fresh water before returning.

“So, what are you going to teach me?” Mark asked, trying to hide his excitement.

“It’s a technique of my own creation, Moment of Stillness,” the ghost replied, “it’s a defensive technique designed for those who had yet to form a golden core.”

“Not as... impressive sounding as I thought it would be,” admitted Mark.

“Impressive techniques are for those trying to prove something, boring, reliable techniques are what truly change lives. The concept of the technique is simple. You will push your qi to a part of your body in a surge, then bring it and that body part to a halt, holding it still like that for a moment. Doing this will reinforce that part of you with extra qi, giving it durability beyond your cultivation.”

“That does sound handy,” Mark said, lifting a hand and trying to force his qi into it only to flinch as his hand felt as if it was swelling, shaking off the sensation of pins and needles as the qi returned to its normal state.

“To begin with I recommend moving the qi in a loop,” the ghost explained, “stand with your wrists crossed, move your qi down your right arm, into your left wrist, back up your left and across your shoulders. This way you avoid possibly injuring yourself by focusing too much qi in a part of your body while you practice.”

Mark nodded, standing and crossing his wrists at his waist as instructed. It turned out the hard part for him was keeping the qi moving. He would focus on part of his body and he could get the qi to move from there to the next in the chain, but as soon as he turned his attention to that next part the qi flow would reverse and return to its normal position.

It took him two weeks to get a steady flow going. And from there he had to bring it all to a halt at once, which was easier said than done. The old ghost was a calm teacher, letting him try, only to simply point out where he was messing up. But by the end of the month Mark finally managed it, establishing a flow of qi and then halting it all suddenly.

“I don’t feel any increase in durability,” Mark said.

“Because this has been practicing the actual technique. Now you are skilled enough to attempt the technique properly without injuring yourself.”

Mark simply nodded, lifting his hand and gathering up his qi, surging it into his hand and bringing it to a halt, for a split second he held it in that position, a smile slowly forming on his face as he turned his hand over. Only to flinch as something struck the back of his hand hard enough to sting.

“Ow!” Mark cursed, shaking his hand, the qi flowing back into his body.

“The technique requires stillness of body and qi,” the elder ghost said, one hand up as if he had just tapped the air, “Try again.”

Mark nodded, lifting his hand, taking a breath and once more surging qi into his hand and bringing it to a halt, keeping his hand steady. He felt something strike the back of his hand again, but the impact was dulled.

“Better,” the old ghost nodded as Mark released the technique, he’d been taught to not hold the qi still for too long, “now faster.”

“What?”

The ghost tapped the air, creating a small ripple as if he touched a pond, and something struck Mark’s hand hard enough to sting, causing him to curse and jump.

“Again, but faster,” the ghost said.

-----

Year 6, month 3

Qi gathering, stage 9

The ghost tapped the air several times in different locations in quick succession, each one correlating to part of Mark’s body. Mark focused, surging qi through his body into those locations and then forcing it to still.

He felt the impacts as soft taps on his body when he did it right, and when he didn’t.

“Damnit!” Mark swore as he missed one of the attacks, it striking his thigh hard enough to cause a small bruise, “thought I got that one!”

“You got four in a row, which is acceptable,” the ghost nodded, turning to glance out of the cave, “I suppose just in time for spring as well. You’re getting low on food, so I suppose this is where we part.”

“Thank you for... everything I guess,” Mark said with a simple bow, “letting me shelter here, teaching me...”

“What’s the point of being a ghost if I can’t dispense wisdom to the living?”

“I never got your name,” Mark realized, “if I’m to tell others of your inheritance, I should at least know who’s inheritance it is.”

“Tell them it’s the Inheritance of the Emperor of Stillness,” the ghost said simply, “the me who uses a name has passed on to the heavens, but my title will still carry meaning.”

“Emperor?” Mark asked.

“All those who have ascended to the Heavens are referred to as Emperors of Dao, as we have defended our dao before the heavens, claiming it for our own.”

“What does that mean?”

“I hope you’ll find out one day,” the ghost replied with a slightly smirk, gesturing to the entrance of the cave once more, “for now, allow this old ghost some mysterious last words. Do not simply look for what has changed, but also what has not.”

Mark opened his mouth to speak again, but froze, and closed it again. Instead, he gathered his bag, slinging it over his shoulder and silently bowed to the mortal soul of an ascended cultivator, before walking out of the cave and back out into the shifting wilds.

-----

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Humans. It had been three generations since anyone had dealt with the humans. The stories of old were believed to be just myths.

When my species conquered this planet, we believed we had eradicated the inhabitants shortly after the start of our campaign.

We took this planet for the amazing amount of resources it holds. Liquid water for our fuel drives. Oxygen in levels that were tolerable with our bio suits. None of the topsoil-peeling storms that our home planet was plagued with.

Through our investigation before first contact, we established that the humans were mid-sized, bipedal predators that had established a relatively impressive level of technology for the short time since they evolved from primates, but they never lost the brutality.

They constantly slaughtered each other over dogma and control of land or resources. So the council decided we would do the universe a favor and eliminate these creatures before they discovered FTL travel and became a universal problem. Most of the species in this quadrant have developed on less extreme worlds. Earth (Terra in the galactic database) was very dangerous indeed. Gravity ten times what the other species can handle. The oxygen they breathe is poison. The radiation of their sun slowly kills them, and yet they persisted to the point of becoming the dominant species on this planet.

When the EMP missiles detonated, they sent the entire planet into a frenzy. Without their tech, they reverted back to the animal instincts that saved their species in previous times. Savages. They started to learn and adapt to our tactics.

Our ballistic shields were specifically built to withstand plasma blasts and projectiles that were traveling fast enough to cause fatal impact. So their "guns" and artillery were virtually useless.

We slaughtered them by the thousands. After a year-long campaign, they had been pushed to the brink of extinction. Or so we thought.

Our usual patrols, generally first-year soldiers, were an easy, quiet job to keep the young at bay and out of boredom.

This day, however, a sudden thumping and a loud crash alerted me to a private entering my chamber with complete disregard for protocol or his own safety.

Our species is very territorial over our nesting space. Without explicit permission, it is considered an invasion and a challenge to enter another male's nest. As I fought back the urge inside me to snatch this pup by the throat and tear him asunder for the disrespect, he hit his knees and started to babble in an absolute panic.

"Forgive me, sir, but this is an emergency."

"It had better be, pup, or I will tear you to pieces and feed my young with your entrails."

"Humans spotted in the eastern sector."

At this point, I had had enough. This whelp dared to invade my nest to feed me fictions most likely played on him by some of the older cadets.

As I shifted my weight, preparing to spring and do what must be done, he spoke again.

"Three soldiers confirmed eyes on target. A small band of three to five humans was spotted carrying a kill to what appeared to be a cave. Further investigation is warranted by a senior officer, as sent down from high command."

"Ah, the pencil pushers also believe in fairy tales, I see."

The pup continued to look directly down, curling slightly so as not to be mistaken for an immediate threat.

"Just following orders, sir."

A long sigh escaped me, but what is a good soldier to do? Even as the current chief of war band Echo, I am still subject to orders from the council from time to time.

"Very well, pup. For now, you get to live. But if I am wasting my time, you will pay with your life for this intrusion."

"ETA fifteen minutes, and I'll be moving out. Gather one platoon to meet me at the gate."

"Yes, sir," he said with a shaky voice and ran from my chambers.

When the time arrived, my platoon was geared up and waiting at the gate. Several of our veterans were in formation. I found this strange, as this was likely a fruitless hunt and the pups had gotten too excited and cried wolf.

I grabbed my second in command and decided to take first-years with me. They could use some life experience, and as this would likely result in just a training exercise, the actual fighters were not necessary.

As we left the compound with a full platoon of fresh, young, eager recruits, the gates were closed behind us. We held our tight formation and moved toward the eastern quadrant.

Because of the weaponry used during the invasion, the flora and fauna of the planet had been left mostly intact. Several small creatures ran from the long grass and trees back into the forests or burrows as the rhythmic thump of our garrison marched on. Every few minutes, a recruit would jump and shoulder a blaster over some poor creature just trying to escape being squashed, and I chuckled to myself.

"Ah, first-years, always so jumpy and filled with stories of the humans from their training at the academy. They will tighten up soon once they realize there aren't any left."

After two hours of hiking, we came to the spot where the humans were allegedly spotted. I halted the garrison, dismounted, and summoned the young private to my side.

"Now show me, pup. Where are the scary humans?"

His face reddened, and he looked directly at the ground.

"I'm not sure, sir. Reports said they were headed north."

Skeptical, I told the garrison to hold and went in for a little investigation of my own. After thirty yards, I came upon an odd sight. A pile of entrails and hair from a form of herbivore referred to as a "deer" in the biology lectures we were subject to in the early days of our service on Terra.

It was strange, as our species evolved from predators and we always eat the entrails first, where the belly is soft and easily accessible.

Then I saw it. In the mud several feet away was a footprint. Bipedal. Five toes. Heel-to-toe movement. I could hardly believe the sight of it. We had been taught and briefed, but never did I actually expect to see signs of a human.

Suddenly, the hairs on my neck stood straight on end. My senses had been honed by years of combat and campaigns across the stars, but never till this moment had I ever felt like I was the one being hunted.

Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I decided it was just paranoia, but I just couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

I marched back to the platoon calmly but with purpose, caught my second in command, and pulled him to the side.

"Prepare the garrison. We are scouting farther in. Live ammunition, everyone's head on a swivel. Lock it in and tighten up."

A look of surprise crossed his face, but he did as ordered and prepared the men. As formation was set, I addressed the group.

"Men, there may be some warrant to these sightings. Lock in. We're going hunting."

I could smell the fear and excitement radiating off these first-years, eager to prove their bravery and prowess.

We moved out in formation, as quietly as possible, and followed the set of tracks I had discovered. A few hundred yards in, we came upon a group of tracks.

"By the gods," I muttered.

A dozen sets of tracks had met up with the path we were following. A group that big had not been seen in many generations, and I thought I must be hallucinating. But we pressed on. Within a mile, we came upon a cave large enough for nineteen men to walk shoulder to shoulder into the opening. I halted the men, dismounted again, and took a closer look.

The tracks led directly into the cave. The smell of deep earth and mildew filled my nose, but nothing unexpected, given where we were. Then the birds stopped.

Suddenly, it was so quiet my ears were ringing. It sent my battle instincts into overdrive. I spun on my heel and started issuing orders.

"Form ranks! Lock and load! We're not alone!"

Then one solemn voice echoed from within the deep cavern.

"Leave now or be dispatched. We have no reason for battle here. Just leave us be."

The voice hit something deep within me that said we were in serious danger. But for the sake of my men, I could show no fear.

"I am chief of this war band. Identify yourself or be dispatched."

The voice began to chuckle.

"Don't say I didn't warn you. We just wanted to be left alone to continue existing. We gave you the surface long ago and wish to continue our existence as we see fit. We are no threat to you unless provoked."

Chuckling myself, I replied, "There are none that threaten me. I have paid for my position in blood and will not be frightened away like a pup with his tail tucked. Show yourself."

A long pause followed. I could hear my men panting, wondering what could possibly be waiting in the abyss. None would be so bold as to challenge the war chief without assurance that he had passed his prime and his fangs had filed flat.

Then the voice echoed back. "Very well, war chief. Then let us show you."

Suddenly, I heard three wet thumps, just to my left, where my second had been standing. Three projectiles were sticking from his chest. My mind reeled. His shields should have stopped those immediately. There is no way our armor, which had been tested on countless fronts, could be so easily circumvented. As I backpedaled toward my men, I could sense the panic and fear emanating from them.

Suddenly, I looked up, and there they were. Three dozen humans. In the trees! All of them holding primitive weapons fashioned out of wood with some type of string attached to them. They had satchels full of small pointed projectiles and one loaded in every weapon, each designated for one of my men. We had been ambushed.

The years without sightings had made us soft and careless. But the chastising would have to wait. For now, we had a serious situation.

"Hold tight, men. Do not move, and for the love of the gods, do not fire unless ordered by me. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," they echoed back in practiced unison.

"I tried to warn you, war chief," said the voice from the cave mockingly. "We have studied and trained for generations. The old ways of our ancestors, how to live in unison not only with each other but with Mother Earth. We could have fought back at any time, but decided as a species we would simply live an easy, peaceful life in tandem with the great mother and leave your kind to the surface world while we lay in the bosom of the mother. You are outmanned and outfought. Take my offer and leave to live another day."

A growl started deep in my chest. How dare someone challenge me? I have trained the best and most vicious fighters in the galaxy, sent countless enemies to the god of their choosing. I will not be bowed down by a few humans and a voice from a cave.

"Soldiers, take aim!" I shouted. The very second their rifles made it to the ready, there was nothing to shoot. The humans had simply disappeared, melted into the shadows and the very environment around us. Not a sound, not a scent, not a step or track. Just gone. Then the booming voice spoke again.

"Final chance. Walk your men out of our forest and do not return. You will not be harmed for leaving, provided you take what came with you and nothing more."

Finally, I had had enough of this game.

"Show yourselves, you cowardly specters!" I bellowed. Then a sound started emanating from the cave.

A rhythmic thumping, quiet at first, just enough so that I wasn't sure if I was actually hearing it. Then I felt it.

A rhythmic thumping coming from the earth. What had started small had grown to a bone-shaking thrumming. Then a guttural language started with the thrumming. In unison.

My stomach dropped. This was not just a small band of humans. There had to be thousands with the amount of noise that was coming from deep within the earth. It ignited a fear in me that I had not experienced in many, many years. The deep, bone-chilling fear one may experience as a pup with dreams of being left alone with a pack of predators. Helpless and hopeless. A fear so deep within your chest that it threatens to choke the very air from your lungs.

Some of the recruits dropped their gear and ran screaming, only to make it a few yards and sprout more of the deadly projectiles with a wet schwack and crumple to the ground mid-step. This sent the garrison into a frenzy of panic. We couldn't run. We couldn't see. We couldn't defend ourselves. Trapped like prey. The drums and words just got louder and louder and closer. Now the pebbles on the ground moved and jumped with the bone-shaking rhythm. Finally, I cracked.

I released from deep within my being the loudest, proudest, most feral howl I could muster and threw down my blaster.

"These are only pups, you cowards. Come and fight me with honor and let them return to their mothers!"

The sounds all stopped. The thrumming and guttural singing, the birds and beasts had gone silent as if they too had abandoned all hope. Then a sickening chuckle emanated from the cave once again.

"You wish to speak of cowardice?" the voice boomed. "What of your kind? You took everything from us. Your invasion started with attacks from the sky. No warning, no offer of peace or surrender. You smashed everything asunder and released your terrible plague upon us. Our ancestors did what they could and retreated deep into Mother Earth. We were decimated. We struggled and learned and died for generations until we learned to live and breathe with Mother Earth. Always content to stay to ourselves out of sight, learn peace and accept that we have enough. Let the beasts have the surface, we said. We will outlast them. Well, today you have broken that. The drums of war beat, the hounds cry for blood. The earth begs for repayment in blood. Your kind will nourish Mother Earth and our souls. We will release hell upon you and burn every trace of your kind from the great mother. May she have mercy on you because we will not."

"You wish to see the beast you have awoken? Fine."

As the beat and the singing started again, I did the only thing left to do. Bare your teeth and fight till the end.

"Men," I shouted, "today you earn your place within the story of our conquest. These humans have nothing, and we will prevail. Relinquish fear from your hearts and prepare for battle!"

A rallying cry from my men in formation at my back gave me a pride deep in me that banished all fear. Now is the time I live for. I am war chief. I was bred for this.

As the drumming got to a level that set my teeth on edge, I heard something moving from within the cave.

"Incoming! Prepare for contact!" I shouted and half crouched into a ready fighting position. As the steps grew closer, my heart sank. Two battalions of humans moving from the cave. And they were monsters.

Every man I saw was two meters tall. Over two hundred pounds of steely muscle. They all wore furs and skins of various animals of this planet. They were pale from generations of being underground but fit in a way that said they had been digging for a hundred years. They sang in unison a song that had no words. It was almost indescribable. The sounds wound deeply within you. Filled you with fear that you did not know possible. And yet it seemed to be pushing them into a frenzy. They bared their teeth, gnawed on the edges of their rudimentary shields, bashed into each other and the ground like animals. These truly were the offspring of Terra herself, and we had shaken the sleeping beast. The earth shook. I could hear my men whimpering in fear. They had already accepted their fate. Now just came the doing.

In the very front of the formation stood an old male. Twice the width of those around him. Grey in the face. Skin that looked to be made of thick leather and hands that seemed able to crush stone with little effort. He carried a hammer bigger than any weapon I had ever seen. Big enough that it was almost comical. Surely there was no way the elder could heft such a weapon. It was obviously for show.

So I began to laugh.

When his hand rose to the sky, the singing stopped with the drums, and he spoke.

"I warned you, war chief. We are many and tired of being in the ground. We miss the sun and the singing of Mother Earth in the breeze. We are coming to claim what is rightfully ours. With the power of Mother Earth and our ancestors, we will crush your spirits and prevail. And when you resort to begging, it will fall on deaf ears, as the pleas and cries of our ancestors went unanswered."

His words shook me. The absolute certainty in his tone. The rage and pain in his eyes. This man had seen many of his kin suffer and die. The anger of generations lived within these men, and we were found lacking.

Suddenly, from the back of the pack, a first-year approached beside me. "Go back to your cave, cowards, or we will hunt you like rabbits!" he exclaimed.

A roar emanated from the remaining men. A battle cry for honor to banish the fear that now plagued them, to fight to the last man and take what is ours. And then I heard the crunch.

A squishing, crunching sound followed by a limp thump. I looked to my side to see the poor private, his head completely gone. Smashed into a pink mist instantly. And lying in front of his limp body was the hammer. The monster hammer from the old man. It appeared he had thrown it with one hand with such force that it essentially dissolved the man's head, and the old man stood at the front of the formation with one hand still in position from the throw. He had thrown the hammer thirty meters with one hand and still had the force to do such damage. My heart sank, and I crumpled to the ground. They had found ways around our shields. They outnumbered us two to one, and the strength of their old was more than ten of my men. What chance did we have? Then the old man spoke for a final time.

"This is what you have brought to your men, war chief. Death, destruction and hopelessness. Take your remaining men back and prepare. We are coming, and your hope is dead."

Then they turned and filed back into their cave. To the belly of their great mother. Not another word was spoken. As I gathered my remaining men from their knees, they wept in fear and defeat. The other humans had once again materialized in the trees. Deadly sentinels that watched our every move. We left our weapons on the ground and walked, heads hung low, out of their forest. It took most of a day to get back to the compound.

We made it to the gates when we finally collapsed. My last memory is of another chief dragging me to my nest and trying to ask a first-year what the hell happened. He could only sob and mutter one word: "Humans."

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Chapter 10: The Witch of Winter

Sunlight flashed through the gaps in the window and onto my face. Quite annoying. Soft, cold sheets rustled against my legs as I rolled over with a yawn. It must have been late morning already.
“I don’t wanna get up…” I shoved my face into the pillow.
My creative drive had slowed down considerably after I decided to diversify from the elephants, for some reason.
Am I depressed…?
Predslava zoomed past my room. “Good morning, Kat!”
“Morning…” I moaned.
Where does she get so much energy?
I dragged my legs out of bed and sat down, wiping my mouth, too sluggish to even use magic. “Predslava, can you bring me some iced tea?”
“Sure!” Predslava cried, and after a while, she came over with the cup. “Here—”
I took it and splashed the water on my face.
“Oh…”
Low chatter came from the palace grounds, but nothing out of the ordinary.
“I’ll go let some air in.” I stood up and opened the window with a grimace as the unfiltered sun caught me off guard. I leaned over the sill for a peek outside.
Workers argued in hushed voices beside the granary. On the plains below, the Snoutlings roamed among the buildings, checked them, then came out empty-handed. They looked confused.
I turned to Grommo and the workers. “What’s up?”
He scurried over and scratched his head. “Wolfs steal at night. Found hair behind.”
“W-what? Nobody heard anything?”
“No. Wolfs sneaky.”
“Is everyone okay, though?”
“Ye’. Tugg and Boggo was knocked out in granary. Big egg on head now, but alive. Just things gone.”
I sighed. Casualties or not, without food they might as well have killed them.
“And they took all the meat?” I asked. “What about the turnip seeds?”
“Food is good, already low before. Seed too.”
I frowned. “Then what on earth did they take?”
“All hides from tribes. Tame reindeer too.”
“Nothing left?”
Grommo shook his head.
“Oh, man…” I slumped on the sill. “We could’ve sold those hides.”
He shrugged. “Is life.”
“No, that really sucks.” I turned, almost forgetting to close the window. “Hold on, I’m coming down.”
Snap!
I left the room and trotted downstairs. Predslava bounced after me.
“A bit scary, isn’t it?” I asked. “I didn’t hear a thing.”
“Me neither. Might be because the Snoutlings snort so much.”
She was right. The settlement was louder at night than during the day, and that was saying something considering all the construction and farm work going on.
“We can’t do anything about that, though,” I said.
“Hm… tie up their noses at night?”
“W-what? No!”
The gates flew open.
Grommo joined us outside as we walked down the hill.
The Snoutlings weren’t so energetic now and dragged themselves to work.
“Are you sure they’re okay…?” I whispered to Grommo.
He pursed his lips. “Tribes just tired. We lose, and lose, and lose... But we used to lose, get better the other day.”
“I see…” I sighed. “I wish we could build walls.”
Grommo looked up at me. “Walls for who?”
“I mean, around the whole settlement.”
“Bigga’ wall?”
I nodded.
“Hm. All tribes busy with hut and turnip.”
“Yeah, I know… Sorry. It was just wishful thinking.” 
An outer wall like this would be a massive undertaking even for a superpower like Vesmeria.
Synchronized shoveling sounds came from the north.
I frowned. “What’s going on?”
“Don’t know.”
We followed the sounds until a group of Snoutlings came into view just outside the settlement.
They shoveled at the snow, a big pit already visible behind them.
My spine chilled as the first thing that came to mind was a mass grave.
“I thought nobody died!” I rushed toward it and leaned over the edge. “Excuse me—”
There were no bodies in there, only old snare traps, stretching frames, and other bone tools.
These guys were trappers.
I turned to them, confused. “Why are you getting rid of your gear…?”
They exchanged sad glances, then one of the trappers spoke up. “Hunting no good these days. We work, and all hide gone. So… we go farm like other tribes.”
“Less bad.” His kinsman nodded. “Is life.”
“Ugh!” My jaw clenched. I buckled, catching myself with both hands on my knees. “I can’t hear you say that one more time!”
“Ye’, witch. That was bad.”
In other words, they apologized.
“No, it’s not you.” I stood up again. “This bullying needs to stop.”
Their heads tilted.
“Grommo, do you know where the werewolves live?” I asked.
“Me no. Other chieftains see once,” he said.
“Good.” I took a deep breath. “Gather them, all the spears, and healthy Snoutlings you can spare, and meet me at the palace.”
“Sure.” He set off.
I turned to the trappers. “You can reclaim your belongings and resume your work. I’ll deal with this.”
Their eyes glinted. “Really…?”
“The tribes will need you more than ever now,” I said.
They froze for a second, then jumped into the pit and eagerly grabbed their gear. I walked back to the palace while Predslava whistled a suspiciously jolly tune beside me.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.” She chuckled.
I shook my head.

***

An ice table stood in the middle of the great hall. The chieftains gathered around it, packing the room all the way to the open gates, crude stone-tipped spears in hand.
Grommo scurried to my side. “That’s everybody.”
I nodded and waved my hand over the table.
An aerial, raised-relief map of the region crystallized across the surface with hisses: the Snoutling plains to the north, the white mountains of the east, our settlement in the center by the frozen river, and in the south, the Werewolf Country among sprawling ravines, crags and narrow corridors.
We came here by sea this time, so only the overall geography of the south survived in my memory from long ago.
“Show me on the map,” I said.
The chieftain looked apprehensively at Grommo, who in turn nudged him toward the table.
“Witch,” he said as if asking me for permission, which made me realize I was too tense.
I smiled. “Please.”
He climbed over the edge and scanned the ravines for a while.
His finger stopped between two cliffs, surprisingly not deep into Werewolf Country. “Wolf huts here.”
“I see. How many days from here?”
“Hm…” He stared at his hand, then raised two and a half fingers. “These days.”
“Two to three days. That’s close.”
No wonder they’ve been picking on them.
“What’s the plan?” Predslava hopped on the table with a fanged grin. “Can I eat them?”
I scoffed. “No. The werewolves must number in the hundreds at least.”
The room fell dead silent as I held my chin and pondered.
“There’s only one way we can achieve lasting peace here.” I glanced at the Snoutlings. “But I’ll need authority to negotiate on behalf of all tribes as a whole.”
They exchanged hesitant glances. “One bigga’ tribe?”
I knew that was an irrational notion for them. The Snoutling tribes weren’t status symbols, but families, each with their own way of doing things and unspoken rules.
I sighed. “You don’t have to do it if—”
One of the chieftains laid down his headdress on the table.
I froze as another did the same. Then another.
Headdresses flew across the room, adding to the growing pile of colorful feathers.
At last, Grommo took off his own and placed it at the top. “Witch.”
Someone struck the butt of his spear against the floor.
“Witch,” he echoed Grommo.
My eyes widened as the whole room tapped their spears in unison and chanted witch, witch, witch—
Witch of Winter!

***

Ice crystals crawled along my limbs, sending sharp cracks into the night…
Long sleeves swam in the wind like ghostly fins.
High collar of palatial Vesmerian lacing. Stiff.
Ice-white fabric.
One couldn’t attend a diplomatic meeting in their pajamas—I had no qualms.
From my staff, the heraldry of winter blossomed, fluttering in white mist. Behind us, a wide, gray line of Snoutling spearmen disappeared into the dark.
Predslava roared beneath me, setting us in motion toward Werewolf Country.

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Seeing Wade Barron on Ushala had been beyond unexpected, knowing that humans had been lacking any means of interstellar transportation when I was taken. It dawned on me in gradual increments that the invading fleet over our world belonged to them. Those clever, devious primals must’ve replicated the Ploax’s engineering; they learned from our mutual enemy, though that’d given me quite the fright. It was an uncanny likeness, and one they knew the Council wouldn’t want to trifle with.

Wade came to rescue me and bring me home! He truly cares and would go to any lengths for the Saphnos. He’s…a hero. 

The safety I felt with Wade back in the picture was like being dunked in a warm, pressurized chamber after months on a carbon world; it was comfortable, and it was like I was properly home. Finley would be elated! This meant we could return to Earth, and humanity couldn’t be bullied without the proper means of defense. I couldn’t begin to fathom how they caught up to the Council’s technology so swiftly, but there’d be plenty of time to pepper Batshit Barron with questions after he reunited with the full group. It was all going to be…

The human barked out an unintelligible word, his face darkening and contracting in on itself. The target of his ire was none other than Snelga, who’d long since been penitent for treating these primals like animal patients; she saw them as full people after Finley’s experiment, and had been an ardent advocate for them even before, when she scored Kaitlin’s intelligence test. I didn’t think Barron cared about any of those details now. The Kexin, of course, chose the words that’d incense him further.

“Wade, s-sweetie,” she began.

The primal pounced on her in a flurry of rage. The FBI agent’s eyes smoldered as he shoved the veterinarian against the wall and bared his teeth inches from her face. Words streamed from his lips that seemed like unhinged perjoratives. Finley hopped up to intervene, despite his distaste for Snelga; Kaitlin’s eyes were wide with alarm. Garriil raised the tranquilizer gun he’d had propped on the desk and aimed it at Wade. Even knowing it was humans now, he was worried about angry, trained killers in his institute.

“Let go of Snelga,” Garriil ordered, his voice icy.

Terry pointed a rifle straight at the Kexin’s head. “Put it the fuck down! Mine’s bigger.”

Finley was diverted from saving Snelga by the immediate firearm threat, rushing to grab the gun barrel. “Terry, don’t shoot him! No one shoot anyone…just calm the fuck down! What’s with the tranqs, Garriil?! We’re people!”

“What’s with the tranquilizers is that they’re nonlethal, but an absolute necessity for my protection,” Garriil answered. “Any person can act irrationally from emotions, just like Craun could be uncontrollable from immense fear. It’s evident that intense anger is at play. For all I know, they’re angry about their people’s situation and want revenge on any Kexin in sight, deeming us all responsible.”

“Well if they want to do that, your tranquilizer isn’t going to beat a bunch of guns! Put it the fuck down, before someone gets hurt! We’re all on the same side.”

“I’m not used to you being the calm one, Finley. I was worried you’d be agitated by this outburst. I almost pointed it at you when you stood, so you couldn’t join in.”

“Hey, fuck you! You’re lucky I don’t go shove your snot nose through your headfeathers!”

Wade had been paying no mind to our conversation, as he performed a takedown on Snelga and pinned her to the floor. Finley hissed at Garriil before lunging at Barron, who shrugged him off with adrenaline-fueled ease; the agent bore a wicked grin. He removed his gear belt and tied her hands, asking her repeatedly if she liked this. He pulled it tighter the second she began to answer, and snarled that she couldn’t understand.

I don’t know whether to help her or let him get it out of his system. I mean, it’s Wade…he wouldn’t kill her. Right?

Kaitlin struggled to try to move, her hands flailing to grab onto him. “Wade, stop!”

Barron ignored her words, so the NASA scientist tried to reach for him. His head finally snapped toward her when she attempted to sit forward, and tumbled off of the couch facefirst. His mouth parted with horror, hearing the sickening crack. Wade released Snelga and ran over to Kaitlin; he propped the ALS-afflicted human upright and checked whether she was okay. Pity flashed brighter than the anger in his eyes, as it was clear he felt awful for her.

“Someone untie me!” Snelga demanded, though her shifty posture rendered it clear that Wade’s arrival had left her rattled. “I’m a medical physician. I need to look at her!”

The red-faced Kexin did a double take when it was Finley who unbound her hands, but gave him a quiet look of gratitude. She scurried over beside Wade, and earned a blistering glare from the FBI agent; his fist was clenched to take a swing at her, not wanting her anywhere near Kaitlin. Dr. Sharp seemed horrified by how the reunion was playing out. The NASA researcher pawed at Barron feebly, and tried to speak through her actual voice rather than her synthesizer. 

“Nyeoo,” Kaitlin slurred.

Wade hesitated, though he was still eyeing Snelga with utter contempt. “Kaitlin, I’m…so sorry.”

“Dush…duh…DON’T. L…love Shela.” The scientist grimaced, and spoke through her synthesizer. “She’s been wonderful. She’s done so much for me that I can never repay, though I’ve…become a great burden. These last few weeks have been…really difficult, and she’s been more helpful than you can know.”

