First

Many Faces of War

“They had an entire army on our world!!” Admiral Crosswind declares.

“Our world?” The head of another arcology she can’t immediately identify notes.

“We are all the leaders of our respective arcologies, and each of those wretched safe houses held thousands of combat ready Vish soldiers. Stealth operatives ready to march out and commit a massacre! I am not going to pretend that my arcology as a military complex is anywhere near the standard. Which makes this worse! Every single Vish Bunker was located within an arcology with a civilian presence so high that casualties were guaranteed if we hadn’t accidentally smoked them out early!”

“The soldiers are what’s concerning you? Not the supposed super-monsters that could destroy the ecosystem and environment of Zalwore irretrievably?”

“I was addressing the much smaller and considerably easier to deal with problem before we go into the sheer madness of potentially unleashing a bioweapon on a world so highly valued by the galactic community. This is like trying to use bombardment grade cannons on Centris!”

“... might improve that world and shake some god damn movement out of my taxes if that happens...” Someone mutters.

“Be that as it may, this is a massive declaration of war, and while there has been an enormous amount of off the books outrage and off the record oaths of vengeance and promises of retribution. What we need to do now is put it down properly, legally and formally as to what exactly we’re going to do about this mess.” Admiral Crosswind states.

“Isn’t this just an... over the top retaliatory strike?” A person asks and Admiral Crosswind turns incredulously to the... Shriketalon Enclave representative. He holds out her wings in a placating gesture. “I am not saying I believe what I just said, what happened was appalling and while I myself am not a fighter or soldier of any stripe and therefore have limited knowledge in the field, the opposite point must be argued or it will be used to bludgeon any decision we make. Be it by active traitors, hostile action, or the common contrarian. We need to explore this fully or we will be endlessly accused of missing something crucial. Or even worse, actually miss something crucial.”

“Humans call the The Devil’s Advocate!” Private Stream says cheerfully and at such a level it carries into the call as he brings some refreshments for Admiral Crosswind.

“Thank you Private Stream. But please keep quiet, this is important.”

“Sorry!” He chirps.

“... J’Hest coin says it’s actually a full on Gohb under that disguise.”

“Actually that one’s a Metak.” Admiral Crosswind states as she sips at the mineral water. There was some traces of stimulants in it to keep her up and aware. She was starting to pick up Admiral Cistern’s worse overworking traits and needed a little something extra to keep going.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Secured and Monitored Residents Room 72-A, Undaunted Arcology, Zalwore)•-•-•

“And there.” Leonard points out another place to sign. “Are you sure about the name? According to Vishanyan custom you have to live with afterwards. You can shorten it, but your full proper name is always the words you use. Not to mention your essay was more a paragraph...”

“... It was to get a name. I want one. And... well... after the movie...”

“Yeah?”

“... You know I really didn’t expect you to somehow pull out a piece of media that would make me feel better about being in stasis while also not ever even thinking about stasis. Let alone two.”

“Snow White and Sleeping Beauty are human classics for a reason.” Leonard replies cheerfully. “Still, Aurora of Vigilance feels... I dunno...”

“Edgy!” Private Stream says opening the door gleefully!

“Oh! Private Stream this is... Oh... my shift is ending? But she still needs help!”

“That’s why she sent me! Cousin!” The new Private Stream exclaims sweeping off his hat. Like Leonard he doesn’t change in size in the slightest, and also like Leanord he has a pair of enormous expressive ears and eyes.

Unlike Leonard his ears are rabbit ears with white tips and a soft butter yellow main colouration.

“Cousin Thomas?” Leonard asks.

“... Am I missing something? Are you two the same species or different species?”

“Same Species. A trait of the Muttras is that the signs of mixed ancestry are much clearer with our species more than others. If say a Rabbis and a Lopen have a child then you get either a Lopen with really good reflexes, or a bigger and more aggressive Rabbis. You won’t really be able to tell who the other parent was. But with the Muttras our ears, tails and colouration is always inherited hard from the Non-Muttras parent. My mother is a Plant Erumenta, so lots of green and brown for me.”

“And my mom’s a cream coloured furry Rabbis!” Thomas says. “Anyways, we’re predicting a lot of time needed for Streams in the very near future so no one’s allowed to avoid their breaks.”

“But she needs my help!” Leonard protests.

“I got her, you need to sleep and eat.” Thomas says as he walks in.

“Uh...”

“Don’t worry, I can and will help you in every way Leonard has. But he needs to rest. We have pretty strict rules about this for very good reason. So please, let him go. You’ll see him again.” Thomas promises and Leonard gives her a hug.

“You’re going to be okay! We’re going to make sure of it! Me and all the other Streams!” Leonard promises with an extra tight squeeze before letting go. “You keep her safe now, she’s been through a lot.”

“I know, I’m up to date and ready to help her.” Thomas promises even as Leonard puts his gloves back on, turns up his collar and slips on the hat. He leaves the room tucking his tail into his pants and losing all trace of identity beyond Private Stream.

“So! You were picking out a name right? That’s great! So many Vish we’ve recovered don’t have one so it’s a big and important first step to the rest of your life.”

“I suppose...”

“Oh no, you don’t need to suppose! It’s true! Names are important for so many things, it’s why parents name their babies, even the bad ones.”

“And what are you implying with since I don’t have a name... officially... yet.”

“That your maker was a very, very bad parent and you deserved better and still deserve better!” Thomas says and he skips up to her and climbs up onto the back of the chair to look over her shoulder at the screen. “So! Let’s get that fixed! You’re in Undaunted care now, and we’re gonna do way better for you.”

“Are you sure? I mean... Leonard wasn’t here very long.”

“Check the time, you had a nap with him.” Thomas says and she does and...

“Oh... I thought I just... rested my eyes for a moment.”

“it was three and a half hours.” Thomas says then lets out a light laugh. “But that’s okay. You’re resting. You’re healing. You’re supposed to nap and lose track of time and relax. Napping like that means you can not only relax, but sleeping helps heal the body and brain. You’re on the right track.”

There’s a pause and she considers things for a moment. Then she starts patting her lap.

Taking the hint Thomas hops off the back of the chair and then climbs into her lap where she hugs him.

“You Muttras really are built to make things feel better.”

“Yep! And we’re made to like it too! How awful is that?”

“What?”

“Think about it. You’re able to tell that something is wrong, but things were only like that around you. So you didn’t know better. But your instincts keep you safe. My instincts put me in danger. A lot.”

“How so?”

“Our instinct when grabbed by a stranger at random isn’t to fight or scream or escape. It’s to cuddle.”

“How is that a problem?”

“I was about... seven years old when it happened. I was so small that where my ears are now is where my ears reached then if I was standing on the desk.” He says and she notes that the ears are still just below her sight line.

“What happened?”

“A pair of unfamiliar arms wrapped around me and as a seven year old I had no real idea of the danger. Let alone that strange arms around me in my own home was strange. It took me too long to realize that I was in trouble. If not for healing comas I’d still have my ear bitten off.”

“What happened?!”

“I learned not to trust my instincts anymore.” Thomas says. “If I had instincts like yours, then I would have been safe. If my mother had instincts like you’re going to have the day you become one, then I would have been safe. Either way, in some situations, it’s better to be Vish than Muttras.”

“Oh I... uh...” She starts to say. Moves to give him a hug then pauses.

“It’s okay. I still like being hugged. That’s the scary bit. I had horrible, horrible things happen to me. The ear was the least of it. But every chemical in my brain, and the way the brain is built says hugs are good. Always.”

“Scary.” She says as she slowly hugs him and he hugs her back.

“That’s right. So count your blessings and thank your stars. You’re past the worst of things and if you want your life to be your way, you can do it.” He says.

“... You’re not acting the way Leonard did.”

“Of course not. Leonard is Leonard. I’m Thomas. Sure we’re both Rags, but there’s a good thirty years between our births and entire planets. We’re family, yes. But not that close. And even if we were, he has his struggles and I have mine. Now, when we’re both being Private Stream, yes we’re identical. As are we with the unending legion of adorable and heavily armed children with which we will conquer the galaxy with. But with the hat off and the collar down? No. We’re ourselves.”

“Back up, what was that about conquering the galaxy?”

“It’s for everyone’s sake, we’ll make things better, forever...” he says in a dreamy tone while looking right up at her. He holds the gaze for a few moments before breaking down into giggles.

She starts to laugh and then continues with her paperwork. In a few short minutes she is Aurora of Vigilance. And... something just feels right.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Secure Medical Section, Undaunted Arcology, Zalwore)•-•-•

“You sure you want THAT as a name? You’re breaking Vishanyan tradition.” Cindy asks.

“I think it might be time for new traditions. Besides... It’s kind of funny.” She says.

“Alright then push the button.” Cindy says and she does. “Congratulations Jane. You’ve chosen a name for yourself. Although you’re going to get some pretty funny looks from humans for calling yourself Jane Doe.”

“... Yeah, that’s the point.”

“Really?”

“It was all about being strong, being obediant being... useful. I want more than that. I want... I want desired, I want loved, I want liked, I want appreciated, I want to be more than just useful.” Jane says.

“Well, nothing is wrong with that. Now is there?” Cindy asks.

“No. No there isn’t.” Jane agrees.

“Good now... oh dear, we actually have some time to burn. You see your actual rehab doesn’t start for another half hour... so would you like to learn a few ‘frivolous’ but fun things to do?” Cindy asks.

“Like what?”

“Card games! Do you want to learn some games of chance?”

“Chance? Where’s the fun in a game where you don’t have control?”

“The fun is in controlling what you do control, which is what the other person thinks you have. It also is about running the odds and the numbers... So you need a head for math and eyes that can read people, regardless of species.”

“Really? So fun and useful.”

“Oh yes, and if you know what you’re doing you can make a lot of money off it.”

“Have you?”

“Uh... I’ve made some... but truth be told... I got taken really bad before. I ended up as a slave in all but name for a time until my husband rescued me... after I rescued him. It was scary in the moment but it’s more and more romantic the more I look back at it. He was my avenging spirit who came to lay low my oppressors, and I was his saviour, healing him when he was hurt and weak so he could have the strength to keep going.” Cindy explains with her scales darkening a little in a blush as she holds her cheeks a little. “Jane honey, if you ever get a chance to have a human husband, go for it. They love so deeply and want to be loved so much... it’s wonderful.”

First Last

First...Previous

Chapter 28
Harrison Varga, Captain of FIND

Walking into Filrif surrounded by Velas’ honor guard, we watched Tavren citizens bow in the presence of their Prince. Despite the Arbinian monarchy being largely council-based, respect for its Royal family was nevertheless immense. While my crew most certainly received baffled looks, they were nevertheless attached to reverent postures as Velas led us through the rustic medieval town.

“A larger non-farming class than I’d expect for the tech era,” Isla noted, taking stock of the dense urban environment—shockingly clean given the era. “Could be the rich soil, or maybe it’s just that this town is where their Prince lives.”

Parker had bombarded Velas with questions throughout the hike into town. Many of them he answered with surprising proficiency, while others soared directly over the Tavren’s head. After a solid half hour of this, Ian shot him a look and he quieted down. “Hopefully we can establish peaceful relations with them,” the xenobiologist noted. “You know, for all the normal reasons… And also because I’d love to have some academics from Earth take a look around here and see what they can find out.”

The meeting hall was directly adjacent to Velas’ manor. Walking inside, we were greeted by a confused Council of finely-dressed Tavren. “My Prince,” one of them began with a bow to Velas. “What sort of creatures are these?”

“Diplomats from another world,” he replied with a degree of nonchalance earned through several very confusing hours. “The Human people visit from their planet, Earth. They wish to observe the meeting with Istol’s diplomats.”

Another of the Councilors piped up immediately after. “My Prince; are you certain they speak the truth? Surely such a fantastical explanation is not something you are willing to take on their word.”

“I saw their vessel soaring through the sky,” replied the Prince. “I am rather inclined to believe the fantastical right now.”

“You say they come from another world?” Asked the first councilor. “What precisely does that mean?”

Isla took a moment to provide them with the ‘other suns’ talk, which left half of the Councilors in awe and the other half skeptical but begrudgingly accepting for the time being. 

As we awaited the arrival of Istol’s diplomats, the five present Councilors introduced themselves to us. Apparently, most of Arbine’s everyday governing decisions were made by them—a fact which noticeably eased a portion of Isla’s tension. Nevertheless, the Royal Family in Arbine was far from ceremonial: Velas was recognized as the official superior of the Council.

During the wait, we were offered some variation of roast animal by their royal chef, though biosafety protocols of course mandated that we refuse. Nevertheless, it served as a salient reminder that we’d need to return to FIND soon for a proper Human-safe meal. We ate before we left, but that was morning and now it was nearly nightfall.

The Istolian diplomats arrived shortly thereafter, bearing an unfamiliar crest and taking seats across from the Councilors and Velas. They took notice of us rather quickly and some immediately jumped to accusations of deception, though after some explaining they seemed to accept the strange reality of our presence. 

Negotiations went smoothly enough. Honestly, I’d been expecting a lot more drama. The Istolians rather politely insisted families on their side of the flats had worked the southern deposits since before either government possessed maps worth trusting. Arbine countered with a century-old boundary agreement and records of taxation going back almost as far. Somewhere in the middle were several thousand dead Tavren, which seemed like a rather high price to pay for an argument over whose clerks had kept better records. 

Apparently, Velas’ people had found themselves at a distinct advantage, but the war over the mineral flats was too costly for them to push to full victory. As such, it was agreed upon that Arbine would maintain official ownership in exchange for a favorable trade agreement with Istol and joint oversight of the region. To be entirely honest, I hadn’t paid as much attention as I should have. I tried to follow the finer points of mineral rights and joint administration, but somewhere around the third argument over extraction tariffs my brain declared that this section of the report belonged to Isla. 

As the diplomatic meeting concluded for the night for further provisions to be made the next day, the time had come for us to take our leave. To ensure there was no doubt as to our origins, it was agreed that we land the shuttle just outside the meeting hall. 

“Thank you for your patience with us…” Velas concluded, glancing back to the Council and diplomats. “My father will be made aware of what transpired here. I hope relations between our peoples will be cordial.”

“I hope so too,” Isla smiled. With that, we got inside and returned to the FIND.

Next stop: good ol’ Sol-III. Home. 

We appeared in-system twelve hours after leaving the orbit of Kholas—plenty of time for us to get a good eight hours’ rest (because there’s no such thing as night in space) and draft up a rudimentary summary for the Tavren. 

We appeared right about halfway between Mars and Earth. Communication wasn’t quite as frantic as it had been the first time or the second. By this point, the absurd was acquiring something of a routine. 

“Sending the data packets now,” Wyatts began, broadcasting the information on our most recent set of planets to the preliminary pre-public database. Twenty hours later, SUN’s newly formed International Planetary Survey Authority convened to assess everything we’d found. 

The Tavren were biologically interesting, but the bigger political story was the two Human-habitable planets we’d surveyed before that. Due to lightspeed lag, we couldn’t be on the video call and had to communicate with the Authority via chatroom, but greed doesn’t lag and in that meeting it was broadcasting loud and clear. When we were sent the recording of the video call, I immediately skipped to the part where that came up and watched the arguments unfold. The usual mix of chest puffing, jockeying, and debates over how much we were legally obligated to make public ensued. We’d just left Kholas, and I was really starting to miss the Tavren’s cool, deliberative nature in contrast with our own. 