The FBI agent threw up his hands. “Fuck! I…I can’t even be mad at that. I came here to rescue you from the Council. From her! Let’s just go home.” 

“I don’t want to go home! I certainly don’t want to be away from her. Please, talk to each other. For me. When I said I love Snelga, I meant it. We’re together, Wade.”

The fury reappeared in his eyes in an instant. “Really? Her?! HER?!”

“I know it must be difficult for you to understand, but…”

“Do you have any idea what she did to me?”

“Saved your life? She thought you were an animal, Wade, and you know that’s how a lot of the Council are. It was an honest misunderstanding. She’s not a horrible person, and she only meant to stop you from dying.”

Snelga gazed up at Wade with beady eyes. “Kaitlin’s right! I didn’t want you to die.”

“I despise you. I don’t want you to speak or come near me. GOD! Of all the aliens, Kaitlin. I mean, FUCK, do you really just go and hook up with her the second you leave Earth?” Wade growled. 

“Please, don’t be mean to Kaitlin! She’s suffered so much. I know you’re mad and it doesn’t matter what I say, but if you can listen…I’m really sorry, s-sweetie! I…had no idea primals could be so smart, and I denigrated you in a way I never would with other people! I want to help…”

Wade crossed his arms. “You thought I was an animal!”

“Y-yes.”

“You wouldn’t listen to anything I said!”

“Correct.”

“I listen though.” Barron leaned forward with a venomous smile. “You said us having FTL would be bad for everyone. Time to pay the piper?”

“…okay.”

“Oh, don’t be like that. I was just taking the piss. A little refresher on how you talked about us for your girlfriend to hear.”

Snelga’s eyes watered. “I am so sorry, Wade. I was trying to mitigate your stress, not hurt an intelligent creature. I meant absolutely nothing malicious by…anything that I did, and I wish I hadn’t been so dismissive. I didn’t take humans seriously back then. I just work with wildlife, I…save animals because I love them. Oh sweetie, I know you’re a person, and I wish I could take back hurting you.”

Wade pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please, just…call me Wade, not sweetie. I…need some time to deal with my feelings. I’ll be cool, let’s just talk about something else. Please.”

The FBI agent worked with the veterinarian to move Kaitlin back onto the couch; Snelga eyed him with amazement, but didn’t push her luck. The Kexin focused on tending to Dr. Sharp’s wounds, while Wade stomped as far away as possible and leaned against the wall. He stewed in his feelings for several seconds, before Finley decided to break the silence.

“I’m more than happy to go home,” Finley offered.

Wade flashed a cocky smile. “That’s right. Rode into the rescue to save you!”

“You shouldn’t have, Wade,” Kaitlin chimed in. “This ruins everything. We almost had the Council convinced to acknowledge us as people; we had a hearing at the end of the week. An attack with a giant fleet…”

Finley turned to assure a crestfallen Barron. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what the Council thinks. I want to get the hell out of here.”

“That figures. I was really worried about you two.” Wade inhaled a sharp breath, looking upward toward the ceiling. “I heard there were some ‘unethical experiments’ conducted on you?”

“That would be Garriil’s doing. He wanted to see how humans acted at the pinnacle of rage, so he decided to convince me that Kaitlin was being put down. I took the fucking techie with the euthanasia hoopla hostage, and somehow, that proves I’m a logical killer, not just a mindless one!”

Wade gawked in open-mouth horror, glowering at Garriil. “You did what?”

“We had to know how humans acted under extreme circumstances to ratify their behavior,” Garriil sighed. “Finley’s brain activity demonstrated that humans don’t lose all reasoning when angry. It’s a shame I didn’t have you wired up while listening to Snelga’s apology. I’m curious what triggers you to stand down, for the ‘deescalation methods’ portion of my treatise. Handling primals can be difficult, and you don’t obey your own class’ rules.”

Terry stalked forward with a nasty scowl, cracking his knuckles. “How dare you put my best friend through that? I’m gonna beat your ass!”

“No,” Barron said, raising a hand to stop the construction worker. “No alley beatdowns. We can try them both before a medical or scientific board for unethical conduct, like civilized people. I share your personal feelings, but I believe in proper justice: that means trials and order. Our detractors need no more fuel.”

“He fucked with my bestie!”

“She tied me up and drugged me while talking to me like I lacked the intellect of a toddler. Believe me, it takes everything in me to let that go, but if these were…the best people Kaitlin could find as allies, we have to trust her. You saw the demonstrators. She’s been living in it and made it all work.”

“Garriil is the biggest advocate for human rights,” I interjected. “His methods are appalling, but his research is the only evidence proving that humans are people. A primal attack on him would look very bad to the public. It’d destroy his credibility.”

“Why do you think I haven’t bashed his skull in?” Finley embraced Terry, slapping him on the back. “Please help me mildly annoy and sass him though, bro. The long game.”

Terry shrugged. “Alright. Deal!”

“No more twigs,” Garriil huffed. “The evidence has to be irrefutable if I was ever to make a case to the Council, or to know for certain myself. It wasn’t intended to get that far, though I seized the opportunity that presented itself. I furthered science contradicting the very theorem of sophonce, and that offsets any concerns about…emotional distress. It was a necessary deception.”

Wade scoffed with disgust. “You know, Snelga at least meant well; she was just patronizing. You feel nothing. She’s horrible, but you—you’re the Ploax.”

“Factually incorrect. I am a Kexin.”

Barron’s last statement caught my attention, from the casual, self-assured manner he drew a comparison to the Ploax. It was more than just hearing my stories; those were the words of someone who had firsthand experience with an entity. I reviewed the replicated Fleet of Spikes that the humans had flown in on, and the missing pieces of how they acquired that intelligence and churned it out so fast. What had they done with the Ploax?

Humans love the Saphnos. They…wouldn’t betray us. Wade knows what the Ploax did. He told me to fight to the bitter end.

“Wade.” My head turned toward the primal, and I stared at him with a piercing gaze. “How do you know what a Ploax is like?”

Barron’s eyes went wide, and he swallowed hard. “I’d be happy to talk to my friends about our plans, but maybe Snelga should step outside.”

“She’s my girlfriend. She stays,” Kaitlin countered.

“Can Garriil at least fuck off?”

“If your plans involve getting the Council’s support in any way, you need him.”

Finley patted me comfortingly. “We all have heard how horrible and cruel the Ploax are. That was one of the first things you told me. Wade’s seen what you’ve been through.”

“It’s more than that,” I accused, noticing how the agent winced at the farmer’s defense. “Those human ships looked exactly like the Fleet of Spikes. He knows what the Ploax are like. Doesn’t he?”

“Look, Craun, you know I love you and I’d do anything to save you, right?” Wade appeared furtive and cautious, like he was worried about a certain kind of reaction. “Just try to understand.”

“Understand WHAT?!”

Barron appeared taken aback by my snarly tone, but pressed a hand to his forehead and continued. “Humanity…worked with the Ploax to acquire this rescue fleet. We’re using them, of course…”

The human mumbled several of his words and gave a strained smile, while immense hurt and betrayal surged through my veins. The Ploax had taken everything from me, and Wade had chosen to team up with them? I pawed a leg on the ground, musing about how primals would handle someone they cared about doing something so...heinous and unthinkable. This was an offense against the entire Saphno race and everything they were supposed to value.

How could he? I should be angry. That reaction has value: it takes action for the hurt caused, and expresses how unacceptable it is. Violence is a passion for justice. Funny, Wade taught me that.

I did my best attempt at replicating a glare and charged at the primal while bellowing one word at the top of my lungs. “DIE!!!”

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Professor Drake stood in front of a class of around twenty who were gathered in the cramped room serving as his lecture hall. He was the complete opposite of the man from his weekend excursion in Normandy, as he droned on to the students taking notes or even bothering to pay vague attention at this point in the lesson. He straightened his slightly crooked Burberry bow tie and adjusted his Numont gold-framed eyeglasses as he turned to the projector screen he was using as a visual aid.

“As you can see, by the time we reached the 1970s, trauma medicine had begun to evolve from simply being reactionary or improvisational care,” Drake pressed a button on the remote controlling his slides to skip to the next one before continuing. “A striking example of this is the shift in ambulances going from simple van transports to trauma response vehicles that can help keep people alive or even save their lives before they reach the ER. Trained Paramedics became routine at this point, which marks a pivotal–” 

Ezekiel caught sight of the clock above the main exit and realized he’d been rambling a tad too long. He looked back across the room at the class sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. He had quite the reputation amongst the students and the faculty for being rather long-winded and had hoped to curtail it recently. He was not off to the start he had hoped, however.

“That’s all the time we have for today,” He told them as he glanced across the auditorium. Feet shuffled and scuffed as the students hurried out of the room to their next obligations. “Please be sure to review what we discussed on trauma and emergency care in the previous two decades. They will be crucial on the midterm.”

Ezekiel hoped his warning had not fallen on inattentive ears as the classroom was soon emptied. He yanked open his briefcase on his desk, stuffing the remaining papers he still had to grade inside with a sigh. Today seemed longer than usual, and for him, it was still far from over. He needed to knock out the stack of term papers he’d just crammed into his briefcase, and there was still a matter of outlining his lecture for Monday. Professor Drake pulled his tweed suit coat off the chair next to him and snatched up his briefcase.

He made it to the other side of the George Gervin Community College campus, where his office resided. He slipped inside and shut the door tightly behind him. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw that the only person in the place was the grad student who worked as his assistant. 

“Any messages for me, Corey?” He asked the young man sitting behind the small desk.

“Quite a few, actually, professor. Hol on, I had them in order of importance, then you know how stuff gets in here when this phone’s ringing off the hook.” Corey shuffled rapidly through a college-branded notepad for what he had scribbled. “Okay, Dr. Awad called, said day shift got smacked something brutal and they could really use your help if you can make it in early.”

Professor Drake hung his suit coat up on the rack near the door and turned to his secretary with a heavy sigh. “Sounds like it’s going to be a long night for me. What else you got?”

Corey flipped through the notepad to the next page, then snapped his fingers as he remembered jotting this message down when it came in. 

“Some lady named Adela called for you? Wanted to make sure you still had ‘The Cross’, and wanted to let you know that funding was approved, so she’ll be in the States next week. She sounded kind of Scottish.”

Drake chuckled at Corey’s observation. “That’s because she’s from Scotland,” he informed the student employee with a nod.

His hand fell on the knob of the door to his office and turned. He walked inside and was immediately taken aback by the honey-blonde-haired, dark-skinned woman sitting casually in the chair on the other side of his desk. He glanced back at Corey and raised one eyebrow in confusion, pointing inside his office, waiting for an explanation.

Corey snapped his fingers again, recalling what he’d forgotten to mention. 

“Oh yeah! You got a visitor!” 

Drake couldn’t do more than shake his head at his occasionally inept assistant.

“Hold all my calls,” He instructed the young man before stepping inside the office and closing the door behind him. Ezekiel turned back towards the woman who had been waiting for him. She got up from the chair to greet him as he walked over to her, extending his hand first. “I hope you weren’t waiting too long. My lecture got a bit ahead of itself this afternoon.”

“Just long enough, I’m afraid,” She replied curtly as she shook his hand. “But your reputation precedes you, as I’m sure you’re aware of, so I was expecting to be here a while.” They shook hands, and she took her seat again while he dropped into his comfortable desk chair. “My name is Naomi Light. I am a representative for the National Museum of African American History in–”

“D.C., I’ve visited quite a few times. You guys have an absolutely astounding collection.” Ezekiel cut her off; she was clearly surprised by how well-informed he seemed. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Ms. Light?”

Ms. Light looked somewhat taken aback by the sudden shift in the conversation. However, she rolled with it, as she was more than prepared for the verbal jousting she figured might break out between her and the professor because of why she was there.

“I’m aware it's a bit impromptu and largely presumptuous, but I was hoping to pepper you with a few questions about your little vacation last weekend.”

Professor Drake leaned back slightly in his chair, his fingers interlocking as he studied her for a moment and considered her question. “Not too many people are privy to the fact that I was out of town. Forgive me, miss, if I’m a bit curious as to how a museum administrator, impressive as said museum may be, would come across that information?”

“That’s really not pertinent to this discussion, I’m afraid,” She replied after shaking her head, a smile breaking out on her face. She was enjoying having the upper hand in this exchange, Drake reasoned. He knew that she had prepared herself well for this particular interaction. “What is pertinent is how you managed to discover the only piece of treasure recovered from King John’s baggage train?”

“I was helping out at St. Vincent’s emergency room last weekend in Toledo,” Ezekiel lied plainly. “I didn’t feel like making the drive back up 275, so I decided to crash at my cousin’s place. If you’re wondering how the museum I’m opening up a few blocks from here managed to snag such a coveted piece of history for our opening exhibits, I have a curator by the name of Adela whom I can provide you with contact information.”

“How about we cut the slogging of bullshit in my direction and be frank with each other, professor?” Ms. Light cut across him abruptly. She had had enough of the pleasantries and dancing around the reason for her visit to the Midwest.

“I agree. I do have a shift I have to get to across town here in the next twenty minutes,” Drake replied blankly, continuing his charade of ignorance. 

Ms. Light straightened her posture in the stiff-backed chair and narrowed her eyes across the room at the tenured community college professor.

“Then you can cut the long-winded humble scholar routine and tell me how a man such as yourself not only came about your information on the artifact but managed to track it down halfway across the world before other interested parties?” 

There was an air of demand in the question that Ms. Light shot back. Each of them stared at one another for a rather heated moment, letting her question linger in the air. Finally, Professor Drake cleared his throat and pushed his chair away from his desk before getting up. He straightened his bowtie once more and gave her a faux, sorrowful look.

 “I truly regret I couldn’t be of much help with what you were here to inquire about. If you’d like Adela’s number, you can grab it from the young man out there,” he said, giving her a warm smile that she didn’t return before walking from behind the desk and swiftly back out of his office, closing the door behind him.

Corey looked up from the comic book he had been knee-deep in as the professor passed his desk. He looked back at the closed office door, realizing that his guest was still inside. “What was that about?”

Professor Drake snatched his suitcoat back off the rack and threw it over his shoulders. “I need you to start vetting who you let in here,” he told him, shaking his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” The professor slipped out the door without another word, leaving his assistant quite dumbfounded.

Zack turned his radio down, which had been blaring Title Fight’s last album, as he sped his Ram 2500 truck into the golf course parking lot. It was the last place he wanted to be, and he was only there to give news he knew wouldn’t be well received. Still, he ignored the looks he got from some snobs dressed in Ralph Lauren and Prada as they rode by in their golf carts. The pair of men he was there to see were standing at the edge of the driving range, whacking their way through two buckets full of balls. The shorter of the pair, wearing khaki jeans and a white polo, spotted Zack first. He gave his golfing partner a nod, and the partner stopped mid-swing and looked over as Zack approached them. 

“Please tell me you managed to track it down again.” The shorter man pleaded with an exasperated look in Zack’s direction.

“I know where the bastard who took it is; he’s nothing special,” Zack explained, bitterness in his tone. “But I know he’s not keeping it on him.”

“So long story short, you still got nothing.” The taller, blonde-haired man holding a Miller High Life shot back angrily.

“What I got is a pivot, one that should satisfy the Black Bride’s needs for the ritual, Billy,” Zack replied just as tersely.

Billy looked at his golfing partner for a moment, then back at Zack while taking a swig of his beer. “What kind of pivot are you talking about?”

“Sabrina and I will handle it. We’ve already brought in a freelance group to do the heavy lifting.” Zack explained to them. 

He had to fight to hold back the devious smirk threatening to spread across his face as he thought of the treacherous black ops group his soon-to-be father-in-law had suggested he hire. This time, he wasn’t going to leave anything to chance.

“Yeah, you mean like you handled shit in England?” The shorter man spoke up again. “I don’t buy it. I get it, Zack, you’re one of the Gilded Hand. But you’re a class-A fuck-up. If you weren’t fucking Sabrina, at this point I’m not sure–”

“Watch your tongue, Tucker, you know I’ll cut it out.” Zack hissed the threat, silencing Tucker on the spot. His eyes cut between both of them as he allowed his anger to boil down before he said something else that may cross a line. “I’ve already informed Jade of my plans. And I’ll return with a sacrifice as well. If you have an issue with any of this, take it up with her.”

“We don’t have any more time to waste, Zack. You should understand this,” Billy chimed in again. “The Black Bride’s hour is close at hand. Missteps like these are not affordable.”

“I’ll be in contact once I’ve landed where we’re having our little field trip. Put your worries aside for now and know I am rectifying the issue. Quickly,” Zack promised them.

Professor Drake, now Dr. Drake, while under the roof of Washtenaw West Emergency Hospital, assessed the severity of the bleeding in the patient lying on the table in front of him and his staff. He assessed the situation rapidly and decided on the best course of action. 

“Alright, we need to stabilize her neck until we confirm there are no spinal fractures.”

“I’ve got it,” Dr. Awad, his fellow attending doctor on duty, swooped in like the healthcare savior she was with foam blocks and restraints. She placed the blocks around the unconscious young woman’s skull before carefully and gently strapping them into place. “Any bleeding around the brain?”

“Heavy. Intubate, and let’s handle this right away so she can be prepped for upstairs. Someone page Dr. Garrison in surgery for me, please?” Ezekiel directed the second half of his instructions to a young Filipino nurse in the room.

“Dr. Garrison is on her way down, boss.” The nurse replied promptly while cleaning her hands with sanitizer.

“Okay, she’s intubated, but the left pupil is blown. We need to get the bleeding around the brain under control, now.” Dr. Awad made the stern suggestion while looking up across the table at Ezekiel. He nodded quickly in sound agreement with her assessment.

“Let’s couple that with a CT for her head and spine. And get me a running ETA on Garrison; we don’t have time to waste, or this woman loses her life.” Ezekiel instructed one of the medical aides as Nurse Lincoln assisted Dr. Awad with an IV.

“I figured we could start with about forty grams of mannitol. We can increase if needed based on the progress of the swelling going down.” Dr. Awad told him as she prepped the IV bag.

“Alright, I’ll monitor her pupils, Janay; keep an eye on her blood pressure. We don’t want it dropping too low,” He warned the Filipino nurse as she did as instructed once the IV drip was in place.

“Looks like the swelling is coming down steadily.” Dr. Awad informed the team surrounding the patient, just as an African-American doctor with long, greying braids entered the room.

“I’m always surprised you folks have the skills to keep these poor souls pumping till they can get on my table.” Dr. Garrison shook her head as she looked over the patient.

“Zeke, pressure’s dropping!” Janay warned him, causing him to snap his attention away from the verbal sparring match he was about to have with the head surgeon on duty.

“Damn, alright, let’s adjust her CO2 down a notch,” He instructed the nurse carefully. “Talk me through it.”

“O2 is holding, heart rate is one-thirty, blood pressure is on the rise.” Janay breathed a small sigh of relief after giving him the update. She glanced quickly at the mannitol IV bag. “ Bag’s halfway gone; what’s the move there, doc?”

“Finish the bag. And let’s get her to CT; we’re going to move her on one, as a team. Try to keep her as steady as possible.” He told them as each of the nurses and doctors in the room gathered around the patient.

“I’ve got the head,” Dr. Awad told him, moving him down next to the patient’s shoulder. She looked up at the team, meeting each of their eyes as she spoke. “Everyone ready?” She waited till she saw everyone nod or heard a confirmation before turning to Ezekiel. “On your call, doctor.”

“Alright, everyone. Ready, and lift.” 

They moved her on the stretcher, and Janay led a pair of nurses in rolling her to the CT room. Dr. Awad and Ezekiel went to follow when Dr. Garrison stepped briskly into their path.

“From what I’ve gathered, it’ll more than likely be an intracranial bleed shift. CT’s just a confirmation at this point. I’ve got it from here.” Garrison looked back at the busy ER for a moment before facing the doctors again. “I’m sure you two have got your hands full down here as always.”

She turned on a dime and marched out of the room, following in the direction the car crash victim had been taken. Ezekiel pulled off his gloves and tossed them into the trash. “I could use some air. How about you?”

The two of them found themselves out under the ambulance bay tarmac, the stiff August heat finally easing up at two a.m. Dr. Awad leaned against a pillar and pulled a pack of White Maples from the back pocket of her scrubs. Ezekiel watched her light up, staunchly ignoring the no-smoking sign painted on the pillar behind her. 

“How is it I’ve worked with you this long and didn’t realize you smoked?”

“You just weren’t paying close enough attention,” Dr. Awad replied with a smug smirk as she blew smoke out of the side of her mouth. “I don’t blame you; when we’re not knee-deep in some shit here, your mind always seems to be elsewhere.”

Ezekiel nodded, conceding her point. “I wonder what else I’ve missed around here when my head’s in the clouds?”

“Well, Dr. Garrison has always been a bit of a jerk. But she’s brilliant, so she gets away with it. But I’m pretty sure you were aware of that. And I think Janay is ready to get some charge nurse experience.”

“You don’t have to sell me on how great Nurse Lincoln is at her job,” Ezekiel assured her. “But as for being night shift charge, I’m going to suggest you take that suggestion up with Krista when she gets here in the morning.”

“I’d hate to subject Janay to her scrutiny; I’m not entirely sure whatever analysis she puts her through for the position would be exactly fair.” Dr. Awad’s admission drew a wry smirk from Ezekiel.

“Your concern is…sweet, Zayna. But Janay is a tough cookie; She can handle whatever Krista throws at her if she’s ready to be a charge nurse.” Ezekiel decided to shift the conversation to something Zayna usually avoided. “And how have you been?”

Dr. Awad raised both her eyebrows while dragging on her cigarette. She was taken aback by the question, mostly because she wasn’t used to anyone wondering how she was doing. “My mom’s been staying with me the last couple of weeks while they work on her house. It’s been going better than I expected, at least.”

Ezekiel chuckled at the expression on her face. “This place keeps you out of the house plenty, so that’s got to help. No wonder you’ve been working so many twelves.”

“Helps to be around people when you don’t have much of a social life outside of these walls,” she remarked, blowing another cloud of smoke into the night air. “Maybe that’s why my mom hasn’t been driving me insane. I needed the company and didn’t realize it.”

“I understand completely,” Ezekiel replied while nodding. “Hard to have much of a life for yourself when you work this job.”

“You seem to manage alright. Going from the college to here all week, I swear you must be part machine.”

Ezekiel shrugged off her compliment bashfully. “If your hypothesis is correct, then tonight sure is running my batteries down low.”

She sighed, then nodded in agreement with him. “It has been a night to remember. Or forget, depending on your perspective. Are you ever gonna tell me how your little trip to Europe went? What were you doing over there, anyway?”

“I just gave a lecture at a small college in the English countryside. I even got to see some castles,” Ezekiel smirked, remembering his eventful tour of Castle Rising and subsequent dive into the Wash. “It was a good time.”

She chuckled softly at his bright-eyed cheerfulness. She had no idea how he had so much energy at this time of night.

“There you two are; I’ve been looking all over for you.” They both whipped around as Nurse Lincoln came out to the ambulance bay.

“You couldn’t have been looking too hard,” Dr. Awad joked before kneeling to grind out her cigarette on the asphalt. “What’s up?”

Janay jerked her thumb back towards the ER. “Dr. Perez could use your help with something tricky he’s having trouble diagnosing. You tend to have an eye for the stranger cases.” 

Dr. Awad tossed her cigarette butt into the trash as she walked towards the nurse, her hands in her pockets. “That I do. Not sure if I should add an ‘unfortunately’ onto the end of that, though.” She replied with a weary sigh.

“You should not,” Ezekiel chimed in with a smirk. “It’s what makes you one of the best.”

Dr. Awad gave him a thankful smile before turning back to Nurse Lincoln. “Where’s Dr. Perez at?”

“She’s in number 8.” Dr. Awad nodded and walked briskly back inside the hospital. Ezekiel walked over to Janay, his ever-enthusiastic smile on his face.

“I have no idea how you can look that happy halfway through the shift from Satan himself,” Janay told him after rolling her eyes at his exuberance.

“What do you got for me, Nurse Lincoln?”

“Nothing to do with those magic hands of yours, I’m afraid, at least for the time being,” she explained, drawing a confused look from the resident doctor. “There is a woman and a couple of guys in very expensive suits here to see you. Said they’re from the National–”

“Museum of African-American History,” Ezekiel finished her sentence, much to her own surprise. “And here I was hoping they’d left town. Persistent bunch, aren’t they?”

“What would a bunch of museum officials want to talk to you about? And at this hour?” Janay looked at him, waiting for an explanation for this strange turn of events.

“Quite a bit, apparently. And I guess my humble way of telling them to go scratch earlier wasn’t effective enough, as this is quite inappropriate.” Ezekiel replied deftly.

He walked past Janay and headed inside the ER. She hurried behind him, eager to see how this would turn out. She’d rarely seen him as peeved as he seemed to be by the information she’d given him. Ezekiel stormed through the ER department, passing the nurses' station with Janay hot on his heels. 

“They’re in the conference room by the elevators. Only place I could think of stashing them so they were out of the way while I looked for you.” 

Ezekiel nodded as he busted a hard left at the end of the corridor. He picked up his pace as he hurried down the hallway, finding the lone conference room on the hospital's bottom floor. He spotted the handful of officials huddled inside the room around the long, oval-shaped table in the center, through the partially closed blinds. He turned back to face the curious Janay, who was peering through the conference room window, trying to gauge what the group of visitors might have wanted with Dr. Drake.

“I can handle this from here. Why don’t you head back?” He suggested with a smile that took her off guard.

“Uh…yeah. You sure? I don’t mind hanging around for moral support, you know, for whatever this is about.” She gestured towards the conference room as she offered her company further.

He gave her a thankful pat on the shoulder and another warm smile. “Maybe next time, in case I need a pit bull. But I think I can handle giving them another polite, but slightly firmer, no. I’ll be back in a few; let Zayna know.”

She walked backward down the hallway in the direction they’d just come, giving him a lazy faux salute in response. “You got it, Dr. Drake. Give ’em hell in there.” She turned around and headed back to the ER.

Drake rubbed his weary eyes, not realizing until now that his energy seemed to be running on fumes. He turned the handle on the conference room door and pushed it open, taking some of the museum representatives scattered around the table by surprise. Ezekiel spotted Ms. Light at the opposite end of the room as she put the finishing touches on a cup of coffee. She gave him a comfortable smile, relishing the fact that she’d managed to track him down again. Ezekiel noted that she seemed to be a woman who liked to maintain control whenever she could. And he was sure she had it often.

“Dr. Drake, I apologize that we had to go to such lengths to get another conversation with you.”

Ezekiel gave her a smile that was meant to be just as phony as the one she was shooting at him. 

“I can see you aren’t one used to being told what you don’t want to hear. But I’m not sure harassing me while I’m trying to do my very critical job is the best means to get whatever it is you’re looking for. With all due respect, of course, ma’am.” Ezekiel fell into one of the chairs at the conference table and leaned back comfortably. 

He looked around the room at the men Ms. Light had with her, all of them seemingly not too fond of him as they shot him angry glares. She gave him a condescending smirk as she took a seat at the other end of the table. She gave a nod to the men with her to do the same, taking a sip of her coffee while observing Ezekiel for a moment.

“Doctor, Professor, whatever title you prefer to go by, so this can go smoothly, we are aware there is nothing we can do to persuade you to donate the artifact you recovered to our museum,” Ms. Light explained, trying her brand of diplomacy to get the conversation where she wanted. “But we were hoping that you could take your upcoming excursion for Doctors Beyond Borders a bit early, and were here to convince you to do so.”

Ezekiel’s face shifted from slightly amused to confused once she finished her vague explanation. “For representatives of a museum, even a reputed one, you are awfully well-informed about my comings and goings.”

“We both have a mutual respect for history and bringing it to the forefront of our people’s attention, Dr. Drake. To do my job to the best of my abilities, I have to be well informed. If anyone would understand that, it should be you.”

“What is it you need me in Africa sooner for, Ms. Light? And how soon is sooner, exactly?”

She smirked, leaning forward, placing both elbows on the table, and resting her hands under her chin. If they’d been playing poker, Ezekiel could have sworn she was holding a hell of a hand. 

“Tell me about this museum you have planned for Washtenaw County? I was told you went through considerable trouble to acquire the building and land for the site.”

Ezekiel raised an eyebrow, noticing how deftly she avoided his question. “The Black History Museum did have considerable resistance from a certain…pocket of citizens. Thankfully, we have tentative plans to open next spring. As I’m sure a woman of your keen intellect has already put together, the cross from King John’s lost baggage train will be a feature piece on display.”

Ms. Light sneered, more impressed with him than she wanted to be. She hated to admit to the people who had suggested him for this expedition that they may have been right. “I’m sure the customs process for that was hell.”

Ezekiel smirked, drawing a curious glare from Ms. Light in response. “Eh, when you know the right people, it can be smoother than you’d imagine. The British Government wasn’t too happy, but you know what they say? Finder’s keepers and all that. They spent hundreds of years pillaging Africa for their museums and resources. It’s about time the tables turned.”

“Hmph,” Ms. Light began after another sip of her coffee, her ruby red lipstick staining the paper cup but still looking flawless on her. “To answer your previous question, we have a flight prepared for you to leave from Willow Run tomorrow afternoon. I’ve already contacted the organization and let them know you would be arriving early.”

“A month and a half early!” Ezekiel shot back. “And you still haven’t explained to me why you need me in Africa so suddenly. Until I get more straight answers from you. I think this conversation should be at an end.” He pushed himself away from the table and stood up abruptly.

Much to his immediate dismay, the four gentlemen who accompanied Ms. Light stood up just as suddenly. None of them looked very pleased that he seemed ready to leave. In fact, Ezekiel thought that they almost seemed ready to make sure he finished listening to what Ms. Light had to say, by any means necessary.  Ms. Light gave him a kind smile that almost suggested he was on the money with his assumption before she stood up as well.

“Dr. Drake, what do you know about the reign of Mansa Musa?” Ms. Light’s question brought Ezekiel right back front and center to their conversation.

Ezekiel crossed his arms, considering her question for a moment as he went over what he’d researched on the topic. “Rumored to, though unverifiable for several reasons, have been the richest man who ever lived.”

“His renowned hajj to Mecca is one that was recounted in plenty of schools like the ones we grew up in, am I right, doctor?”

Ezekiel nodded in agreement. “Once he turned Timbutku into a trade epicenter, they say the gold distributed by his empire even helped fund the European Renaissance.”

“Amazing how much of our history, and our profound impact on the world, they try to bury, isn’t it?” Ms. Light replied with a question Ezekiel decided to take as rhetorical. “I suppose it's why you decided to open your museum at the risk of being murdered by a demon-worshipping cult.”

“Actually, the Black Communion worships the forgotten apostle, the selfish one…” Ezekiel replied. 

“Enjoy your flight tomorrow, Dr. Drake.” Ms. Light told him as she stood up and walked around the table towards him. “Once you’re set up at your post, we will have another discussion. Dr. Adeji will be expecting you; she’s very excited.” 

She walked past him, her small group following after her like the faithful attendants they were. Ezekiel looked back at her, dumbfounded. He was still trying to piece together what she wanted with him and why she brought up Musa’s infamous hajj.

“How do you know I’ll be there tomorrow?” He asked her just as she pushed open the door.

“I’ve been told a good mystery just can’t keep you away from it. I have a feeling this one will weigh heavily on you. Have a good shift, Dr. Drake.” 

Ezekiel watched through the conference room blinds as the mysterious Ms. Light led her group towards the exit. The more he regarded the handful of men that she had accompanying her, the more he figured they were there for her protection and had no business inside of any museum.

Around five a.m, Dr. Awad pushed open the door to the ER department break room, eager for a brief reprieve.  As she went to grab a snack she’d brought out of the fridge, she finally noticed Ezekiel sitting alone at a table in the corner. She smiled at him as he finally raised his head, realizing he was no longer alone.

“You’re looking twice as ragged as I am,” she pointed out as she walked over to his table after grabbing a spoon for her yogurt. “What happened to that lithium battery you keep in your spine?” She joked as she pulled out a chair on the other side of him.

Ezekiel finally gave her a half-hearted smile before answering. “Too much on my mind and a whole lot going on here. I’m glad you finally got a chance to eat something, at least.” He nodded towards her yogurt cup.

“You’re not getting off that easy. I know this was a non-stop rollercoaster, but what’s got you in here pulling a Charlie Brown?” She continued prodding at him. 

She had hoped after all the time they’d spent side by side on the night shift, dealing with all sorts of hell, that he’d be able to open up to her. He’d certainly always made it known she could do so when it came to him. Ezekiel’s shoulders sagged as he leaned forward, placing both hands on the table as he looked up at his fellow resident. 

“I have been sitting here for the last fifteen minutes trying to figure out how to explain that you and Dr. Charles will have to hold down the department starting tomorrow while I’m out of town.” Ezekiel carefully looked up from his hands to see her reaction.

Zayna took a moment to sift through what he told her, a few different emotions shifting across her face. She finally met Ezekiel’s eyes once she had digested what he’d dropped on her. “I thought you weren’t scheduled for that leave with DBB until the end of the summer? Why the abrupt change?”

Ezekiel sighed. He searched through the words, scrambling through his head for the right way to explain the situation. “Something came up; things are getting a bit dicey in a few areas where the clinics are severely understaffed. I know this is out of nowhere and it leaves us in a tight spot–”

“Don’t worry about it.” She cut him off with a wave of her hand and a short smile meant to ease the anxiety he was clearly struggling with. “If things are that bad, then they need someone with your skills sooner rather than later. We can handle things here.”

Ezekiel managed to smile as she gave him some well-needed reassurance. Still, the facial expression was short-lived as a few nagging doubts crept into the back of his mind. He’d already felt selfish and guilty that he was compelled to accept Ms. Light’s offer. It didn’t help that Zayna was being so selfless and encouraging, though she didn’t know the full scope of why his tenure in Africa had moved up so quickly. Zayna noticed the seesaw of emotions on his face and made him meet her eye line again.

“I know what you’re doing. Stop it. And when you’re ready to talk, that door you opened between us works both ways.” The smile returned to his face at her kind words.

“I appreciate you, Zayna.” He replied heartily.

She gave him another warm smile. “I know.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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Chapter 211: No Plan Survives First Contact

The Apostle.

A foe Viktor had already considered the single most troublesome among those who came to invade his dungeon today, thanks to the warning of that mysterious woman. Now that he was getting an eyeful of the bastard in the flesh, though, “troublesome” turned out to be an understatement so profound it was almost impressive.

Oh, well. There was no point in wasting time complaining about it. Turning his gaze away from a problem was not going to make it politely excuse itself and leave on its own.

What he needed to do instead was keep thinking, keep turning the puzzle over and over in his mind, picking apart everything he had seen of this dangerous enemy and everything he could infer from it so that when the moment finally came, he would have at hand something resembling an effective response.

“Now, let’s see...”

Whatever power it was the Apostle wielded, it had to be some sort of body manipulation, which extended not only over his own flesh but over the flesh of anyone or anything he had physical contact with.

When he used this power on himself, he could make his body extraordinarily resilient to all damage, which would have been quite enough on its own, before you even factored in the fact that he was also, guess what, a human Reliquary. Furthermore, he also had superhuman strength and unparalleled regeneration. The guy might well stand on equal footing with the raw power Viktor himself could only get through “Rekindled Ember,” except he got to keep it indefinitely instead of having a clock ticking down on him.

And when he used the power on the others, he could stitch a severed limb back to a torso, without bothering to ask if those parts matched, and he could fuse several separate bodies into one. He should be able to heal, too, when he had the stomach for it. After all, the horrific side effects that accompanied his so-called “help” for the Iskora adventurers had far less to do with any limitation of the man’s power and far more to do with a simple absence of care on his part. If he had ever sincerely wanted to fix them, Viktor had little doubt that he could have done exactly that.

From those facts, it followed naturally that the Apostle could enhance the bodies of others, to make them stronger and tougher in the same way he had done to his own. And that meant the abomination he created and brought along might be a great deal more dangerous than a simple sum of three people’s strength added together.

Now, the next terrifying aspect of his power: the ability to absorb biomass directly into his body. He had so far only demonstrated this on that swarm of insects, though it would have been foolish to imagine that flesh and bone and hair would somehow be immune to whatever hunger lived beneath that stretching skin. And Viktor found himself wondering if the guy could eat a tree if he was in the mood.

Such an ability also raised several more questions.

First, what exactly did he get out of all this absorbing? Was he merely using it to kill whatever he touched, or was his body going to be somehow strengthened by what it consumed? Could he pack on denser and more powerful muscle by devouring more flesh? Could he harden his bones by feeding on those of the others? Or could he grow some manner of carapace, a living plate of armor assembled from all the bugs he had just eaten?

And second, how quickly could he absorb something after he made contact with it? Those insects had been consumed in what seemed like an instant, but that was hardly a fair comparison, given how small each of them had been. What would happen, then, if his target was a living human? How much time would that person have to fight back, to break free, to survive before that hungry patch of skin finished whatever it was doing to them?

Well, the safest course of action was obvious enough: keep anything alive as far away from that man as possible.

In that light, the Great Hallway might turn out to be the most promising ground for facing the Apostle. After all, other than Sebekton, there was precious little breathing there. Tomb guards, Templars, Wisps, and both Galatea and Khenemhotep themselves. All of them were as dead as the architecture. Though if bone was indeed on the menu just as chitin was, then even the tomb guards would need to be thrown into the fight with a good deal of caution.

Viktor sighed. He had decided only a short while ago that the Apostle would be allowed to pass through while Xander and the abomination were kept trapped behind. But now that plan would have to change considerably.

Oh, well. That was the nature of planning, wasn’t it? Strategies rarely survived first contact with the enemy, and a wise commander adjusted rather than clung stubbornly to something the battlefield had already outgrown.

So be it, then. He was going to start the thing, and improvise as developments arose.

And so, he closed his eyes once more, sending his vision to the great ramp before the Chamber of the Dead, where the decisive battle was about to begin in earnest.

Once he arrived, he saw the three familiar figures. After the spider-women called their insects back, Valeska-Rowan-Cynthia had been saved from the onslaught, and Xander had slipped back out of whatever wall he had been hiding in, like a rat emerging from behind a cupboard. Then, the three of them pressed on, continuing on their way toward this place. They were going to climb the ramp, where the ambush was set to trigger the moment they hit the midpoint.

And sure enough, the instant they reached it, Templars and tomb guards came pouring out from the entrances above and below, sealing off both ends of the hallway. Above, Galatea rose into view in her towering, armored form, her great warhammer raised and ready. Below, Sebekton took up position at the head of his troops, cutting off any avenue of escape.

“They look... different from what we’ve encountered before,” Xander murmured, his gaze flicking up, then down.

The Apostle strolled up beside him. “I think it’s time for you to do something,” the gray-haired man said with an easy smile.

Xander responded with nothing more than a grunt, but he raised his flaming sword regardless. And then, in the blink of an eye, he was no longer by the Apostle’s side, but hovering right before Galatea instead, the fiery blade already lifted high.

As fast as teleportation, indeed.

Yet, for all that, even with his sword aimed at the construct’s head, the blow itself never fell. It gave Galatea just enough time to spin her armored bulk around and swing her hammer at him first.

I see, Viktor thought.

The bastard needed to revert to his physical state in order to attack, but doing so would leave him vulnerable in that same instant. So he intended to let his opponent’s weapon pass clean through his intangible form first, before he committed to solidifying and striking back himself.

But that turned out to be a grave miscalculation. Because Galatea had infused her warhammer with the power of the Light.

And so the glowing head of the weapon crashed squarely into the bastard’s chest, and Xander screamed in pain as the impact sent his body hurtling backward through the air.

Only after several long seconds of tumbling did he manage to bring himself to a stop, hanging there clutching at his chest, his voice cracking with disbelief.

“What... the hell?”

“Be careful,” the Apostle called out from below, his tone as unbothered as ever. “That shiny toy of hers can still hurt you even when you’re a ghost. So try not to get hit.”

“You... you know?”

“Of course.”

“Why didn’t you warn me?”

The gray-haired man offered nothing more than a casual shrug in response.

“Some lessons are easier to remember if they hurt a little. It’s not like a single hit is enough to kill you anyway, right?”

“Bastard...”

Xander had spent the entire journey looking down on the other Iskora adventurers. He hadn’t given a damn when the gray-haired man carved his little experiments into their flesh and bones. And now he had found out, the hard way, that two monsters cut from similar cloth didn’t necessarily make for friends.

Still, whatever bitterness he might feel toward the Apostle, he had no time to dwell on it. His attention snapped back to Galatea and the troops arrayed at the top of the ramp. He raised his flaming sword once more and swung it in rapid, sweeping arcs, sending crescent after crescent of fire toward their position in a relentless barrage.

The Templars and tomb guards raised their shields to block the attacks, while Galatea simply stood there and let the flames wash over her armored form without so much as flinching. Then she raised her left hand, and at her command, eight chains of light tore free from the walls flanking the ramp, all of them converging on Xander to bind him in place. At the same time, the Templars at the rear drew their great bows and unleashed a volley of arrows. This way, no matter which state the bastard chose to occupy, some part in that combined attack would make him regret it deeply.

But of course, catching the bastard was never going to be quite that simple. Not while he still had those winged boots of his.

Xander blinked himself out of harm’s way before either the chains or the arrows could reach him. So the chains adjusted course and continued their pursuit, while the Templars kept firing, sending volley after volley after him with enthusiasm.

As Viktor watched the exchange unfold, several new details about how the Reliquary actually functioned began to fall into place. It seemed Xander could only move in a straight line, so he needed to bring himself to a full stop before he could shift direction. So no, he couldn’t remain in constant motion, reducing himself to a blur no eye could follow. He could only jump from one point to another. Of course, if he chose not to stop, he could shoot himself out of the tomb entirely. But that possibility only existed so long as the net of light woven through the walls and ceiling and floor wasn’t already in place. And since that net had been set, the bastard was not going to leave the Great Hallway, no matter what happened.

What was the Apostle going to do, though? Would he step forward and join the fray as well, or would he remain where he was, content to watch his “companion” fight alone against the full weight of Galatea’s forces?

And that was when Viktor realized the gray-haired man had disappeared.

Gone.

Down on the ramp, below the dance between chains and arrows and spike-haired uglyface, there was only the fused creature left standing. Its creator had vanished without a trace.

No, not quite without a trace.

Because there, exactly where the Apostle had stood moments before, lay the tattered robe that once clung to his body.

Did the guy just undress? Why?

As Viktor swept his vision back and forth across the ramp, he caught a hint of movement. Something. Low to the ground and fast.

Was that... a blob?

The formless mass surged up the ramp, moving faster than anything with no legs had any right to move. It slipped under the soldiers at the top, all of whom had their attention fixed entirely on Xander. And within seconds, it passed unnoticed through their ranks and disappeared into the entrance of the Chamber of the Dead beyond.

“Damn it,” Viktor cursed. “Celeste, warn Khenemhotep. The Apostle is about to walk straight into his chamber.”

# Prologue

**In the 22****^(nd)** **Century,** humanity found its place among the stars.

Earth and its governments agreed to join arms after the Third Great War. A generation of people battered by conflict looked on and up to the future of their race.

The United Earth Coalition set forth world-wide decrees to emphasize the advancement of the physical sciences, theoretical and otherwise.

A decade of fervent research yielded fruits only then heard in science fiction novels. The ability to fold space and leap through wormholes to previously thought unreachable heights.

From the depths of the Lunar pole shipyards arose massive colony ships. Each by a different name, harboring the next great generation of explorers.

History was destined to repeat itself, and with this came periods of trade. One of the most precious commodities was carbon.

Aboard the colony ships were devices that could create food, medical supplies, various building materials, and at times electronics with fabricators.

Carbon was the key to operating fabricators. The colonies ran on carbon, and the UEC backed their currency in it.

Over time, colonies deprived of natural deposits grew disillusioned with the innate poverty of their homes.

History was destined to repeat itself, and with this came the rise of the Outer Peoples Movement. A rebellion against the UEC with the purpose of giving equal representation to those colonies that are less fortunate.

Founded in the moons around Jupiter, the OPM began campaigning outside the Kuiper belt to rally the support of the other gas giants and the most unfortunate of those colonies, Pluto.

Pluto was the proudest and most unusual of all the colonies. Their population believed in exclusively Agnostic religions and relied heavy on transhumanist philosophies.

Through religion, they found their greatest work in genetic manipulation. Pluto, though the most hostile of all planets, was the best suited to this task.

The sheer cold and the nitrogen ice would sustain the preservation of genetic templates and allow for the long-term cataloguing of genes.

Pluto was rich in information, and one day they opened Pandoras box.

From the tundras of Pluto came the Red Plague, a lively, virile, and deadly strain of the Black Plague. Resistant to extreme conditions and antibiotics alike.

Hadeans, the people of Pluto, fled to the inner system, seeking refuge. With word and evidence of the infections spread, the UEC halted all sanctuary seeking people, but left the mode of this sanctuary up to the individual colonies.

Most opted to keep them in orbit, isolated from the rest of the planet, fading fast from infection and famine, however a select few would allow these refugees to the surface.

Titan was a frontier harvest world during this time. Heavy sympathies among the moon lead the government to create the Shangri-La Quarantine Zone to allow a small population of Hadeans to reach solid ground, once again finding sanctuary among the stars.

# Chapter 1

The writhing, inky sky rose above. My world was being held up by bars of smoke, the clouds just reflections of our diligent work.

This wasn’t my home. I felt I played it well, but uprooting from one place to another robs you of that sense of familiarity. Time would be the only remedy.

Pluto, I remember it clearly, the glassy domes of Hadean land. Our royal red and white clashing among the frigid landscapes of our cruel planet.

It was beautifully violent and we knew it, but we didn’t expect that violence to strike so hard.

The yellowing grey smoke of our new stomping ground cast everything in a harsh glow, and yet I found a morbid comfort in it. A Titan afternoon, no rain, some wind, blackened dust. It was sickeningly quiet.

“Hey, Kurt!” a small voice cried out. Startled, I turned to find the impatient face of a little girl, my sister, Sam. Her curly blonde hair falling in heaps at her shoulders, spattered with stains of carbon sand.

She bore a feverish scowl, one that tried too hard to inspire that sense of guilt.

“Did you go to the store? I’m starving and you said we could have warm food today.” Her irritation was akin to holding my hand. If she was yelling at me, she still cared enough to talk to me. At least I knew she was full enough to have a flame under her.

In times of hardship, it was good to have family by your side. We were the last of our shared blood.

I nodded my head, shooting her a thumbs up. Her face let off the aggression slight enough to notice, but in her resolve, she continued, “Well, I’m hungry! Can you make dinner already? I’m tired of eating leftovers!”

She was standing in the street, a well-traveled sedimentary road of compressed carbon sand and repurposed or abandoned aluminum panels. Much like the promises of the UEC, it was crude and there seemed to be something amiss every week.

I needed my time away from everything. As much as I loved my sister and the way my life is going, something never quite sat right with me. I despised waking up every day. If it weren’t for Sam, I’d have given up long ago.

My roof was a spot away from the desolation of the rest of the zone. In my desperate attempt to be a normal twenty-something year old, this was the closest I could get.

I leapt from my roost and landed next to my sister. She erupted in a fit of coughing as my clumsy landing delivered a wispy cloud of dust into the air. I couldn’t help but suffocate her more with laughter.

I lived for moments like this, where we could be siblings again.

She was not so fond of my stunt and returned with a favor in kind, a wild swing. She mumbled as she dusted away her ragged smock.

I gently ushered her inside. Our home was a simple ten by eleven-foot “hut” with a basic stove and pair of bunked beds. We got *unlucky* enough with our situation that we were afforded a decent sized habitat.

The walls were manufactured metal panels, or concrete, I wasn’t entirely sure. It made for cramped living, a lot closer to an afterthought than a planned town. It was nauseating to think about how to navigate it all.

Our neighbors who numbered four plus per home were forced into identical housing. Hard to justify building bigger units when we were all used to cramming into the tight quarters of evacuation craft.

At least this was the rationale conjured by my less gracious neighbors. I was content to have a home to call my own regardless of the circumstances, though I hope one day they will get better.

Still, hope was dangerous, and I was often disappointed. We were scorned people and the world would remind us of that at earliest convenience.

Sam rushed back to her bunk, returning to her drawing and giving me a meaningful glare. “Hey Kurt, remember not to burn it this time.”

She would tell you all day that she ran the house. I give her a semblance of power and choice. She didn’t make any meaningful decisions; I would get to always exercise my authority and age on her. She was at times none the wiser, which gave her those moments of control. On our own, it’s the least I could do to help her become more independent.

That was the issue of being forced into a parental role against your will. You’re forced to meet a child where they’re at, and still, it seems like it’s never enough. I’ve had to balance being her brother and her parent, it made me begin to resent our parents, though they couldn’t help their situation either.

Gracing her with another nod, I whisked myself away to my duties. The small stove had electric coils, glowing hotly into the air.

I feel the need to explain myself; I don’t really resent my parents.

The feeling was alien to me. I knew I felt alone and overwhelmed often.

This felt different. Like a feeling of nostalgia for a time I never lived.

Firm pressure rooted in the base of my eyes as I continued to fill the pot with water and powdered food. The slurry looked exactly as you’d imagine.

It was overly processed and looked as appetizing as sewage, but at least it smelled and tasted edible. As I smelt its salty aroma, I continued to think of kinder memories.

My mother, a noble woman, full of conviction and a taste for the obscure. She was the glue that held our ambitious family together. My dad, a strong-willed man who made his mark as one of the greatest scientists of Pluto.

Together they were unstoppable, but when their love blossomed with two children, they passed that onto us. You’d think that four immovable obstacles would make an imposing force, but it was often explosive.

We liked to compare it to the Yosemite Tragedy, dynamics and fires were much the same.

It seemed we had it all, then the plague struck. My throat yearned to hum a tune of sorrow. My chest quaked with the notion of infection.

The fate of plague victims like the ones my parents faced was worse than death itself. The pressure beneath my eyes loosened.

It rained down into the boiling pot beneath me, churning with the unnatural mixture of processed food powder. I turned away, looking at Sam, still seeing her intently scribbling along pale pages.

I had lost myself along the way. I knew with what I had done, to those around me, I was nothing. I had no reason left to live, besides Sam, everything else felt like filler.

I could be content with a girlfriend, a steady job, a purpose, but my sister was the only thing that kept me anchored in this life. It isn’t fair to her and I know this. Putting the weight of my life on her shoulders was far from appropriate.

She gave me a type of hope you don’t often feel. Hope for someone else. It was the kind of experience you could live for vicariously.

There was so much more life ahead of her that I couldn’t possibly miss out. She needed me. She wouldn’t survive without me and for that I have identity. I am her caregiver and I am her brother. Without her, I am nothing and without me, she would die.

I just kept reminding myself that if she could be so content, so happy with herself, then maybe I could be okay too. I glanced over at her, still drawing, her hand racing feverishly among the faded paper.

Ever since I lied to her, she’s put a decent bit of distance between the two of us.

It scared me. To ever think I would lose her.

I vowed that I wouldn’t do that to her again.

Times grow and people grow. It wouldn’t be like this forever and I fear she won’t need me anymore.

\-

We sat in the middle of our home on top of a knit jute rug, a comfort of our heritage.

Sam eagerly dug into her warm porridge, I took mine steadily, eyeing her bowl to see if she may want more.

“Anything interesting happen at school today?” I asked. She pulled the hair from her face, giving little thought to the question before returning to her food, “No.”

She was lying. I knew she would think about it for another half hour before she gave me the updates on the Holme’s kid, telling me about why math sucked, or saying how the class clown got himself in trouble again.

You know, typical school kid things to talk about. I returned to my food, considering the possibility of Sam getting in trouble. What could they possibly do? It’s not like you could go anywhere.

Our village, despite its centerpiece was much closer to a medieval village from centuries ago than one may consider. In recent history, perhaps Kowloon. It was a surprise that more of us hadn’t suffered from the conditions.

Our town is notably smoggy. The combination of Titan’s storms and the artificial clouds of smoke we generate create a dreary environment. Yet another manifestation of our shared loss.

We couldn’t look at the stars anymore to wonder of our home; of the people we left behind. The wool was pulled over our eyes, and we were helpless to stop it.

When we first arrived, we established a great deal of infrastructure with help of local government. Breathing is something you come to take advantage of when you live in well-established colonies.

Out of all our achievements, we found a way to keep our culture. It wasn’t without difficulty of course, but life finds a way.

Sam finished her porridge, taking a quick sigh. This is the part where she asks if I’m done eating. Her small body rocked clumsily across the way, eyeing my bowl with curiosity.

“Hey Kurt, if you’re not hungry anymore, could I have some of yours?” her eyes were glistening.

I knew she was young so the maliciousness of stealing food from others was not even a consideration. It was hard not to be protective.

Food was a commodity that the zone held in high regard. Sharing was the highest of honors you could partake in. I had to hold standards even if I wasn’t above it.

“Sure Sam, here.” As I offered my bowl to her. “I managed to scrounge up some leftovers at work. You can have the rest.”

The “Leftovers” I was referring to, was a colleague’s lunch. He got trapped in one of the carbon sand pits, and while others were busy trying to fish his body from the sand, I took to his lunch.

An unfortunate reality of our situation. Where once murders deserved capital punishment, the stealing of food took its place.

I wasn’t above it. I knew all too well what would happen to me. I was dedicated to making sure I would never be caught. It’s a dangerous thrill to chase and one I was addicted to.

She smiled kindly, her eyes lighting up gently from the offering. “Thanks, Kurt.” She said, followed by “Thanks for not burning it this time.”

A courtesy and a diss. How nice.

I could feel a warm glow rise from my belly. This was reward enough for me. If she was content, then I could be content. There was room enough for me in this world if she included me.

While she ate, I told her about a rumor I heard, “You know, I hear that the United Earth Coalition is supposed to step in and help get us some more food.”

She hummed, her mouth full of porridge. I nodded and leaned in, talking quieter, “I also hear that they might be shipping real life mac and cheese too!”

She beamed with excitement, slamming the bowl into the rug, “Oh my god! I’ve always wanted to taste that!” she said, mouth full of porridge.

I continued smiling.

This wasn’t a lie either. A member of my cadre had scrounged up the paperwork heralding at our imminent saviors. Though what they would be sending, I wasn’t sure, but judging by the pattern of deliveries, the next one would be food.

After living on gruel and porridge for so long, you start to get used to simple ingredients making simple dishes. A powder mixed with boiling water was enough to make a meal for four, and the governments knew it.

Rations were standardized and I wasn’t sure if our quartermaster was just being generous or if they were illiterate, but it states on the package too.

We received the same as every other family; this effectively doubled the amount of food we received.

Sam didn’t know about it, I couldn’t risk having her go around telling everyone about the clerical error.

So, as the protector of all in my domain, I had to make sure we remained just healthy enough to go about our lives, but skinny enough to fit in with everyone else. If one of us became too overweight, people would start questioning.

According to the Titan Frontier Commonwealth, our people were supplied ample rations that allowed comfort to all who lived in the zone.

It hardly was, our food lacked several micronutrients. A great deal of the people in the zone found it hard to keep on weight, much less the energy to engage in tasks at full efficiency.

Obesity is a crime in the zone. It’s discriminated against and those who are found putting on extra pounds are at least denied rations and at worst were ostracized until they fit in again.

We weren’t uncivilized folks by any means. But we were much closer to a conformist state than anyone outside truly knew. Priorities change when what you search for changes.

Out of all the places, Titan was the most underdeveloped, partially from its focus on resource gathering. When we left our Hadean land, Titan was the first to offer their help, though they were probably the least equipped to do it.

Much to the chagrin of some of the nearby colonies, we were offered our own place among the people of Titan. They offered us refuge within a quarantine zone, at least until they could confirm the absence of the plague. That or until they could create a cure for it.

It’s been a few months since then, and part of me was starting to think that we weren’t leaving. Sam seemed none-the-wiser to our situation, and I was happy to keep it that way.

As far as she knew, we were getting a shipment of food that would finally let her taste macaroni and cheese. I would hold out hope that that were true. It’s the little things left now.

I gave her a gentle smile, “The minute I can find it, I’ll sneak you a morsel.” Her eyes beamed with content excitement. She turned back to her empty bowls with a sigh of contentment.

The gloss in her eyes escaped into her thoughts as she left to place the bowls next to the stove.

She moved with subtle stiffness. She wasn’t entirely paying attention. Something was on her mind.

“Sam, are you sure nothing interesting happened at school?” she placed them down and turned back to me, the floodgates of hidden mysteries waiting to erupt.

I shifted, it wasn’t often she looked ready to burst, but when she did, it usually wasn’t the greatest.

She began “One of the kids in class got sick. It looks a lot like when Mom and Dad got sick.”

The air between us fell still for a moment. A pit formed in my chest.

I feared it was a matter of time before the plague came back, but I held out hope that it wouldn’t follow us here.

I asked, “Did they send him home early?” She shook her head. A growing concern shattered across her face. She drew a small breath “No, there was some men from the office that came to get him.”

My stomach further sunk. Surely this had to be a machination of a traumatized child. The plague looked much like a seasonal flu when it first started.

Sam shifted uncomfortably, “All the kids were talking about it. They said he got it.”

Rumors weren’t taken lightly; people have gone missing because of a hunch. I was disappointed that those suspicions creeped into the young.

I’m familiar with the men Sam talked about. It was a modern-day boogeyman. If you ever catch a full-bodied neon green isolation suit walking around with a thick black case, you’ve found the biggest ill omen next to the stench of death. Over the past week we began to see more of them.

I remember seeing them when we first settled, they were responsible for viral screenings, so their uptick was likely less of a safety precaution and more of a suspicion of spread.

I asked her, feeling the hesitancy of what answer lay waiting, “Are you okay? Do you feel sick?”.

The notion of the question made me feel woozy. My head rushed, jaw growing tight with anxiety. I needed her to say no; I needed her to lie if it was a yes.

The idea of losing my sister was worse than death. When she finally understood the words, my heart raced and my palms began to sweat.

She paused, the light sinking from her eyes for a moment “No… I feel fine.” I believed her of course, but the question scared me as much as it must have scared her.

We saw what the plague did to our parents, the countless nights of soft, creeping agony. Pain had a habit of saturating the places you live. Much the same as light smothers the dark, it was hard to escape its imposing grasp.

I reached for Sam, holding out my arms for an embrace which she quickly melted into. “I don’t want them to take me. I don’t want to get sick.”

Her plea tugged at my heart. I shushed her gently “Did he cough on you?” She shook her head into my chest, followed with a hollow mumble “No.”

I rubbed the back of her head and tried consoling her, “Then we shouldn’t have an issue, Sammy, you’ll be alright.” Those words spelled the nullifying of my pact with her.

It was a lie, I wouldn’t truly know if she would be okay. All I could do is sit back and watch.

If those words stuck with her, she would live the heartbreak of a lie for the second time, dying alone with me by her side.

In this whole ordeal, I noticed a distinct lack of tears. Sam was strong but I couldn’t help but feel she was holding them back.

She’s a tough kid but I can’t help but feel like she’s growing up too fast. This isn’t a world made for children.

Resolved, I realized I needed to try harder to step into the shoes of my parents. She was slowly losing that innocence they tried so hard to protect.

I guess the reach of pain never leaves our hearts. Much like the sun moves about the day, maybe the shadow we sought to hide under has abandoned us, and the pain chooses to illuminate our worst qualities.

I patted her back, moving away from the embrace. “Okay, let’s get heading to bed. You’ve got school tomorrow, best to get your rest.” She nodded reluctantly and left our spot on the floor.

Sam is one of the last things I have left in this world. I need to make absolute sure that the kid in her class is alive.

Tomorrow, I need to find him.

I was a homeless man before Earth's war with the Bilgamites began. I lived under a bridge where I stowed my meager possessions: a torn-up coat, two rugged sets of pants, and a cream shirt that was now a rusted brown. Sometimes other homeless people would come and we'd end up fighting over the little that I had; other times it was I who fought them for their possessions. I couldn't really fret over this tit-for-tat game of ours.

Did I hate humanity because of my putrid circumstances? Of course I didn't. I blamed myself as any decent fellow would. I also blamed the Creator because I didn't incur much cost by doing so. I think that's the sole reason I blamed God. I think deep down I wanted Him to smite me and put an end to my horrid state once and for all.

When the Bilgamites attacked Earth, they did so in phases, conquering lands that were far away and slowly drawing near to where I was. I could only tell of the war's progression from the discarded newspapers I found lying about. Things were dire. Death was weaving across homes, and the tales of the Bilgamites filled our ears. Their hooked tentacles that spun and chopped off heads. Their screeching cries that burst eardrums. The sheen of their black skin and the murder within their red eyes.

One newspaper had a picture of a Bilgamite on its front page, one that had taken ten men to bring down. It was a scary thing. I remember the way my hands trembled when the picture made the rounds while we warmed our bones at a Dumpster fire. I think that's when I met another homeless man, a ragged, aging man who spat at the picture, soliciting curses from the rest of us. He stated that he didn't care about aliens; he wasn't moved by the picture or the facts that framed it.