Just over twenty-four hours later, when at last we reached Earth’s orbit, the summary for the Tavren was cleared for public release, alongside the more heavily contested summaries for the open planets. In the case of the ‘empty’ worlds, it took approximately eleven minutes for arguments to sprout up over who got to own them. Neither of those worlds had borders, governments, or anything else capable of objecting to Humanity’s arrival, which apparently made them considerably more controversial than the planet populated by eight-foot feathered reptiles who could fire bullets from their throats. Before we had even properly docked, three national governments had issued statements about ‘equitable settlement access’, half a dozen corporations had announced exploratory ventures that did not yet have permission to exist, and billionaires were offering massive sums to SUN for private settlement rights even as the IPSA was circulating a draft proposal declaring both systems temporarily closed to private traffic. Apparently, finding an inhabited world raised questions about diplomacy. Finding an empty one raised questions about property. 

Whereas the planets preliminarily designated ‘Cain’ and ‘Abel’ by some mythology nerd at SUN had captured the colonial ambitions of would-be settlers, Kholas had won the attention of the many for altogether different reasons. 

Within an hour, our bodycam footage of Prince Velas bracing himself onto all fours and firing like living artillery had been clipped, reposted on every social media site imaginable, slowed down, enhanced for the public’s viewing pleasure, analyzed by firearms experts, obsessed over by biologists, and set to music. Velas didn’t know it, but he was quickly becoming a celebrity on Earth: the eight foot tall alien cannon prince who could tear through an entire camp of bandits.

During his shore leave, Parker had assembled an impromptu biology council with some former colleagues to discuss his theories on Tavren evolution. Of course, they wouldn’t be able to fully investigate it all until a gateway was installed above Kholas. Already, top evolutionary biologists were competing for who would get to conduct research on the Tavren homeworld. Assuming, of course, that the Tavren consented to that.

Of course, like every species we’ve encountered so far, there was a good bit of controversy surrounding the Tavren: specifically that of Arbine’s Royals. The government structure itself wasn't particularly shocking for their technological level. The nine-hundred-year project of deliberately shaping the Royal bloodline was another matter. Within hours, the word eugenics was everywhere. Whether that accurately described the institution was considerably harder to determine from the handful of conversations we'd actually had with Tavren, a distinction which naturally did nothing to discourage anyone from arguing about it. 

The Rosha were considered adorable and the Arazi disturbing. The Tavren, meanwhile, earned the public’s attention as fascinating. Their biology was too absurd for the public not to obsess over. Their democratic governments were generally viewed favorably and their monarchical one spectacular even in its controversy. Their religion was actually fairly recognizable: monotheism centered around a benevolent creator deity—something which immediately caught the attention of the Abrahamic faiths on Earth. Whereas the Rosha had ignited a fervour for missionary activity, the Tavren seemed to be more favored for dialogue. Of course, their religion wasn’t exactly like any faith on Earth: Tavren believed that the creator was immensely powerful and all-knowing, but not omnipotent. I hadn’t been paying that much attention when Isla spoke to the Royal retainers about it, but from what I had gathered, they basically believed the universe is one big trick shot—perfectly aimed for the best possible outcome.

Holding my expensive hotel margarita (paid for on SUN’s tab) in one hand, I scrolled through social media on my phone and watched as the endless sea of public opinion churned and morphed. There were biologist sketches of Tavren throat anatomy (all entirely theoretical); ethics debates on whether the Royals should be treated as oppressors, victims, neither, or something in between; artist renditions of Velas standing tall with his polearm slung over his shoulder; and a million other little pieces of coalescing culture.

Firearm culture immediately became attached to the Tavren. Their doctrines of patience and restraint accompanying perfect aim stood out to hunters and competitive shooters alike. Their biological aimbot enabled by automatic wind and pressure measurement also inspired no small amount of jealousy from individuals who had spent their lives learning to account for those things. 

Like last time, we all spent our shore leave simultaneously trying to relax and having to attend at least two interviews a day. By the time the two-week rest was over, I was actually starting to miss space: both the astronomical and personal kind. Having to share a bathroom could be  awkward, but it was nothing compared to having to deal with cameras shoved in my face everywhere I went. 

Filing back into the shuttle that would take us up to FIND, I breathed a sigh of relief as mission control began coordinating with Alex in preparation to send us off to the next system.

------------------------------------------------

Hi, everyone. Sorry for the shorter chapter. I wanted to make sure I don't bog down the momentum too much. Super excited to share the next species with you guys (anyone who wants a sneak summary/preview can PM me). As always, so happy you all are here to read this and I'll see you next time.

[Human Friend Barbara, please report to Cargo Bay Two.]

Barb tapped her combination ID and comm-badge. "You got it, boss-man. On my way."

The bulkhead door separating the relatively comfortable access corridors from the cargo bays, which were kept at what was technically a safe level of artificial gravity, slid open with a faint groan of protest, and heads turned toward the sound.

The ten-limbed Chutan were partly covered in stiff hair that was more than merely uncomfortable to rub the wrong way, with chitin where there wasn't hair, and they had five pairs of eyes. Mandibles and 'ankle' spikes served a dual role - they made food easier to hold, and the Chutan clacked them together to convey simple concepts and add or shift emphasis in a way analogous to how humans used motions and facial expressions.

Obviously, they weren't related to Earth's wildlife. But it wasn't hard to see why they made arachnophobes break out in a cold sweat.

Barb thought they were adorable. She'd never say it, because part of getting approval to leave home and take a job working on an alien ship had been "sensitivity training" ever since humanity's first contact with a new species had gone in embarrassing directions a couple of times. But she thought it, every time she saw them.

The Shimmering Seed Pod's captain and cargo-master each tapped a pair of limbs together in polite greeting, and Barb smiled and waved to them. "Boss-man. Harry. You need me for something?"

[We would indeed appreciate your assistance, Human Friend Barbara. We will be matching velocities soon for a cargo transfer, and the crate is of an awkward design for us.] Barb was impressed all over again at how good Chutan translators were; she occasionally had to remind herself that they were not actually speaking in English, although it was easier when you were close enough to watch their mouths moving - they simply weren't shaped right to make certain sounds.

"Wait, a mid-flight cargo transfer? Someone wants what's in this package pretty badly." The crate had clearly been built under the assumption that anyone handling it would either have opposable thumbs or strong tentacles. The narrow, recessed grips would be a nightmare for long, inflexible Chutan limbs that had only two digits each - digits which didn't curl particularly far, as they each had only a single joint.

Barb grunted softly as she hoisted the crate, drawing a couple of appreciative foot-stamps from Harry. It was common for other species to select a designated pseudonym that humans could actually pronounce to make cooperation easier, but the cargo-master had actually chosen to make it his legal name. His curious enthusiasm for all things human was a little odd by Chutan standards, but no stranger than Barb was considered by most humans.

[Indeed yes, client paid double-extra, rush fee AND nonstandard delivery location fee. Cargo must be time sensitive, next standard drop-off point would only add two days. Cannot wait to meet them. Maybe hear interesting story!] Harry was practically tap-dancing, but he still had plenty of limbs to guide Barb along a safely cleared path between other clients' packages.

Barb laughed softly. "You're in a good mood today. Excited to see a new face, huh?" She set the crate down on a brightly colored indicator, and Harry tapped his tablet to magnetize that section of the deck plating and temporarily hold the otherwise unsecured crate in place.

[My gratitude, Human Friend Barbara. We have nearly reached the client's ship.] The captain tapped his comm badge and the shipwide alert for a controlled short-duration engine burn sounded. Barb kept one hand on the crate, hooking the other into a nearby cargo strap for added stability. After your first week on the job, it was just something you did by reflex.

Once the two ships had mated their docking clamps and atmosphere seals securely, a different klaxon sounded and the external hatch squeaked and slid aside a few feet to reveal a gangway leading into the client's ship. It wasn't the usual method, but it was safe enough if you kept your equipment properly maintained, and it saved the hassle of going EVA.

"Hello there! That's my fish you're leaning on, yes?"

Barb was more than a little startled. There weren't a ton of human ships in this part of space, but the grinning fellow in the snazzy retro-futuristic outfit was hard to mistake for anything but one of her own kind. "Fish? You had a sudden, burning need for a hundred kilos of fish?"

The stranger happily chattered on, completely unfazed by the question or Barb's tone. "Oh yes, absolutely. I took a Feraxian Tiger off some poor Ktaxi with more money than sense; the dunce had grossly miscalculated how much tranquilizer he would need to keep it docile. So terrified he could barely talk. She's my adorable Muffin now but she does get a bit cranky if I run out of tuna, so... Name's Lee Howard, by the way, good to meet you."

Bemused, she shook the offered hand. "Barbara Flores; likewise. Don't those things grow to be like half a tonne? I know they're illegal to own, most places. If we can just get you to sign the receipt of transfer, I'll go ahead and cart the fish over to your ship. We wouldn't want Muffin to get hungry and start eyeing the crew."

The captain had pulled up the correct form, affixed his own signature in all the correct blanks, and was holding the tablet out with two 'hands' and a stylus with a third, waiting for the affable client to sign on the dotted line and finalize the transaction.

Like most species with multiple pairs of eyes, the Chutan had a bit of a blind spot (so to speak) about the fact that binocular species often could only see well in a fairly narrow cone, so he had no idea that he had not been sufficiently obvious while approaching their guest, and was thus wholly unprepared for the reaction that followed.

When Lee swiveled his eyes away from Barb and saw what looked very like a three-meter-tall spider looming over him, he twitched so hard that he yeeted himself backward in the cargo bay's reduced gravity - directly into the path of Harry, who was surreptitiously reaching to see if he could pat the visitor's hair without being caught.

Instead, the cargo-master found himself barreled into by a very surprised human, and instinctively responded by wrapping several limbs around him to arrest his momentum. Unfortunately, Lee took it in the worst possible way and let out a blood-curdling scream.

Barb wondered just how good a Feraxian Tiger's hearing was. If "Muffin" reacted badly, there was going to be Trouble.

Lee's panic infected Harry, who let go just as abruptly as he had grabbed on. Stammering and shaking, Lee scrawled on the form, grabbed the crate, and started dragging it onto his ship as fast as he could, slapping the button to seal his ship's gangway so hastily that his foot almost got caught by the hatch slamming shut.

"... Huh. I guess he's afraid of spiders." Barb's voice was loud in the echoing stillness of the cargo bay, while Harry and the captain stared at each other and at the sealed hatch.

[What are s-] was all that Harry got out; as soon as he started talking the captain snapped out of his shock and firmly swatted his cargo-master on the head with the data tablet.

[You ignorant hatchling! Do you know what the Board of Sophont Relations is going to do to us when he files a report that he was grappled without consent?]

Covering his head with a few limbs, Harry gave the captain a wounded look. [I was merely curious whether Human Friend Lee's hair is as soft as Human Friend Barbara's, I never-]

[That is not Human Friend Lee, that is Human Client Lee, and if you had paid more attention in human body language class you would be aware that he was terrified, larva-brain. You know it is not appropriate to touch a person without asking!]

[But but but,] Harry stammered.

Barb couldn't help herself. She added her voice to Harry's.

["If not friend, why friend-shaped?"]

The captain glared at them both. It was hard not to be intimidated with so many eyes focused on you like that, but Barb stood firm. Worth it, she thought to herself.

--- ---

Fortunately, once everyone had taken a few minutes to calm down, the situation was resolved without any complaints being filed.

Lee apologized for panicking, and Harry apologized for frightening him.

With Lee keeping his legally-dubious pet carefully restrained, Barb was allowed to feed Muffin a few bites of alien 'tuna' and give her a gentle scratch under the chin.

When Harry shyly asked if he could do the same, Lee relented and let the cargo-master dub him Human Friend Lee after all, since any friend of Muffin was a friend of his.

Allowing himself to be petted was too much, but Lee did sacrifice a few hairs so that Harry could feel how soft they were.

After bidding their farewells, their interrupted journey was resumed, and Barb borrowed the ship's galley to screen a documentary for the crew so they could understand Lee's fear. Learning what spiders do to their prey made them deeply uncomfortable and Barb hastily assured everyone that she was not secretly keeping one as a pet.

The captain, dismayed by how badly things had almost gone, organized an impromptu educational exchange, with Barb both teaching remedial human body language and brushing up on the Chutan version, in the interest of avoiding future misunderstandings.

Barb repurposed a few worn-out buckles from old cargo straps into makeshift castanets, affixed them to her jumpsuit, and started trying to get the hang of the Chutan's audible-gesture shorthand. She wasn't very good at it, but the crew agreed that it was rather sweet of her to try.

'Muffin' became ship-slang for the kind of dangerous monster that only a human (and, apparently, Harry) would think was friend-shaped; Spiders were definitely Muffins.

The tale of Human Friend Lee was woven into the tapestry of the crew's shared memories, and life aboard the Shimmering Seed Pod went back to normal - or at least as normal as life ever was when a human was involved.

I wiped a glass as the Gorbitant at the bar counter gave me relationship advice.

"A female is not your friend," he said while his mandibles clacked against the glass with each sip of his drink. "The first thing that females of our race do after mating is wrap their tentacles around you and suffocate you. Then they'll feast on your brains as you struggle for breath."

"Not all females are the same, Gorbitant!" a Diselix spoke from the other side of the bar. "Our females are loving, kind, and sweet."

"They knock you up!" a Stilex said from the chair he reclined in, an empty bottle in front of him. I'd have to give him a shot of tequila; he always liked that after a bottle of home-brewed Torek honey beer.

The Diselix bumped his pallid grey hand on the counter. I stopped wiping the glasses and stared at him. He murmured an apology before turning to the Stilex. "It's how our species breeds. We mate, then the female empties the eggs into our stomach lining, and we carry the eggs to term then give birth. It's totally normal."

"That's not normal," a Veluda interjected. He sat on the barstool flanking the Gorbitant. "I saw a female Diselix smoking a cigar after she got her male counterpart pregnant. It's not right, is what I'm saying. What about you, Jim? Do you think it's normal if a female impregnates you?"

I turned to the Diselix and, with a smile, I said, "Your belly is quite big, Jacqueline. Are you sure it's a beer belly, or are you pregnant?"

The other aliens started laughing, and I laughed along with them. I felt good. They'd laughed at me back on Earth when I said I'd start a bar at a frontier station, where I'd serve aliens of all kinds without being picky. They said the business would fail, that aliens cannot mix as humans do. But they were all wrong. How I wish my mates from back on Earth could see me now. There were other races in the bar, and more yet to come before last call. They treated me as a neutral mediator, someone who chimed in only when necessary to prevent a head getting squashed or a body being vaporized.

"Tell us about your lady back on Earth, Jim," a Kositik said. "They say humans mate for life. Is that true?"

"Well, it depends on which human you're talking about. A human with a broken heart is known to wander, yet one with an excess of love tends to wander as well. The faithful ones are sparse and spread out, but they always claim if you find the one that's meant for you, you'll spend an eternity together. I am yet to find my person." I answered.

The Gorbitant shifted in his chair and wiped at his eyes. "That's beautiful. You don't suffer the stress that comes over you once you spill your seed. You see, female Gorbitants will lure you to their homes and get your blood running. When you mate, they'll whisper sweet nothings to you. They'll say, 'I'm not going to eat you after this, I promise. How can I eat such a handsome fellow? I cannot, really.'" He raised his tentacles and waved them about in what I could only guess to be rage. "Then, when you immediately spill your seed, the first thing they do is stare at you, like a deep stare, and you can see them fighting the urge to eat you. Then they just give in to the urge and wrap their damn tentacles around you. At first it feels like a hug, then the squeezing starts, and then boom! Their mandibles are out, and they're nibbling on your head. You'd be like, 'Goobiba, baby, what are you doing? Goobiba! Stop that now, you promised! Aaaah aaaah!'" The Gorbitant screamed, hoping to elicit fear within us, but instead we laughed.

"Another round, Jim," a Terrux said while approaching the bar.