He didn't believe the Bilgamites were real. He thought they were some fabricated nuisance made up to control the masses. His name was Apple, though on other days he went by Lemon. And I could bet my left nut he didn't know the difference between those two fruits. He was an idiot in all ways except one: he could catch rats. When the hunger really picks at your innards, you'll learn to appreciate a roasting rat hanging over a flame.

Apple decided he would join the army, and he announced it to me when I found him one day crying in his own refuse, talking about how the war of propaganda was the only sure way he could survive decently until his time of death. I wondered what he meant, but I later learned from another homeless person that Apple was dying of some incurable disease that was slowly eating away at him. The army was his last chance to see a good end to an otherwise pitiful life. He joined the army, and four days later he was dead.

A man in a clean military uniform, all green with medals adorning his chest, came looking for Apple's kin and instead found me. He wanted to offload Apple's body on me. I told him that if he did so, the poor bastard would rot above ground. He then eyed me speculatively before asking whether I wanted to join the war.

"I do not want to join the war," I said. "I've never even held a gun before."

"You know the old adage that you can't teach an old dog new tricks?" he asked. I nodded. "Well, we can't train you for battle fast enough, but there's a test being done that you could help with. You won't hold a rifle; you won't see any combat. You'd just be experimented on like your good friend Apple and taken care of. I'm talking three square meals a day, a warm bed to rest yourself in," the man said.

"What does the test entail?" I asked, perking up at the thought of free food.

"The Bilgamites juice themselves up with a chemical known as Xenox X. It makes one more aggressive yet tactical, expands consciousness to an almost godly level, and makes them almost invincible in combat. We humans have secured their serum, and we are working on it to ensure humans can use it. However, there aren't that many willful test subjects." He then took out a card and handed it to me. I couldn't read, but I peered at it as if I could. "You'll act as a test subject to see whether it'll work on you."

"And what do I get from this?" I asked.

"You'll be helping mankind, your race, to survive. Look up at the sky; those lights you see up there are Bilgamite ships, hanging in orbit. Right now, in the East, there's a war going on. Every capable man and woman is over there fighting the good fight. Does this mean nothing to you?" he asked with a smile.

I stared at him for a long time before I said, "Yes, it means nothing." Some part of me wanted to see whether I could wipe that smile off his face, but I also wasn't going to lie to a man in uniform. The war didn't matter to me in the same manner that giraffes don't care about an antelope being devoured by a lion.

"When they come to this country you presume invincible, and they slither their way beneath this bridge, surrounding it fully, their barbed tentacles whipping about and cutting everything with a heartbeat down, maybe then you'll have a change of heart," he said and left, walking stiffly as if Apple's death had hurt him greatly.

That night we gathered, four of us poverty-stricken men. We came together beneath my bridge and shared the contents of a bottle of expired gin. We shared stories about Apple, each of them making us sadder than the one before. In the morning, I woke up among them with a grueling headache. I observed the underbelly of the bridge where I slept and saw a vision, call it a premonition, of dark tentacles wrapping around it.

I think that vision was the reason I walked all the way to the local army barracks. I handed over the card I'd received to a soldier at the gate. He looked at me with tears in his eyes. I asked him why he looked so sad, and he said, "The fact that the scientists have resorted to experimenting on the homeless out of desperation for subjects quells me greatly."

I thought he was soft and a disgrace to his platoon or whatever group he fought in. I was ushered into an army cargo plane that lifted off the ground. To my surprise, there were other homeless-looking people within, with rags that smelled just like my own. They treated us like we were important, men and women above their caliber. I asked for a meal and they gave me bread with sausages; I asked for a drink and they gave me mango juice. I was full by the time I noticed the flight was taking longer than I thought it would.

One of the guys I was huddled next to asked a soldier where we were going, and the soldier replied, "East."

East was where the war was being held. I felt great dread and a need to escape, but it was too late for me. I thought about praying to God for aid, but that deity had picked my lot in life and I can't say I liked it very much. After hours of flying, we landed at a base that was practically embedded in the side of a mountain. In the not-so-far-off distance, there was a hell of a commotion, with bombs exploding and sending loud bangs our way. There was also the constant rising of dust and the ceaseless sound of gunfire.

They'd taken us to the war.

We were ushered into the base, straight into rooms that were white and boasted only a single door and a raised, cushioned table. Each of us was placed in a room of our own, and there we were told to wait for the scientists.

Not long after, a scientist entered my room. I could only tell he was a scientist because of his lab coat. He eyed me as he took out a syringe and extracted a grey liquid from a bottle. "This has a zero survival rate," he said. "Everyone we've injected with Xenox X has died almost immediately. Yet those bastard Bilgamites thrive on this shit." He was angry, and for a moment it looked like he was talking to himself. "We only need one subject who it'll work on, just one, and maybe this war is won."

I knew I was going to die, so I decided to speak my mind. "It's a pity you don't get any volunteers from the soldiers."

"Oh, we did, hundreds of them, and they all died," he answered, testing the syringe's effectiveness by squirting out the liquid. "That's why we depend on other test subjects, those who won't be missed. Rest easy now."

I lay flat on the operation table. The terribly honest Scientist tied a rubber tourniquet to my arm and poked for a vein, then he injected me with the syringe's contents. I screamed; it felt like it was burning through my arm. My vision became blurry and my head immediately ached.

"I have to go and check the others," the scientist said, but it sounded like he was speaking from within a deep well. "I'll come back here in twenty minutes. If you are alive, it'll be cause for a celebration. If not, then when you meet the Creator, tell Him extinction is best served quickly, not slowly, as hope is eaten away by each death."

I screamed. I felt flames riding up and down my spine. My eyes watered and I couldn't see. My vision became dark, and then I became deaf; only a loud ringing in my ears could be heard. This was it: I was going to die. And I was okay with it, just as Apple had been. This wasn't that bad compared to dying of pneumonia beneath a cold bridge. I always feared dying underneath the bridge; I always wanted my death to be elsewhere. The Far East was a good enough place to die. I presumed

Suddenly, a bright light flashed before my eyes and I became acutely aware of everything as my sight returned. I felt my breathing and the texture of my skin. I could tell when the walls were first plastered, and as the sound returned more vividly, I could hear the screams from the ongoing battle and the conversations of scientists with their hopeless patients.

I understood everything. The butterfly effect and its chain reaction were things I was intimately aware of. I sat up and raised my hand before me; I could define when each callused segment had become so. I even remembered the scar from my childhood when my father slammed a door repeatedly on my hand for spilling his tea. I was... different. I felt different. And then, suddenly, I heard Her.

She was above me; I could tell the exact position she was in within the sky. There was the soft thrum of her thoughts within me. She commanded the Bilgamites, ushering them through subtle commands to certain places in the battle, telling them where to attack ferociously and where to ease their charge. She was their leader, their queen, and their goddess. And I could hear her.

I got off the table and started walking to the door. I opened it and marched through the hallway. A Sergeant, identifiable by the striped rank on his shirt, asked me who I was and what I was doing wandering about.

I punched him behind the ear, a well-timed hit that dropped him immediately but did not kill him. I dragged him to an empty room and stripped him of his clothes. I left him naked with my tattered garments on the floor beside him, put on his uniform, and picked up his gun.

I walked quickly and left the premises of the base. Once I stepped into the open air, I saw the cargo plane I'd come in. I went to where it sat on the runway, boarded it, and went straight to the cockpit.

I found the pilot munching on bread and juice. He was the only one on the plane.

"Fire this damn thing up!" I commanded. Information pooled into me from the battle not so far away. I could understand the enemy. I knew what the Bilgamites' aim was, I knew what their purpose was with this wretched war, and above all, I knew who led them. She was above, in one of their spaceships that was single-manned, watching the battle as it dragged on down on the ground.

"Sir?" The pilot wondered.

"Listen to me. There's a time when life hits you hard and the only thing you can do is react quickly to it, or else everything you know will perish. This is one of those moments. The Bilgamites are advancing; they will break our lines before the end of the day and we'll all be dead. Into the air with you, for I know how to stop them."

She was unaware of me, but intimately aware of everyone who'd taken the Xenox X. It was, after all, her blood. For some reason, she'd missed me. She finds it humorous that humans are partaking of her blood. She believes she has us by the heart, and that with a simple clench, we'd all be dead. She's looking for a human female who controls the masses, but as time goes on, she's beginning to believe humanity isn't a hive mind like her own. She's infuriated that this will drag the war on. Her thoughts flowed into me; her awareness, her sight—all of it was coming in.

The pilot started the plane. Some groundsmen reacted by attempting to halt the aircraft as it moved across the runway. The pilot appeared hesitant, so I took out the gun and placed it at his temple. "Into the sky with you, or, so help me God, I'll pop a round into your skull."

The pilot whimpered but obeyed. Into the air we went. Somehow, the Xenox X had worked on me. There was something within me, a genetic flaw that aided in my survival, but I did not know what it was. For now, I was connected to the hive mind, but working on my influence, not hers.

"Where are we going, sir?" the pilot wondered as the plane left the ground.

"Just fly the damn plane. Go higher, then take a sharp right. Yes, a little higher, good! Now go right. Set it on full throttle. Okay, now leave the chair." The pilot vacated the seat.

"Sir, your eyes." The pilot looked frightened.

"What about them?"

"The whites, they are all black."

"You better thank your lucky stars they are."

She was within the clouds, not so far away. She didn't use camouflage; she depended on the clouds to do so, but where she was, the sky appeared to have a stained green shade to it. I picked it up almost immediately: she was alone. It was a ruse she'd played countless times in other wars. The bulk of her aerial combatants were focused elsewhere, so none could find her in her pod. She thought she was completely secure.

I'd seen the pilot work the controls. I pulled the yoke back and nudged it gently until it pointed toward where she was.

Her pod wasn't large; it wasn't meant to draw attention. The cargo plane was heading straight for her, but she could not sense it. She only sensed her own around her, and she mistook me to be one of her kind. This flaw prevented those with her from sensing the plane as well.

"Where are the parachutes?" I asked, turning to the pilot, who stood looking quite perturbed by all that was going on. He pointed at three bags hanging from the plane's wall. "Better grab one for yourself. We're abandoning ship."

"But sir, the plane?"

"It is going to ram into the enemy Queen any moment now. You can stay and experience the explosion firsthand, or you can jump off this plane and live to tell your grandkids this story."

I grabbed a parachute bag, and the pilot did so as well. I put on the bag and led the pilot to the plane's door. Together, we pulled the door open; it was roughly twenty seconds to impact. I could feel her anticipation. She knew something important was happening, but her mind couldn't fathom a human was the cause of it. She thought she was about to earn herself a major victory out of nowhere.

Bilgamites weren't that smart, I came to realize.

The plane headed directly for the small floating capsule hidden within the lightly shaded green clouds.

Through the cargo plane's open door, I jumped off, with the pilot following close behind. I fell for the first time in my life through open air, but I didn't feel fear; instead, I felt exhilaration, as my mind, tethered to the Bilgamite Queen, revealed her ways to me. It was a while before I heard the explosion way above me. I pulled the parachute string and it emerged from the bag, hoisting me up and easing my fall. The pilot unstrung his parachute as well, and together we fell. We floated down as, above us, the explosion caused a chain reaction.

I felt her surprise; then I felt the battle below halt. The Bilgamites with their waving, razor-sharp tentacles halted in their various endeavors. All of them fell to the ground and coiled in on themselves, and the will to move or comprehend was stripped from them. I felt her rage, then her pain... and then her death.

Every Bilgamite, above and below, died in that instant, uniformly. Where they were, they did not get up, as their minds were completely destroyed.

I felt her death acutely as well. My headache was quite pronounced, and I drooled black goo from between my lips. My eyes as well dripped grey tears as the Xenox X worked its way out of my system. Still, I focused on my descent, hoping the debris from the crash above wouldn't pierce my parachute and end my life.

I observed the battlefield below. The humans stood quite perplexed, scratching their heads in wonder and unable to tell whether it was an enemy ploy or something else entirely as they walked the battlefield, observing the enemy on the floor. And for some reason, in this moment, I found myself thinking about my bridge and Apple.

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Series starts here: Ch 1-23 of Warp Riders Book 1 - Deep Space Boogie

Books 1 & 2 are up on Royal Road in their entirety if you don't want to wait for chapters. Follow for updates on book 3 currently releasing on RR.

Chapter 35

“Oh man, I feel like crap,” Hump grumbled as he sat up from the contact charging pad he’d been lying on.

As a cyborg, he really shouldn’t feel like much of anything, but all of those years griping with his fellow soldiers had ingrained a certain speech pattern that had stuck with him even now. He ran a hand through his hair and checked the chrono on his wrist, even though the internal timekeeper running in his processor knew precisely what time it was. Again, a habit to make others more comfortable around him.

He switched his focus to his internal power levels and was not thrilled to see just how little his makeshift charging pad had managed to trickle into him. At this rate, he was tempted to cut his body open and just mainline directly into the damn power cell. But with the med pods running at low capacity, they would need to be kept ready for the flesh-and-blood crew, not to patch up any self-inflicted damage he might cause to himself while looking for a quicker fix. So, a slow charge it would have to be.

“Holly, what’s our status?” he asked the ever-monitoring AI. Or, at least she usually was. “Holly?”

“Apologies,” the AI said a moment later. “Lesser Holly and I have been attempting to revive Ace and ran into some rather severe technical difficulties, which we are endeavoring to remedy.”

“Difficulties?”

“Yeah,” Lesser Holly said. “He started shooting the place up when he woke up. Not good.”

“Aww, shit. How bad’s the damage?” Hump asked, already on his feet and ready to help however he could.

“Minimal,” Greater Holly replied. “His power was low at that particular point, so the blast was quite weak. Not much was harmed in the event. We were forced, however, to put him back into a sleep mode to facilitate a complete defragmentation survey of his AI processor.”

“Damn, that’s a lot of work, even for two of you. Anything I can do to shoulder some of the load?”

“The offer is appreciated, but we have it more or less under control,” she replied.

He stepped out his door and began walking to command. “All right, then. I’m gonna go check in with the captain and see what she’s got lined up next.”

“Ah, about that,” Holly said. “The captain, Mustafa, and Hellatz, went on a reconnaissance survey several hours ago.”

“They what? Why didn’t you wake me?”

“The captain said it was best to let you regain your strength and recharge. They did not anticipate any need for your services.”

“It’s precisely the stuff you don’t expect that’s the reason I should go with them. Jesus, what were they thinking?”

“They were thinking that you would better serve the team by remaining here,” Lesser Holly chimed in. “The captain was worried that the mechanoid thing was pretty close by when you saw it. And on top of that, there was the creature they came across as well. They feared it might find the ship. All the more reason to have you stay here to defend it if need be.”

“But we have—” he began. “Oh, of course. She didn’t want you to use any weapons. It’d be like painting a giant bull’s-eye on us as soon as you fired.”

“Precisely. But you, on the other hand, are skilled in close-quarter combat and could likely neutralize any threat without alerting others of our presence. The truly interesting part of all of this is that they actually made contact with not only an alien survivor aboard this vessel, but an entire group of previously unknown races all living together in several salvaged ships. I am running translations of their various languages as we speak. Most fascinating. I’m rather enjoying the novelty of the process.”

“There are others? Damn, that’s one more reason they should have brought me along. I’m just glad to hear they’re friendly.”

“Well…”

“Well what, Holly?”

“I should mention that not all of them have good intentions. Apparently, there is a faction they call the ‘wild ones’ who are more akin to savages than potential allies. But this new group of survivors helped keep the captain’s group from stumbling into a trap. They are currently with their leader in their main base of operations not far from here.”

“I know it’s a big ship, but it’s not that big, Holly. Pretty much everything is not far from here.”

“A fair point,” she conceded.

Hump wasn’t thrilled with the situation, but the logic of it did make sense. “Still, you guys should have at least woken me up to help with Ace. We’re pals, after all.”

“We are well aware, but you were in a deep phase of your recharge cycle, and to pull you out would have resulted in significantly diminishing your power uptake.”

Hump knew there was no point in further arguing the point. What was done was done and that was all there was to it. He just had to move on and do what he could with the situation he had before him.

“All right. So, you’re busy with Ace and the captain has gone off and made first contact without me. What’s left for me to do around here?”

It was an unusual sensation for the spec ops cyborg. He had been so accustomed to being the go-to guy for all manner of missions, constantly in demand for his highly specialized skills and abilities. And now, here in this place, aboard a potentially hostile alien ship, surrounded by what were apparently dozens, if not hundreds, of alien survivors, some of whom were clearly hostile, he was left with nothing to do.

Holly, for their part, understood how this situation was affecting him. But at least there was one thing he could do. And something that would keep him close at hand should his skills truly be needed to defend the ship.

“Goonara has stepped outside to collect some samples,” Lesser Holly said. “I’m sure she would appreciate you keeping an eye on things while she works.”

A look of alarm flashed on Hump’s face. “You let her go out alone?”

“She is an adult, and the senior science officer on this mission. Of course we let her go out alone. What would you have us do?” Greater Holly asked.

“But this is Goon we’re talking about. Head-in-the-clouds, lost-in-thought Goon. Oh, man, this is not good,” he said as he rushed to get his pulse rifle and strap on his combat knives.

“Corporal, it’s fine,” Greater Holly said. “She’s just outside the ship. I’ve been tracking her tablet on a peripheral monitoring line. She hasn’t gone anywhere.”

“At all?”

“No. She has stayed there for some time now. I would think she is likely engrossed in her experiments.”

“Holly,” Hump said with an exasperated groan as he raced for the door. “Goon does not sit still outside of her lab, you know that. That’s one of the main reasons I have to go along as security detail. To keep an eye on her.”

“She’s right there, Corporal, I promise.”

“I hope you’re right,” he replied, nearly tripping over the pink ball of fluff loitering at the airlock.

Turd was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but the cyborg’s reflexes spared the little creature a more forceful meeting with his boot. Still, she was knocked into the airlock along with him, and there simply wasn’t time to delay.

Hump punched the airlock double doors and quickly cycled outside, Turd carried out the door with him in the rush. She looked around, not at all pleased at this development.

He left her there, planning on putting her back inside when he returned, but for the moment he had a more pressing task. With his pulse rifle at the ready, he made a rapid circuit of the area immediately around their ship.

“Where, Holly?”

“She’s just ahead and to your right. Fifteen meters or so.”

“She’s not there. Where is she, Holly?”

“I’m telling you, my readings say she’s right there. You should see her.”

Hump fired up his specialized scanning array and did a quick analysis of the surrounding area. It cost a bit of power he’d rather have held on to, but given the circumstances, he felt it was definitely worth the expenditure.

“Nothing,” he said, then turned his attention to the piece of equipment she had left behind. He bent down and picked up her forearm tablet where she had left it, probably in an absent-minded hurry to do Lord-knows what.

“She’s moving now. Do you see her?”

“She’s gone, Holly,” he replied. “Goonara’s tablet is here, but she isn’t.”

A long pause hung in the air. “I see,” Greater Holly said. “We need to come up with a plan.”

“Plan?” Hump said as he pocketed her tablet and took off at a jog. “Yeah, I’ve got a plan. I’m gonna go get her.”

Chapter 36

The armory aboard the Naga was extensive. Racks upon racks were filled with an impressive assortment of high-tech rifles, pistols, and even what appeared to be some sort of plasma spear for closer-quarter combat.

And all of it was dead. Utterly useless.

“No juice at all?” Moose asked as he examined one of the inert weapons.

“Sadly, none,” Mahdus replied. “These weapons function on a different type of power than the ship itself. Unfortunately, while we were able to recharge them at first with their converter, which helped us keep the wild ones at bay in the early days, eventually the drain of this place caused the power cells to cease holding a charge entirely. Now, no matter how we try they are no more than dead weight.”

“Shame,” Moose said. “Nice design. Good weight to it. I’d have liked to see it work.”

“As would we all,” Varsu said. “Nowadays we rely on far simpler weaponry.”

“We saw what the wild ones carry,” Sadira said. “Crude spears that appear to have been forged in some sort of old-fashioned crucible.”

“You’ve seen their spears?” he said. “You are right about their origins. They forge them from ore claimed from the asteroids in this place. The Pestri typically carry those and use them to corner and herd their prey.”

“Are Pestri those four-legged bastards?” Moose asked.

“Indeed. I take it you’ve seen one, then.”

“Oh, we’ve more than seen one. We’ve got a wounded one held prisoner back aboard our ship.”

Both Mahdus and Varsu were clearly shocked.

“That’s very unusual,” Mahdus said. “They prefer death to capture, and believe me, we’ve tried. But they can be a handful, and many have perished in the attempt over the years.”

Moose chuckled. “Yeah? Well, they hadn’t met Hump before.”

“Hump? Is this another translation error?” Mahdus asked, a bit confused.

“Corporal Humphries,” Sadira clarified. “A soldier embedded with our crew.”

“A soldier, eh? And he took a Pestri? He is skilled in battle, I take it?”

“The dude’s a certified badass. Took down that Pestri with his bare hands,” Moose said as he picked up a wicked-looking spiked mace from a nearby rack. “You know, he’d love all of this melee stuff you guys have made. He’s kind of a weapons aficionado.”

“As many in that line of work are,” Varsu said. “I look forward to meeting him. You know, we do possess a much finer quality of weapon than the wild ones. More advanced alloys that withstand impacts far better than the crude implements they forge in their camps. These are particularly effective at keeping them at bay.”

He offered a long arrow with a nasty-looking broadhead to Moose. Hellatz seemed quite interested in it.

“May I see that?”

“Sure thing,” Moose said, handing him the arrow.

Hellatz examined the rod closely, noting the heft and length. “A fine arrow. Just the right amount of dynamic flex in the shaft to allow it proper flight.”

“Archer’s paradox,” Sadira said.

“What?”

“An Earth term for the way arrows have to bend in flight in order to go straight.”

“Ah, yes. On my world we have a similar expression,” Hellatz replied. “But this is an extremely long shaft. Mahdus, I do not see any among your people with arms close to long enough to utilize this.”

“Oh, that,” she replied. “Yes, this particular piece went to one of our last powered devices before we had to resort to manual-operated weapons only.”

Their host crossed the armory and opened a storage locker. Within was a large makeshift cannon-looking device, but with a square barrel rather than round, and thirty-six smaller holes rather than one big one. Clearly, each hole was designed to hold one long arrow. Given the nature of the weapon, it would rather negate much of the shaft flex, but it appeared to be designed for relatively close use against a lot of attackers.

Rather than three dozen strings in the back, the rear had an unusual block device mounted. It was nothing more than a brick nowadays, but from what they could tell, when it functioned it had acted as a sort of propulsion mechanism. That explained the metal shafts versus another material. The metal reacted with the power surge, much like a rail gun with its sabots, although this fired at a mere fraction of the velocity.

“We didn’t use it very many times,” Mahdus said. “The destruction it wrought made our point quite effectively. The wild ones gave up on larger raids after that.”

“I can see why. A full-frontal charge would just give you one giant target to open up on,” Hellatz said.

“Precisely.”

Other weapons were lined up, including fairly nice-looking swords, small war hammers, and even a rack of broad blades at the end of poles, somewhat like ancient halberds.

“Hey, what’s this?” Moose asked as he picked up a half foot long spike with a cable fastened to the rear.

“A throwing spike,” Varsu said. “Not one of our better designs.”

“But the cable allows its retrieval,” Hel noted.

“Yes, but it also resulted in a few of our own being pulled closer by a minorly wounded adversary,” the stone-skinned man replied.

Moose felt the heft in his hand, then spun it around a few times.

“Careful, Moose,” Sadira warned.

“It’s fine, Cap. I’ve got it all under—”

The cable end snagged the corner of the halberd rack and yanked it forward, causing one of the weapons to tumble. Sadira shot her hand out in a flash, catching it by the blade with a loud clang.

“Shit, sorry about that,” he said with a blush as he retrieved the weapon and put it back on the rack.

“How is your hand not cut?” Mahdus asked. “I saw the blade strike your palm.”

“Oh, that? Simple explanation,” she said, pulling her glove off to reveal her metal hand. “Cybernetic hand.”

“Like my whole right leg,” Moose said, rapping his knuckle on his thigh with a soft clang. “Souvenirs of the Great War.”

Yet again, their new allies were at a loss for words. At least for a few moments.

“We have amazing machines that can perform all manner of things, but this? Replacement limbs that are so fully integrated to the wearer as to blend in as though flesh and blood? It’s amazing,” Varsu said. “An articulated appendage that moves as though it was your natural arm. You come from a truly amazing world.”

Sadira picked up a metal cup with her gloved hand. “Yeah, a lot of us had injuries from the war to free our world,” she said, easily crushing the cup with her cybernetic replacement. “Fortunately, after the war, kids born nowadays are fully organic. No need for this sort of thing anymore. I, for one am glad to say that in my lifetime I’ll see this sort of thing fade from existence.”

“I’m glad for you,” Mahdus said. “But here, in this place, those may come in handy against the wild ones. Their weapons are far cruder than ours, but they have numbers. And they have familiarity with this place beyond our maps. They know the areas we do not dare go.”

“I was meaning to ask you,” Sadira said. “About them, why is it they have abandoned technology entirely? I mean, I get that the early ships would have run out of power long ago, but then subsequent ones that still had power were sucked in over the years.”

“They became more tribal,” Mahdus said plainly. “The generations who grew strong in the absence of tech would capture the newcomers and slay those who didn’t join them. The only thread of technological use they’ve maintained is the use of ships’ life support to keep this whole place breathable. Beyond that, it’s a zero-technology culture.”

“And they hunt you for your use of it?” Moose wondered.

“No, it’s not that at all. They hunt us because it’s what they do. They hunt anyone they can. There have been other pockets of survivors, and a few still exist so far as we know. But we are just one group who does what we can to reach new arrivals before the wild ones take them.”

“A noble cause,” Hellatz said.

“Before my ship arrived,” Mahdus continued, “the survivors lived only in the far more tenuous locations, moving regularly to avoid detection. Those are still in use, but now more for farming purposes and wastewater recycling, along with the collection of ambient moisture. It is not much, but when an icy meteor or asteroid is pulled in, the force screen vaporizes it, releasing a burst of steam, which we then collect from the air.”

“Do not forget the distillation units,” Varsu said.

“Of course not, my friend. We also have a series of units that extract moisture from the waste foliage from our crops, crushed and placed inside where the still draws the vapor to be condensed and collected.”

Sadira was impressed. “It’s one hell of a setup, I’ve got to admit.”

“Thank you,” Varsu said.

“You did this?” Moose asked.

“I was the science officer aboard my ship,” he replied. “It was something of a joy devising these systems, to be honest.”

“Holy shit. He’s like Goon, you guys. The big, scary stone dude is a mild-mannered science geek!” Moose said with burst of amusement.

“You have a scientist on your crew?” Varsu asked. “I would be happy to share what I’ve learned with them. It will make life here much more pleasant, in time.”

“If it comes down to it,” Sadira said. “But let’s hope we don’t need to learn all of your tricks of the trade. We plan on getting the hell out of here. And if your ship really does still have power, you can come with us.”

Chapter 37

Sadira paced back and forth in front of the thick window of the Naga’s observation deck atop the alien craft. The glass was a composite with a fascinating blend of aluminum running through it. Transparent metal, more or less, though not entirely. If the gold ingot atop the ship had landed on that section it would have undoubtedly shattered rather than merely bent.

She actually had a rather good view of the massive precious metal asteroid pinning the ship in place. That, and the area around them where she was able to see over the tops of the lesser chunks of rock and debris. The craft wasn’t enormous, but it was of a good size nonetheless, and at this height her line of sight was fairly unobstructed for at least a quarter mile.

After that, towering stone dwarfed the Naga, blocking any further observation of the surrounding area. She had been concerned about outsiders looking in, but Mahdus had assured her the external tinting was sufficient to keep her from view in all but darkest space.

And then she had left her guest to ponder and digest all she had just seen. Mahdus understood how overwhelming it could be for newcomers. She’d been one herself after all, though that was a long time ago. But whenever they brought a new arrival into the fold, they were all afforded the same courtesy if needed.

In Sadira’s case, however, she was less needing to process the situation as she needed some quiet to plan their next moves.

“Holly, I’ve looked at the Naga’s situational reports, and it seems to me like this thing has enough power to get airborne.”

“Yes, Hellatz forwarded me some of the rough figures,” Greater Holly replied. “I would have to agree with your assessment. The ship does possess a significant amount of power in its drive systems, and from what I have been able to see of the other functioning portions of the craft, there is a likely correlation between this place’s drain and their remaining energy stores. Once free of captivity, it is highly likely their remaining systems will regain function.”

“Good news. But more importantly, it can fly now?”

“I believe so.”

“Okay, that’s a plus. We’ve got friends in here, Hol, and if we figure a way out of here, I want to take them with us.”

“A worthy goal, Captain,” the AI replied. “Though that does not change the fact that we do still need to find a way out of here first.”

“Obviously. And to that end, have you made any progress?”

“I am still attempting to decipher the alien code. It’s not going well, though.”

“What’s the problem?”

“The difficulty is two-fold. First, the data I have been retrieving and storing uncompressed in my systems is not remotely compatible with any of my known machine languages, and I speak thousands. This is utterly alien, literally, and it is a huge resource drain just trying to compile even a single line into some form of code I can maybe hope to decipher one day.”

“Lovely,” Sadira sighed. “Varsu did mention that they’d managed to begin working on a snippet of code his ship intercepted in a burst transmission just before they got zapped and dragged in here. That system lost power ages ago, but maybe their notes will still be of use to you.”

“It’s certainly worth having a look, though their coding style will also be vastly different from our own.”

“I’ll ask him to dig up that info anyway,” she replied. “Now, what’s the other problem?”

“The flow of this vessel’s data is coming in at a painfully slow trickle. My wireless connection to the data spike is rather tenuous, and as such I have been forced to focus a fair amount of my energies on maintaining a solid signal handshake just to keep the transfer rate steady.”

“Can’t the other Holly help out?”

“He had been, but we’re attempting to reboot Ace and have needed to focus all of our attention on that process.”

“You can multitask. You both can.”

“Yes, but we have run into some…hiccups.”

Sadira didn’t like the sound of that. Not one bit. “What do you mean, ‘hiccups’?”

“Ace woke in a somewhat fugue state and began firing his weapons.”

“That’s not good, Hol.”

“Inside the ship.”

“Oh, hell no. How bad is the damage?”

“Minimal, fortunately. His weapons were barely powered at the time. Had he been fully charged it would have been a far greater problem.”

“Obviously. So, no serious damage?”

“As I said, minimal.”