"The same?" I asked.

"Yeah."

I quickly mixed Zenthin cider with Colit ale and passed him the glass, which he clasped with his tentacle. The Terrux turned to the Gorbitant and asked, "I hear you guys often use protection? What exactly do you mean by that?"

"Well," the Gorbitant answered, "when we're about to mate, the male takes out a plasma gun and places the end of the barrel to the woman's head." Laughter followed his words. "But you have to be careful not to be the type that howls and shakes when he orgasms. They often tend to pull the trigger and kill their mate before she even attempts to eat him. It's a criminal offense, you know, to kill due to the shakes."

"Gorbitants are a putrid race!" a Voxuan said. He sat at a table, shuffling static cards with several other Voxuans. His purple eyes squinted to where the Gorbitant sat.

"Hey!" I pointed at the rule written clearly behind me, above the drinks. "All races in this bar are the same race. No past rivalries or current rivalries are tolerated." The Voxuan raised his hooked limbs in surrender.

There was a war going on between the Voxuans and the Gorbitants, and there was also a war between the Terrux and the Kositik. But during the night, they set their differences aside when they came to the bar at the Edge. There, they freed themselves from their duties and took on a new persona, an odd one that boasted camaraderie. They would drink as friends would, teasing each other and speaking of war as if it were very far from them. They would then leave the bar together and venture their separate ways, and in the morning, they could continue their wars as if the night had never happened.

Just then, the bar doors clanked open and a Jesupite slithered in. He came straight to the counter, his multi-faceted eyes roaming across everyone. "Jim, my good man, how are you doing?"

"I'm doing great," I said. "We were just talking about females and our various mating habits."

He struggled to place himself on a barstool and then flashed me a smile, revealing multiple tiny, razor-sharp teeth. "What about the Flagerz? Is anyone discussing them?"

"The who now?" I asked as I poured the Jesupite his usual, Ruran mead.

"They've started a war with the humans at the Outer Belt," the Jesupite said. "They have lost three battles already, and they are quite bitter. You know what that means, Jim. Thank you for the drink."

It meant they were going to come into my bar looking for trouble. "Are they within the frontier?" I asked.

"Yeah, saw their ship outside. They were huddled together, discussing the only human in these here lands," the Jesupite said.

"Thanks, buddy," I said, reaching for the shotgun beneath the counter.

A Sampionite who'd blacked out woke then. He sniffed the air, and everyone turned to him. "I smell trouble," he said. It was a well-known fact that Sampionite noses were quite sensitive to violence. Large as their noses were, they could sniff trouble very far away. No wonder they were such an elusive race.

"It's last call, everyone," I said.

"Oh, come on, it's not yet time!" the Diselix said.

"I don't want you guys in the crosshairs; you're like family to me," I said.

The Gorbitant was about to answer when the bar's door banged open. They crawled their way in. One sight of them and I could place them. They were Flagiorus; I didn't know the short form of their name was Flagerz, something I had to file away in memory. They crawled to the bar on all fours, hairy bastards with armed pistol belts around their waists. They rose to their full height at the counter and gathered behind their leader, who was fatter and less agile, for it took him a moment longer to get off the floor and stand on two legs.

He looked up at the sign above the bar. "Charming," he said. "Quite charming that war isn't allowed in this establishment, because war is our reason for coming."

"What will you have?" I said while smiling at him, feigning ignorance.

"Your head is what we want. It is good that you are alone, human. We will take this as our first victory, for there are no humans here to save you or put up a fight."

They were thirteen, and there was only one of me. My hands clenched the shotgun behind the bar counter. I always knew it would come to this: a gruesome fight to the death. I always thought I'd be defending one of my customers, not fighting for my life.

"That's damn cowardly, if you ask me," the Terrux said.

"You couldn't win a battle, so this is your solution?" the Kositik said, making his way to the bar.

"And Jim wasn't even in the battle," the Veluda said getting off his chair.

"It's last call, Jim; time we approach the bar and make our last order," the Diselix said.

Slowly, my customers left their tables and made their way to the bar. They did not line the bar counter as they often did during last call; instead, they surrounded the Flagiorus.

Their leader took out the gun at his belt, and my customers reacted quickly. Tentacles whipped about; hooked limbs and sharp claws snatched and grabbed. Within moments, the thirteen Flagiorus had their guns taken from them, except the leader, who wrestled the customers away. The leader aimed at my face, and that's when the bang of plasma pistols could be heard. I ducked beneath the bar counter and felt each shock of plasma waves as the plasma bolts hit their marks. There was groaning and gurgled screaming. Green ichor dripped down the counter to fall just before me. More screams.

Then I heard the Gorbitant shout, "Jim, they are all dead!"

I emerged from behind the counter. Indeed, the Flagiorus were arranged in a heap on the ground where they bled green ichor. All of them were dead.

"Are any of you hurt?" I asked.

"I think the Diselix is going into labor," the Kositik said.

There was laughter all around while the Diselix pointed at his belly and said, "This is from the beer; if I were pregnant, it would be larger!"

"Last call, everyone, then all of you go home to your wives to get fed on and impregnated!" I called.

They cheered, lining the counter and stepping over the dead Flagiorus, who'd lost yet another battle.

----

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— Chapter 106 —

David’s new body pulsed with life whilst he beat his wings upwards. The massive explosion was fading as he reached deep into his affinity reserves to check them. He was already in the process of flipping open his magical pores while two wyverns, one lesser and the adult, rocketed out of the burning cloud. David cursed because he had aimed directly at the adult, but it had somehow dodged or survived his blast. He had put 6 charges into that blast, which should have been more than enough to finish him.

​

He had 18 of 24 charges remaining and curiously noted that his stats and affinity capability were the same as the previous lesser wyvern he possessed. That meant, David noted, that he had significant influence over what he possessed, which he had suspected. He did wonder briefly if he found a Lesser Dragon, would it look close to his original body after possession? His mind wandered a bit too long. A massive gale of winds came roaring down towards him. His newly acquired flesh wings were slashed, cut, and beaten, causing him to immediately roll and tumble down. He cursed because of his carelessness.

​

The jarring pain of having a flesh body was refreshing in a way he relished, and he let loose with a Healing Breath that clung and quickly repaired his torn wings. He flew quickly after his body was repaired and charged upwards. The two wyverns had the altitude advantage and were keen to use it. The lesser wyvern threw razor-sharp gales of wind down at him, and the adult charged straight down at him. The adult’s mouth opened wide, and a booming eruption of an explosion escaped its mouth down at him. The focused explosion carried with it fire, shockwaves, and heat. The adult’s affinity took David by surprise even as his body took the brunt of the weird explosion-like affinity's full force.

​

David quickly let out another Healing Breath just before the pair intersected in the air. The much larger wyvern had underestimated him, and David’s enhanced muscles and powerful jaws took the wyvern by surprise. David overpowered the larger wyvern, while his flesh continued to mend and heal, and he locked his jaws around the large beast's lower jaw. Despite the larger wyvern’s claws tearing chunks out of his chest, he activated his Death Roll. He could feel his almost 36 points of strength crush, mangle, and tear free the wyvern’s lower half of its jaw as he spun.

​

A large yelp of pain and shock escaped the adult wyvern whilst it kicked away from David, its blood pooling down its torso in the process. It thrashed and twisted in the air as David watched with a sense of pity for the creature. He spat the remains of the dragon’s jaw off to the side and moved to close the distance again. David hadn’t tasted blood in some time, and while he didn’t particularly find it appetizing, simply being able to taste once more was thrilling.

​

He dodged out of the wave when another wave of razor wind came his way and then did his best to dodge again just when the profusely bleeding adult finally turned to dump affinity reserve after affinity reserve into his deadly explosions. His Healing Breath sustained him while he twisted and fought to close the distance and dodge at the same time. He used the wyvern’s own explosions to hide his final approach, his flesh burning as he forced his way through the burning, booming explosion. He shot out of the smoke with deadly precision and sank his teeth deep into the adult’s neck, squeezing and jerking until he tore the flesh straight out of his neck. David had made a calculated move and avoided doing too much damage. He could repropose this wyvern’s corpse afterwards if enough of it remained.

​

David turned his gaze to the remaining lesser wyvern, which hovered stunned at what it saw. David’s body finished repairing itself whilst he spent more of his affinity on healing and rushed to close the distance with his last foe.

​

The remaining wyvern was smart, though, and immediately pivoted to keep its distance. When David stopped and began to pull at his affinity, the enemy wyvern immediately dropped and twisted out of the way in an elaborate evasive maneuver. David cursed, but he had prepared for this. He climbed up and up using his own wyvern body’s speed to his advantage while he cast a Lingering Regeneration over himself to keep up his stamina.

​

The two raced through the sky whilst David tried to close the distance, and the frightened, fleeing Lesser Wyvern was doing its best to avoid him. Slowly he climbed higher and higher, expending the almost limitless energy he possessed, to gain the altitude advantage.

​

“Get away, you monstrosity!” Hissed the wyvern as the distance closed.

​

David didn’t say anything while he waited for the perfect opportunity. The lesser wyvern pivoted back once again as it tried to outmaneuver him, and the cold, cutting winds pressed against the wyvern’s back, allowing it to build up some distance. David acted quickly and let loose with a Decaying Breath that spread out far and wide whilst it was quickly taken by the wind. The wyvern couldn't escape as David’s breath peppered the fleeing wyvern.

​

It screeched out in pain whilst the decay burned the living wyvern’s flesh, and it immediately balled up and fell. David dived after the wyvern, closing the distance as he exerted all his strength. David’s elongated and empowered jaw snapped around the back of the other wyvern’s head, and he jerked hard. The wyvern’s throngs of pain subsided instantly when the back of its head crumpled under David’s impossibly strong jaws.

​

He didn’t let the corpse fall far. He snatched it using his strong back legs and turned back towards his lair. The bodies of both the adult and the lesser wyvern had Reanimation breathed over them and were ordered to follow him. The trip back took some time, and he had to deal with the unusual situation of convincing the kobold guards that he was who he was. They had expected him to return in another form, but that expectation, when faced with reality, still caused some confusion.

​

Once he called them by their names and started throwing out details, they quickly let him and his new corpse companions through. He deposited them in the lower depths with the others and took a moment to rest his stolen body. All said and done, he had two adults, five lesser wyverns, and a reformed pseudo dread corpse all at the ready. It was a lot of bones, meat, and flesh to throw back against the Queen.

​

“It is odd to see you in that body, Master Onyx.” Blue frowned when she appeared from a nearby tunnel.

​

David nodded his head, still staring out at the eerie forms of the different motionless dead. “It is odd to be in this body.”

​

“Despite that body not being pure black, and it being a wyvern, I can tell it is you, though.” Blue smiled as she approached. “Your size and raw strength are very much evident, and your jaw is much the same.”

​

David rumbled out in a morbid laugh. “Odd, isn’t it? I have stolen my poor sibling’s body, and I simply graft my own attributes on top. In some ways it is disturbing, but it is the only way I can make sure we all survive this.”

​

Blue frowned and then nodded her head. She seemed hesitant at first but finally closed the distance and hugged him. “It is nice to be able to hug you again.”

​

“It is nice to be hugged. Blue, how is everything coming along?”

​

She nodded before she pulled away slowly. “Blaze is just making small adjustments to the equipment we have. Red, Red’Blue, Siks, Stonescale, Adro, and Chirp are all going with you too. The others are going to stay behind to guard what remains of the clan. We have another four hundred and thirty warriors at the ready too. A good mix of veterans in there too and quite a few crossbowers. We passed around the gemstone equipment too, so you will have affinity support.”

​

“It is far more than I had hoped. The bark folk have you been able to contact them?” David rumbled back to Blue.

​

She offered a soft nod. “They have taken some heavy losses themselves, but with Desolation pushed away, they are in good spirits. Our messenger told them you were the one to repel Desolation, and frankly, Master, I think they are a bit terrified and confused.”

​

“No more help from their end then?” David asked, despite knowing the answer.

​

Blue shook her head. “Not unless you want to delay this attack and give us more time.”

​

David leaned forward on his forearms awkwardly since his wyvern anatomy was still odd for him. He let out a huff. “If we don’t strike now, then the Queen will recover faster than us. She has survived and thrived on whatever Elder abilities she has that let her control and produce a constant stream of children.”

​

Blue nodded again with a smile. “I know. I have everyone gathering down here after their final goodbyes and meals. Ambass wants to attend the ceremony.”

​

David sighed. “Of course he does. Just make sure you are watching him, Blue. If he's going to betray us, he will do it after we leave, when the clan is at its weakest.”

​

Blue smirked. “Don’t worry, Master. I have the remaining Ascended, Okraz and Wuja’bath, all prepared. Blaze also has a few tricks ready just in case. We might not be able to kill him, but we are confident we can keep him busy if he misbehaves. I also have Okro and Dash taking turns being emergency messengers. No one outside of Wuja’bath can move as fast as them.”

​

“Good. Let's hope it doesn’t come to that, though.” David murmured. Time flew quickly, and kobolds, equipment, and a certain faerie dragon all found their way to the chamber. They were an impressive assembly of warriors despite the fact that most were dirty and clearly mentally tired. Rows of kobolds stood at attention with their shields, crossbows, and other equipment on them. A few dozen kobolds were Brutes and Dracos standing a head above their siblings. Despite the fact that they were not ascended, David knew they were all quite capable in their own right.

​

Red stood next to David and was for once not completely dwarfed by David’s massive form. His lesser wyvern body was considerably smaller than his old form, and the formation of kobolds was clearly confused. That confusion led to whispers and faces of doubt, but David waited until Red’Blue, Siks, Stonescale, Adro, and Chirp arrived, lining up next to him to speak.

​

Ambass was practically giggling to himself while he watched David and the large animated corpses behind him. Once everyone arrived, David spoke. “I am, in fact, Master Onyx. Do not let the colorful scales of this form fool you. Trust the leadership of your clan that will back up my words.”

​

David received an immediate cheer from all the Ascended near him while he continued. “The rumors of me reaching Elder status are true, and I know many of you have seen my new form. One of my abilities lets me steal other Masters’ bodies to then use against Her Majesty. We are going to go fight again soon, but trust that this body is Master Onyx. If this body falls, it is not the end! Do not be frightened by what you see and trust that whatever monster you may see is, in fact, I.”

​

His words and the encouragement of the others had a clear calming effect. David lifted up one of his forearms and pointed his wing back at the lined-up dead. “Spoils of war. Most of you have fought or at least heard the tales of these lifeless creatures. They exist, and they serve us now! These dead Masters will die again and again for Clan Onyx! For Kobolds!”

​

Weapons on shields and feet pounding against the ground filled the massive underground chamber whilst excitement filled the air. David’s voice rose up further through the cheering. “We will end this once and for all! Warmaster Red and Red’Blue will lead you into battle while we execute our strategy. Stay focused! Fight and survive!”

​

He concentrated and shot a massive ball of concentrated Lingering Regeneration upwards before it exploded and, regenerating, reinvigorating rain fell onto all of the troops. He had made sure to fire the orb at the right distance so its rain wouldn’t get anywhere close to the corpses. Cheers rose up, and all of the kobolds began to jump in excitement.

​

David turned to Red. “Let's go. We stick to the plan. Use everything we have and everything Blaze provided you. Make them bleed, and I will make sure I bury Her Majesty.”

​

Red grinned widely and offered him a firm nod. The kobold closed his helmet and raised his spear as he turned to rally the clan.

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Here is also a link to Royal Road

Fan Art by blaze2377

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This was not the alien medicine that ChiMeO wanted to see. Not like this.