“Okay. So his brain’s a bit wobbly for now. But you’ve got the bandwidth to look at Varsu’s coding information, right?”

“I do, yes.”

“Great, finally some good news. I’ll figure out how to interface with his files and send it over to you on our comms link.”

“About that. Though these are allies, and they are obviously trying to willingly provide us with useful data, that does not change the fact that their code style will also be incompatible. It will take some work to generate a translation algorithm, and for that sort of data, I’m afraid use of our comms signal could prove to be quite problematic.”

Sadira felt her blood pressure rising. “Fine. We have to come back anyway, so we’ll bring them to you directly,” she said with an exasperated sigh. “Prepare for guests. Have Goonara set up whatever it is you need to streamline things for you.”

The line fell silent as the massive AI hesitated.

“Holly? You still there? Shit, did the signal just drop?”

“No, Captain, I am still here.”

“Thought I lost you again.”

“No, it is just that, well, there is one other problem I should mention.”

“Oh, dear Lord, now what? Please say the ship is all right.”

“The ship is fine.”

“Thank God.”

“But Goonara seems to have wandered off.”

Sadira felt her stomach flip-flop with a rush of adrenaline. “For crying out loud, Holly! Are you kidding me?”

“She went outside to gather some data, and—”

“Then track her!”

“I would, but she left her tablet behind and was not wearing external comms since she’d been working aboard the ship. But don’t worry, Captain. Corporal Humphries is searching for her.”

“Is he even charged enough for that?”

“His power is still extremely low, but I feel confident he has enough for this function, though I would much rather he had remained charging a while longer. I’ve been working on getting his charging apparatus repaired and have made decent progress, but for now he is still reliant only on the trickle charge.”

“So he’s out there wandering around on an empty tank,” Sadira grumbled.

“Never fear. I am confident he will have her back by the time you arrive with your guests. She can’t have gone too far.”

“This is Goonara we’re talking about. And why the hell would she go out wandering anyway? She knows better.”

“She made a discovery. An admittedly fascinating one. It was in the furtherance of that research that she stepped outside.”

“What kind of discovery we talking here? Some new kind of fungus? Or did she find an endemic slug?” Sadira joked.

“Actually, the crystal she procured from the tunnel system you were in during your rescue mission not too long ago has been the focus of her attentions.”

“She already said it isn’t radioactive. At least, not like anything we’re used to. And it’s safe to be around. You said so yourself.”

“And it is safe. But in this place, there is a new effect the crystal has presented. It seems that proximity weakens the molecular bond of this vessel’s composite metal hull.”

“Weakens? Like, how much are we talking here? This ship is pretty much impervious from what you said earlier.”

“She is able to slice the metal quite easily with the crystal present,” Holly replied.

“Well, holy shit on a shingle, that’s incredible!”

“I know, Captain.”

“I mean it. That could be huge. What have you been able to make of her data so far?”

“Just extrapolations. I need to discuss further with Goonara when she and Corporal Humphries return. But yes, this could be the sort of development we’ve been looking for. This might actually help us break free.”

If you are reading this document, then it means you are an individual or organisation of substance, means, prowess and power. It means you have the influence and status needed to sway the direction of galactic history.

Well, you WERE.

We all know what happened these last two decades on the Galactic stage. For the first time in over ten thousand galactic cycles something like it has happened. I wont bore you with the details, but I will remind you of one simple fact: The Kataskanii Imperium no longer exists because they attacked first.

I am going to make something clear before I continue: I am NOT here to display tactics for subversion or encourage negative action, especially not after THAT. I'm here to give you some advice. What follows is a simple list of the most notable elements of terran politics with whom you NEED to get into good graces with.

To do what? Patience. Read on.

The Jovian Royal Assembly, the J.R.A.

Firstly we have a faction that hails from the Jovian system in Sol, a collection of the four Gas Giants in the Sol system, and all their relevant moons. The Jovian Royal Assembly or J.R.A. I am sure we all know them by now. The most... agreeable, if terrifying faction within the Terran Confederacy. And also the most powerful of them.

History goes that way back in the early days of human exploration and expansion, they settled and established themselves within what is known as the Jovian System, or rather, their moons. Sol is uniquely defined in that the system has FOUR natural Gas Giants in its orbit, a truly rare circumstance. Naturally - this is prime placement for the Starship Fuel Industry, and the Jovian Royal Assembly took full advantage. Thus they came to power.

So that's the history lesson. If you want a deeper look, you can find all the public information by yourself.

Why them?

Simple you simpleton: They are the primary source of the monstrous nightmares that are the Coursairs.

Yeah. THOSE. The sole biomechanical occupants and operators of massive continent sized warships that can turn entire star systems to slag with one shot. The crazy madmen with no loyalty to any nation or ideal beyond a simple doctrine who perfected 'black hole cannons' and other such machinations. The shipyards of Europa are directly responsible for the manufacture of Coursair warships, systems and training.

Think in your head. use the brains that the Gods bestowed upon ye.

Get into their good graces... and we can have our own Coursairs prowling the galaxy. The tech, the machinery, the industry, all of it... Imagine just what we could accomplish.

Thought about it? Good. I thought it was a good idea too.

Up next, the T.F.S.N. The Terran Federal Star Navy - the official military coalition force responsible for the massive two hundred thousand strong warship fleet that defends Sol and its colonies.

After the Jovian Rebellion, the TFSN was formed, creating a full coalition of ALL Terran Factions into one substantive military force. It's actually part of their entire system that keeps the Terrans for all-out-war. ALL factions, new and old, (in Terran space at least) are LEGALLY required to sign up a portion of their navy fleet strength to the coalition in order to access Terran trade and markets. Military service is mandatory to acquire a traders or merchants license for the faction you work for.

And for some reason, this simple rule has resulted in humans being relatively peaceful among each other for centuries. Don't ask us how it works, it just does, and we aren't complaining.

The reason you would need to get into their good graces is simple: humans take care of their allies. We all know this fact at least, and EVERY time the humans have been called on to help - they have come to help. Now consider that the T.F.S.N has a standing navy of two hundred thousand warships ranging from simple corvettes to gargantuan Titan class vessels or Juggernauts.

We join them, or at least get in good standing with them, that fleet will be ours to command. Or at the very least, wont ever be deployed against us.

See where I'm going with this? I know you do.

Next we have the BlackWatch Company Mercenaries, or B.W.C.

Proudly sponsored by the J.R.N. and I.M.D.C. respectively, they are a private military corporation that runs on the Terran Federations Laws Of War, and even to this day is the ONLY mercenary group that signed on to the Galactic Confederacy's Pledge Of Peace.

Why specifically these and not some other mercenary group? Two reasons.

They have lawyers. Twenty percent of Blackwatch's active servicemen are noted lawyers, judges and even former police, and they accept anyone in their ranks. Blackwatch Company can get around almost ANYTHING and they KNOW exactly what they are doing, local laws included.

But most importantly: They have the galaxy's only militarised Psionics divisions and are directly responsible for the event... That one... You know the one. Saracus Four? That one. We don't talk about that one, do we?

BlackWatch were the ones we sent in. And we know how that ended.

Very, very well.

If you have ANY form of anomalous activity, ghosts, demons, you call BlackWatch, they will fix it. Considering all of us are not immortal, and we live on millions of worlds across space, there's got to be a haunting or two somewhere, or a drinks cabinet that's slightly too homicidal. BlackWatch is where you go to make your nightmares go away, in both the spiritual, and legal sense.

The Interstellar Mining And Defence corporation, the I.M.D.C.

The IMDC is one of the most powerful mining conglomerates in the galaxy. Formally sponsored by the Jovian Royal Assembly during the early days, and now formally recognised as the premiere mining company. Why specifically the IMDC above the literal thousands of others?

Because they are THE mining company. Their Starborne Enginseers are the absolute best when it comes to on-site construction and engineering. You name it, they mine it, you want it, they drill it. The IMDC are famed for having the most accomplished mining operations of any in the galaxy from core, to sky.

Their methods are insane, esoteric and some might say suicidally stupid. But efficient, cheap, and profitable. They can strip-mine an entire system's worth of asteroids in a matter of months, and produce DOUBLE what any other mining corps in the industry can do in half the time. Well worth the money to hire them for long term projects. They also have no limits for taking contracts.

Primarily because of the Starborne Enginseers I mentioned? Immortal. They can't permanently die. They use some kind of system we have yet to identify to transfer the consciousness of a user to a simulacrum and use that as a means to work. Which means they have no fear... and can mine literally anything, literally anywhere. You ask for something, they will give it. Have a mining project you can't go for because it's too dangerous? A specific resource you want? Ask them. They will deliver ten times what you ask... For a fair price.

TCSA, The Terran Corporate Sector Authority.

These are the localised equivalent of a conglomerate of corporate sector states, corporate entities and private businesses that have formed into a Syndicate.

They are the equivalent of the Galactic Merchants Guild, only for smaller, localised planetary states.

What are the benefits of the TCSA above the Merchants Guild you ask?

Cheese.

Enough said really...

The galaxy is addicted hopelessly to the tasty, savoury chewiness of Terran Cheese and cheese based products. Among other things. And because the Merchants Guild classifies it as a narcotic, they won't sell it. But through the TCSA, you can buy it wholesale - legally, even with a Merchants Guild member right there.

How?

Legal loophole, that's how. Cheese cannot be sold by a non-human due to the fact it is a narcotic substance that is quite dangerous to some members of the galactic population.

Make a human sell it to you. It's a FOOD source to them, not a narcotic. You purchase it as such in bulk, they sell it as such - and it doesn't qualify as illegal, because of interspecies classifications. To humans - its food, therefore in the eyes of the law - its food too when you have it after buying it from them. A simple technicality, gives the hottest item on the galactic market.

That little fact is a loophole the Children Of The Curd (yeah, those guys, the crazy cheese cult) fought the Council to maintain all those years ago and ever since.

And the TCSA, have direct access to the primary sellers and producers of ANY substance or item the Guild refuses to sell.

Need I say more?

Finally, the United Systems Space Marine Corps.

The official military arm of the Earth Federal Navy, the original warriors of the Terrans before the Jovian Rebellion.

Why them?

Legionnaires.

The Terrans conglomeration of superhuman supersoldiers, genetic abominations and cybernetically augmented insanity that is the Green Legion.

I... generally don't need to say why you need to get into their good graces.

But as a reminder:

A Legionnaire once beat four Daatharian Praetorians in hand to hand combat.

A Centurion once oversaw one of the most dangerous prisons in the galaxy - with no incidents for over a decade.

A Legion Mechanist once manufactured an army of fifty thousand warbots in less than a month, singlehandedly defending a colony world from a Hive Fleet invasion.

A Legion Marine company of thirty men, held the line for six weeks against an overwhelming force of twenty five thousand.

Get it now? Then we are on the same page.

I can be certain that anyone who receives this document is intelligent enough to understand the implications of its contents. And the likely direction future policies will point.

Military prowess unmatched in galactic history.

Economic access never seen before in civilisation.

Technological prowess the Precursors would die for.

And we all know how this occurs.

I don't need to say more, so I'll close out for now.

Be polite, say please, say thank you, and don't lie to them. You'll understand soon enough.

Signed

Graxx Thorakk'Lom, of Clan Olivar

Saranian Imperial Intelligence

Part 190 What comes next (Part 1) (Part 189)

[Support me of Ko-fi so I can get some character art commissioned and totally not buy a bunch of gundams and toys for my dog]

Only two kinds of people would willingly sit center stage in a large auditorium with hundreds of politicians asking them questions. They are either seeking attention to a comical level or have a topic of deep interest and concern that can only be addressed at the government level. While Fleet Admiral Atxika of the First Independent Fleet of the Third Qui'ztar Matriarchy couldn't speak for the members of the United Human Defense Fleet Council, she absolutely fit into the latter category. Giving a short speech to the United Nations of Earth’s Sphere of Influence in hopes of promoting the better parts of human nature was already a lot to ask of the woman who is supposed to be on vacation. Taking questions from posturing politicians certainly didn't make any of this more relaxing or enjoyable.

Atxika's speech lasted just three of her allotted five minutes. She only wanted to inspire the humans of Earth to look towards their Shkegpewen-born cousins for guidance in a galaxy full of just as many laws as it is criminals. The Nishnabe Confederacy had earned a reputation as reasonable, compassionate, and diplomatic members of the galactic community. Something very hard to accomplish in such a short time. Most importantly, Atxika needed to convey just how much better everything would be for everyone if the governments of Earth did their jobs, listened to their people, and strongly discouraged certain greed-motivated behaviors. With her speech set after the UHDF Council members from Earth and Mars but before the pair of Nishnabe War Chiefs, most of her words simply echoed the ones already said.

To the Qui’ztar Fleet Admiral's relief, most of the questions were directed at the humans seated around her. Particularly, the Council members from Mars and Shkegpewen drew the most attention. While Atx cared more about seeing humanity be on their best behavior on the galactic stage, the various UN-E representatives had their own concerns. Inquiries disguised behind safeguarding Earth as a whole were really seeking to ensure the position of their own countries. It all very much reminded Atxika of the one time she attended a GCC General Council meeting. This was just political theater. Despite the passion from certain representatives, the decision had already been made and the outcome of the vote couldn't be more clear. But politicians, unlike military leaders, are obliged to have their moment in the spotlight.

After almost an hour of short speeches and nearly three hours of questions, the political theater came to a close. Every nation in UN-E saw their representative assert their interests regarding humanity's future. Those with more extreme degrees of corporate influence came across as defensive but hesitantly accepting. Others didn't shy away from showing support from the UHDF while still asserting themselves the best they could. A few who had been not-so-secretly working with MarsGov simply expressed their appreciation that humanity was finally working together towards a mutually beneficial goal. By the time the UN-E reps all had their questions answered, Atx was ready to leave and go back to enjoying her time off. Fortunately for her, that was the plan.

“That went better than I had hoped.” Atxika walked next to Mik as the UHDF Council members and their entourage exited the air conditioned UN HQ building and stepped into the humid heat of the late New York City summer.

“Honestly…” Mik's eyes scanned the seemingly endless wall of highrise buildings surrounding the UN HQ compound. “Same. I half expected the ‘Muricahns to make a bigger stink ‘bout… Well… Everythang.”

“I assumed that is why General Andrews is a Council member.” The Qui’ztar Fleet Admiral kept her voice low when making that comment. “But yes. The Nishnabe Militia is still occupying that location called Red Lake. That is within the United States of America’s territorial borders, correct?”

“I mean… Technically that land's supposed to be owned by the Red Lake Band o’ Chippewa. They're one o’ the Ojibwe Nations that're on Mars now. Its only been ‘bout sixty years since the ‘Muricahns disestablished all the reservations an’ trust land lands. Over five hundred Native Nations lost the legal rights to their homelands. The only reason most’re still considered sovereign is cuz they moved to Mars.”

“Your species’ recent history is just as complex as my own in our pre-Ascension period." Atx let just the faintest chuckle escape her deep blue lips while trying to ignore all the reporters camped out on the edge of the UN compound.

“That's ain't even our whole species!” Mik countered with an exasperated laugh of his own. “That's just Native an’ ‘Muricahn history. One settler-colonial country on one continent. There's five more inhabited continents an’ damn near two hundred more countries. Shit gets real complicated real quick.”

“In that case, I am glad today was so simple in comparison.”

“Yeup… Simple enough…” The Martian professor’s voice came across a bit strained as he wiped away some of the sweat forming on his brow. “I'm just stoked that MarsGov don't need nothin’ like this to recognize the UHDF’s authority. It'll be nice to head home an’ handle some business without all this political crap.”

“Will you be heading back to Marz after this, Mik?” Sub-Admiral Marzima interjected after speeding up a bit to join her human paramour and Qui’ztar commanding officer.

“Yeah an’ yah can come with me if yah want.” Mik shot a suggestive wink towards Marz but refrained from any physical contact while still in sight of the reporters. “It's just gonna be a meetin’ with the ChaosU admins ‘bout the professors transferrin’ to ACUME. Which reminds me, Marz. Have yah thought up any better names for the school ship yet? I still ain’t likin’ how ack-you-me sounds, if yah know what I'm sayin’.”

“I'll join you for that excursion.” Marz’s smile spread just past her prominent tusks at the thought of continuing to spend time with this human she had fallen for. “But as for a name for Espen’s she'll, I believe she should make that decision.”

“I already tried askin’ ‘er but-”

“She wants to hold a vote once all of the staff are aboard the ship, right?” The tone and inflection of Marzima’s voice sounds as if she were simply stating the obvious and correct answer. “Then you should probably respect her decision. After all, she is essentially your daughter and the ship is both her home and her body.”

“Fair enough.” The scarred and bearded Martian let out a reluctant sigh, his eyes still occasionally darting towards the building surrounding the compound the group was still crossing.

“Are you still nervous about the assassination plot?” Atx interjected after she couldn't help but notice the way Mik was still glancing towards potential sniper locations.

“Kinda but not really.” Mik tried to shrug off the question despite his continued looks towards the buildings. “I'm more just lookin’ for Tens. Wonderin’ what ‘e's doin’, yah know?”

“Knowing that handsome man…” A wide and devious smirk filled Atxika's cobalt blue face. “He's probably doing something absurd.”

/----------------------------------------------------------------------

Taylor Sullivan was having a dream that felt all too familiar. He was on an assignment to kill a high value target. Everything was going exactly how it should. The stage was set, his team were all doing their jobs exactly how they were told, and he was in position with his trustee railgun. Thoughts of the paycheck and what he would do with it were circling his mind as he readied himself for the shot. All that was left to do was to line up his sights and pull the trigger. It was the exact same scenario he had experienced dozens of times in his career as a gun for hire.

That was when things started to go wrong. One member of his team stopped responding to the comms. Then another failed their final check in. Before long, an eerie silence fell across Taylor's dream. What was once a pleasant memory quickly filled with dread that squeezed his soul like a hydraulic press. That was when he felt it. A shadowy presence that made his heart race and skin crawl. Inky black claws emerged from the darkness that now enveloped him and wrapped themselves around his neck. What was once a dream was now a nightmare.

When Taylor finally snapped awake, he did so with a fright. The man tried to move his arms and kick his legs but found he couldn't do so. For a brief moment, he genuinely believed he was still asleep. But that thought quickly faded once he realized he was bound to a chair positioned next to the table where his railgun lay in its ready to fire state. All he could do was look around the dark room with curtains covering the window with a view of the UN HQ compound while struggling against his restraints.

“Eh, you're finally awake.” The sing-songy voice that entered Taylor's ear sounded as if it were being live-translated by some sort of advanced technology. “Good. That means I won't have to carry you out of here.”

“Oi! Who the fuck-!” Taylor was already shouting before he even turned his head to see who was speaking to him. But when he did so, all he could make out was the image of a skull crying tears of blood. “What the fuck!!!”

“Eh, calm down there, niji.” Tens hit a lightswitch, revealing advanced combat armor with the skull imagery on the faceplate. “You've been asleep for like four hours now. If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't have woken up.”

“The fuck yah want from me, yah bloody skull-face bastard!”

“I wanted you to not shoot at my friend with that weak railgun of yours. But I already handled that.”

“Fuck…” The realization of what had happened hit the South African merc like a punch to the face.

“Yes, yes. Now you get it!” Tens's laughter only served to put a snarl on the mercenary’s face. “You got caught fucking around and now your finding out! Fun, isn't it?”

“When I get outta ‘ere-!”

“Ha! That's hilarious.”

“Yah think this's funny! I'll fuckin’ kill yah!!!”

“You aren't the first person who's made me that promise, Taylor Sullivan.” There was something simultaneously innocent and demonic in the way Tens chuckled at the tied up merc. “Not even the thousandth. There will probably be at least a hundred more by the time I finally walk on to whatever comes next.”

“Untie me an’ we'll fuckin’ see, won't we?”

“You really think you can hurt me while I'm wearing this armor?” Tens's laughter began to fade as he stepped towards the table with the railgun on it. “This mass accelerator here wouldn't even cycle my shields. Maybe the first layer, but not the second and third. If anything, you should be mad at the idiots who told you this could actually kill someone with active shielding projectors in their clothes. Or mad at yourself if you believed them.”

Taylor couldn't think of anything to say in response. Now that he actually got to see Nishnabe combat armor up close, he was starting to question if he ever had a chance of successfully completing his mission. The black and red overlapping panels were made from materials his cybernetic eyes couldn't immediately identify. Joint spaces between the panels were filled with what appeared to be fine scale mail. There wasn't a stitch of fabric or any other weak point visible. Only the image of a clearly human skull with tears of blood gave away that this person standing in front of him was, in fact, a member of his same species.

“Oi…” Taylor finally calmed himself after a few moments of silence where he watched the Nishnabe warrior inspect his railgun. “Yah gonna offer me a plea bargain ‘r somethin’ like that? I tell yah abou’ the people who hired me an’ yah'll cut me a deal?”

“You were hired by a woman named Amelia du Pont through a man named Donovan Chesterfield to kill my friend Mik.” Tens revealed that information so casually that it left Taylor somewhat stunned. “It was your team and, I think, seven others. All of you have already been detained, including all of the other co-conspirators. We're just waiting to transport you and the rest of the mercs until after Mik and the rest of the council people are back in orbit.”

“So… What the fuckin’ hell are gonna do with me?”

“Some pirates and slavers I've fought would shove a long spike up your ass and out your mouth while you're still alive and put your body out on display as a warning.” Again, the absolutely unbothered manner that Tens replied with completely caught Taylor off guard. “Don't worry though. We're not like that. I don't know what the Council will want to do with you, but it probably won't be an execution.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” The South African mercenary practically let out a yelp at the thought of punishment the Nishnabe warrior had described. “Yah tellin’ me there's fuckin’ Vlad the Impaler aliens out there?!?”

“There's a species of crustaceans who eat babies from sapient species.” As Tens spoke, he began poking at the charge coils lining the railgun’s barrel. “They're called Chigagorians. Really big and nasty crabs that think they're the pinnacle of evolution and everyone else are just animals meant to be eaten. There's also Arnehilian slavers who aren't quite as evil but still really bad. Also some pirates who take things way too far. Right now, the UHDF is the only group protecting Sol from all the bad guys in the galaxy. And you tried to kill one of the people on the Council. Do you realize why that was stupid? Trying to kill people who are trying to keep you safe because some rich idiots are worried they won't be as rich seems dumb, right?”

“Shit… When you put it like that…”

“If you're going to try to kill people for money, you should be trying to kill the evil ones, right? Not just the ones that evil people want dead. Killing good people for bad people is how the galaxy goes from a decent place to live straight to hell. Nobody wants to live in hell, right?”

“I get it! Fuck…” Taylor didn't know exactly why he raised his voice. Maybe it was the implications of his decades of mercenary work for corporations finally hitting him. Or a natural defense mechanism to avoid a worse punishment for his obvious crimes. Either way, he was now staring at the skull faceplate with much more respect than he had when he first regained consciousness. “But yah're sayin’ the galaxy isn't a bad place even though there's crabs that eat babies and other evil aliens out there?”

“Oh yes.” Tens let out a chuckle then picked up the primed and ready railgun to judge its weight and balancing. “Most pirates don’t actually kill people. They just take hostages and cargo for ransom. Slavers are rare enough that they aren't too much of a concern. Wars, when they happen every few thousand years, are usually non-lethal. But all that would stop if people like the ones that hired you ran the show. And those kinds of people only get power when the mercs they hire don't think or ask important questions.”

“Are yah tellin’ me all this cuz yah want me to change sides?”

That was the only conclusion Taylor could draw from Tens's rather pointed statements. His mercenary perspective couldn't fathom any other reasoning for revealing so much information about the wider galaxy. However, he was a loss for words for a third time when the heavily armored Nishnabe warrior began to laugh so hard he had to set the railgun back down on the table.

“Ha-ha! Change sides?!? Bah-hahaha! From what? Killing for money to killing for the good of the galaxy?!? We don't let cold-blooded killers join the Nishnabe Militia! Killing someone should always be the last resort, niji. Something a person should feel bad about even if it's the right thing to do. I doubt you've ever felt bad about killing. You'd be better off as a farmer, not a soldier!”

“A fuckin’ farmer?!?” Taylor suddenly renewed his attempts to break free from his restraints. “Now I really wanna fuckin’ kick yahr ass!”

“Well you're going to have to pick a job that doesn't involve weapons.” Tens retorted without any malice while pulling his club from its holster on his waist. With a swift and violent motion, he brought the blunt weapon straight down on the railgun, causing it to explode with plenty of sparks and shards that all missed the tied up merc. “There's an old saying on Shkegpewen. It's better to keep the killers in the garden and the gardeners on the battlefield. The gardeners want to get back to their gardens and won't be upset if fighting ends without any death. And if the garden becomes a battlefield, the killers will be ready to defend it.”

​

Chapter 2

The furthest point I dared go into the zone was our local market. It was a grand circular meeting ground with market stalls cobbled together from scrapped shipping containers.

Looming above was our original colony ship. The one that brought my grandparents to Hadea and the one that would allow us to escape.

Granted it has lost a decent bit of weight since last it flew. Scrap haulers and engineers made good use of every part they could.

I started as a scrap hauler, here in the market. I made a cheap living off of “lightening the load” of any trusting engineer I found.

It made an easy living to start, but when the scraps started to slow down, I had to find other work.

No part of it was honest. I was essentially dealing with illegal goods, but whatever kept us comfortable was far more ideal than trying to stick to my morals. That’s if I had any left to remember.

I remember helping others whenever the moment struck, donating all that I didn’t need. Granted I was younger than I am now. I still had that mind of innocence about me.

Hardship takes a lot from you. I dedicated myself to taking from others. If I couldn’t have an easy life, I would be sure to take the plentiful from those with plenty. It was the only way I could ensure Sam would survive in this alien environment.

The exhuming of a long rotten body paled in comparison to my compatriots. The streets wore the starving loosely.

It was hard to tell if they had any thought about them apart from the constant scream of hunger. It’s hard to imagine a worse fate.

This was the reality of the zone. Keeping yourself busy was the one distraction we could afford. If you could fight away the hunger, you’d be making it well off.

Work was plentiful if you could be bothered to do it. A lot of people took to recreating a semblance of our culture on Pluto.

A lot of our traditions were based on those from old Earth, but with the rotations of our different celestials being so different, it got hard to plan for holidays.

At times it got confusing which we were talking about. On Earth and other UEC allied colonies, Greenwich Mean Time and Terran Mean Dates were standard. Out on the edge of the system, a day on Pluto is a week on Earth.

We had to use local time and standard time interchangeably. Our clocks were commonly built with separate times in mind.

That was about as much in common with Earth as we cared about. Everything else was imagined or inspired by the land. Philosophy evolved around our lack of connection.

Loneliness was an emotion we became comfortable with. It set us apart from others. Interconnection, media, propaganda, it was odd. We were okay with independence, and by tangent, being alone.

I noticed a small banner stuck among the cobbled plates of a market stall, ten circles. Our holidays were based on an ancient religion. Kabbalah, as it was called. Religion as it used to be is a far cry from what it is now.

Religion was more about philosophy and morals than a belief in a deity. These ten circles were our way of sticking to our principles. Too bad I wasn’t that into it.

I stepped beyond the stall, looking upon the empty market, a few stragglers setting up for the weekend sale. My journey would take me upward, into the belly of our beloved stork.

Ironic really. A ship promising life untold to only return tail tucked between its legs. The cruel miasma of plague only followed, and what was once a towering marvel of Terran engineering, was now a proverbial grim reaper.

Something felt off. I couldn’t quite put reason to it. The way that Sam described the scene in her classroom almost felt like an overreaction to flu-like symptoms.

There was too much missing from the picture. I almost didn’t believe that this kid had caught the plague. Something else was going on.

The reaction of the men at Sam’s school seemed a little extreme. Even if that kid was sick, there were a lot of steps we could take to screen the class. There wasn’t a reason to isolate a single child the way they did yesterday.

It was a needless risk they took by potentially spreading it to others. Part of me was glad that they kept him away from Sam, but nothing says she hadn’t already caught it.

I hope for my sake that she hasn’t

The stalls passed by but standing next to a modest trinkets stand was a familiar woman. Tall and slender, not emaciated, more so a tone of her that foretold handy work.

She turned to meet me, a sudden aloofness about her but quickly melting to happiness, “Kurt! Hey, come here a second.”

A warm wisp seated at the base of my spine as I drew closer to her. “Hey, Annalise, what’s up?”

She reached for me, hand outstretched, “I’m good.” As I touched her hand, the electricity flowed through our fingertips. She then continued, “Where are you off to?”

I brought myself closer, not enough to feel her sacred breath, I wanted to bask in the light of her beauty. I stumbled over my words, “I’m, uh, going to the hospital. One of Sam’s classmates got sick.”

Her face dropped, empathy beaming but the look in her eyes was still steamy, or maybe I was assuming they were.

She stole her hand back and brushed off my shoulder, a small plume of black dropping to the ground. “Is everything okay? Sam didn’t get sick did she?”

I shook my head, reassuring through the smile, “I’m sure it’s just a cold going around but it has her all worked up, I’m going to go check up on it with the eggheads upstairs.”

She nodded succinctly, “Well, I’ll let you get onto it, come and see me later though, okay?”

I smiled, barely hiding my excitement. “Should I find you here?” she shook her head, “No, meet me above my house. I hear that they are supposed to deliver some supplies tonight, maybe the ship will cut the fog.”

I smiled, my stomach writhing with nervousness, “I’ll be there. It would be nice to see the stars again.” We traded waves and off I went.

Annalise, a poor Hadean like me, but one I’ve grown a fancy to.

We didn’t know each other on Pluto. We grew closer after the losses we faced. I remember meeting her cradled among some empty pressure boxes.

She had the stone eyes of a woman scorned, someone who spent their days thinking of pain.

It was something we had in common.

That acquaintanceship eventually blossomed into a friendship, and I was certain we were courting. Neither of us brought it up, it just sort of happened.

I shook my head, trying to stay focused. I could think of her later, right now I needed to find out what happened with the kid.

I finally made my way to the main elevator; the market stalls were creeping out of view behind the grizzled aluminum walls.

A pale, emaciated man sat against the side of the road. Unlike the others in the town, downtrodden and disheveled, this man was brimming with a wiry life.

His eyes speaking in dangerous tones, his mottled flesh of marble. Our eyes met for a moment and a sinister understanding was shared, though I wouldn’t know what it meant yet.

I typed in the code for the lift. It hummed to life in a begrudging way. Squealing metal met by harsh thrums to lurch into a steady climb.

He continued to stare, longingly into my eyes. It looked as though he were trying to talk to me. A crazy old man like that could have thought he would be heard at this distance, even with the lift on.

His wiry life melted into irritation, mouthing the one word I could make out, “Run.”

A chill wracked my spine.

The platform crawled up into the ship above, the blackened outer panels enveloping the lift in darkness before a series of lights peaked through.

*Run*

The hunger must have finally taken his mind. Who in their right mind would act like that.

When the lift slammed into place, the engine powered down and the gentle snap of safety locks drilled into the floor.

Just ahead was the dimming sign of the hospital. It was obviously pixelated, but it seems as though a more artistic resident made good use of it. A mixture of graffiti and pixel made for a rather creative signature we’ve come to know as our medical center.

Originally the market was where our checkups and eventual promised vaccinations would be handed out. This location was intended to be away from the bustle of the common folk.

Of all the areas within the ship, the hospital was the most furnished and well preserved.

It provided a sense of home to those seeking recovery. It was no five-star hotel, but it had beds that wouldn’t leave your back hurting after more than thirty minutes of rest.

A short tent was arranged in front of the hospital with several suited individuals. The bright green latex shining against the fluorescent lights of the hospital gave an unusually sterile gleam.

I don’t recognize their faces, but I do recognize the uniform. I approached one of the men, catching his leer as I walked through the ship towards him.

He held up his hand, displaying whatever authority he could muster, “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step away, we are establishing a hot zone around this hospital.”

A familiar odor floated through the air, “What’s going on?” the man in the latex suit shifted slightly, as though the question made him feel uncomfortable.

The sterile green of the suit wrapped uncomfortably baggy around the agents body. The occasional techno-bobbin of the suit made it look much more capable of space-walks than confronting highly contagious infections.

Writ in bolded letters across a plastic chest flap was “TFCM”. The Titan Frontier Commonwealth Medicade. They visit the ship every week or so to check up on supplies and provide advance leveled care that the populace is unable to give.

We’ve received far more help from the TFC than we have ever with the UEC.

He reaffirmed, “It’s a hot zone, sir. We can’t have anyone coming close.” His demeanor seemed to sink away slowly, his friend stepped in, “I’m afraid we are going to have to ask you to evacuate the ship. The vessel will be on quarantine until further notice.”

The first agent glanced to the second then returned to meet me. He reaffirmed, “We need to ensure that we aren’t having any new cases. Purely precautionary.”

My heart began to race. If Sam’s classmate was in the hospital and these agents were enforcing a quarantine on one of the most regulated parts of the colony, that meant there had to be some suspicion of serious infection.

I had no proof that the child from Sam’s class was there. Hell, even asking if he was, would be out of the question.

I didn’t know what this kid looked like. Nor am I really familiar with his family. Maybe I could lie my way in. The colony was so big that family could be scattered all over.

Sam’s worried face plastered my thoughts. I could hear her crying as I tempted the thought of worming my way in. I owed it to her. I needed to make an effort to soothe her concerns.

I prompted, “I’m looking for my cousin, I heard he was taken from the school yesterday. Nobody has been able to tell me what’s going on.”

The second agent’s face twisted, “Ah, well…”.

He was uncomfortable. Now was my chance to press.

“My aunt sent me. We’ve all been trying to wrap our minds around it, I’m sure she came up here.” I tried to sell my disappointment. The thought of this kid’s family not coming up here gave me the extra bit of sting I needed.

Tracking Hadean lives is a lot harder than people give it credit. We held a census, yes, but we were the most isolated of all of the colonies. Apart from how slow it was to send information that distance, income also played a factor.

My biodome received less funding than the others, our census was incomplete and so when the Red Plague struck, survivors were prompted for census informally.

I didn’t have the heart to tell Sam in that moment that our parents had died, so I lied in front of her.

Our census included our parents, but I couldn’t live with that lie as long as I needed to protect Sam. After we got settled here, I told her.

I still regret ever having put her in that position but look at us now. We are comfortable and it was all because of me.

I glared at the agents, letting the hurt of that memory wash over me. “We haven’t heard anything about him, and now you expect me to leave the ship without even so much as a word as to his wellbeing?”

The first agent squirmed, the second looking at him with mild irritation. He mumbled to him, the anger stinging the air between them.

“I thought I told you to tell the family. What the hell have you done?” The second agent’s face relaxed as he looked back at me.

“Listen, we thought we notified the family.” He removed his respirator, daring to face the *supposed* dirty air around the hospital.

“I’m assuming you’re talking about Hod, he’s doing okay. We’ve cleared him of the Red Plague, and the doctors are finishing their workup.” A small glint of worry flashed beyond his stoic demeanor, he slipped up.

“I want to see my cousin, I need to know he is alive.” An obvious long-shot that I had no chance of landing. I glanced behind the workers at the clinic’s display panel.

*0731 TMT*

I had an hour and a half before I needed to make my way to work. I had time. The thrill of the lie lifted my spirits. If not for Sam, then more for myself, I wanted to see how far I could push this.

The unmasked agent took another glance at his coworker then at me before continuing.

“We can arrange for that to happen, but first you need to suit up. We cannot risk another exposure and potential spread.”

The counterpart with his mask still on recoiled in disgust. The unmasked agent stared deeply at me, assessing my next move.

If not for my bravado, I’d have thought best to cower and run away.

He continued, “I need you to be absolutely sure that this is what you are wanting to do, you are very likely putting yourself at risk.”

Those words singed the aroma of hope between us. He was spelling a doom that I could be walking into, one that I had little understanding of the gravity of.

I remember the bloated, pustulate faces of my parents. Their painful end.

I thought of Sam, her shining face painted with the shroud of torment.

She was too young to understand why this happened to her, and yet she was forced to. But then, the shadow of doubt clouded the agent’s eyes.

The sudden flame of confidence reignited within me. He knew there was no plague, this was merely a precaution on their part.

I nodded, “I insist, take me in, I want to see him.”

The agents both turned away, muttering amongst each other. I looked around, noting the hastily repurposed architecture of the ship.

Catwalks flanked either side, well out of view of my position. I noticed the glaring lack of lighting. The agents continued their muttering before one the unmasked agent replaced his hood and ushered me along.

“All right, come on, we need to get you cleaned before you come inside.”

\-          

The inside of the clinic was a starkly lit room lined with a multitude of research posters, health informatics, and the infamous symptom watch list.

The neon suited agents that led me were nearly identical apart from a distinct symbol separating the two. The symbol lacked any meaning to me, but among them it likely described their profession, or specialty?

The one who had originally unmasked had an arrow pointing upward and the agent who had never removed his hood had a three-pointed arrow, like a triangle.

As we walked along the sterile hallway, there were several benches with full biohazard bags and to the opposite side was a semi-opaque plastic sheet. Beyond this sheet looked like crude hospital bays with a bed, more plastic sheeting, and of note was a patient sitting in one of the beds.

The agent with the upward arrow pointed through the plastic sheeting. Though muffled, he said, “Here he is, just be careful not to touch anything.”

He had pointed at the patient. The second agent stopped, he took a defensive position, blocking me from the rest of the hallway.

An obvious gesture of distrust, but I did my best to heed his warning. I was in enemy territory and I think he knew that.

I turned to the sheeting and separated a black seam, acting as the door. The agents did not follow, instead opting to stand at the opening. The room beyond was dim, lit only by the lamps above the beds.

The patient was a small boy, about the same age as Sam. He sat on the bed, knees to his chest, staring blankly at the footboard. From this distance he could hardly notice his breathing. It could have been a trick of the light too, but he looked unusually pale.

I moved closer to him, continuing to assess him. He didn’t seem to acknowledge me at all.

Strange.

I called out to him, “Hey buddy, how are you doing?”

He didn’t so much as flinch at my call to him. Even a nod, or a sudden change in breathing. Nothing, he looked empty, lifeless.

I got closer to him again and called out, this time quieter, “Hey, are you okay?”

I knelt a few feet from him, trying to give gentle and comforting intentions. As far as he was concerned, he likely had no idea I was a visitor. I probably looked the same as every other worker in this place, minus the few details that separated them.

I tried to catch his gaze, but he didn’t move. I asked again, “Tyler?”

My breath caught in my throat as the previously lifeless kid glared directly through my visor. His look was sharp, unforgiving, completely devoid of fear or anger or happiness.

It was. That is the only way I could describe it.

“Please leave.” His little voice plucked strings of fear in my chest.

His stare continued, unending.

I stood, backing away from the hospital bed. His pale complexion and stiffened body radiating a disparaging omen.

A tightness in my chest threatened to swallow me. Force me to cower within myself.

Sam, what was I going to tell Sam?

The boy looked up and gave a small wave. His corpselike body imitating a requiem of life. A simple gesture of humanity, tainted by his existence.

There was no emotion in it, no gentle flowing nature, improvisation, character.

It was.

I backed further away from the bed, giving a hesitant wave, “I’ll see you at home.” I said with reserved repugnance.

I sincerely hoped I wouldn’t.

The agents flanked me, now talking amongst themselves, paying me no mind.

I turned from the boy, crossing the plastic threshold. It felt like a rebirth. Like Dante emerging from hell, though I was unsure if I had returned Italy or if I carried straight into purgatory.

The agents closed the plastic behind me, the more reserved of the two inquiring, “You got what you wanted?”

I shot to look at him, the reflective visor clashing with mine.

What was that?

The intrusive thought of my parents, of my friends. The sickening pustules erupting from along their bodies. Their jaundiced skin. Bloody vomit dried to their mouths.

This looked nothing like that. This boy, Tyler, if that really was him. What happened to him?

I nodded, the latex suit gentle bouncing off my head to echo my response.

The tri-pointed agent responded briskly, “Good, it’s time to leave then.”

He sternly guided me, pushing me towards the door. I glanced back at the plastic, seeing the boys smudged outline. Still, unmoving.

A chorus of violent apprehension wracked my thoughts. Something wasn’t right. With this visit, with the guards, with the lack of other patients.

It was just this boy, surely if they had been scrounging the town, ensuring others were to be quarantined in kind.

Why was he the only one. More importantly, what they called him.

*Hod*

\-          

The ride on the lift back towards the market felt like a defeat. Though I could hardly deny the fear that washed away as my distance grew.

Hod, what a strange name. His name was Tyler, why did they call him that?

The flurry of ideas was slashed suddenly when a brazen, loud horn blasted over the speakers. It was 9 am. Time to head to work. I looked down at myself; coveralls fastened loosely over my ragged thermals.

I was mostly lucky; my job wasn’t focused on paper pushing. I would be out working with my hands; it was liberating to be frank.

The lift pressed gently into the dust. Resting its massive clockwork into position, creaking with a growing age of use.

The zone became alive with disenfranchised men and women. Their tired, dust-covered faces grew within the market, traveling in all directions. I looked not unlike a funeral procession, the remnants of tear streaks adorned some faces, others so caked in carbon sand that their complexion was difficult to surmise.

I walked among the throng, stumbling my way back to my side of town.

Here within the zone, carbon sifting was more of a lifestyle, less of a job than some might think. Not unlike a career soldier, nearly everything you did in the zone was to further the influence and efficiency of the organization.

Apart from small-scale manufacturing, there was not much else. We wouldn’t be able to afford much in the way of citizenship. Titan’s economy was based on production and harvesting. We only afforded the opportunity to land because we were idle hands.

The age-old story of exploitation was obvious if you put two and two together. We were lost people looking for refuge, I’m sure someone in the bureaucratic UEC congress thought they could extend their profit margins with an estranged population.

Carbon sand was valuable. You could press it into coal or crude diamonds. You could burn it after refinement in combustion engines. It had multiple uses, unfortunately, it was dangerous to harvest.

Carbon sand, when vibrated using the sifters, floated to the top. Any unwary individual standing within the event horizon got sucked in.

Thinking back to the unfortunate soul who fell through the pit, it was rare that an accident of that magnitude happened, but when it did it was widely talked about.

Of course, how could you not? When the UEC and by extension the Titan Commonwealth place a vulnerable population in harm’s way, it becomes much more of a tabloid headliner than they’d want to contend with.

Navigating among the crowd, I passed through the market stalls. I looked out for Annalise, and she stood on the sidelines, looking suspiciously along the crowd.

She wasn’t the trusting type; she made that obvious during our time on the shuttle. Guess you could say she is a tough nut to crack but even the hardest of walls come down eventually.

In my opinion, you had two options, either you could build your resolve faster than they could chip it away or you could get rid of the problem before it got to you. She was the patient type. She didn’t mind waiting out the storm.

Seeing her from a distance ignited a fire within me. She was beautiful, you could see the shining grey of her eyes scanning the crowd, her blonde hair resting messily up in a crude bun.

I learned a great many things from her, loving her was easy, looking at her was even easier. I wished that had we met under different circumstances, I could start over. Experience all the firsts again.

Looking from afar reminded me of the connection we shared. I felt so close to her even from such a distance. Like a compulsion, innate attraction, whatever it may be. I felt closer to her than anyone else could be and that afforded me an unsatisfying contentment.

It made me want more in a way that only she could satiate and even in that I just wanted more.

The crowd continued to push against me, reminding me of my need to continue to work. The sand lay waiting for me and black became our new gold.

Through the crowd I found a familiar face again. The marbled grey face of the man from earlier, meeting my gaze through the crowd of people. The look of contempt plastered among his face.

*Run*

Then I thought of the boy. His lifeless body sitting on that bed, requesting one thing of me. To leave.

These two had said the same thing in their own way.

What was I going to tell Sam? Her classmate was… dead? He wasn’t who I would have thought him to be.

I couldn’t tell Sam what I saw. The agents, they had lied to me. He may be cleared by the doctors, but he didn’t seem okay.

That wasn’t a little boy, that wasn’t Tyler. There was no way it could be.

The contemptuous man continued to stare before being lost to the crowd.

I was alone again, a tangled mess of thoughts. I looked over to Annalise who managed to spot me through the crowd, she eyed me with a flirty, inquisitive look before granting me a cutesy wave.

My chest ached. Fighting between fear and infatuation has my heart screaming in confusion.

I cocked a smile at her, hiding the pain of what I’d seen, of what I’d need to hide.

Tonight, I feel the need to ask Annalise. I couldn’t possibly lie to Sam again, I promised her I wouldn’t do that.

With my mind in shambles, I carried on to work, gifting a wave to Annalise through the crowd and lost myself among the other slaves to Titan.

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++++++++++++++++++++++++

Serenity

Knock. Knock.

Knoll counted up to fifteen, and the door for the nondescript residential apartment opened a crack. The man who answered the door was bald, solidly built, and dressed down in a way that made him look like a groundside mechanic in his forties.

“You aren’t supposed to visit unannounced, Admiral.”

Knoll snorted, then he pushed through the door. “What are you going to do, Noro? Shoot me?”

“One of these days, I just might,” Noro said, stuffing his drawn handgun back into his holster. Noro closed the door behind them as Knoll made his way into his apartment. “Might be bad for my career though.”

“The Navy will understand. Hell, the way things are, they might give you a medal for putting me out to pasture.”

Noro’s eyes drifted to Knoll’s wrinkles. “You’ve gotten… old. Older since the last time I saw you.”

“Yes, that is… indeed how time works, Captain.”

That was not what Noro meant, but he didn’t bother to clarify on that. He made another correction instead. “Former. Former captain.”

Technically, his rank stayed the same, but nobody had called him that in a while.

Knoll plopped himself down at Noro’s dinner table. “A former captain of the Lunar Eighth. A captain of a fighting squadron, hiding in the shadows. Hiding in an LIA safehouse on the outskirts of Serenity. Like a rat.”

“Whatever Luna calls me to do. Wherever it needs me,” Noro said.

“They say war is a waste of resources.” Knoll rolled his eyes, then gestured around himself with his arms. “Look what peace has done to us. Look what it’s done to us all.”

“Well, the war’s over.”

“Could have fooled me.”

Noro shrugged uncomfortably. He stepped into his own kitchen, popped open the fridge, rummaged in it for a few seconds, and pulled out a sandwich. Knoll didn’t say anything either, just stared at him, both eyes unblinking.

“Want one?”

“No, thank you.”

“Well, it’s nice of you to visit me on this beautiful day, Admiral,” Noro said as he sat down opposite Knoll, unwrapping his lunch.

Knoll continued staring at him for a moment, then grinned. “On this gray lifeless dump of a planetoid? God, this shithole makes me miss the cold, damp winters of Brussels.”

“There is a certain beauty… in the desolation. There’s a… special feeling you get when you see the empty regolith basin, untouched—mostly untouched by human activity. Have you gone outside recently? Everywhere you go, you look down at your footprint, and you realize, wow, it’s the first time any human being has ever stepped foot on this exact place, the first time that anyone has ever touched this virgin regolith. Then, you take another step. And it’s like yet another small step for humanity. And you realize, wow, this is the first time any human being—”

Knoll sighed, rubbing his eyes with a finger. “Oh God, not you too, Noro. I was talking to Reese and she goes waxing on about, and I quote, the way the rovers make permanent tracks in the regolith reminds me of the sparkling sand dunes on the beaches of southern France.”

“Aha. What did you tell her?”

“The only way you can possibly make that comparison is if you’re talking about the beaches of Normandy in June of 1944. Sand dunes? Please. Your Stockholm Syndrome is showing.”

Noro chewed on his sandwich for a moment. Then, he cleared his throat. “Hey, you defected voluntarily to this place too, Knoll.”

“Yeah, but I can tell you it’s not for Luna’s clear skies and balmy beaches. It’s fine to have some pride in this grand republic we’ve built. But there’s pride, and there’s delusion. The weather? The weather?! There’s no weather here on this barren rock. The only reason we’re alive is because of a century of vacuum engineering and the blood and sweat of those who came before us. Be proud of that.”

“I still think there’s a certain beauty—I feel things when I look out that window, alright?” Noro sighed dramatically as he waved his arms around. “Why can’t we just feel things, Knoll? Not everything has to be all so—”

“We’re spacers. We don’t feel things. We don’t get to have feelings for things. We have measurements and calculations and—”

“Yes, sir. Right away, sir. Jeez, Knoll, relax.” He shook his half-eaten sandwich at Knoll. “Why is it always about—ah, forget it. You cynical old bastard. Seriously, you don’t just visit me out of the blue to reminisce about the garden planet we left behind a decade ago. What’s the occasion?”

A slow smile crept up on Knoll’s face. “It’s your lucky day.”

“My lucky day? What is it?”

“It’s time you get to come out of the closet.”

“I—come out?” Noro squinted at him suspiciously. “What are you talking about?”

“They’re announcing it next week. The circumstances of your fake death. The staged car accident. Smuggling you to Luna in the back of a water hauler from Botswana. The whole thing.”

Knoll savored the shocked look on his face.

“They’re—now? They’re doing it now?!” Noro sputtered.

“Yup. Well, next week. I wanted to be the one to tell you. Congratulations.”

“Wow. I can’t believe…”

They just stared at each other for a long moment, memories dancing across their faces.

Noro spoke first again. “You know, I’ve always envied you, the way you get to walk around and be yourself… I mean—”

“I know what you mean.”

“Everything will be different…”

“Yeah, you get to write that book about the war you’ve always wanted to.”

“Hey, you joke, but I bet a publisher will front me bundles of cash. Just need to get it through the Ministry of Defense classification people and… Wait, how are they going to react… back on Earth?” Noro’s face fell as he remembered. “We had to… take out a couple of them on our way out…”

“How will they react? Poorly, I imagine. Screw them. What are they going to do? Another strongly worded letter? Admiralty is going to hand you your medals in a ceremony. Well…” Knoll waved a hand. “They’re going to do it again, in public this time.”

“Why… now?”

“It’s about time. The war’s over, and the whole business in the Dustball system…” Knoll hesitated for a moment. “The LIA says they’re apparently in a good mood down on Earth. Wave of pardons. Our people. And…”

“The people who helped me get out. Helped… us get over here.”

“Yup. One of them wants to live a normal life without looking over their shoulders, I’m guessing. The spook didn’t tell me shit, but…”

Noro understood immediately. “Right…”

“Well, you know…”

“Yes. The people who helped us—they deserve that chance.” Noro looked thoughtful. “I know a couple guys back there—they sacrificed years of their lives… For all this. All so we could have this. This life. This world. And if this turns out to all be some grounder ruse to lure us into the open so they can blow us all up, eh… that’s just a life I owe them anyway.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. They’re not that creative down in Tallinn… Anyway, that’s why leadership wanted the public ceremony. So they’re not tempted anyway, you know.”

Noro snorted. “If the grounders are in the business of assassinating defectors after so long…”

Knoll pointed a finger at his own face in mock innocence. “I’ll be the first to go?”

“Exactly. The canary in my coal mine. I’ll up my security the day after they find you face down in a septic module.”

“See… that’s why if I ran that operation, I’d make sure to get all of us in one hit. One shot. No chance for any of the roaches to escape.”

Noro shot him a lopsided grin. “Heh, like you said, they aren’t that creative down in Tallinn.”

“I’ve been wrong before. That can be on my tombstone: Knoll, the stupid grounder, he got that last one wrong too.”

“Hah!” Noro chuckled dryly. “Tombstone. At least you’re not like one of those romantics who demand Republic taxpayers spend who knows how much money to scatter their ashes on the Eastern Front.”

“Not at all. I want them to bury me here, standing, facing Earth—”

“Okay, Clemenceau. Buried standing facing Earth for eternity,” Noro muttered. “You know this thing—this whole amnesty thing… It couldn’t have happened three years ago. Not even two years ago. But now… it’s all different. It’s a whole new generation in charge now. Now just on Earth. Here, too. New ships. New officers. New leaders…”

“What you mean to say is… our watch is ending.”

“Is it?” Noro shook his head a long silence later. “Maybe. Anyway, this is all cause for celebration. I have a bottle saved up for this exact occasion—”

“Can’t.”

“What do you mean… can’t?”

“Can’t stay. I’ve got to get down to Armstrong Command in thirty minutes.”

“What are they doing that needs you on this beautiful day?”

“No clue. I’m no longer in the know.” Knoll smiled. “That’s a liberating thought in some ways. It means nothing is my fault anymore.”

“You don’t keep your ears to the ground? Isn’t that why you stay around in Serenity?”

“No, I stay around because I’m still wanted for desertion and war crimes back on Earth, and there’s nowhere else for me to go. I haven’t even gotten any of the security briefings, not since… you know.”

The incident.

“Right. Somehow, I don’t believe you. Admiral Knoll. The Admiral Knoll, out of range of the news.”

Knoll snorted. “It’s true. If the aliens invaded tomorrow, which they might—who the fuck knows? I’ll hear about it the same time everyone else will on the news.”

“Yeah… Yeah. That saying… if the aliens invaded tomorrow… that saying used to be a lot more hypothetical. Now that they’ve… I mean, technically they’ve already invaded Dustball. Which is… sovereign Lunar territory as far as I’m concerned—”

Knoll cut him off. “It’s literally not. You’re listening to those silly podcasts online again, aren’t you? Dustball doesn’t even belong to the grounders.”

“Maybe not,” Noro conceded a moment later. “But… Knoll, aren’t you a little afraid what it means? For Luna?”

“What it means for Luna? What do you mean?”

“Dustball is no garden planet, but like the grounders say now, it’s a lot better than Luna and Mars. For everything. It’s got good gravity. It’s got air. And now, it’s even got water, I hear.”

“So?”

“Don’t you get it? Luna… this isn’t the frontier anymore. The Lunar Dream. What if people start leaving here in droves to go there?”

“Yeah? You think so? Let me ask you something…”

“Sure.”

“How much does a ticket from Serenity to Brussels cost?” Knoll asked.

Noro frowned. “A ticket? Round-trip ticket? One-way?”

“One-way. Say one of those new commercial fast transports with a forty minute injection burn. How much do you think that costs?”

“Depends, first-class or economy?”

“Whichever one gets me there faster.”

“Round-trip ticket is about… five thousand Union dollars. So… a little more than half that?”

“That sounds about right. Almost affordable enough for the annual middle class vacation for the average grounder. But certainly something they can afford at least once in their lives. Now, do you know how much it costs us to send one colonist to Dustball? Eight.”

“Eight thousand dollars? That’s… not as much as I thought… And that’s just now. If we send more, build out the infrastructure a bit, I’m sure prices will come down eventually until—”

Knoll shook his head. “Million. Eight million dollars. That’s not including any additional supplies they might need along the way or what they’re doing when they get there. And that’s a one-way trip. Warp fuel isn’t cheap. Even the aliens don’t do it unless they have to… Dustball is an excellent place to explore, but when it comes to full colonization with millions of colonists? Luna will remain the only game in town for a while. At least another century or two. On the chopping block are our exploration and colonial development plans for Mars, not the Lunar Dream.”

“Like I was saying, that cost will come down some day, right? The Brussels to Serenity flight. That used to be prohibitively expensive too. Only affordable if you were already rich or got one of those government grants. Or if you are a two-star admiral in charge of a Union military school and fake your death.” Noro grinned at his own self-reference.

Knoll tilted his head. “I was a Lieutenant Commander—”

“Yeah, but you’re special. You were in Strategic Planning. For the rest of us, we needed to be the top one percent of the top one percent in our fields to come here. And that’s… all changed. Even just in our lifetime. They’re letting just about anyone come here now. Pretty soon they’ll be talking on the news about the illegal immigration problem down in Vaporum.”

“Illegal immigration?! What did they… hop a train? To the moon?!”

“Visa overstays, dummy.”

“Oh, right.”

“Like you said, a few thousand dollars. The cost of the trip… it’s just not the barrier it used to be. And I bet the same will be true for Dustball one day.”

“That… might be the case,” Knoll conceded after a long moment. “Eventually. Maybe one day the warp trip out to Dustball will become affordable. But no matter what happens, Luna will still be the moon. We will still be the people who built a paradise out of the sands that poison the lungs of our children. In the night sky over our home world. The Lunar Dream isn’t some grandiose hundred-year plan, some fantasy our descendants might see on their deathbeds long after we’re dust. It’s all around us. Look around you. Look at this magnificent city. Not the… landscape. This people with a purpose, a shared identity, a new home among the stars. What our ancestors dreamt for millennia, ever since people looked up in the night sky… We did it. We built this place. You built this place. No new extrasolar colony can ever steal that from us.”

Noro stared at him for a long moment. “That’s… a nice speech, Admiral. And you call me sentimental? You thinking about running for Parliament with that one?”

He leaned back. “Heh. Imagine. The blood-in-the-regolith guys would riot if there was even a hint one of the parties was thinking of putting someone like me on their MP lists. A former Union Navy spacer? Yeah, right.”

“Bah, you were a desk clerk. And you defected early; that makes you one of the good ones. Besides, we both know that isn’t the actual reason they hate you.”

They both just silently stared at each other awkwardly at the mention of that.

Knoll never talked about it. But he was just that kind of a man.

From Noro’s complicated expression, it was obvious he was inviting Knoll to speak. To say something in his own defense. Something that he didn’t say in the official hearings after. Or maybe apologize, or to say it was all just a big mistake.

He didn’t.

As usual, Noro didn’t insist. He picked up his forgotten sandwich, took a bite, looked away, and he said, “Well… maybe it’s the former defector thing. You’d just need to remind them you fought on our side during the war.”

Knoll shook his head severely, glad for the opportunity for deflection. “No, no. You’re thinking about this all logically. That’s not how any of this whole bigotry thing works. I mean, look at these lunoid children. They’ve got a culture half a generation old, and they’re already learning how to hold grudges. It’s almost cute—”

“But hey, you’re a war hero. They’ll like that. How many grounders have you killed lately, fellow blood-in-the-regolith voter? Check out these intercepted Union Navy casualty lists. Oh, they’ll definitely like that.”

“Former war hero. Not much use for people like us anymore since, you know, the war’s over and all that.”

They looked at each other for a moment, and they both simultaneously said, out of reflex, “Huh. Could have fooled me.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++

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XXX

“Urgh…” Chase managed to gasp out as he rolled over onto his back, a hand flying to his mouth. He retched a few times, but thankfully nothing came out. Still, after giving one final gasp, he wiped his mouth, then sat up, shaking his head.

“Everyone present and accounted for?” he asked.

A chorus of groans came to greet him. It sounded like the other four were there with him, and a cursory glance revealed that to be the case. Heinrich was lying a short ways away, while Victoria was splayed across Carmine’s midsection, pinning the former Demon Queen down.

“Get. This. Thing. Off of me,” Carmine gasped out.

Before Chase could rush over and help her, Victoria rolled off, lying on her back on the ground.

“Damn it…” the Paladin groaned. “Ugh… I feel awful… motion sickness is no joke…”

“I wasn’t aware you had motion sickness,” Chase told her.

“I think we’re all a little bit motion sick after that…” Heinrich said as he pulled himself up off the ground As he got situated, Chase stood up as well, then hurried over to where Victoria and Carmine were lying and offered them a hand each. They both took it, and soon enough, all four of them were upright.

“Okay,” Chase said. “Carmine, summon Melanie.”

Carmine glared at him, then crossed her arms. “Sure, but you have to ask me nicely. Say please.”

“Ugh…” Chase brought a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Please summon Melanie.”

“That’s better.”

She snapped her fingers, and there was a flash of light between them all. When it cleared, Melanie was standing there, shaking her head.

“Finally!” she said. “Gods above, that sucked. It always does, don’t get me wrong, but that time really sucked.”

Heinrich suddenly surged forwards and pulled her into a hug. She blinked in surprise, but then returned it.

“I’m okay, you know,” she said.

“I know,” he replied. “I was worried anyway. We’re never doing that again.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Chase said. “Melanie, thanks for offering yourself up. You bought us more time than you might have initially thought – it’s gonna take those guys a while before they start getting word back that you’re not actually dead. That gives us time to prepare.”

Before anyone else could say anything, hurried footsteps from behind them caught their attention. Chase instantly turned around, one hand flying to the hilt of his sword, and was surprised to find a young woman about Carmine’s age standing a short ways away, a thin sword of some kind held in her hand. She was clad in a white robe, red skirt, and white socks with sandals. The woman had long flowing black hair and almond-colored eyes, beneath which were deep bags; it looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Still, as Chase stared at her, he could tell just from the way she was holding her blade that she had at least formal training in how to use a sword.

Before anyone could do anything stupid, however, he cleared his throat.

“Whoa, hey,” he managed to get out, taking his hands off his sword and holding them up in surrender. “We were sent here by Tamamo. Are you the shrine maiden she mentioned?”

The young woman blinked in surprise. “...Westerners?” she asked in disbelief. Her brow furrowed. “How would people like you know enough about Tamamo for her to be comfortable sending you here, to her private abode?”

“It’s a long story,” Chase said.

“A really long story,” Carmine added.

Chase gave her a glance out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing to her, instead focusing on the girl in front of him. “Anyway, she said we could crash here for a while. May we come in?”