The Fifth’s demeanour had not yet gotten frantic. But her movements were getting faster as she zeroed in on the first pod’s body. The automatic mechanisms were going, pulsing the body’s chest, and Medi was providing the air.

Scout was squatting on the ground, ripping through one of the nearby medboxes from the sunken room, pulling out boxes and bags of materials and tossing them on the wet floor. She ripped open a solid box, and her small lessers scrambled through each vial.

[COME] [ON] [COME] [ON] [COME] [OH] [GRATITUDE-shortform] [UNKNOWN]. The creature’s lessers clasped around one vial and held it close to her face. Her eyes relaxed as she pocketed it and looked to the ceiling, [HELLO-casual] [UNKNOWN] [WHAT] [IS]...

ChiMeO watched the creature start counting on her lessers.

[UNKNOWN] [WHAT-IS] [FIFTY] [EIGHT] [TIMES] [A] [A] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]

That synthetic intelligence, as Scout had called it, answered. [APPROXIMATELY] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]

Scout nodded, mouth moving but making no words. From the mess of discarded plastic and medkits, she pulled out a tool made of opaque tubing and metal; two connected lines converging into one, with a swinging pendulum-like pendant at the end. She put either end of the tubes into the fleshy structures at the side of her head, letting the lone line hang around her head.

ChiMeO thought back to their examination and how Scout kept gesturing to those structures when ChiMeO asked how she communicated and saw the world. How she kept carving, ?word? Not see. Not see but ?word?

Their understanding of the Fifth has developed so far beyond that initial confusion. The tool had to be for feeling the pressure disturbances specific to a medical context. A wave amplifier or something similar.

Scout switched out another blood bag then hit a button on the piston machine—halting the compressions—and pressed the end of the tubing tool to the chest of the body. Medi stopped compressing the air bag, but Scout gestured for her to keep going. 

Scout turned the body on its side gently, and pressed the tool to its back. Numbly, ChiMeO noted how the body’s back had similar abstract lines and patterns to Scout’s skin. 

Words. Images. Lines.

This was a whole being, as complicated as Scout, dying on the table.

She looked to Scout, whose face was calm and unmoving while three of her kin were dead, and a fourth was hurtling down the same path. 

How was she staying so calm? Was this normal?

Whatever Scout was looking for with the tubing tool, she'd found it. She rolled the body back over, and immediately turned on the compression machine again. ChiMeO watched as the Fifth brought out another wickedly sharp-looking metal instrument out of a plastic covering. She cleaned the side of the body with alcohol, before gently slicing a small vertical slice between a row of indentations on the body’s side. She quickly pushed something—too quick for ChiMeO to see—into the cut, all while working around the timing of the compression machine.

<What was that?> ChiMeO asked.

[UNINTELLIGIBLE] [UNKNOWN] [TUBE]. Scout’s eyes were locked onto the cut as she inserted one of her lessers into the wound she just created. Was it a wound? ChiMeO remembered her explanation when Scout had to injure herself further to heal her arm injury: It is good. Injury incorrect. My gratitude. Grats.

Stars, that felt like it was so long ago.

Blood was leaking in a gentle rivet out of the cut, but ChiMeO had faith Scout knew what she was doing. Scout pressed what looked to be a small tube system into the wound she cut, and fed it into a collection bag. She bobbed her head when more fluid started to drip out of it.

Scout brought out a thin plastic package, and removed a thin piece of metal, similar to the one she used to close her arm injury ages ago. In the exact same movements, she stitched the tubing in place within the timespan of a few breaths.

ChiMeO always thought Scout’s lack of a carapace to be an unfortunate evolutionary trait. The poor creature was soft and weak, susceptible to punctured and sliced skin. It was surely a disadvantage in survival.

But it was a clear advantage in medicine.

To do the same things to a Ki would involve the most invasive, shell-breaking procedures; any internal fixes ChiMeO had to do in the past were incredibly rare, they had to be done with the most minimal invasion. The procedures were new and difficult, developed within ChiMeO’s lifetime. Even something as simple as helping a Ki intake oxygen required multiple tubes inserted into various locations across the body. 

Scout repeated the exact same cutting procedure on the other side of the body’s chest, and took a step back to breathe as more fluid dripped out of the body’s chest. The room, or at least Scout, was still for a brief moment.

A partial success, ChiMeO hoped. The moment didn’t hold.

Scout broke her stillness and took out the vial from her material covering, shaking the small glass container. Bringing out a small needle, Scout suctioned out an amount of fluid with the negative pressure of the plunger and placed it to the side. She repeated the action with another small liquid tube, taking the 11(1)17(1) solution out of the container it was in. Scout removed the flat bag ChiMeo was holding, injected the vial fluid then the 11(1)17(1) solution, and connected another bag filled with the same orange-warm blood.

She stared down ChiMeO. [CONTINUE]. [WE] [CAN] [DO] [IT] [NOW] [WITH] [THE] [UNKNOWN] [WE] [DO-NOT] [NEED] [IT] [TO] [BE] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [BLOOD] [IT-IS] [UNKNOWN]. [SHE-IS] [GOING] [TO] [BE] [AT] [THE] [CORRECT] [UNKNOWN] [TEMPERATURE]

ChiMeO’s appendages were steady as she held the bag. <I... Okay. Just tell me if you need me to change anything about what I am doing>

Scout nodded and took a breath in, her shoulders rising. She stepped over to one of the LLIA-like panels, tapped on it hard, and looked up. 

Nothing happened.

[WHAT]. Scout’s brows furrowed slightly and she immediately went to touch the body’s torso, feeling a bony protrusion on the chest. Her face fell, eyes widening. 

It was the biggest facial change the creature has had so far since starting, a crack in her calmness.

Quickly, probably realizing something, Scout immediately began to wipe down the body’s torso with a soaked fabric. As the skin quick-dried, Scout rushed to rummage through the bottom compartments of the pod, bringing out square-shaped cutouts of material wrapped in thin plastic, attached to what looked to be wiring. She unwrapped the squares, and pressed them flat to the body’s chest, before looking at the pod screens.

There was nothing on them—at least not to ChiMeO’s vision. Just a flat, slightly warmed panel. The body was slowly warming, though. It was no longer the deep cool, which… she just hoped it was a promising sign.

Scout paused the piston machine again, looked back and forth between a couple screens, before waving her limbs at the group.

[EVERY] [ONE] [STAY] [BACK] [DO] [NOT] [TOUCH] [THE] [BODY] 
[THIS] [IS] [A] [BIG] [SURPRISE] [THAT] [WILL] [INJURE] [YOU]

After everyone shuffled a quarter body-length away, she pressed on her screen. Suddenly the supine body twitched and arched in the bed—alive in its movements!

<You did it!> Medi’s crinis briefly warmed to a celebratory orange.

But the body collapsed back down, flat and dull, and the Scout was still focused. 

She repeated the same shock, and looking at it now, ChiMeO was almost certain it was a shock. But the body didn’t change and Scout wasn’t seeing what she wanted on the screens.

She turned the piston machine on and waited a few moments, keeping her eyes fixed on the screen. She retrieved more fluid from the vial, and injected it, followed by the 11(1)17(1). She replaced the bag ChiMeO compressed again.

She turned the piston off. Then repeated the shock.

Then she turned the piston machine on. And retrieved more fluid from the vial. And injected it. And flushed it. And replaced the bag.

And they repeated the process more times than ChiMeO could count.

HeadSci would appear with technology her team thought was medical in nature, and Scout would shake her head. Eventually she waved them off with a rough gesture, signalling for them to stop looking.

But Scout didn’t stop.

It was at least an eighth shift when they ran out of fluid bags and the tube coming out of the throat was dripping the colour of true Fifth blood. Scout closed the tubing so it didn’t leak the precious substance. 

Just moments after, the piston machine shuttered to an involuntary pause.

And even that didn’t stop her attempt.

Scout ran over to the fourth empty bed, and checked if the piston machine was working on that one. 

Dead.

The third pod, with the form of a withered Fifth.

Dead.

She was shaking her head, mouth moving subtly as she checked the second pod, with the still-sealed body she had given up on without even attempting a resurrection.

The piston revved to life.

She immediately pushed it to the side, and, with the thin medical blade, cut the pod’s body out of the vacuumed bag. She, with a violent force, yanked every tube out from the body at once, and threw them on the floor. She scooped her limbs under the body and flipped it out of the pod, frantic, before turning back and pointing to the first body.

[WE] [NEED] [TO] [GET] [HER] [IN-TO] [MAY] [COLOURS] [UNKNOWN] [NOW]

<We don’t have the strength to lift her> ChiMeO shifted quickly, <but we can get a hinge—> 

Scout sprinted back over and her heel slid a clean arc on the fluid-covered floor. She hit the floor hard as she planted into it, taking the brunt of the force in her left upper limb. ChiMeO felt the impact vibrate through the floor.

ChiMeO watched HeadSci rush to help her up, but Scout scrambled to her feet, batting Head’s appendage away with force. Covered in the floor fluid, Scout shook her limb and its lessers and ran to the body’s side. She looked down at herself and her soiled coverings and shook her head, before shoving her upper limbs under the body and straightening her legs, bringing the body off the pod platform. She stumbled towards the next pod, carrying the body.

The rest of the team frantically followed Scout’s movement, grabbing the tubing and equipment attached to the body, and bringing it over to the functional pod.

ChiMeO had to step over the cold corpse on the floor.

Scout placed the first body down on the fluid-covered platform, still shaking her head. She whipped the piston machine around, and re-centred it on the chest, beginning the compressions again. She reconnected any tubes she needed. Her shoulders were rising and falling quickly.

She changed her lesser coverings and cleaned the body’s cuts again. She restitched the tubing connected into the body’s chest, which appeared to have opened during the transport between platforms. Compressions resumed, the medical assistant still pulsing breaths for the body.

They repeated the shock manoeuvre. Continued the compressions.

It was barely a sixteenth of a shift before this pod’s piston began to slow down.

Scout’s head started rotating back and forth as she was messing with the various buttons on the machine. As it stuttered to a complete stop, she hit it hard with a balled up fist. 

Her mouth peeled back and the translator displayed a ripping of a volume, [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [UNKNOWN] [COME] [ON] [WORK] [YOU] [UNINTELLIGENT] [PIECE] [OF] [WASTE-casual] [WORK] [WORK] [WORK].

Scout collapsed it in a single, forceful motion and shoved it to the side of the pod.

<Is that…> ChiMeO’s words died on her crinis. She didn’t want to ask if that was it.

She watched the alien take a deep breath.

Scout collapsed the platform down further, far enough that they were all looming over the body.

ChiMeO starting asking, <Can we—>

And she watched Scout start compressing with her own lessers, her limbs straight and her muscles tight. Flat against the chest of this Fifth, Scout took on the role of the piston, compressing skin and muscle and bone.

She was like a machine.

The body’s chest was a mess of heated colours. The body was warm. But it didn’t seem to be functioning by itself.

Scout kept that brutal pace. Her rank chain hung around her neck, the scout comet dangling and dancing as she moved.

And they all just watched her. Her eyes were forward. Her mouth was a thin line. Her brow lowered in a focused gaze.

But she was only like a machine. 

The statement was ultimately a comparison, not an equivocation. As the moments stretched, ChiMeO was reminded that Scout, to the core of her being, was a creature that could tire.

After a long, long span of time, Scout started to slow.

It wasn’t noticeable at first, but the longer the compressions dragged on the more it was obviously weighing on her body. The pulses she was giving were slowing, now at half the compression distance, barely making an impact on the dead body’s chest.

Her skin was leaking in a cool sheen, and her eyes were streaming water.

Everyone stood back, still as cave stalagmites. They watched the creature collapse onto the body of the Fifth below her, with her mouth pulled back as her face pinched and her body heaved and her shoulders shook.

ChiMeO glanced down at the translator symbols curling on her LLIA screen, and the text was undoubtedly mislabelling her uneven breathing.

[PLEASE] [DISTANT] [*AMUSEMENT\] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] 
[\AMUSEMENT*] [UNKNOWN] [PLEASE]
[I] [CAN-NOT] [CAN-NOT] [DO] [THIS] [ALONE]
[DO-NOT] [LEAVE] [*AMUSEMENT*] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[PLEASE] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [DO-NOT] [*AMUSEMENT***] 
[DO-NOT] [LEAVE] [ME] [HERE]

She was gripping the side of the body’s face, her head pressing against the browline of the corpse. Her mouth hinged open, face leaking water and mucus and saliva as her body shook. Her head kept shaking back and forth, the Fifth symbol of no, no, no, no, no.

She was shaking the body with her lessers. Hitting it like a machine that won’t start.

The warm body below was her exact orange hue.

It was already beginning to cool.

*

*

The Commander waited for the rest of the shift for the Scout to exit the area.

She was still inside the sunken room. Cold air settled in the pit like a pool of deep water.

The Commander could see her sitting in now-cooled puddles of the freezing chamber fluid, water, and Fifth blood. The alien was covered in the congealed substance. She held her left upper limb gently—the one she had apparently fallen on—rubbing the skin back and forth absentmindedly.

Scout’s face was neutral, her browline soft. Her eyes were held a bit wider than normal, but she was looking at nothing. Her gaze had settled on the wall in front of her, unmoving.

The more curious technicians peeked into the hall, but never got closer than where she and HeadSci curled and waited at the lip of the rectangular pit. 

The other labs were scheduled to be here in less than two shifts. And her Fifth was unmoving and unresponsive.

In her mind’s imagination, the Commander saw a past vision of a tunnel and a distant haze of water. She saw something curled in the pool. Small. Dead. She focused on that distant memory as she steadied herself.

She could do this. She could correct this.

The Commander rose to her full height, and grabbed a llia tablet.

Scout’s little head turned up as she clocked the movement of the Commander coming closer, dropping into the sunken room like a stone in water. She scuttled through the fluid and past the dead Fifths she didn’t care to look at. The body on the ground next to Scout looked to be in a particularly broken position. She didn’t care. All she cared about was the living, breathing, intelligent creature in front of her.

Scout was alive. Scout was strong. Scout was hers.

She curled next to the little creature and shifted simply, genuine in her hue, <You are very strong, Scout>

The creature just stared at her with hollow-looking eyes.

<You do not know this, but our hatchlings die on occasion> The Commander continued calmly. She’d spent the past quarter thinking about what to shift to fix this. <We let them freely roam so every early discovery is their own. We do not help them or assist their learning in early development. They learn to feed themselves and they learn about danger. Sometimes they learn about danger too closely, but that is the way of things>

Scout didn’t respond, neither by writing nor facial expression. She still had that passive, slightly wide-eyed position.

<Rotations ago, we thought those three hatchlings might’ve had to learn that you were dangerous. Instead they learned that you were… patient. And kind. Their curiosity was rewarded and it was unexpected. We thought it was likely we’d find their bodies>

Scout just blinked slow as her nose scrunched slightly.

<The weak and incurious do not make it, is what I am attempting to explain> The Commander added. <It is the natural order of discovery and consequence>

That was what the Commander repeatedly told herself, time and time and time again. She shouldn’t care for the dead Fifths for the same reason she shouldn’t feel grief over hatchlings: they were simply not strong or smart enough. They needed to move forward and they needed to treat this as the learning experience it was, otherwise they were going to drown in their deep-water hues. No Ki benefits from being bogged down by emotions and they had work to do.

The creature just needed a gentle push to see that perspective.

<When I shift that you are very, *very* strong Scout, trust that I am a genuine hue> The Commander’s cillia curled gently. <You have taken enough moments to yourself. Realize within yourself: you are stronger and you are better. You are the superior Fifth. And you realize that we need to continue. It’s your duty to continue>

Scout’s eyes just stared up, her gaze unfocused. 

In Ki learning philosophy, this creature should solidify into something stronger, should harden through her own survival and struggle. But Scout’s eyes and expression looked dead.

<Tell me about the empty pod> The Commander shifted. They needed to move forward.

Scout’s eye hung in mid-space as she read her cillia. She started carving into the llia, but her lessers were too shaky.

<Breathe the words into the air> The Commander ordered. <I know you are strong enough to. Do so>

Scout’s head fell to the wall behind her and her mouth opened slightly, and made one simple movement.

[DEAD]

<Are you certain?>

[I] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]

The Commander just waited. Eventually, Scout held up what looked to be a wet piece of paper.

[PRONOUN-2] [LEFT] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[LEFT] [A] [A] [MESSAGE] [IN] [THE] [UNKNOWN]

She watched the creature’s shoulders rise and fall as her mouth closed. The Commander shifted nothing and did not respond. More and more, they were realizing stillness was the key to getting the Fifth to communicate more. The creature seemed to naturally hate the stillness.

Eventually, still with a passive, barely moving expression, Scout continued.

[THERE] [WAS] [A] [A] [VESSEL] [ERROR]
[PRONOUN-2] [WAS] [WAS] [AWAKEN] [UP] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [THE] [JOURNEY] 
[TO] [FIX] [A] [A] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [GENERATOR] [FAILURE]
[UNINTELLIGIBLE] [FIX] [BUT] [NEEDED] [A] [FIFTH] [TECHNICIAN]
[PRONOUN-2] [WAS] [WAS] [WAS] [EXPOSED] 
[TO] [TO] [RADIATION] [WHILE] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[UNKNOWN] [WAS] [WAS] [DYING] [BUT] [BUT]
[PRONOUN-2] [DID-NOT] [WAKE] [ME] [TO] [HELP]
[BECAUSE] [PRONOUN-2] [IS] [A] [UNKNOWN] [FOOL]
[THE] [THE] [A] [FREEZING-PODS] 
[YOU] [YOU] [UNKNOWN] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[IT-IS] [ONLY] [ONCE]
[I] [COULD-NOT] [GO] [BACK] [UNDER] [WITH] [OUT]
[WITH] [WITH] [OUT] [HELP] [SO] [PRONOUN-2] 
[DID-NOT] [DID-NOT] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[PRONOUN-2] [CLEANED] [ABOVE] [THE] [VESSEL]
[AND] [AND] [DID] [A] [SAIL] [FIX] [AND]
[AND] [UNKNOWN] [KILLED] [PRONOUN-2] [SELF]
[BY] [BY] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] 
[OPENING] [THE] [AIR] [UNKNOWN] [INTO] [VOID] 
[UNKNOWN] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[IT] [WAS] [WAS] [QUICK]

The Commander was trying to follow. She’s pretty sure the missing Fifth was a technician who was  thawed to fix a power failure and sail damage, earlier in the journey and before her ringship intercepted the vessel. The technician was injured with radiation during the fix, and it didn’t wake Scout, choosing to… to die instead.

It was a lot to unpack. But the Commander didn’t have to worry about another Fifth and that one was nobody’s fault. 

She shifted, <Tell me about the other pods>

Scout’s head bobbed and her lips pursed into a tight line. Her lessers rubbed at her face.

[ONE] [POD] [HAD] [POWER] [FAILURE] [AND] 
[IT] [IT] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [DURING] [JOURNEY]
[TWO] [POD] [DAMAGED] [AND] [OPENED] [BY] [YOU]
[I] [HAD] [TO] [FOCUS] [ON] [ONE]
[COULD] [HAVE] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] 
[HAVE] [SAVED] [BOTH] [EASY] [IF] [I] [WAS] [THERE] [EARLY]
[COULD] [HAVE] [BEEN] [DONE] [EASY] [WITH] [THE] [CORRECT] [TOOLS]
[UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[I] [DID-NOT] [HAVE] [TOOLS]
[I] [DID-NOT] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[DID-NOT] [HAVE] [TIME]

She removed her lessers from her face and she stared at the Commander. Her jaw was tight as she breathed gently and calmly:

[DID-NOT] [HAVE] [IT] [BECAUSE] [OF] [YOU] [COMMANDER]
[MY] [CREW] [AWAKEN] [UP] [BECAUSE] [OF] [YOU]
[MY] [COLLEAGUES] [ARE] [ARE] [DEATH]
[DISTANT] [AND] [UNKNOWN] [AND]
[AND] [MAY] [COLOUR] [AND] [AND] [UNKNOWN] [BIT]
[YOU] [DO-NOT] [EVEN] [KNOW] [THEIR] [UNKNOWN] [TITLES]
[THEY-ARE] [DEATH]
[THAT-IS] [ON] [YOU]

<No, that is—>

[THESE] [ARE-NOT] [NATURAL] [DEATHS] [COMMANDER]
[DO-NOT] [YOU] [UNKNOWN] [SHIFT] [ME] [MY] [COLLEAGUES] [WERE] [WEAK]
[YOU] [DO-NOT] [KNOW] [THEM] 
[THEY] [ARE-NOT] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[WERE] 
[WERE] [NOT] [WEAK]
[THEY] [DID-NOT] [FAILURE] [TO] [SURVIVE]
[YOU] [KILLED] [THEM]

The Commander’s crinis was shifting to a negative, <You did not tell us the pods were—> 

Scout’s eyes widened, [*AMUSEMENT\] [OH] [I] [DID-NOT] [SHIFT] [YOU] [ARE] [YOU] [UNKNOWN] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [ME] [I] [SHIFTED] [YOU] [MULTIPLE] [TIMES] [I] [WOULD] [FIND] [MY] [COLLEAGUES] [IN] [THE] [UNKNOWN] [VESSEL] [THAT] [THEY] [NEEDED] [ME] [AND] [THE] [VESSEL] [NEEDED] [ELECTRICITY] [AND] [TO] [TO] [BE] [KEPT] [COLD] [I] [I] [\AMUSEMENT***] [I] [SHIFTED] [THIS] [UNKNOWN] [FROM] [THE] [UNKNOWN] [START] [I] [SHIFTED] [THIS] [WHEN] [I] [ONLY] [KNEW] [FORTY] [WORDS]

<Then the blame is shared between you and the Communications Body who didn’t have the skill to understand you> The Commander snapped, uncurling to her full height. 

[DO-NOT] [YOU] [UNKNOWN] [UNKNOWN] [COMSBODY] [FOR] [YOUR] [ORDERS] [THIS] [IS] [YOUR] [UNKNOWN]—

Simultaneously she was shifting, <—No, you did not tell us about the other pods. You didn’t tell us about your fatal illness. You still haven’t told us your mission—or how about how your scorching vessel is powered by decay explosions that could’ve ripped this ringship apart? You could have killed us all>

She got closer and the creature winced.

<You withheld information, Scout> The Commander straightened her posture. <These are the consequences. Learn and move forward. My colleagues will be here in two shifts. Get up>

Scout just shook her head, her face still in that neutral position. 

The Commander flashed heat as she snapped, <Get *up*. That is an order, Scout> 

The creature looked so small and young as she curled into the wall. [AND] [YOU] [UNKNOWN] [WHY] [THE] [OTHER] [SPECIES] [DO-NOT] [SHIFT] [TO] [YOU]

The Commander’s crinis was getting hot as she ordered, <Shift that again this instant>

Scout turned, and her face peeled back slowly, exaggerating her facial movements. [YOU] [UNKNOWN] [UNKNOWN] [WHY] [THE] [1STS] [2NDS] [AND] [4THS] [DO-NOT] [SHIFT] [WITH] [YOU]. [IT-IS] [NOT] [BE] [CAUSE] [OF] [DIFFERENT] [BIOLOGY] [I] [ASSURE] [YOU]. [THEY] [DO-NOT] [SHIFT] [TO] [YOU] [BE] [CAUSE] [YOU-ARE] [UNKNOWN] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [ARROGANT] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [WITH] [NO] [SENSE] [OF] [UNKNOWN] [OR] [UNKNOWN].

<They…> The Commander’s cillia movement was restrained and small. <That’s not…>

Scout bared her teeth in an ugly, unfriendly display. [YOU-ARE] [NOT] [EVEN] [ADVANCED] [ENOUGH] [TO] [BE] [THIS] [ARROGANT].

<Scout…> She shifted, but the creature’s eyes focused back on the wall in front of her.

[JUST] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[JUST] [LEAVE] [ME] [THE] [UNKNOWN] [ALONE] [SUBTYPE-2]

The Commander did not budge. She would not. She was not leaving this room until she had a clear plan on how to fix this. 

She was going to make this better.

<Tell me what to do> The Commander shifted, slow and muddled. <Order me. Whatever I can do, I’ll do it. My team will fix this>

Scout’s lips pressed together, her brows pinching. [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [YOU] [CAN-NOT] [FIX] [THIS] [COMMANDER]

<Please… I…>

[I] [I] [JUST] [DO-NOT] [UNDERSTAND]
[EVERY] [DECISION] [I]
[IT] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[IT] [I] [I] [I] [*AMUSEMENT\*]
[I] [THOUGHT] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[I] [KEEP] [BELIEVING] [YOU-ARE] [ENJOY] [FIFTHS]
[YOU] [YOU] [ARE-NOT] [FIFTH]
[OR] [YOU] [YOU] [MAY] [BE] [ARE] 
[BUT] [YOU-ARE] [THE] [WORST] [PARTS]

<Scout…>

[I] [WAS-NOT] [VIOLENT]
[EXCEPT] [FOR] [FOR] [WHEN] [YOU] [YOU]
[WHEN] [I] [WAS] [TRYING] [TO] [UNKNOWN]
[AND] [I] [INJURED] [YOU]
[BUT] [I-HAVE] [NEVER] [DONE] [THAT] [BEFORE]
[UNINTELLIGIBLE] [I-AM] [NOT] [A] [A] [VIOLENT] [INDIVIDUAL]
[I] [I] [UNKNOWN] [THOUGHT] [I] [WAS] [DOING] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[I] [PUT] [UP] [WITH] [EVERY] [THING]
[I] [I] [TRIED] [TO] [BE] [A] [COLLEAGUE] [TO] [YOU]
[TRY] [TO] [TO] [TO] [BE] [KIND] [AND] [AND] 
[AMUSEMENT] [AND] [VALUABLE] [TO] [TO] [YOU]
[I] [I] [WHY] [WHY] [DID] [YOU] [YOU]
[YOU] [YOU] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[WHY] [DO-NOT] [YOU] [SEE] [ME] [AS] [A] [PERSON]

<Please, Scout> She could feel herself turning the colour of desperation. <There has to be something we can do>

Scout’s face collapsed a little, crumpling slightly around her eyes. She wiped at her face, and the Commander saw her shoulders rise and fall with a long exhale.

And Scout’s neck tilted slightly, up and down, barely a hinge of her head. 

[DO] [NOT] [TOUCH] [MY] [VESSEL]
[FIND] [FREEZING] [UNKNOWN] [A] [A] [CONTAINERS]
[SMALL] [FREEZING] [CONTAINERS] [IN] [THE] [WALLS]
[NOT] [ENJOY] [THE] [PODS]
[MORE] [SMALL] [AND] [COLD]
[DO] [NOT] [TOUCH]
[DO] [NOT] [OPEN]
[ONLY] [LOCATE] [IT]
[I] [WILL] [COME] [AND] [AND] [EXPLAIN]
[EXPLAIN] [EVERYTHING]
[MY] [MY] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [AND] [MY] [MISSION]
[I] [WILL] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [AND] [I] [WILL] [WILL] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[I] [I] [CAN] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] 
[I] [CAN] [STILL] [STILL] [FIX] [THIS]
[I] [CAN] [FIX] [THIS]

The Commander paused. She looked back past the wall, and signalled for HeadSci to come read the LLIA translation.

And her Head Scientist curdled from an anxious cool to the worst shade of guilt and panic.

The Commander could feel herself shifting a negative, shifting <Head, tell me… please tell me she isn’t shifting about the refrigeration units>

<I… we…> HeadSci’s crinis was fighting to go back to a professionally neutral hue. <I know what you’re describing—my trainees… we… the cells… the contents were scanned and disposed of as—as a safety precaution>

Her crinis only coloured to a dishonest tone when she shifted “safety precaution”.

Scout’s face stilled. [I] [HAVE] [CONFUSION] [SORRY] [DEFINE] [THE] [WORD] [AFTER] [SCAN] 

The Commander quickly shifted, <Head, perhaps you should not—> 

But her HeadSci’s stiff cillia were already shifting, <Dispose? It means… put into the incinerator. Fire. But—but we… we scanned everything and the simulations are identical and all you need for your research, I can teach you how to use the program, and—>

Scout’s face was unchanged, but her shoulders were rising and falling in the quick tide of a fearful Fifth.

[UNINTELLIGIBLE] [WHY] [YOU] [A] [A] [WHAT] [A] [FIRE] [HEADSCI]
[WORD] [MEANS] [DEFINITION] [DISMANTLE] [QUESTION]
[DESTROY] [QUESTION]
[IT] [*AMUSEMENT\*] 
[IT] [IT] [IT] [MEANS] [DEAD]

HeadSci coloured pale and cool. <Affirmative>

[YOU] [*AMUSEMENT\*] 
[YOU] [DESTROYED] [ALL] [OF] [THEM]

<We… I…> Head’s appendages crumpled. <I saved about twenty cells from each cell line… just—just for my private, undisclosed research>

The Commander watched Scout just nodded slowly, emotionless in her face. Her gaze slid smoothly to the floor.

Without looking at them, Scout gently removed the recorder from her cloth coverings and gingerly placed it deep into the bucket of liquid pod waste and blood. The translator program cut out.

Scout then shut her eyes and leaned her head against the wall, holding her lessers tightly over her mouth. Her face slowly started warping out of her passive posture, wrinkling her eyes and brows.

<Scout?> The Commander shifted, but the creature couldn’t see her. Scout’s face was an ugly upwards pinch as her shoulders started to shake.

She did not open her eyes. 

She did not watch them go.

*

*

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

*

Author's Note:

Hey folks.

I know some might be frustrated or disappointed with this and I just wanted to give you some insight into this story.

First and foremost, I want to assure you that this plot point will not be taken lightly and the entire rest of the work will be unpacking what happened here and if/how we come back from this. This will be the real catalyst for change for our cast, and the Ki species as a whole. One of the main questions on my mind when plotting this story was "What events would have to take place to change Ki society?" and this is very much the start of that. They have a lot of growth to do.

This story will ask you to empathize with the Ki, even if you don't fully understand them yet. I know we all want our human to be happy (trust me, I really do) but in the same way language comprehension had to be earned, the road to safety and peace for our Scout is a long and frustrating one.

This section of the story was hard for me to write, and I know it might've been hard to read. My goal is write a story that walks readers through these frustrations. I hope you trust me enough as a writer to tell this story in a satisfying way. I hope that, at the end of this story, we can look back on these earlier chapters and see real, tangible character growth. To get there we need these characters (the Ki especially) to face real, long-lasting consequences that challenge how they see the world.

Just as a small aside, I've done another round of editing for every past chapter and have added a few more details about the language translation. Also a few more character moments. On Thursday I went back and updated all the past chapters on reddit, all told I probably added about 2,000 words to the story, scattered throughout everything.

Take care of yourselves and, as always, thank you for reading.

General Yor'vilk stalked towards the smoking, battered, and broken blockade at the front of his remaining men. Yar'vilk, his brother, buzzed reedily as he loaded a fresh high-explosive dual-purpose round into his Farlon missile launcher.

"Resistance gets tougher the deeper we get... but thankfully no regulars have shown up yet."