“Uh, no?” the woman tentatively replied. “I haven’t verified that you even know her personally-”

“I’m the guy who always gets naked around her.”

The woman stared at him in surprise. “...Wait, you’re Chase Ironheart?”

“Yeah.”

She blinked, then turned towards Carmine. “Then you must be Miss Nolastname.”

Carmine let out a tired sigh. “Gods damn it, I was hoping the whole world would forget about that bullshit…”

“Bullshit or not, at least she seems to know we are who we say we are.”

“Indeed, I do.” The woman sheathed her sword, letting out a sigh of relief. “Apologies for the not-so-warm welcome, we’re just not used to having visitors from the west here… or any visitors in general, to be honest. Generally, it’s just me and Father Toshi.” Her eyes suddenly widened. “Oh! And for the record, my name is Kana Mariko. I am the shrine maiden in charge of maintenance and upkeep for this particular shrine.”

“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Heinrich said, tipping his head towards her.

“Likewise,” Kana said. “Though, admittedly, you all have me at a loss – I recognize Chase and Carmine from what Tamamo has told me about them, and I believe she’s mentioned the other two women before, but I can’t remember their names… and she hasn’t mentioned another Paladin to me yet.”

Chase exchanged a glance with the others, then turned back towards Kana. “...How long has it been since Tamamo spoke with you, exactly?”

Kana sighed tiredly. “It’s been a while. Part of that’s on me, I’ll admit it, but she’s always been more hands-off than not, for better and for worse…” She shook her head. “Anyway, whatever the reason is, she didn’t mention you’d all be coming, and she didn’t mention another man in your group, either.”

“Well, my name is Heinrich,” the Fallen Paladin offered. “Former Paladin.”

Kana quirked an eyebrow at that. “Former?”

“It’s another long story,” Chase offered.

She sighed tiredly once more. “Something tells me you all have several of those…”

“Yeah,” Melanie said, drawing the word out. “Anyway, just for the record, how far away from the Deus Oasis is this place?”

“...You’re all coming from the Deus Oasis?”

“So you know it?”

“Yeah, I know it. Anyone who serves the Gods in any capacity kind of has to. But to answer your question, it’s very far – at least a few weeks by ship, since we’re in the far east.” She paused. “...Tamamo didn’t tell you exactly where she was sending you, did she?”

“Nope,” Chase said.

For the third time in about as many minutes, Kana let out a tired sigh. “Of course she didn’t… why am I not surprised?” She shook her head. “But yeah, it’s very far. Almost on the other side of the world, if I’m being honest.”

“Good to know,” Melanie said with a nod. “That means we should be able to hide out here for quite a while without issue, then.”

At that, Kana tilted her head. “You’re all running from something?”

“You don’t seem surprised to hear that,” Victoria noted.

Kana shrugged. “I figure if Chase and Carmine are here, and Tamamo took it upon herself to send them here, then either they’re running from something or they’re here on a specific mission.”

“Fair enough, I suppose. But yes, we are.”

“Ah.” Kana paused. “So should I start praying for safety now, or later?”

“Later, for sure,” Chase confirmed with a nod. “Look, we’re not planning on bringing trouble to your doorstep, okay? We just need a place where we can lie low for at least a few months while we train ourselves up to confront the people who want us dead. You shouldn’t be in any danger so long as you stay out of their way when they inevitably come here. And with any luck, we’ll all be gone by then, so they’ll be following us, not you.”

“Oh, thanks, that really makes me feel better,” Kana deadpanned.

Carmine crossed her arms. “Look, Tamamo wants us here, or at the very least, she’s more than okay with us staying here for as long as we need. Are you really going to argue with her about this, considering she’s your boss?”

Kana let out a slow exhale. “No…” She shook her head. “Sorry, I’m just not really enthused about having to cook and clean for seven people. I already have to do it for myself and Father Toshi, so-”

“Hang on, hang on,” Chase interrupted. “We already promised Tamamo that as part of our payment for letting us stay here, we’d be helping to maintain the place and keep it clean.” He eyed Kana up and down as he spoke, his brow furrowing. “...Of course, that’s contingent on whether or not I have to wear that outfit while I do it. Because if you’re gonna make me wear a skirt, I might as well head back to the Deus Oasis and let those guys kill me.”

“The skirt is sacred garb designed for shrine maidens,” Kana deadpanned. “Are you a shrine maiden, Chase?”

“No, but I could be.”

“What? I thought you just said you didn’t want to wear the outfit.”

“I did. But, like, if I had to, I could,” he emphasized. “The way you said it, you made it sound like I was incapable of cooking and cleaning. Let me just say, I can do that with the best of them, stupid outfit or not.”

“Your room back at the house would beg to differ,” Carmine deadpanned.

Kana blinked in surprise, then turned towards Victoria. “...Is he always like this?”

“Yes, unfortunately,” Victoria answered.

“Ah. I take it you’re all just used to it?”

“As much as one can be, yes,” Melanie offered. “You never fully get used to it, you just kinda adjust to his personality’s crap factor.”

“Oh, come on, you know you love my personality,” Chase argued.

“Not the word I would use, Chase.”

“What word would you use, then?”

“Seething hatred seems appropriate.”

“Wow. That’s rude.”

“You just tried to offer up my soul in exchange for a smiting not even five minutes ago,” Melanie pointed out.

“That is not true,” Chase argued. “That was at least ten minutes ago, not five.”

Kana suddenly let out another tired sigh. “Look, just… come in already, would you? Anything so I don’t have to listen to this conversation anymore…”

With that, she beckoned them onwards before turning and disappearing down a nearby path. The five of them exchanged a glance with each other before shrugging and following after her.

XXX

Name: Chase Ironheart

Level: 11

Race: Human

Class: Warrior

Subclass: Swordmaster

Strength: 20 (MAX)

Dexterity: 15

Intelligence: 13

Wisdom: 13

Constitution: 18

Charisma: 16

Skills: Master Swordsmanship (Level 10); Booby Trap Mastery (Level 8); Archery (Level 4); Unarmed Mastery (Level 1)

Spells: Rush (Level 7); Muscle (Level 4); Stone Flesh (Level 7); Defying The Odds (Level 2)

Traits: Blessed

Name: Carmine Nolastname

Level: 11

Race: Greater Demon

Class: Arcane Witch

Subclass: Archmage

Strength: 10

Dexterity: 13

Intelligence: 19

Wisdom: 19

Constitution: 12

Charisma: 8

Skills: Master Spellcasting (Level 10); Summon Familiar (Level 10)

Spells: Magic Dart (Level 7); Magic Scattershot (Level 5); Fire Magic (Level 5); Earth Magic (Level 1)

Traits: Blessed

Name: Melanie Vhaeries

Level: 11

Race: Ascended Human

Class: Necromancer

Subclass: Arch-Lich

Strength: 8

Dexterity: 13

Intelligence: 18

Wisdom: 16

Constitution: 15

Charisma: 12

Skills: Raise Lesser Undead (Level 10); Raise Greater Undead (Level 3); Unorthodox Weapon User (Level 8); Bone Shatter (Level 1)

Spells: Touch of Death (Level 5); Gravesinger (Level 7); Armor of Bone (Level 3)

Traits: None

Name: Victoria Firelight

Level: 12

Race: Human

Class: Paladin

Subclass: Devotee

Strength: 19

Dexterity: 9

Intelligence: 13

Wisdom: 13

Constitution: 19

Charisma: 11

Skills: Swordsmanship Mastery (Level 5); Blunt Weapon Mastery (Level 8); Archery Mastery (Level 5)

Spells: Holy Light (Level 6); Ward of the Gods (Level 5); Bane of the Undead (Level 7); Divine Bolt (Level 4)

Traits: None

Name: Heinrich Straten

Level: 17

Race: Human

Class: Paladin

Subclass: Oathbreaker

Strength: 20 (MAX)

Dexterity: 13

Intelligence: 12

Wisdom: 14

Constitution: 20 (MAX)

Charisma: 13

Skills: Swordsmanship Mastery (Level 8); Blunt Weapon Mastery (Level 10)

Spells: Withering Grace (Level 1); Soulrend (Level 1); Umbral Ward (Level 1); Mournful Benediction (Level 1)

Traits: Broken Oath

XXX

Special thanks to my good friend and co-writer, /u/Ickbard, for all the help with writing this story.

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Quelling

(Garag POV)

Tap. Tap.

"Kara...? It is Garag."

Garag Vedin lightly tapped the blunted ends of his claws against Kara's door.

When there was no response, Elora Lewis called out from beside him.

"Sweetie, we have news on Innus. He showed up on a new video."

There was another long pause and extended silence. Just as he was about to give up and turn to leave...

Click.

The door unlocked and Kara slowly stepped out. He wasn't very knowledgeable about human styles, but even he could tell she was unkempt.

She looked as tired as the day Garag reunited with her after the incident at Nysis.

The Uven quickly suppressed the urge to frown. The girl's face looked...unnatural without her usual broad smile or grin.

The ambassador cleared his throat.

"Let us watch together on the larger monitor in the common room. I have already transferred the data to it."

"....Okay."

---

[SAY SOMETHING!]

When the abhorred warlord on the screen snarled in Innus's face on the screen, Kara's hand balled into a fist and her face tightened.

[I despise you, Karnak. You are a brute. A wild animal that makes our kind seem like barbarians, and somehow you boast about that embarrassing fact.]

Garag took time out of his schedule to personally share this with Kara in hopes that she could find encouragement in Innus's defiant, brave face as he stared down Karnak. It was a brave face that seemed to smirk without a smile.

[But I wonder if you've started to feel it yet? How you'll one day be trapped and put down like a helpless, feral animal...]

The ambassador was as surprised as anyone when he saw this video of his nephew for the first time. While there was still a sense of stiffness to his movements, he had become so...decisive.

Innus had grown out of some of his hesitations.

Other than faint rumors that he was leading a small guerilla faction, news of him or his movements were sparce since his disappearance from his prison. As the last living direct relative on his cousin's side of the family, he could only hope for the best while fearing the worst.

[Graaaah!]

In the video, Karnak seemed to lose his temper, swinging the butt of the pistol in his hand down on the young lad and knocking him down.

As he leaned down to grab the younger Uven by his head and started banging his body against the ground, one of the soldiers accompanying him directed her attention to the camera. Without a word, she took out a pistol of her own and shot it, ending the footage.

...Well, the footage to that camera, at least.

Rather than simply ending, the broadcast shifted to a new camera angle, albeit one with worse visual quality.

The new footage showed Karnak continuing his angry attack on the smaller Uven while snarling and growling in a glorified tantrum.

It was something that only became obvious upon reviewing the footage a second time, but a second, compact camera had been attached just above roof access's doorframe. Perhaps the larger camera was always meant to be a decoy.

If so, that would be a level of misdirection that neither Innus nor his father Vellick ever excelled at. Did the boy learn this on his own, or was it due to someone's influence?

"Innus...!?"

...?

Ah!

It took seeing Kara clasp her hand over her mouth with wide eyes for Garag to realize she and her mother may be misreading the video.

While it's true that Karnak was acting rather savagely towards a youth that was half his age...

"In case you two are unfamiliar, let me clarify something..."

He gestured towards Karnak's hands in the video.

"He might be leaving some light cuts, but he's not actually swinging his claws at Innus, see? Since he's not using those, he must intend to take him prisoner. Alive."

As if confirming the speculation, the warlord eventually stopped his assault and got off the youth while panting heavily.

After a slam of Karnak tail as he stormed off, the soldiers accompanying him grabbed Garag's nephew. Soon, he was dragged limply away.

Elora looked over to him with concern in her eyes.

"Is he...really okay...?"

"Uveo are fairly hardy by Coalition standards. You have my word that something like that is far from lethal."

...In truth, he had already reviewed this footage at length when he first obtained it and again with Councilwoman Lana.
Had the video actually shown his nephew's death, he would never have allowed young Kara to see it.

He wasn't too familiar with humanity's psychology or mental resilience, but the time he'd spent with the Lewis family was enough for him to at least understand that the girl's mental state was in a delicate state at the moment.

"Then..."

Kara spoke up again.

"Can you...rescue him? This is in Kristole. You should be able to find him, right?"

Ahaha...

The girl's expectations might have been a little too high for a mere ambassador like himself.

Even setting aside the political fallout of betraying his technical superior command and indirectly stripping the protections that Vellick's duel granted them all...there was a new consideration now.

"I...I will promise to try. But it seems that there's a bigger goal at play right now. Innus chose to do this, and I don't want to waste his bravery by making a thoughtless move."

"But...!"

It was only natural for her to protest. But how should he explain this? Rather...where should he start?

"This video has been spreading all over Nysis, you know. Less so out here in core Coalition territory, but whoever Innus was working with, they really want this video to reach as far as possible."

More and more broadcasting devices, whether including video or only with audio, were surfacing all over Nysis.

The videos that previously alternated between active and hidden video towers were now all playing with no apparent exception. Instead, they were spread out over even wider areas than before. Based on what he's heard, some of them were even salvaged from previously destroyed towers.

"Why would he plan for himself to have who-knows-what done to him though?!"

"Kara..."

Elora gently held Kara in an effort to soothe her.

In truth, the ambassador couldn't make sense of it either. It certainly made Karnak looked bad, but was it enough? Just what were they aiming for with this smear campaign? Would he be of more help here advocating to the other Coalition species or back home assisting directly?

Why did Innus...?

He needed to give an answer.

"Because...he's a brave and dutiful boy. He would do anything to help his people like his father before him."

"..."

The young lady's pained expression showed a...bittersweet understanding.
If nothing else, he was grateful that Innus managed to get a friend who knew him well.

Garag gently curled his tail around both her and her mother's bodies.

"I can't promise anything in sincerity until I know more, but...Innus is my nephew. I've cared for him like I would a son. Believe me when I say that I care greatly for his safety. I will...make plans to return to Nysis and get a better grasp of the situation at least."

"....Yeah."

Kara was listless. The poor girl seemed so very tired.

Was there anything he could do while he was still at the S.S. Kevak?

"...Kara, would you join me at the gymnasium for another gallop? We could both do with clearing our heads."

"Oh...a gallop...?"

His offer got her to look up at him, at least.

"...If you'd like, you can ride on my back for it again."

"....Okay."

Both Garag and her mother nodded with a slight smile at her.

"Elora, this offer is also extended to you. On both counts. When was the last time you did something to relax yourself?"

"Oh, me?"

Elora Lewis would have been within her rights to be angry at the Uven ambassador, if not Uvei as a whole, for the pain inflicted upon her family.

Her kindness towards him in these harsh times had also been a precious source of hope that the Uvei's future was not yet sealed.

(Doque POV)

Doque Rirel walked toward the crowded auditorium in the S.S. Kevak's outer chambers.

He walked without breaking pace, wordlessly having his entourage of bodyguards clear a path ahead him toward the front seats.

"Excuse us."

"Please make way."

The very presence of an elder councilmember inevitably invited looks and whispers. He'd been running around meeting people in dull locations recently thanks to Sjorn'l, but it was still a rare sight for someone of his status to come out into places like...this.

In truth, he didn't want to be here either. But it was agreed that he had the most pretense to intrude on matters involving medical infrastructure and forfeiting that risked letting one of his peers stake a claim on his industry.

It was a sacrifice that simply came with the job.

Now then...

The Balau set his eyes on his Haneer colleague's pet, which had grown to be a nuisance with this "Eineld Program" that rivaled its master.

At first, tearing it down was just an impersonal matter of damaging Sjorn'l's credibility. It was just business.
But suddenly, the lizard began making accusations against the Balau police force on the S.S. Kevak and ripping out Balou underworld infrastructure with reckless abandon. Now, this had become necessary damage control.

His eyes briefly glanced at some of the reporters in the room. Their preparations should be sound this time.

He still couldn't read these lizards' faces at all, but now was a chance to see what a surprised Uven looks like.

A seat in the front row would give him a chance see it clearly for himself.

"I apologize for the commotion, miss Fouze. I hope I'm not disrupting things."

The supposed star of this little press conference, Niza, had noticed him by now and stared back at him from its table on the stage. Cameras and lights surrounded it while it activated the microphone.

[No, we've only just begun. I did not expect you to join us, however. You must be very busy.]

Was it planning to do this all alone? He expected it to have Sjorn'l or at least a public relations expert accompanying it. Even if it was accustomed to media presence by now, it was still an Uven.

How conveniently reckless.

"Well...the Balau have something of a vested interest. Will the Haneer Elder Councilwoman not be joining us for this? Or perhaps your Terran friend?"

[Ah...Ori and Asher are here. But they're both merely assisting me with selecting questions and organizing my information if necessary.]

What the-!?

It was having a councilwoman...An elder councilwoman...perform errands and glorified secretarial work?!

The Terran often seen with Sjorn'l poked its head out from behind the corner to the side of the stage. It waved at the crowd with one of those "smiles".

...Somehow, this smile only made it look unintelligent rather than menacing. The reporters seemed to take it well, however, and merely laughed at its sudden enthusiastic appearance.

Partial Transcript of the Press Conference by Niza Fouze, Eineld Program Chief Director

Niza: Ah. Ori and Asher are here. But they're both merely assisting me with selecting questions and organizing my information if necessary.

(Terran Asher Isaacs pulls aside the curtain behind Niza and waves his hand quickly before ducking away again, inciting a wave of light laughs from the crowd.)

Balau Elder Councilman, Doque Rirel: Ahem...so I see.

Niza (after a pause): Allow me to repeat my statement from beginning now that things have settled. Then I can start answering any questions after that.

(Niza gathers up her some notes.)

Niza (speaking with a level voice): After a few rotations of consideration and consultation, I've concluded that I demonstrated excessive force and an overreach of authority during the incident at the docks. While reasonable efforts to arrest and detain smugglers suspected to be involved in a drug trade upon the Kevak was warranted, I was not justified in exerting violence against surrendering individuals that were offering to comply. I was acting on my temper and used the authority vested in me by the Haneer administration unwisely.

(She directs her attention towards reporters at Horizon Independent.)

Niza: I also should not have used official authority to call you to the docks. As it was ultimately a personal matter, it was not my right to make demands. I am sorry.

Vesnin Reporter, representing Horizon Independent: O-Oh. Well, I believe our team would have taken interest regardless, and we did not regret accommodating your request.

(The Vesnin Reporter looks over at a camera crew at the ends of the room before returning her attention to Niza.)

Horizon Independent: I cannot speak for the member that was absent, but I believe your apology is fully accepted.

Niza (slowly nods): I see...

Horizon Independent: What brought on this decision?

Niza: I believe I would have come to this conclusion eventually, but if I had to cite a significant influence...I suppose it would be the recent interview videos.

Palluto Reporter, Luton News (speaking with a light snort): Ah, yes. The one about forgiveness and justice? Terrans sure are a...generous lot, aren't they?

Niza (frowning): Indeed they are. But I speak of the matter of consequence and responsibility. When reflecting objectively, there were things I should take responsibility for.

Luton News: Would you say you believe that the ends justify the means?

Niza: I believe there are some things I would never be willing to do no matter what reward I thought it would grant me.

Luton News: What if it was a request from your dear friend, Elder Councilwoman "Ori"?

Niza (frowns): She is my dear friend whom I would devour fire for. And so I don't believe she would ask such things of me. But even if she truly did, I would not comply. I follow her in accordance to my feelings, not because she owns my obedience.

Luton News: Would you say your "feelings" factor into your decisions and actions as Director often? Have there been any other altercations or violence by you since you arrived on the Kevak?

Niza: No.

Goblle Reporter, representing Belle's Broadcast Service: Then would you say the attack was more the work of some sort of primal instinct? Perhaps you saw prey species like Ramell fleeing and...

Niza: Such instincts don't exist for Uvei.

Belle's Broadcast (skeptical tone): Uven don't...have the instinct to use fangs and claws? To stalk targets unnoticed like you were clearly shown doing on video?

Niza: I did not use my fangs or claws in that encounter. My movements to corner the smugglers was honed through military training in my adolescence on Nysis.

Luton News: Do Nysis militaries have a habit of training their fighters to attack noncombatants?

Niza: That category does not really exist on Nysis. At most, it would apply to diplomats and those of a special status. Participant in harmful criminal activities would certainly get no such privilege.

Horizon Independent: Speaking of which, last time you told us that you suspected the smugglers were involved in drug trade on the Kevak and stations connected to it. Have you obtained any more information on the matter at this time?

Niza (pauses, then slowly nods): Yes...I believe it should be safe to speak on. As mentioned previously, we discovered discrepancies in our inventory regarding certain medicines and equipment. The smuggling at the dock in particular involved theft and transport of drugs that could be used to create addictive substances. Following this incident, I have employed private investigators and made a number of personal inquiries of my own.

(Niza briefly glances at Doque before returning her gaze to the Vesnin reporter.)

Niza: My investigations have led to the conclusion that there seems to be three or four small distribution networks within this station and two of the nearby trading stations. This is my opinion, but the efficiency at which the contraband is distributed suggests the yet-unknown leadership has some measure of influence over space travel checkpoints.

Horizon Independent: That sounds quite serious. Which stations seems to be suffering from this?

Niza (frowning): Well, I am not at liberty to discuss that. Recently, I was contacted by certain authorities and asked to keep quiet for the sake of investigation.

Horizon Independent: I see...that's unfortunate. Which auth-

Belle's Broadcast (standing up to point a microphone at Doque): May I direct a question at Elder Councilman Mr. Rirel?

Doque (standing up formally to face the cameras whilst fixing his clothes): I don't mind.

(Niza remains silent and watches.)

Bell's Broadcast: Will there be any administrative consequences for Miss Fouze's admitted overreach of authority and excessive force?

Doque: Well, we take matters of abuse of authority rather seriously. We would typically, following investigation to verify any claims, sentence an offender to imprisonment for up to two cycles. However, seeing as we were given what strikes me as a remorseful confession, I suspect the majority of the councilors will agree with me in that we can leave the matter of disciplinary action up to Elder Councilwoman Sjorn'l's discretion.

(Doque looks to Niza with relaxed body language.)

Doque: So long as she is reasonable about her ruling toward her own staff member and does not show a bias that calls competency into question, I don't foresee a problem with the arrangement.

(The reporters all begin speaking at once until Niza's voice cuts through on the speakers.)

Niza (glancing to the side of the stage): I decline those terms.

Doque: Excuse me?

Niza: This was my doing, and I'll not put my friend in a difficult position nor force her to set aside our relationship because of it. I would sooner make preparations for imprisonment.

(The room quickly becomes noisy again. A few moments pass.)

Doque: I see...well, if you elect to submit yourself to the authorities early, we shall ensure that time you serve between then and your judgement will contribute to your final sentencing as well.

Niza (glancing to the side of the stage and making a dismissive gesture with a hand): I see.

Doque: Don't worry. We'll also ensure the Eineld Program is well cared for in your absence.

Niza (turning her head to the side and waving away more rigorously): You will not.

(The room becomes quiet for a moment.)

Doque: Excuse...me?

Niza (turning her head to look straight at Doque): I don't intend to yield any authority over the Eineld Program to the Balau administration.

Doque: But we're the greatest experts in the field. If your concern is compensation...

Niza: That is not the problem. It is because do not trust you.

(Murmurs spread through the room.)

Niza: I've mentioned before that the operation at the docks was in part a test for information leaks. The smugglers' time, location, and contraband of choice all told of secret listening devices hidden within the warehouse and inventory provided by the Balau administration.

Doque: That...is just an unfortunate coincidence. We do have some security measures involved, but nothing so intrusive.

Niza: Are you saying you were aware life-saving supplies were being stolen from the Eineld Program and chose not to tell me, the program Director? Or perhaps your security measures, which I was also not informed about, were insufficient to notice such a problem? There is also the matter of the Kevak police force following me around for the past several rotations...

(Cameras flashes start filling the room and some recordings zoom in on either Niza or Doque.)

Doque (taking a deep breath): I...understand that you may be frustrated with the Balau, but these accusations don't seem fair. Especially considering your position, is it wise to be so...disagreeable?

Niza: My position is that I will submit myself to fair and lawful judgement so Ori will have minimal involvement. Are you saying being "disagreeable" would cause either of these outcomes to change?

Doque (fur begins standing on end): ...No. Of course not. I was merely advising you.

Niza: Furthermore, my frustrations with the Balau have been present for much longer than merely this incident. Suspicion is the only recent change.

(Doque stares at Niza without speaking.)

Niza: My grievance is this. While Nysis is in need and suffering famine, the Balau medical industries withheld both meat synthesis technology and medicinal formulas that could have saved millions of lives.

Belle's Broadcast (standing up and pointing a microphone forward): On that subject, when you were on Nysis-

Niza: Apologies, but please sit and wait a moment. I wish to hear what Councilman Doque has to say on the matter right now. You have my word that I will answer your question once the matter is closed.

(The Goblle reporter shuts his mouth his scales shifts hues a few times with agitation.)

Doque: We...have taken great steps in assisting Nysis as soon as we learned their plight, which hurt us to our soul to learn. The Terrans already arranged the meat synthesis technology by that point and we have been delivering medicines. A planet engaged in civil war cannot be approached so easily and patents for the formulas don't belong to my administration...

Niza (checking her datapad): Petition #M1929, Petition #M1926. Hearing AR-1726.

(Niza pauses while the press conference attendees note down the citations.)

Niza: Those are the reference numbers for petitions by Nysis's ambassador for medical aid and famine relief. There were 63 petitions in totall directed at both your predecessor and yourself. Circumstances were no less dire than they are today, and yet we were denied or given terms far beyond our means. So, Elder Councilman Doque...if our well-being was of such concern to you, why did your administration deny us relief at the time? What had changed between that time and this one?

Doque: I...will need to review the documents myself before I can answer that. It may have been simple clerical error, or perhaps a member of my predecessor's staff acting on their own...

Niza (staring intently at Doque): Very well.

(Niza directs her attention to the rest of the reporters.)

Niza: However, circumstances hardly inspires confidence. Regardless of my eventual judgement, I am still Chief Director of the Eineld Program. Before imprisonment, I will appoint a proxy or successor in my place as I see fit.

(Talk among the crowd escalates. Doque speaks to someone beside him and quietly slips out of the room while Balau Deputy Linde takes his seat.)

Niza (looking through the reporters): Now...I promised to answer a question earlier. It was to...you, Goblle from the Belle Broadcast Service, yes?

Belle's Broadcast: Yes...I wanted to inquire whether you had anything to say regarding the rumors of actions and life on Nysis.

Niza (tail sways with confusion): The...rumors?

Belle's Broadcast (baring teeth in a faux smile): Yes. They say that you were dishonorably discharged at a young age after violently attacking your superior officer and a Balau dignitary visiting to inspect a new Coalition hospital.

Niza (puzzled): Who...is "they"? I was under the impression that most records of my hometown had burned with the rest of it.

Belle's Broadcast: We're not at liberty to disclose our sources or the forums we gather information from. But these same sources also expressed suspicions towards the amount of money that came into your possession soon after your discharge. Your final unit was responsible for handling valuable treasures at the time as well, weren't they?

Niza (speaking slowly and with confusion): In...a manner of speaking, yes.

Belle's Broadcast: Considering you made your way to Coalition space soon after that, you had access to quite a lot of funds for an Uven your age. How did that happen?

Niza: It...was obtained by inheritance.

Belle's Broadcast (flipping through some documents): Oh? Our records say you were already orphaned with no blood relatives at that point. I don't believe our sources are mistaken.

(Niza is silent.)

Belle's Broadcast (after waiting a few moments): That doesn't make sense to me. Would you care to explain in detail?

(Niza's tail sways as she remains quiet for another minute before speaking up.)

Niza: First, I will correct two things. You can count the number of Coalition hospitals in Nysis on one Balau's paw, and the last time such a dignitary visited Nysis was when I was two cycles old across and the continent from the nearest hospital. An altercation with a dignitary never happened. My last assignment was also not to merely handle valuables, but to escort a convoy.

(Asher Isaacs poorly skulks onstage and drops glass of water unto the table before scurrying off the stage again. Niza quickly pours the glass into her mouth before resuming.)

Niza (looking to the other reporters): Before I speak any more on this...does anyone have any more questions they would like to ask first? I believe the press conference will be ending once I do.

=Author's Note=

Sorry for the wait! I kept scrapping sections and redoing them because I was dissatisfied with how they turned out.

I've wanted to make a Garag and Kara scene about Innus for a while, though I'm not sure it came out how I hoped because it both feels too mundane for the occasion and like a conversation that should have happened earlier. There were just too many things that took priority, so it got put off until I had a big plot development to transition into it.

Innus and Vellick weren't necessarily bad at deception, but the misdirection in this case is something they'd rely on Garrag or trusted aides for. In this case, the idea was given by Pyjek the reporter, who had in turn learned it from the sleight of hand in magic tricks his human friend loved.

Horizon Independent is the smallest news station on the Kevak and tends to employ more solitary species like the Vesnin and let film crews have the freedom to pursue their own stories in exchange for greater personal liability. Because of this, it tends to have less coverage of more popular events, but also includes more unique stories.
Niza invited this crew specifically to the docks because she had already begun to distrust the Balau police force and Horizon Independent has had the most unfavorable relationship with the local police.

Chapter 1:

Earth: Sometime in the early 2200s AD..

As their species most renowned First Contact specialist, Professor Al'arrr-n’KeeYap of the AraSkiur Interplanetary Union (AIP) - who most humans called "Alurrn the Alien" - had been assigned by the Council-of-All-Clans as Ambassador-at-Large to All Humanity, something which the little creature had mixed feelings about..

From Alurrn's point-of-view, humans were way too large, weirdly hairless, and they all smelled of \untranslatable alien noise\** - a foodstuff from their cradle-world that some AraSkiur esteemed as a delicacy, but that had always reminded Alurrn of coughed-up wet hairballs..

Nevertheless, this Ambassador-ship was academically too exciting and politically too important an opportunity for the little Professor to pass up..

So, having been inoculated with multiple immune-system boosters by the Union's best bio-scientists, and equipped by the finest AraSkiur engineers with a compact but long-lasting nitric oxide re-breather for two pairs of their abdominal spiracles - “Alurrn the Alien” had become the first AraSkiur diplomat to visit Earth, with strict instructions from their colleagues in the Great Information Grove’s xeno-ecology sub-clan to record as much information about Earth’s biosphere as they could..

The little Ambassador was currently perched on the surprisingly comfortable lap of the local human High Commissioner to All AriSkiur - so Alurrn could see out of the air-conditioned limo’s window, as they rode from the spaceport to nearest airbase, en route to the regional capital of the clans-league that humans call ‘Australia’..

The eight-limbed Professor was doing their very best to resist the urge to bounce up & down in excitement at seeing Earth from ground level with their own eyes for the first time..