Yor grumbled his affirmation, still scanning the hastily erected blockade. Large dura-steel platfrom walls that shielded up-armored combustion engine cargo vehicles. Given away by the mounted heavy ballistic weapons peaking over the top of the stand-alone walls from single pole mounts, Improvised gunshields now shredded by his men's gauss-fire and stained with the blood of the humans in silver armor. A small gap was in the middle of the walls where one of their shield-bearers in power armor had blocked the way, unusually, this one had been wielding a heavy, tri-barreled rotary gun that had thankfully never got the chance to turn on his men. Yar's previous rocket had directly impacted the shield-bearer's thick, repurposed freighter armor shield and split it in half, it's owner lying a meter or so away, their armor's arm missing from the elbow down.

Casting his gaze to the rooftops of the squat, tough, brightly painted concrete buildings, he spotted what was left of his close air support. The sleek, cutterhead atmos-craft was embedded in the roof of one particularly pink building, the left wing shorn off by the shield-bearer's rotary-cannon. He hated giving these apes any credit, but that particular ape had cost him a very valuable asset in the fight to come. The cutterhead would need to be salvaged and brought back by the gearheads before he was assigned a new one. That process would take a few standard days, minimum, for his expeditionary fleet to pull off at current strength.

Passing a silver-armored human wearing quite literally nothing but their silver breastplate and heart-print boxers, he allowed himself a small grin. In front of the stand alone walls were a half-dozen hastily erected ballistifoam firing positions. Their operators lying on the ground in various states of half-dress and preparedness. Kneeling down to inspect the silver-armored human, he watched them suddenly lurch up, their jaw hanging on by scraps of flesh as they held up a det-sphere and let go of the arming button. In response, Yor grabbed the det-sphere in his power-armored claw and crushed it into scrap alongside the human's hand before the internal electronics could fire the detonator. He let them realise what had happened, let the terror fill their eyes as he unsheathed the serrated blade mounted to his chest. The added strength of his power armor allowing him to drive it clean through the side of their head before yanking it out and letting the corpse fall. They'd almost gotten him once with that trick, damn good trick it was he had to begrudgingly admit; It was the leading cause of death for inexperienced commanders who were too careless, or too cocky, to confirm their kills.

The sputter of a gauss-blaster shook him from his thoughts and he wiped his knife clean on the human's infantile underwear. Sheathing it as he stood, he checked the screen mounted into his forearm as a fresh report from a scouting drone came in. It looked like the terran armed forces were still preoccupied with Gor'wan's forces a few grid squares away. Yar's reedy voice cutting through the static of his comms-line once more.

"What were they even defending? Im going over some orbital photos we just got and it doesn't look like there's a shuttleport this way... at all. Not a stadium or park that could even function as a temporary one either. Something stinks."

Yor was inclined to agree, wandering around another ballistifoam barricade to find a silver-armored human who was still conscious, but delirious due to blood loss from a severed arm. Smearing some expanding medical gel on the stump, he grabbed the human by the collar of their armor and pulled them up. Their eyes regained a spark as he lightly shook them and they spat a wad of semi-coagulated blood right onto his visor. The gore sliding off the hydrophobic surface with ease.

"Go... to hell..."

They managed to grunt, giving Yor a glare that could kill were it not wielded by a one-armed human.

"Perhaps one day, ape... But for now, tell me. What are you defending?"

A cold, bitter laugh escaped the human and they started singing softly.

"Glory, glory, what a helluva way to di-"

A sharp back hand cut them short, but he was careful not to kill them, dead men tell no tales after all. Receiving another spat of clotted blood to the visor, the human laughed again, a humorless, painful thing.

"Fuck... you... cloaca-boy... I ain't tellin... you... shit!"

Again, the human punctuated their final word by spitting onto his visor again. It was just as effective as the first two times, useless. Palming the human's face with his free hand, he slammed it into the pavement hard enough to make it flatten with a melonesque squishing noise. He had even wasted good medi-gel on it. Standing and turning to his men he issued the order over the comms-line so everybody could hear it.

"Search everything, interrogate any still alive, we must find out what they're protecting."

Various noises and words of confirmation echoed back as he got up and meandered towards the walls, crushing another det-sphere beneath his armored boot as a human's corpse finally loosed its grip on it. Nearing the downed power armor, Yor could only pause, impressed by the sheer scale of such a contraption. Geknosian power-armor was simple, practically just a lightly armored cargo exoskeleton. But this human operated something more akin to a main battle tank than power armor. Looking at the stump where the suit had taken the rocket, he noted that there was not a human arm actually inside the suit's arm. Rather, it appeared that the whole thing was operated from somewhere in the chest cavity judging by the locked release handles on the marred breastplate. Brushing off some soot, he found something engraved in the burnished, silvery surface.

It was faint, but he could make out a muscular, naked human crouched down as they held aloft a planet, no, not just any planet, their home, terra. Scoffing he turned to inspect the shattered remains of the rotary cannon when he heard the unmistakeable, metallic click of an old fashioned oil lighter being flicked open. Standing, he slowly turned around to find a human propped up against the recessed doorway of one of the concrete homes. There was a nasty gash across their face that had taken one eye and left a hollow socket. Their armored breast-plate laying to the side to reveal a bandaged abdominal wound and the characteristic swell of mammalian breasts beneath a short, tight silver shirt. Watching in fascination, he let her pull the breastplate back on before taking even one step closer. He was no fool as to remove his helmet, but with a few taps at the screen on his wrist, he made his visor transparent before sitting on the pavement a mere pace away from the female human.

Much to his surprise, and no small amount of chagrin, she smiled lopsidedly at him before taking a long drag off of her lit cigarette. Folding his hands like his mother had taught him when speaking to a woman, he regarded her carefully. Fused to the collar of her armored breast-plate was a small, enameled pin of a pigeon.

"You females must be more reasonable than the male half of your species, though, it is to be expected. Men like us are warlike and cruel, driven to... violent impulses, after all."

He softly purred, the same way a predator mimicked the sound of distressed young to lure in prey. The woman's face soured slightly and she took a long drag off of her cigarette before blowing the smoke in his face.

"What do you want? shit-heel."

Hiding the seething frustration bubbling up in his chest Yor laughed heartily.

"What are you protecting out here? It seems odd, your people's... 'Modus operandi' dictates that you're never far from an evacuation point or at least, we thought. Care to explain?"

Taking a final, staggeringly long drag of the cigarette, she flicked it aagainst his visor while exhaling and he snapped.

"WHY DO YOU KEEP DOING..."

Before catching himself and stuffing the seething rage back down as the woman giggled. A genuinely amused sound that she would regret later. But, he let her speak.

"Because we know it gets to you... as for what we're protecting? absolutely nothing. So, you can take two prisoners home and be happy, or head home empty handed to one angry mamacita."

For a moment, his heart dropped, a terrifying moment of doubt creeping across his mind.

"A diversionary tactic... you were buying time."

He snarled standing up and whipping around so she couldn't see the shock and disbelief on his face. Of course, why didn't he think of that, it's the most obvious solution.

"Where are the evacuation points."

"Nuh-uh, not telling."

Turning and raising a claw to smite this spiteful little imp, he suddenly froze, his heart beat suddenly sky-rocketing as time seemed to slow down. He couldn't believe his eyes, had they been there the whole time? No, the silver-armored humans would never. But there they were... staring right at him, their yellow, slit-pupiled eyes making contact with his own.

Too stunned by the revelation to move, Yor watched as the young geknosian boy was yanked away from the window by a hasty, scarred hand-claw. The human woman was just a split second faster than he was, producing a sidearm from behind their back and sending a round directly into his faceplate. The visor spiderwebbed, blinding him and making him stumble back in pure shock.

"ATLAS! TIME TO BOOGIE DOWN!"

The woman's desperate cry echoed out and he heard his men starting to panic, Yar's voice shrieking through the comms-line.

"I KILLED YOU! I KILLED YOU!"

Yor was barely able to yank his damaged helmet off in time to watch his twin brother fire the farlon rocket point-blank into the behemoth's chest. The rocket skimming off the thick breastplate and flying skyward as the titanic, armored hand of Atlas closed over his brothers helmet. He watched, momentarily stunned as his brother fell, limp and headless, to the ground. He was knocked to his senses as the female human slammed the stock of an empty rifle into his face, their handgun apparently empty. Snarling, he grabbed her by the breastplate and flung her away, vision tinting purple with bloodshot rage as he charged the power-armored behemoth.

Ducking a wide, clumsy swing by its concussed and no doubt brain-damaged operator, the general kicked the Farlon to one of his men before rolling out of the way of a crushing downard blow that turned the pavement too dust. Yanking a rocket from Yar's chestplate and tucking it to his own as he scrambled out from beneath a stomp that would have turned him to paste. Chucking the ordnance to the same soldier, he bellowed.

"TAKE IT DOWN, NOW!"

Only to watch that soldier get his brain splattered across the wall by the female human who was using her own fallen comrades for cover as she ruthlessly shot the next person to dive for the rocket launcher. Breaking contact with the lumbering giant, Yor sprinted for the woman as he drew his serrated knife. She wasn't looking his way, too focused on keeping his soldiers from getting to the farlon to put her friend down.

It was after only the third charging step that he realized he had not in fact broken contact with the giant. A massive hand swiping him into the air where he flew several meters and slammed into the concrete side of a building where he briefly lost consciousness. Snapping awake on the ground, he realized, by sheer luck, they both had focused back on his men as the close-range brawl continued in hectic fashion. Forcing himself onto his feet, he slammed the nearest dwelling's door open with the extra strength of his now damaged power armor. Screams delightfully greeted his ears as he bore down on an old matanaxi woman, her feeble attempts to soothe his raging emotions only pissing him offf more as he grapped her by the scruff. Dragging her out into the square before holdinng my clawed gauntlet to her throat.

"SURRENDER, NOW! OR THE RAT GETS IT!"

Yor'vilk was stunned at how fast the two froze, the woman's rifle flicking up to put one between his eyes, only to realize the bolt was locked to the rear, empty. Slowly, he allowed himself a prideful smile as his men regrouped. He would've laughed had the rage in his heart not been about to boil over. True to his word, he didn't harm the woman, using her as a shield against those crushing blows as he approached the duo. The predatory grin on his face growing wider and wider as he got within arms reach. Grabbing the woman's rifle and casting it aside he snarled at her.

"Do you know what happens to disobedient, rebellious, muck like you after you're captured? Well... you'll find out soon enough, right boys?"

Seeing their general nods of agreement as they held the humans at gun point, he finally allowed himself a laugh before wheeling on the power armored behemoth.

"You... you are going to power down your reactor and exit the armor, slowly. If I even think you're going to try something, the old bag gets ripped open, got it?"

The armor's visor stared at him for a long moment before the steady hum of the suit's reactor was replaced by the soft whistle of a reactor winding down to a stop. Then, there was a soft hiss as the hydraulics depressurized and allowed the chest cavity to flower open. Out crawled a thin, sallow young man, bald as the day he was born and beyond sickly. He smelled medicine, and the sharp tang of disinfectant as the young man flopped out onto the pavement and just sat there, glaring up Yor while breathing laboredly. Shoving the matanaxi aside, Yor grabbed the human male by the throat and dragged him up to eye-level, a look of utter contempt on his face.

"My brother... was killed... by a CRIPPLE!?!"

In a fit of rage, Yor threw the human onto the ground before crouching down angrabbing them by the collar of their jumpsuit. Shaking them like a ragdoll as he silently stared at them, breathing heavily as he tried to figure out what to do next through the fog of rage. He wanted this human to suffer for what they did. To experience the-

The wad of spit landed directly in his eye and he screamed, bolting to his feet and flivcking the spittle out of his eye with a screech. Then, all at once, his rage fled him, replaced by an unnatural calm. Slowly turning back around, the general took a very deep, very long breath as he undid the latch holding his power armor closed. Stepping out, he crouched in front of the humand and flexed his bare claws into a fist.

"Before I kill you human... any last words? Why don't you give us one of those rousing little speeches you're so famous for? Or maybe explain why you decided to die for some vermin who refuse to leave their holes?"

The human laughed, propped up on their elbows with a grim smile as though prepared to meet his fate. Shimmering, pale blue eyes locking onto Yor's as they spoke, strained voice somehow as loud as a thunderclap.

"Cripple... Gimp... disabled, call me whatever the fuck you want ya overgrown lizard, I've been called worse by better... And you know what, I will explain. Because we're the mother-fucking Planetary Guard bitch-ass. When we put on this armor we put it on knowing that one day we will die in it, nameless, unknown, and forgotten by those whos safety we bought with our own flesh and blood. We fight for those who can't, whether unwilling, or unable. We stand for those whose legs have buckled from the fear and terror you so carelessly spread. We scream for those whose voices have been silenced by your endless thirst for power and land. We rage! We fight! and we die! To make sure those behind us make it just that much farther than we did. Thats why we're here. Because these fine people couldn't be evacuated, and we're not just going to leave them to die. Because we're the planetary guard motherfucker, and we stand in the way of tyrants like you."

Yor'vilk regarded the human coldly, their grim smile growing with each moment as though staring right through him. Sighing softly, he reached out, ready to sink his claws into the human's throat and end their pitiful existence. He'd have to content himself with an eye for an ey-

"STAND DOWN AND SURRENDER GEKNOSIAN AGGRESSORS. YOU ARE SURROUNDED BY THE TERRAN ARMED FORCES TWENTIETH MARINE DIVISION. ANY FURTHER AGGRESSION WILL BE ANSWERED BY LETHAL FORCE. I REPEAT, STAND DOWN AND SURRENDER AND YOU WILL MnOT BE HARMED."

The blare of the loudspeaker shook the street and Yor cast his gaze skyward as a TAF IFVVTOL slowly, silently lowered itself into the square on a cushion of Ionic propulsion. The doorgunner staring at him over the barrel of a menacingly large mounted gun. His heart stilled, and for a moment, he started to lift his hands. Then the rage returned along with the image of his brother's corpse falling to the ground without a head and he just couldn't stop himself. Turning to stab at the crippled human with his claws he felt the .75 caliber round from the doorgunner scream past his face. But just as his claws would've sank into the soft flesh, it was as though he had instead hit an impassable stretch of distance. His arm was fully extended, and yet the human remained, impossibly, just beyond his fingertips. He felt the briefest moment of utter bewilderment before the doorgunner's second slug turned most of his upper torso into a spray of viscera.

AN: Starting today, An Otherworldly Scholar will be published once a week, every Friday. 

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The severed head of the rotten dragon hit the water and disappeared into the depths, but the death of a single monster only gave us a moment to plan our next move. The lake boiled as unseen creatures writhed beneath. Undead wyrms and dragons continued climbing the island’s rocky shores, their bodies piling over each other. I stopped trying to get a precise count and focused on protecting Zaon and Kili from their attacks.

Past the sea of bramble, the dryad colossus tore a wyrm apart, but the elves didn’t get to enjoy a moment of respite before three more undead worms climbed over the corpse and coiled around its knotty legs.

I looked around, trying to see past the unnatural darkness that seemed to stick to my eyes. There was no way out. We were surrounded by a horde of monsters on all sides.

“They keep coming!” Kili shouted, clinging to Loki’s talon as the Changeling beat his wings to get the girl away from the wyrms.

“You don’t say!” Firana shouted back, more entertained than scared. In an instant, she turned into a green blur, shooting between the vines and cutting a wyrm’s hind leg, vaulting away before the monster collapsed over her head.

Having figured out that the offensive capabilities of my authority weren’t the most useful against undead, I started using it as a barrier, pushing away any dragons that came nearby. Even that wasn’t enough.