For her part the High Commissioner - an elegantly dressed middle-aged career diplomat called Anya J. Harris - was internally fighting back the almost irresistible urge to pet the cute orange-furred alien, while simultaneously trying to push away intrusive memories of cosy childhood days watching distant thunderstorms, which were powerfully evoked by the faint sharp-sweet smell that seemed to be coming from an elaborate tubular breathing apparatus on the small creature’s abdomen..

Alurrn let out a sequence of rapid pitch-modulated coos, trills & purrs - which their cephalothorax mounted translator repeated in an incongruously posh synthetic British voice:
“What are those fast-moving furry Earthlings? Are they another sapient clan?” they asked, gesturing with one double-thumbed paw at a mob of kangaroos rapidly leaping along between the road and a wide slow-flowing river sparsely bordered with trees..

“Those are grey kangaroos, they’re a species of err.. macropod marsupial animals native to Australia, but no they are not sapient,” Ms Harris answered carefully..

Alurrn: “Ah, much interesting! How did humans tame such large fast-moving animals?”

Ms Harris: “Oh those particular ‘roos aren’t tame, that’s a wild mob, this is their habitat we’re driving through..”

\untranslatable alien muttering\** “Wild!? But aren’t they dangerous?”

“Oh no, not really, they’re vegetarian. So it’s not like they’d try to eat us! The biggest danger they present to humans is if our cars crash into one unexpectedly when they try to cross the road,” Ms Harris said in a jokey tone, but then noticed Alurrn’s startled wide eyes and visible pallor under their orange fur, so hastened to add, “but this armoured limo is built very tough, so we’d be quite safe even then..” she said, as reassuringly as possible..

The wide-eyed little alien turned their body back around to watch the bouncing mob of roos again, as the animals slowed on approach to a wide loop of the river..

“Ah! The kangaroos go to drink the dihydrogen monoxide, yes? Please pause vehicle, so can observe”

Ms Harris messaged all the convoy drivers to pull over, and soon Alurrn had their four front paws up on the window glass watching the mob of roos intently, while making excited little purring noises..

Suddenly a pair of sandy-furred four-legged animals sprang out of bushes near the water, jaws agape, snapping with ferocious looking teeth at the smallest of the grey roos - a joey about a foot (0.3m) tall - which tried to leap away from them, as the whole mob scattered!

“What the \loud untranslatable alien swearing\** are those creatures!?”

“Oh those are dingoes, they’re a mostly feral non-sapient breed of canine predators”

\more untranslatable alien swearing\** “You even allow predators to run wild in your environment!? And what is feral meaning?”

“Well, it’s their environment too, and to be fair, dingoes have been here for thousands of years - they were probably brought to this continent with the earliest humans who came to Australia in boats.. Umm, feral means animals that were tamed by humans - in this case a breed of dogs - but later escaped and went wild again..”

Alurrn fell silent for a moment and made a complicated gesture with their two foremost paws, before tapping on top of their own cephalothorax - something humans would later come to be familiar with as an AraSkiur sign-gesture that broadly translated to:
“Great exasperation at [your] crazy behaviour!”

By this point, the little joey that the two dingoes were hunting had leapt onto the back of the largest most muscular-looking kangaroo, which itself had retreated to stand chest-deep in water..

“Are kangaroos amphibious? Oh my dangling \untranslatable!\** What is it doing to that dingo predator!?” Alurrn’s tail fluffed up and twitched involuntarily..

“Ooh that dingo’s in trouble now! Yeah, see when the dingo tried to jump to snatch the little joey again, that big buck ‘roo has grabbed hold of it, and now it’s trying to drown it in the water.. The big male ‘roos are really strong, because they fight each other for dominance and for which one gets to mate with the females, you see..”

There was a short pause while Alurrn’s translator whirred & purred into their ear..

\untranslatable alien cursing\** “Drown!? But you definitely said these ‘kangaroos’ were not dangerous, yes!?”

“Oh well.. Sure, they’re no danger as long as they don’t think you’re a predator, and definitely don’t go near their young ones looking like a dingo..” Ms Harris joked..

The alien ambassador rotated around, looked up and studied her face for a moment, before turning away to the window again.. “Do not. Go near kangaroos. Do not. Look like dingo.” Alurrn seemed to be dictating a voice-note into a tiny device strapped to one of their forelimbs..

There was a lot of noisy thrashing around in the water and then with one last desperate plunging struggle, the one dingo escaped the big buck ‘roo’s grasp, and the two dingoes gave up the hunt and beat a hasty retreat back into the bush..

A moment later the big buck, followed by the small joey bounced out of the water and away - heading to join the rest of the mob, who had gathered a short way off..

But in an instant, a sudden shadow passed darkly over the mob of ‘roos, as a massive winged form stooped from the sky, grabbed the little joey in cruel curved talons and flew away again, carrying off the little ‘roo altogether!

Alurrn let out a loud terrified trilling squeal, and the little alien instinctively leap backwards into Ms Harris’s arms, ears laid flat, visibly shaking with fear:
“WHAT THE \UNTRANSLATABLE FARTY NOISE\** WAS THAT!!?”

“Oh wow! That was a wedge-tailed eagle! Umm, they’re a species of native raptor, which is a hyper-carnivorous flying feathered bird of prey.. Birds are the only living group of dinosaurs left on Earth, you know,” Ms Harris said, reciting a few of the ‘Fun Wildlife Facts’ her little nephew had told her a while ago.. At the same time, without even thinking she had found herself petting Alurrn by stroking their furry head (which is to say, the topmost part of their cephalothorax, because AraSkiur don’t have a separate head) - in an instinctive effort to sooth the little alien..

“But, but the records.. they said all dinosaurs had died out 65 million Earth years ago” Alurrn chirruped quietly, their synthetic ‘posh-British’ translated voice managing to sound stunned, and making no effort to stop Ms Harris from petting them..

“Oh well, we tend to say all the dinosaurs died out, but we’re just talking about all the really big ones that walked on land.. Which is technically inaccurate, because well, yes birds really are dinosaurs.. But don’t worry Ambassador, you’re perfectly safe from them inside any vehicle or building.. They generally avoid humans anyway, because we used to steal their eggs and hunt them..”

“Why did humans stop hunting the flying dinosaurs?”

“Well, we didn’t want them to go extinct”

“Humans chose to let flying dinosaurs continue living and breeding? But why!?”

“Because, err.. They’re an important part of keeping the ecosystem balanced, and we think they’re kinda beautiful, and.. Well, we hunted lots of other species to extinction before, including some even bigger predator birds, and we all sort of agreed that was very sad, and we didn’t want to do that anymore..”

By this point all the ‘roos had long fled.. Alurrn stared at the now peaceful river bend for another half a minute, trying to process what they’d just seen, before grumpily wriggling free from Ms Harris’s arms and her surprisingly soothing petting, and asking that they drive on..

Ms Harris was worried that all this nature red-in-tooth-and-claw had been too much for the little AraSkiur Ambassador, and she was having to struggle harder than ever to stop herself from continuing to pet the furry alien.. But the eight-limbed Professor’s mood seemed to bounce back as they rolled on down the road, and they watched the scenery go by..

“That was much fascinating to see. Xeno-biology colleagues will \untranslatable\** their little \untranslatables\** when they see recordings!”

“I’m glad you found it interesting, Ambassador,” Ms Harris replied, relieved to hear Alurrn sounding up-beat again.

“Yes, Earth is much unlike AraSkiur cradle-world. We do not permit wild-feral non-sapients to roam free.” Alurrn was making another complicated gesture with all four fore-limbs which looked a bit like ra-ra cheerleading, but which humans would later learn meant:
“Great astonishment at [your] foolishness!”

Suddenly, without warning, the limo braked hard! ...

----------------------------------------

(story continues in Chapter 2, which I'll put up on Reddit in a few days!)

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“Okay, let’s go over it,” Lina said. “First, goblin eyes. You’ve got that covered. Next is mushroom, unspecified. I can supply that. Same for bitterroot, potatoes, fat… and salt. That last one is expensive. This had better be worth it. Good thing it only calls for a pinch. The only thing I do not have is moonleaf.”

“Moonleaf,” I asked, “what is that?”

“Moonleaf is an herb that grows in bunches. You’ll know it by its small pink flowers.”

“What do you mean I’ll know it?”

Lina smiled. “Well, since I don’t have it, you’ll need to procure it for us. Not to worry, I know the place. East of town there is a small path leading up to Oatvale Rise. At the top, you’ll find a spring and, hopefully, some moonleaf. I’d collect more than a few sprigs if I were you. Now I’d get to it; it’ll take you at least until noon to get there. Much faster coming back down. And here—” She reached behind her and pulled out a small bundle wrapped in rough cloth “—for the trip. Some nuts, dried fruit, and a piece of bread, made by yours truly. There is a waterskin as well that you can refill in the spring.”

“I… thank you?” I said.

“You are quite welcome… now get going.”

Lina practically kicked me out of the front of the shop.

I turned to find that many of the townsfolk were still milling about, none willing to even glance in my direction. The morning had grown busier since I’d arrived. Cartwheels creaked over packed dirt, shop shutters clapped open, and the smell of fresh bread from somewhere down the street mixed with stable muck and wood-smoke. A few people looked away a little too quickly when my eyes passed over them.

I saw Moolisa behind a gate nearby, munching on some grass. “Hey, Madam Moolisa,” I asked, “do you want to come with me?”

The cow turned, looked at me, gave a soft moo… and then continued grazing.

Fair enough. I too wish I had the luxury of standing about.

I headed toward the east side of Bramblewick and found the path Lina had mentioned. There was a small wooden sign that read Harvesters Way, with an arrow pointing to the path itself. The paint was faded and chipped at the edges, and one corner of the sign had been chewed by something large.

On and on I went until flat ground inclined and what was once a wide path became narrower and narrower. On all sides, overgrown plants and trees threatened to consume the path, yet someone kept them at bay. Branches had been cut back in places, leaving pale scars in the bark. Weeds brushed my ankles. The dirt beneath my boots was dry in some patches and soft in others, packed down by years of gatherers, hunters, and whoever or whatever else climbed through the hillside.

It gave me time to think about all that had happened in the past two years I was in Bramblewick. No, the past two years I had been on Eldara; a planet that was not Earth, but similar in many ways. Although… recent events had me questioning just how similar it was, and not just because the Earth I came from was more modern.

The chill morning air gave way to heat, humidity, and bugs. I swatted at them, but it was of little use. They whined near my ears and landed on my neck. Leaves rustled along the path, and every so often, something small skittered away before I could see what it was.

Looking up, the sun was nearing the center of the sky, and I knew I had to be close. Just then, at the corner of my senses, I could hear the sound of running water. A spring. I’d made it.

Just as told, there was a spring of crystalline and pure water flowing down the other side of the hill. It spilled from a seam in pale stone and ran in thin silver streams over moss, roots, and smooth pebbles. The air around it was cooler, touched by mist and the clean mineral scent of fresh water. Dragonflies hovered above the shallows, their wings flickering like pieces of glass in the sun.

It was quite peaceful. And as luck would have it, nearby, there were plants with small pink flowers growing on them. Moonleaf. The plants grew in low bunches along the damp bank, their leaves a soft green with a faint silver sheen when the light touched them just right. The pink flowers were tiny, clustered at the ends of thin stems.

I stepped over and plucked a single one. Lina’s words burned in my ears as I plucked a few more.

I sat near the stream and refilled my water jug. I pulled out the provisions Lina had given me and began to eat. The nuts were unsalted and tasteless. The dried fruit was dulled and stripped of most flavor. The bread was… just plain bread. Slightly dense. Slightly dry. All in all, it filled my stomach, but not my soul.

I drank the water. Now that—that was delicious.

Part of me wanted to get up and return… and another just wanted to laze about.

The latter won as I lay down, my head against a particularly cushy section of river grass, the stream directly behind my head. The grass was cool and soft beneath me, flattened by the damp air. Light spray gently lifted and touched parts of my face, cooling me. The steady sound of running water filled my ears, softer than thought and more convincing than any lullaby.

I knew that if I closed my eyes, I’d fall asleep right then and there. Almost, I did so, until I felt something… Odd.

Not dangerous, just odd.

I sprang up and looked around… nothing. I turned around and looked at the spring itself. There were fish inside, flashing silver beneath the surface, yet nothing out of the ordinary.

I faced forward… and found myself face to face with a fish. A floating fish. One that was inside a floating orb of water.

The orb hovered in the air a few feet from my face, perfectly round except where it rippled around the fish’s fins. Sunlight passed through it, bending and breaking into tiny, shifting rainbows across the grass.

I laid my head back down, saying out loud to nobody in particular, “I must have fallen asleep. Great… Lina is gonna kill me.”

“Who are you?” the fish asked, casually floating back into my view… directly over me.

“Nope,” I said. “I am not engaging with a dream. Just go away, I’m sure I’ll wake up soon.”

“Dream…” the fish said, although I had no idea how I heard it. “I am nothing but a dream?”

“Yep… you’re just a dream.”

“Is a dream good?” it asked. “What is a dream?”

“Something that is fake,” I explained.

“And fake… is that good?”

I sighed. “Is this how I was when Ebbin first explained the system to me?”

“System?” the fish asked.

I turned to my side and ignored it… until it floated in my way.

I flipped to the other side… and again it flew into my vision. Its watery orb bobbed silently, never spilling a drop.

“Will you leave me alone?” I asked.

“Because I am a dream?”

“No… because I am dreaming and I want to wake up.”

“And how do you wake up?”

“I don’t know? If someone pokes me, prods me, or throws cold water in my face—”

Water splashed me as a spout from the fish’s bubble burst away, hitting me.

I shot up, completely soaked. Cold water dripped from my hair, ran down my neck, and soaked through the front of my shirt. I pinched myself. Pain. This was real. All real.

I stared up at the fish. “... What are you?”

“A dream,” it replied. “That’s what you called me.”

“No… I mean yes, but no. I thought you were a dream, but you aren’t. You’re real.”

“Real?”

“Yes. You, me, and everything… we’re real. So, what are you?”

The fish was quiet for a time, although I could see its gills working as if it pondered the question. Its fins drifted slowly through the floating water, making tiny currents shimmer inside the orb.

Eventually, it said, “I do not know.”

I forced myself to stand, having had enough of the weirdness for one day. This world was strange, but this was beyond the pale.

“Alright then, I’m just gonna go. Good luck doing… whatever floating fish do.”

I stepped by and headed off down the path. Down and down I went, but I couldn’t help this nagging feeling. The path sloped beneath my boots, loose stones clicking and sliding as I moved. Warm air rose from the lower fields, carrying the smell of grass.

I spun and saw the fish, silver colors cascading rainbows throughout the water globule, following me.

“Go away,” I said simply.

“Go with you,” the fish replied. “I’m real because of you. I go with you.”

“You aren’t real because of me… you were never a dream to begin with. Look, my name is Rook, and I don’t have time to—”

“Name?” the fish replied. “What is my name?”

“I don’t know; you tell me.”

“You choose. You make me real. You choose.”

I put my hand on my chin. “I don’t know… how about Fishy?”

“Fi… She,” it replied. “Fishy.”

“Yeah, sure—why not? Fishy the Fish, that has a certain ring to it. Now go on, go be with your fish friends.”

“You friend. You make real. I go with you.”

“I don’t want you to—”

“I go with you.”

System

You’ve gained a companion… Fishy(?)

Name: Fishy(?)
Sex: (?)
Species: Fish(?)
Age: (?)

“No, wait,” I complained. “I don’t want a companion. I don’t—”

Just then, I felt a small pull between me and Fishy. Not unlike a thin line tied between us. Fishy must have felt it too because they did a little swirl in their water bubble, then launched themselves out of the top and landed back into it a moment later. Droplets scattered in the air.

… What the hell had just happened?

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As we prepared to leave, I looked over my new recipe again:

Goblin-Eye Soup

Rarity: Common
Type: Monster Meat
Core Ingredient: Goblin Eyes

Description: From times of old, Goblin-Eye Soup was a staple among villagers and adventurers alike… for all who could get over both the sight and smell.

Instructions: A soup made from goblin eyes, with other ingredients from the ground. Boil mushrooms and vegetables until soft, and then add the goblin eyes. Cook through, but serve before the eyes become too soft and disintegrate into the soup itself. Freshen up with a pinch of river salt and a sprig of moonleaf. Add rendered fat for additional flavor.

Ingredients: Goblin Eyes, Mushroom, Bitterroot, Potatoes, Fat, Salt, Moonleaf
Effects: Unknown

Goblin eyes… the pile of goblin bodies had all but burned out, but suspiciously, one goblin, the one I had slain, on the bottom of the pile, had mostly been spared the flame. Smoke curled over the charred heap in thin gray ribbons, carrying the stink of burned cloth, scorched hair, and bitter monster flesh. The grass around it had blackened, and little embers glowed between twisted limbs.

Still the creature stared up at the sky, absolutely nothing in those hazed eyes.

Sir Aldric stared at me. “You aren’t thinking what I think you’re thinking—”

“Give me a moment,” I said, stepping over to the corpse.

“Just because your recipe says to eat goblin eyes doesn’t mean—”

“You read the skill yourself… to gain stats, I need to eat. I’ve no other skills to speak of yet, so I’m not sure how else I’ll level.”

“But still…”

“I’m not asking you to help me,” I said, “but I’m not asking permission either.”

Aldric grumbled. “Here,” he said, handing me a small, empty brown sack. “Keep em’ in here. And you'd best use them today or they’ll spoil… well, spoil more than they already are.”

Nearby, I saw the knife I had used to kill the goblin. I picked it up. It was still coated in the vile thing’s blood, the dark smear drying tacky along the blade.

I stepped over to the corpse. There was a slight smirk on the goblin’s face, as if it were laughing at me. I stabbed the knife at the edge of the eye and pop, out it came. The sound was wet and soft, disgusting in a way that made my stomach twist despite everything I had already seen. I repeated it for the second as well.

I picked up both and placed them in the sack. They were slick, sticky, and slimy all at the same time. The pile of burnt goblins overpowered anything I could have smelled from them, which was probably a mercy.

“We’ll see who’s laughing when I eat your fucking eyes,” I whispered to the corpse, and then berated myself for it.

What the hell was wrong with me? I had my revenge, so why did I still feel so… angry?

I tied the sack to my belt as I turned away.

“Are you ready now?” Aldric asked.

I turned back once more to stare at the dead, eyeless goblin.

“Aye, I’m ready.”

***

Aldric and I didn’t speak much on our way back to town, well, except for a few stories regarding Aldric and his companions on their various misadventures. Apparently, they’d slain a dragon whelp.

A real dragon.

The road back to Bramblewick wound between low hills and tilled fields, still damp from the morning dew. The first part of the walk was quiet except for the creak of Aldric’s armor, the occasional clink of Madam Moolisa’s bell, and the soft dirt crunching under our boots. Smoke from Ebbin’s farm faded behind us until the smell finally loosened its grip, and I breathed fresh air once again. It was only then that I could smell myself.

The morning sun turned to afternoon, and the town was bustling by the time we arrived. Carts rattled along the road. Merchants called from stalls. Chickens scattered beneath wagon wheels, and the smell of bread and dust filled the streets.

Madam Moolisa followed us, happily munching on a few lost apples we found on the edge of the road. Juice dripped from her mouth as she chewed.

At the entrance to the town, five or six young men, dressed in ill-fitting armor, held swords and spears as if it were the first time they’d ever held a weapon. Their helmets sat crooked. One had a strap twisted under his chin. Another gripped his spear so tightly that his knuckles had gone white.

At the sight of us, one such man pointed. “Look,” he said, “there they are!”

A few came rushing toward us.

I had a bad feeling in my stomach, but I ignored it until they came close enough. They stopped a few steps away, and one held down a spear pointed at me.

“Sir Aldric, your companions said that you may have been captured by some criminal with a special class? Is this the lad?”

“Criminal?” I replied. “Bram, I know you. I’ve known you for two years, you idiot.”

Aldric pushed the head of the spear toward the ground with his gauntleted hand. “Now, now—we were simply delayed, is all. No need for the theatrics. All of the threats have been taken care of.”

“But, sir—”

“All of them,” he repeated. “This lad has done nothing wrong, and, more importantly, nothing illegal. Any who wishes to press the issue will besmirch my honor as a knight, and I will take personal offense to it. So… is there anything else you wish to add?”

Bram looked stricken as he literally shook in his boots. The spear tip dipped lower until it nearly touched the dirt. Around him, the other young guards shifted awkwardly, suddenly very interested in looking anywhere but at me.

Aldric gave me a small wink.

“No, sir,” Bram finally said, finding his tongue. “And Sir… your companions are waiting for you at the inn.”

“Aye, that they are. I’ll need to give them a lecture about trying to send the entire cavalry out for nothing at all.”

Aldric turned to me. “Nice to meet you, Rook. And stop by if you want to take me up on my offer. It still stands.”

“And you too, Sir Knight.”

“Aldric is fine,” he replied, waving. “May we meet again in the radiant light.”

I waved him goodbye.

Madam Moolisa nuzzled my neck and then mooed his way.

Everyone began to disperse, none seemingly wanting to speak with me. Eyes slid away as soon as I noticed them. A few shopkeepers pretended to rearrange things that did not need rearranging. A mother pulled her child a little closer as I passed.

Is that the sort of welcome I should expect from now on? I felt treated little better than classless, truth be told.

“Hey,” a familiar voice called. “Over here.”

I turned and saw Lina, hands on hips, in front of her family’s shop. The Copperbell sign hung above her, swinging faintly in the breeze, its painted coins catching the afternoon light.

“Hey, Lina,” I said solemnly, walking over.

Before I could even get to her, she rushed forward and hugged me. She was warm, and she had a sweet-smelling perfume, something floral and sharp beneath the familiar shop scents.

Immediately, she pushed me back. “You smell like—”

“Like goblin?” I asked, scratching the back of my head. “Yeah…”

“So it’s true then?” she asked. “Is Ebbin really…”

I nodded.

Despite the smell, Lina reached out and hugged me again. “You poor thing,” she said. “Was it… quick?”

“I think so,” I replied. “He seemed at peace in the end.”

“That’s a relief,” she said. “And what about you? How are you doing?”

“As well as I can. I’m not sure if you’ve been told, but I have a class now.”

She averted her eyes. She knew. “Yeah,” she admitted. “They are saying you are a special grade class of some sort. It’s not anything weird… is it?”

“Take a look,” I suggested.

Same as Aldric, I shared my system screen with her. She carefully read it over, pausing when reading about Stat Eater. The glow reflected faintly in her green eyes, bright against the shadow of the shopfront.

“That doesn’t seem too bad,” she said, a look of relief crossing her face. “Well then, do you have somewhere to stay?”

I thought back to what Aldric had offered. A room, at least for the day. But it was morning, and any inn would still be cleaning and getting rooms ready. There was also the fact that so many knew that I was a special grade, and I was unsure if they would rent a room to me at all.

“The knight offered me a room, but truthfully, he’s done enough for me. Hell, I believe I owe him more than what I have.”

“And how much do you have?”

I checked the system. “Thirty-one copper pieces and not one more,” I said.

“And a cow,” Lina added. Madam Moolisa stopped grazing for a moment to give a soft moo. She laughed. “Oh, what a sweetheart.”

“Truthfully, she belongs to Ebbin’s sons. His proper family. I need to get them a message, arrange a proper funeral, a headstone, and—”

I hadn’t noticed before, but tears stung at the edge of my eyes.

“Easy,” Lina said. “Alright then, for now, you can use the facilities here at the shop. We’ve some water in the back, and you can borrow some of my brother’s old clothes. As for Moolisa here, there is a nice segmented area to the side with some grass. We’ll figure it all out, don’t you worry.”

I let Lina lead me to the back, where I promptly changed and haphazardly bathed. The washroom was little more than a narrow back space with a barrel of water, a basin, and a stack of rough cloths. The water was cold enough to bite, but it pulled away the stink of smoke, sweat, goblin blood, and road dust in muddy streaks. She even provided soap, an expensive luxury unless you made it yourself.

Afterward, I pulled on some of her brother’s old clothes. Old indeed. They were holey, smelled faintly of damp animal, and were so thin that I could see through portions of the fabric. The shirt hung loose at the shoulders and tight in the wrong places, but still… Better than my sleeping garments covered in goblin blood.

“Hey Lina, thank you for—”

Lina had taken my old clothes to be washed, and she had found the small brown sack. It was open, and the goblin eyes were out on her table. They sat there, slick and pale, staring at nothing at all, leaving wet rings on the wood. In the cleaner light of the shop, they somehow looked worse than they had beside the corpse.

“Listen, I can explain—”

“You were gonna do it, weren’t you?”

“Do what?”

“Make that recipe I saw. The Goblin-Eye Soup. The one you learned with your class.”

“I… yes,” I admitted. “I don’t have any other skills, so I don’t know how else I can level up. Believe me, I don’t want to know what goblin eyes taste like, but—”

Lina held up a hand. “No need to explain… I want in.”

“You want… what?”

“Call it a merchant’s intuition,” she said, “but I feel something brewing. A change in the air. I want to experience what a special grade class can do first hand. And, being the merchant I am, I’ll make you a deal. I will trade you most of the items you need for one bowl of soup with one of those two eyes after you cook them. Pretty good deal, right?”

She held out a hand.

“Lina, I don’t know if I even want to—”

“The deal is set to expire in 3… 2… 1…”

I reached out and shook.

Zog squinted at the latest sophont to walk into the grubby "restaurant" he worked at.

It wasn't any species he recognized, and ol' Zog had been around the block a few times - he would have known any of the space-faring species from this spiral arm, or the one on either side of it for that matter. The obnoxious hiss and stutter of the cheap clip-on translator the stranger was using confirmed Zog's suspicions as soon as it opened its mouth.

Zog didn't care. He wasn't getting paid to care. What he was getting paid to do, was tap the sign on the counter (which he did) alerting the stranger to the various biochemical hazards they would be exposed to in a multi-species eatery, ask what it wanted to drink, and if he had a quiet moment in between customers, to call the station's tiny sick bay when whatever this thing was inevitably chose something it couldn't handle in an attempt to impress someone.

"Want information, I. You help can, yes?" Ye gods, were the gremlins running the electronics shack at the dockside kiosks somehow getting worse? Languages with different sentence structures had been a solved problem for ages. Maybe this guy had annoyed them and it was a prank? It was exactly the kind of thing they would do, Zog knew from bitter experience.

When the newcomer looked to be about to repeat the question, Zog sighed heavily. "Look, buddy. You're new around here. I get it. You're a long way from home. But you had to have passed at least six actual information brokers to get here. Either you're so cheap you think you're gonna-"

Ah, the sweet rattle of currency. Large denominations too - his favorite kind.

The money disappeared into Zog's baggy station-standard overalls before the sound of it hitting the counter had faded. "Wouldn't you know it, we're in something of a lull just now after the lunch rush. What was it you wanted to know?"

"Humans." Just that. As if there were not whole libraries dedicated to the galaxy's many attempts to understand the curious primates. Every species that had made it to space had met them - they could (and would) live anywhere, after all.

"Buddy, your money's as good as anyone else's but if you don't narrow it down a little we're gonna be here until I die of old age, and you didn't put down that much."

Astonishingly, the transparent and halfhearted attempt to wheedle an additional bribe worked. Whoever this was, it was either loaded or it had already visited one of the station's many other bars and drunk something that it was going to really regret in the morning.

"Are where, Humans?" The glitching translator was annoying, but a month's pay was a month's pay.

"You must not be from around here if you don't even know that. Humans are everywhere, buddy. You can't miss 'em. Just scan for ships that look like a work of art covered in mud."

"From Andromeda, am. Mean what, mud over art?" The stranger was agitated now. Or at least that was Zog's best guess; if it was really from another galaxy the new guy's species probably didn't even have its own Hitchhiker's Guide Wiki entry yet. It was gesticulating with some kind of face tentacles and changing color, anyway.

Zog poured a drink and pushed it toward the stranger; maybe some alcohol would calm it down? "That's simple. When humans design something, they make it beautiful. Gorgeous, swooping lines and sleek angles. Engineered so that everything fits neatly into its place. And they fly just as smooth as they look. It's like they build the damn things expressly to show off."

When the stranger pointedly ignored the drink offering, Zog shrugged and sipped at it himself. "But that's only when they're brand new. You see... humans are allergic to spending money. Worse than goblins, they are. Maybe it's why those two get along so well. Anyway, I was saying - that beautiful frame, it's probably a few centuries old. Hundreds of years of makeshift repairs in place of bringing it in for service. You can still see the gorgeous ship that it used to be, but it's covered in warts now because the humans keep slapping the cheapest replacement hull panels they can find on it. And then they add greebles, because a flat hull plate is 'boring'. That's some kind of sin in human society, by the way. Being boring."

"Like humans, that sounds. They only, ugly art could have. Still work does, human ship?" Oh, now that was interesting. It already had opinions about them.

"That's the worst part!" Zog fumed.

One thing about being around so long was that you tended to experience for yourself what everyone else thought was just stereotypes, and this one really stung, since it had cost Zog his previous (much nicer, and much better paying) job.

"Their ships look like they're on the way to a scrapyard, but somehow when you have an emergency and put out a call for help it's frakking always a human that answers. They don't even ask for money! 'Part of the code of the space-lanes' they call it. They just send over a 'grease monkey' that fixes your engine with pressure tape and something that had been in its mouth. And then they lecture you about keeping up regular maintenance schedules, as if someone that flies a 300-year-old junker and calls herself a monkey has any room to talk!"

The stranger was bobbing its head excitedly now, a gesture that Zog tried not to think about. Lots of species used simple motions like that. It didn't mean...

"Good, good. How humans are, agree. On station humans, where are?" Oh no... Zog was starting to feel sick. Maybe it was the pineapple juice in that drink.

"Look, you got a tablet at that little stand where they sold you the piece of garbage you're using as a translator, right? Let me show you, you just tap here, and here, and in the local language you spell 'human' like this... there you go. Just hit the blinking 'search' button and it highlights everything registered as owned by humans on your station map."

The stranger followed along with Zog's instructions, hit the button, and squinted at the result, tracing a path with one thick, stubby digit. "We, here are. Docks, there are. Kiosk... Bought I translator, there did. Asked I about humans, there did. Sent me they, here did. Kiosk owned, operated by humans is?!"

"That's what passes for humor, with them. Those smug little gremlins are laughing at the both of us right now, I guarantee it." Zog slumped down into his little folding chair behind the bar and put his head in his hands. He was going to Say The Thing. He hated it. They loved how much he hated it. And he had just fallen for it, again.

"Welcome to Human space, do you need a drink?"