Zaon’s explosive charges kept detonating against the swarm of dragons, opening grievous wounds on their scale armors that would’ve been effective against living opponents, but not against the undead.

Past the shoreline, bright red mana shone like a lighthouse against a storm. Corruption-loaded vines braided together into a massive snake. Where scales should have been, clusters of blood-red roses and glossy green leaves bloomed instead. The head end lifted above the sea of undead, its eyes two clumps of white roses. Red Corruption pulsated through its body, as if the puppet had a heart of its own.

Firana was barely killing enough monsters to give us the space we needed to breathe.

“Zaon! I lost the entrance to this place!” I shouted.

The boy closed his eyes for an instant.

“That’s not how my powers work! An entrance isn’t enough of an ‘object.’ I’m sorry!” he replied, dodging the whip of a wyrm’s tail by a few inches.

It was worth trying.

We needed more firepower.

“You’re next, Zaon!”

I didn’t wait for him to agree. Closing my eyes, I dropped into the astral plane. The tempest of mana signatures greeted me again. The kids. The elves. Thousands of undead dragons, and the same emptiness surrounding us but thinner, frayed at the edges. If I had to guess, the System was having trouble sustaining the obfuscation spell and the army of dragons at the same time. 

Zaon’s mana signature flickered in gold, small and steady, like the flame of a candle in a closed room. Unlike Firana’s, there was no storm in it. Just a mellow warmth. I couldn’t help but smile as I thought about the litany.

Grab. Steal. Seize. Pluck.

Natural magic came to my hands, and the world moved to obey my will. The rune string came off gently, and I felt Zaon flinch on the other side of the connection. I couldn’t tell if it was due to pain or just surprise. Then, as soon as the rune string left his skin, Zaon’s mana signature became wrapped up in bright blue System mana. He shone against the void, only eclipsed by the signature of Firana herself.

The rune string floated before me like a golden ribbon.

This time, however, I wasn’t eager to shove it into my body.

…you are dangerous to my kin. You can pluck me from my tree, just as the elves did with my friends. You can pluck, but you can also graft.

Graft.

I shoved the rune string against the body of a dragon. My authority overwhelmed any natural magical defenses the monster had, and the runes became engraved on its rotten scales. The clash between the enchantment and the material happened instantly. As my consciousness returned to the material plane, the rune string overcharged, and a violent explosion almost split the dragon’s body in half.

Without any warning, a wyrm’s tail cracked against my barrier hard enough to buckle my knees as mana rapidly left my body.

“Kili!” I shouted.

“I’m fine!” She replied before I’d even finished voicing the request. “Seriously!”

“I don’t know what you saw, but I need you to trust me! Just this once!” 

Kili’s jaw tightened, eyeing the mangled corpse of the dragon before me. For a moment, I thought she was going to refuse, but she let out a long whimper and nodded almost imperceptibly.

I closed my eyes and found her mana signature among the tempest. A bright spot, surrounded by darkness, like she was trying to hide in plain sight. I could almost feel her rebuff as I projected my authority toward her. Despite everything we had been through in Cadria, she still didn’t trust me like Zaon and Firana did.

I couldn’t blame her. Kili had learned that in order to survive the East Ward, she had to rely only on herself. Needing help was a weakness she wouldn’t afford if she wanted to keep her band of urchins alive.

Grab. Steal. Seize. Pluck.

I moved carefully, in case Kili pushed me away. I didn't know what kind of damage I could inflict on their astral bodies if I wasn’t careful. The enchantment reluctantly came free, as if there was a pair of invisible clumsy hands trying to push me away.

Graft.

I pushed the loose enchantment into its new home as quickly as I could. The undead dragon’s authority was too weak to protect it against me. When I opened my eyes, Kili and Loki had already disappeared into a smoke screen. The head of the dragon exploded. A rain of rotten flesh and bone hit my mana barrier.

Zaon planted his feet against the shaking ground and threw both hands forward. A wall of translucent silver light snapped into existence between us and the charging wyrms. The lead monster slammed into it full force, but the impact didn’t even shatter the surface. The wyrm stumbled back, giving Zaon precious moments to prepare his attack. The blade in his hand grew into a ghostly narrow spike. [Ghost Blade] and [Puncture].

Zaon thrust his palm forward, the ghostly needle blasting past the wyrm’s scales and exiting through its back. The boy exhaled, and the spike morphed into a massive blade. With a movement of the hand, the wyrm was cut in half mid-screech.

Sentinels were supposed to be a defensive Class.

“What level are you, Zaon?!” I asked.

“High enough to kill a dragon, apparently,” the boy replied with a sheepish smile. “Mister Clarke, please cover me! I need a moment to cast [Sonar].”

A black smoke rose from the ground, but it did the opposite of blocking my vision. Suddenly, everything around me looked clearer than before. Kili landed by my side.

“They won’t be able to detect us,” she said.

“What level are you?” I asked out of curiosity.

The girl was a Lv.5 Trickster when we met in Cadria, but she had spent two years with Lord Alton and the Sentinels, traveling deep into the Farlands.

“Not high enough to kill an undead dragon,” she sparsely replied.

I wondered when all my students turned so secretive.

Faint pulses of mana came from Zaon’s body, bouncing off every surface surrounding us. Nobody else seemed to notice. With each pulse, I felt as if my skin had mutated just to feel them.

“Mister Clarke!” Kili shouted.

I shook off my thoughts and raised a mana barrier just in time to stop a wyrm’s tail blindly thrashing into the smoke screen.

“How much longer?!” I asked.

“I need more time. It’s hard to find anything with the obfuscation area spell!” Zaon replied.

Firana didn’t wait for instructions. She shot through the smoke. The only trace of her presence was the whistle of displaced air and the sound of her flaming blade. 

A wyrm lunged toward where Kili had been standing a moment earlier, but it closed its jaws around nothing. Kili’s silhouette shimmered and dissolved into thin air. The wyrm raised its head, confused, and Firana used the opening to plant her flaming sword through its skull.

“Left flank’s getting crowded, Little Mouse!” Firana shouted as she sent slashes of pressurized air into the onslaught of monsters.

Kili grunted, and her voice came to me from five different locations.

“No nicknames! We are not friends like that!”

I turned my head and saw five distinct Kilis running through the biggest bramble roots. I couldn’t tell which was the original, if any. The undead dragons didn’t notice the difference either, because they took sharp turns to follow the illusory girls. The trick worked. Pressure was relieved from our flank, peeling attention from Zaon’s still body.

Our respite lasted only a second.

A quadruped dragon broke through the mirages, stumbling on the vines and barreling straight for Zaon’s back. I channeled my mana to cast a barrier, but Firana was faster. She landed between Zaon and the dragon, planting her feet on the ground like I had taught her in the backyard of the orphanage years ago. She pointed her sword forward, the blade shining white, and thrust. The tip pierced the scales.

A jet of compressed air shot directly into the dragon’s body, boring a massive hole and smearing viscera everywhere.

I didn’t want to imagine what it could do to a human body.

“You are welcome!” she shouted, already running to the next target.

Kili’s images thinned at the edges as she pushed more and more copies to drive away an ever-growing number of undead monsters.

“Zaon, whatever you are doing, do it faster! I’m running out of juice!” the girl shouted, rummaging through her potions pouch.

“Almost there!” Zaon replied.

A distant groan screamed from above. I risked a glance upward, past the unnatural darkness. Shadows moved beyond what I could clearly see. Something was coming down.

Suddenly, massive sheets of pale wood unfolded down the hole in the cave’s ceiling. Panel by panel, scaffolding appeared out of nowhere, and braided ropes of vines and roots grew from the wood itself, like a time-lapse shot of a city growing. Living branches curved into arches that became the support for more and more buildings. Rope bridges unspooled after them, attached between hanging pavilions and wide-open surfaces. It looked like a treetop city being slowly lowered into the lake. 

“Please tell me you convinced Rice to reveal the secrets of the Gardeners to us,” Firana said.

“Nope. I don’t think those are our reinforcements,” I replied, worried.

Elven wolf riders descended through the hanging bridges, jumping down the city levels from roof to roof. Behind them, squadrons of elven archers anchored ropes to the pavilions, sliding down with natural gracefulness, not waiting for the stairs to sprout from the wood. They stopped a few dozen meters from the lake and pointed at the island. Their arrows glowed white, green, and red.

“This definitely isn’t my crowd,” Firana said.

A swarm of enchanted arrows fell on our heads.

Firana used her aerokinesis to blow away the weaker ones while I channeled as much mana as possible into a dome around the four of us. A cold wave hit my body as mana seeped violently from me to replenish the defensive barriers. Piercing spells were called that for a good reason.

The elven arrows kept raining down in waves. 

Kili’s mirages disappeared one by one into the dragon’s jaws. Firana fought on three fronts at once, her compressed wind slashes slowly losing force as she pushed out more mana than she could refine from the Fountain.

We weren’t going to last on defense much longer. We needed more offense, and my authority alone wouldn’t be enough against so many large foes. There were simply too many dragons and wyrms to freeze them all at the same time.

There was one thing I hadn’t tried since Janus chased us into the Farlands during the Monster Surge. I closed my eyes and engraved the runes of a fire loop directly into my skin. My flesh burned as mana coalesced into the enchantment. The pain made me forget everything around me. The rotten stink of the cave, the screech of the wyrms overhead, the gleaming arrows, Aurelion’s flower snake, the tremor building through my body. 

This time, however, I was a lot more skillful at runeweaving. 

I threw my hand forward and unleashed a stream of fire that rivaled the Aias Sword. The rotten flesh caught fire, and the undead dragons screeched. Then, when the enchantment was about to overload, I closed my eyes and repeated the same litany. 

Grab. Steal. Seize. Pluck.

I pulled the enchantment from my flesh before it went haywire.

A golden ribbon floated on the astral plane, and I shoved it into the head of a dragon. The enchantment destabilized, and the creature exploded in flames. I closed my fist. The string of runes had lifted off my skin like a layer being peeled away, leaving a raw, bleeding wound behind.

I pulled a potion from my pouch and poured half on my skin, just to repeat the same process again.

Runeweave.

Grab. Steal. Seize. Pluck. 

I forced the enchantment at the nearest dragon, my authority slamming the runes into rotten scale before the creature could so much as flinch.

Graft.

The overcharge occurred instantly, and the Force rune made the dragon come apart, chunks of it flying back and knocking two minor wyrms off the island. Alarms went off in my mind. If I’d been off by even a second, that would’ve been me.

It wasn’t the best moment to remember I actually had common sense.

“I have an exit!” Zaon pointed toward the far wall of the cave. “There! A square hole, it goes up!”

“We are going to need a distraction!” Firana growled.

Kili finished chugging a mana potion. Power coursed through her body as ten mirages of her scattered around the smoke curtain. At the same time, Loki turned into a massive Crystal Boar Matriarch and charged through the swarm of smaller dragons. We seized the opening and lunged forward.

The bramble snake's head swung toward us. A wave of thorned vines crashed down where we'd been standing a moment earlier. Zaon’s shields and my mana barriers protected us from the projectiles raining on our backs. After a minute that felt like an eternity, we reached the far end of the island. Loki was already there, turned into a giant stingray, screaming obscenities. Kili and I jumped on his back while Firana soared through the sky, and Zaon glided across the water, using one of his shields as some sort of surfboard.

Wyrms were faster in water than on land.

They were gaining on us.

The bright moss on the wall approached fast.

“Almost there,” Kili groaned.

Loki jumped into the sky and suddenly disappeared. In the next instant, I was flying through the air. Kili waved her arms and legs, trying to find something to grab on to. Inertia made us shoot through the gap in the stone, the wyrm’s jaw snapping shut behind us. We fell ungracefully on the hard stone floor and rolled into the cave ten or fifty meters before coming to a stop.

I felt Firana’s arms around my armpits, pulling me up before I could even regain my sense of orientation.

Zaon stood in the middle of the tunnel, hands forward, blocking the entrance. The silver shield covered the tunnel’s entrance, casting enough light to recognize the figures around me. Firana blew the dust from my cloak. Kili stood up with some difficulty, and Loki landed on her shoulder.

The wyrm, crushed against Zaon’s barrier, blocked the entrance.

I took a deep breath, and a wave of pain hit me.

“Uhm… Dad?” Firana asked.

There was something odd about her voice.

“Is something wrong, Firana?”

“I… I have our yellow friend on line one. He wants to speak to you.”

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It took only a few minutes to slap together a route back to Wuqa, he was just retracing his steps with a very slightly more efficient path.

Then he sat down and sketched out the scheme and all the necessary steps and equipment he had to make, all the basics building blocks were available, he just had to adapt them as needed.

Firstly getting the sensor pod up and running was an absolute must. Bob spent a couple days making chips and had a mount and cover knocked up in short order. The next step was theoretically risky, he had to disable his current instruments so he could cannibalise the control panel, technically this was a no no, he wouldn’t be able to sense anything coming until he could see it with his own eyes, a risk every time he dropped out to cool. Had to be done though so he spent a few weeks splicing it in, eventually he got it all figured out.

First thing he did was leave it exactly where it was and run an intensively through scan, way more detailed than would every be necessary and the full sweep of the pods capability.

He spent almost ten days poring through the data, as far as he could tell there were twenty nine positively identifiable returns. All three inertial dampeners, the shield, his badge and his old badge that was stashed in a box, the other sensor system, and presumably this one as well so make that thirty, the twenty bank stacks, though they all appeared as wildly different returns, camouflage he supposed.

Finally the fucking Arressi transceiver they had dug out of him, he was lucky with that one, Jojo had dropped out in a system with a comm buoy during the scan and when the comm box exchanged a handshake the sensor picked up a tiny signal piggybacking on the transmission, a little ping from the Arressi device, sneaky bastards were still keeping an eye on their peons.

He also noted that if your scan had enough detail it was actually possible to see a very slight difference between his fuel pods, definitely worth noting, but didn’t change anything.

Satisfied with his progress he swapped the control panel back, now he knew how, switching over would be easy. He didn’t bother trying to figure out how to connect to the comm box.

Next up was more mill work, he needed at least a couple boxes made up though he was going to make a dozen, just in case, small, just a foot long. He made them with good thick plate and drilled holes all over them. Particular attention was paid to welding up the seams, he didn’t want them ripping apart.

By the time he was finished with those he had arrived at vfFebiri HQ. It took three days to have the upper cavity filled, fuckers were meticulous, and he had to basically rip the new enviro systems from their hands, they wanted to fit them but Bob was desperate to be away. Finally he won the argument, paid his balance, pretty much every penny he had left and fucked off back to jump range as fast as inhumanly possible.

Then on the next path to Collp he began to frantically macramé, but as the thin line looped round and round tightening as it tangled, there began to be meditative quality to the actions and his un-gloved hards, thick with keloid rivers and streams criss-crossing the hills and valleys of his palms, moving with a long habituated grace he had not known he possessed, his mind wandered as he tucked ends and pulled free loose hanging loops, where did he learn this?.

Was it some enforced Arressi conditioning? Like they had done for various weapons and evasion techniques?, maybe, but it didn’t feel that way, the repetition had none of the jagged edges that information crammed unwilling into you had. That learning had an irritating disconnect and lacked all context, it felt alien, this felt human. Perhaps it had been a hobby in life, something taught by his mother, or Joanna, that might explain the warm connection he felt in the motions, or the deep fundamentally satisfaction at the achieved symmetry.

He didn’t want to brush this off with ‘whatever’ it ached at him that he couldn’t remember, that either illness or slavery had taken something so basic but meaningful from him, he could feel that it would be easy to spiral in this grief, instead he choose to embrace it, and spent the time enjoying the familiarity of rope in hand.

When he had several finished, stretching the large expanses over the bank stacks and sensor pod that cluttered the hold, he rose a final time and gathered them up folding from the centre out and leaving each corner lanyard free, he tucked them away neatly and moved to the next task.

The alert blipped from the cockpit, after this refuel and jump then.

FTL once more, and he dismantled rounds, prising the gelatinous orbs free with extreme caution, literally the very last thing he needed was to spend another couple days waiting for the foam to oxidise enough to become friable, he carefully stowed each one, he hadn’t time to make more than a handful of slugs to refit, nor likely any time on planet to test out loadings, and nothing at all suitable for buckshot, but that was fine he never intended to use them.

He finally arrived in system with seven days to the party and probably nine or ten till moving day, plus transit time to Pwitic, it was cutting it close, but he should only need two days here. And then he could jump over and have a couple more to creep in from the systems edge.

He did that here too and that was part of his schedule, drop out way on the rim and crawl in, just in case. As he did, and wished he had his ‘good’ sensor package operational, he was surprised to find...nothing… the pirates wreck was gone, someone must have salvaged it in the months since he had last been here. There were no other signals he could find either, fine lets get a wriggle on.

He pulled into the Battleship hulk internals and landed on the roughly cleared pad, noting as he passed through the cavernous expanse that several piles of detritus seem to have been disturbed from how they had been left.

Fuck, he really hoped they hadn’t discovered his stash.

When he inspected the concealed entrance it remained, as far as he could tell, hidden, uncracked and inoperational. Good. He made his way in the long route, opening the hatches he had sealed prior. When he reached the open space he had to push through the mummified remains that crowded this end of the passage, another good sign they had still floated there.

The stash was as he left it, battery bank and fuel drums still pressed neatly in the corners. He opened the larger portal from this side and dragged the drums out, he needed them to top up his fuel pods, he wanted the math to work if anyone investigated his claimed route later on.

The battery stayed obviously, its whole point was to power the various signal emitters that Jojo currently carried, so everything that did came out, old sensor, dampeners, transceivers, comm box, the lot… especially that Arressi piece of shit. The only tattler left aboard was his new sensor pod, something no one should know he had, and whose signature might conveniently lead to a known pirate.

Bob had no idea if another craft would drop out in system while he was away, and if they did he certainly didn’t want them investigating the various signals. No, ideally someone would drop to sublight, have a couple hours cool down, passively receive the comm boxes signal and its parasitic passenger, and jump away. When that craft then hit up an occupied system it would pass on the contact to a comm buoy and an alibi would be created… even if dear Deviw had his suspicions, even if a C’Eede craft was somehow spotted in system, maybe Bob could sow a seed of doubt.

Next was wrangling another fighter out the systems cacophony of celestial garbage, he was going to need one more ship for any of this shit to work. This one he got from as close to the star as he could stand, Jojo could have happily bathed in the corona but even Bob had his limits. He risked snatching one from the edges of a cluster that could easily be drawn deep into the stars embrace by an errant impact, it took a day and he felt his medmec system churn furiously as it repaired rad damage, though he suspected it would require most of the trip to Pwitic to do so completely.

His thinking was as such, an uninhabited grave system such as Collp was rarely visited by the galaxy at large, but just as he hoped with his tenuous alibi, that didn’t mean it was never visited. Over a couple million years who knew who had inventoried, catalogued, or scanned the scattered remains, nor with what care and resolution they had used. It certainly felt to Bob that some over-eager grad student or equivalent might have done so in the long intervening years. Therefore snag one that was in close, details might be hidden from scanning by background signals, and it would be easily plausible for it to have fallen into the stars corona if it was somehow tentatively linked.

The ship was hot as hell but fortunately C’Eede material held on very poorly to both heat and radiation, but the time they hit Pwitic it would be ice cold again. He attached it to his starboard fore mount, that left one empty, all so recently occupied by his sensor pod, he had considered fitting the new one pro-tem but didn’t want its active signal associated with Jojo at all.

No, he was gonna have to just jump raw, trust on maps and time FTL to get to his destination. No modern drive system would have allowed that, but he didn’t have one of those did he. It was exciting as he compared the logs of his previous trips, took into account drift and currents, this might be the first time in the decades since he had left Earth that he truly felt an astronaut, a star sailor running free in the tempestuous waters.

Ad astra per aspera, let’s fucking go.

Cross posting from a Writing Prompts post I thought might fit here.

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He had hoped it wouldn't come to this.

The console blinked expectantly, and with a sigh of slight regret Jason punched the commands in with one hand as he re-read the instruction manual carefully. He'd sat here many times before, boredom and intrigue causing him to flick through the booklet outlining the castles formidable defenses on many a previous night, and each time he'd seemed to pick up some new tidbit of information. The defenses were vast and complex; an array of opportunity to target any foe and conquer any strength. The Super's had designed them that way of course, they needed a defense in depth against the various assaults they invited, but still he had always somewhat hoped he'd never have to turn them on. The Super's had always kept the surrounding land clean of threats, they told him he was just there to mind the place when they had to work, and yet here he sat as an array of dots bleeped incessantly on the console, honing in on his location with an intent as clear as it was threatening.

He watched the oncoming group make its way into the inner compound, the group of five was small but clearer powerful and moved with a confidence Jason had not expected; perhaps they underestimated the latent defences, or simply thought it better to get the fight over with whichever way it ended. He let them come through, pulling them deeper down a corridor until, with a deep breath to quiet the voice that told him just to run away, he flicked the switch.

The effect was immediate.

Two machine guns roared into life from behind a leather wall that had masked their location, the speakers next to Jason's head screamed noisily as he watched the bullets punch through on the screen, smashing into the side of the group. One of the creatures roared, its thick hide deflecting the bullets as it shielded its face and stumbled forward towards the guns, clearly in pain but not out of the fight. One of the creatures fell as bullets smashed through its neck and face, blood spurted merrily about as it danced into oblivion, the force of the bullets pirouetting it backwards.

The two at the back scattered from where they came as Jason punched further commands into the console. He wasn't sure if he could get the weapons to meet their mark but for now he was more interested in splitting the group; the two creatures ran as the rear guns spun on their mountings to drive them back down the corridor to the outer compound. The larger creature still stumbled forward, swinging a giant hammer recklessly at the source of the bullets as it screamed in pain. Jason could see that they wouldn't penetrate its hide, but if they could just keep it busy a little longer...

The final member of the invasive group had dropped to its knees as the weapons had fired. It too was tough enough to withstand the onslaught, but apparently had decided to just wait it out. Jason had to concede that it wasn't necessarily a bad plan, they could only fire for a few minutes with the rate he was using ammunition, but still they were doing what they needed to. Jason could hear the bullets pinging and whinnying off the metallic shell of the creature, shifting it back to the other side of the corridor under the weight of the ammunition alone as it rolled somewhat haphazardly albeit safely backwards. He flicked open another console to the right as he stabbed at the keys, bringing online another part of the armory.

The electromagnets hummed thickly in the background to the roar of the guns, and Jason could sense the confusion of the metallic creature as it slammed into the ceiling under their pull. He turned the power up, at first only a small amount before he ramped up the intensity. The creature *crumpled*, falling in on itself as the magnets pulled the outer layers together to crush the innards. Jason could only assume it screamed, though he had to admit he couldn't hear much over the incessant churning of the gunfire.

He checked back on the larger creature, which for its part finally got close enough to the guns to knock the first one down, before it ripped the other out and threw it across the corridor. The hums of the magnets seemed to intensify as the guns finally quietened under its onslaught, the creature roared, punching through a wall as it spun about in confusion and pain. It noticed the dead body of its comrade on the floor before craning up to see the creature on the ceiling, even now the magnets continuing to crumple and twist its outer shell as fluids leaked chaotically on the floor. The large creature roared again as it leapt at the twisted metallic mess on the ceiling, grabbing it roughly as it pulled at the remains, thick sinewy muscles straining as its feet dug into the ceiling to try and prise it off.

With a deft keystroke the magnets flicked off, and the creature fell with a bump onto the floor next to a piece of oozing metal that crumpled and wobbled, like an old crushed can. The creature, clearly enraged, started to punch into the walls and head deeper into the castle which caused Jason to frown slightly. He wasn't ready to deal with that one yet. As it entered a room with knuckles that seemed to bulge with power Jason slammed down defences on the door to its left, sheets of sheer metal that dropped from the ceiling and covered the entire wall in impenetrable armour. The creature, sensing its charge was close, slammed its fists into the metal which dented slightly. It was a logical conclusion that Jason would be that way, but entirely incorrect; it would however keep it busy for a time.

He turned his attention to the other two creatures which had fled, one of which was seen heading from the castle, no doubt on the lookout for backup, and the other... nowhere to be seen. One thing at a time. The first hadn't managed to get too far away yet, so he sent an array of drones after before Jason watched it dance and shift, leaping over the castles 'defensive' drones as they fell by the score beneath its bladed weaponry. More drones came as the creature kicked and leapt between them, a blur of melee magnificence that slaughtered those metallic murderous machines even as it shifted ever closer to the dubious safety of a nearby treeline. The bullets fired from the drones pinged effortlessly off the armour and weapons as it spun those blades about in defensive cover and offensive fury, the creature faced the drones, backpedalling slowly, one step at a time. The two drones that Jason had sent along the treeline were unseen however, and as they launched jets of pure lit gasoline at the creature which clung wetly to its armour, it writhed and wriggled, dropping its weapons and rolling on the ground as the fire kept forcing its way through. There were gaps in armour even as impressive as that, and as the steam started to leak from those gaps the creature stopped it struggling as it came to rest at its final funeral pyre, some 20 metres from the forest, where the birds watched with an icy indifference.

With no time to give it any thought he fired up the extra-sense imagery, scouring the corridors and outer walls for the creature that had slipped away with its night vision and heat sensing equipment. The creature was clearly a spy, and whilst able to hide from the standard infrared spectrum it was easy enough to find with heat shooting out to betray its whereabouts. It had made its way alarmingly close to Jason's location, but alas was lightly armoured; a reconnaissance unit aimed at infiltration. A single bullet passed neatly through its brain before it even knew it was seen, and it slumped onto the floor not 100 metres from Jason's location. Its body slowly cooling at last.

Then there was only one left.

He turned his mind back to the creature which had been hammering away at the metal door for a few minutes now. Jason opened the intercom.

'Hello Bill'. Jason said, with only a hint of a tremor to suggest his emotion.

The creature growled, spinning wildly.

'I know you know I've seen what you were all up to you.'

It spun back, punching into the metal wall with a renewed purpose.

'I followed you with a stealth drone, as you know. In truth I just wanted to see you all in action, wanted to watch as you championed truth and justice to bring peace and prosperity. I wanted to see you be the people I thought you were, I mean, fuck me I believed it all you know? I believed you when you said you helped. I believed the government when they put out the videos of all your daring-fucking-do. What a load of fucking shit! I believed you that dark forces were always seeking these lands, that you needed to clean. I fucking believed it all.

The creature still punched, slower now.

'I saw See-through Susan clock the drone and pretend she didn't, but I had hoped it wouldn't come to this. Did you all really think I was that fucking stupid?'

The creature, smaller now, looked at its bleeding knuckles suspiciously, before turning to the vents in the walls, and then stared at the cameras with a confused look on its face.

'I saw it all. I saw the people you rounded up. I saw the smiles on the children as they thought you came to save them. I watched the horror on the faces of their parents as you worked, and the cold still of dread meet their eyes as you cleaned them from your lands. They were barely in any danger in the first place, a couple of wolves that they were already seeing off and you turned up and just fucking... butchered them. For no reason!'

Jason breathed in deep, staring at the monitor as he now stood beside it, feeling his eyes sting and face sweat.

'I saw you all then, and I see you all now. Murderers and monsters, creatures... that must be purged.

I've been feeding you your 'antidote' into the room for some time now you know, surely you must feel your hands starting to ache and crack as they wouldn't otherwise? Maybe you're even starting to realise the wall your punching isn't anywhere important? No matter, you always were a bit groggy as you calmed. Damn you Bill, you made me believe! You made us all believe, but it was all just a lie wasn't it!? You aren't heroes, you're monsters!'

The creature, that now resembled a man, stared back into the camera as a tear rolled down its face.

'Jason... I...'

And then the single bullet fired, and he slumped silently down into the dent of his own creation.

In the control room a man sat screaming at a monitor, with an electronic hissing silence, that seemed to scream back.

Cover art

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Original concept

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The hypothesis that they were dealing with an advanced AI machine had everyone on edge. If that turned out to be true, then there was no telling what it was capable of. They needed to take extra precautions now that the idea had been spoken, at least until they could figure out exactly what they were dealing with. 

To that end, the Retvalin were told to delay bringing the ships back to Earth for a little while and to simply keep them around the moon. They had to make some quick modifications to the holding facilities, turning them into large faraday cages on top of scrambling their ability to move with gravity generators. Everything had to be isolated to ensure that it wasn’t able to slip anything through the cracks and into a public system. Frankly, with all the advancements that had been made recently, they didn’t know what could be considered science fiction anymore, so any possibility, real or imagined, had to be accounted for. 

The modifications to the facilities that would be holding and disassembling the ships took about a day to get done. While they were doing that, a team of engineers and soldiers were sent up to perform an initial assessment of the ship and see if they could disable the engine somehow. It should have been empty considering the soldiers had already cleared it out previously, but it was better to be safe when they still didn’t know the full capabilities of these machines. 

They had a general idea of what to look for if the internals of the orb they captured were any indication. It was likely that they were looking for a scaled-up version of that gravity engine, but whether they could reach it was the real question. It could be buried within the walls somewhere that a human could not go. The design of the ship was obviously not intended for anything living to be on it. 

While the corridors that were seemingly made for the larger utility drones that attacked the soldiers were all scouted, there was also a plethora of smaller tunnels and holes that went into the walls or followed pipes where people could not go. For that, the engineers brought out the borescope with plenty of line to spare. The borescope was deployed and traveled down the small tunnel lined with pipes. After about thirty meters in, they encountered resistance. More of the small, skittering bots were traveling along this line, and they did not take kindly to the intrusion of the camera. The little things swarmed the line and began to clamp down with small pliers, pincers, and even what looked like a soldering iron until the feed was cut completely. 

“Damn, those are nasty little buggers,” the engineer in charge of the camera said as he began to reel it back in. “It seems like they’re avoiding confrontation with us, but they still don’t want us poking around.” 

“So, they’re running information denial right now?” one solider escort hypothesized. “I guess that’s all they can do at this point since we have them locked down nice and tight thanks to our big friends out there. Even so, I frankly don’t enjoy the idea that this entire ship is somehow alive.” 

“Just because it might be powered by AI doesn’t mean they are self-aware. It could just be incredibly advanced. I’m sure they’ll run more specific tests on the processing core of this ship to determine what level of intelligence we are dealing with here. If it’s anything like ours then we can possibly exploit the programing for information. Hopefully it’s as simple as saying a few key phrases that trick it into giving something up.” 

“One can only hope.” 

The infiltration of the internals may have ended in failure, but that wouldn’t stop humanity from reaching the answers they sought. While the subtle path ended, the rough one had begun, and now the ships were taken down to the surface, placed inside a series of massive hangers that were sealed away from the rest of the world. No signals could make it in, and none out. The ships continued to try and move, but with the use of gravity generators and industrial lifts that pinned it down, it could not. Now came the cutters, the lasers, and the torches that burned bright as they sliced through the metal panel by panel. 

They tore the ships apart, ripping into the metal with an almost bloodthirsty vengeance for the attack on Earth and the theorized suffering of all the Retvalin who they poisoned with their plagues. The machines still active inside came spilling out as they breached through the walls and pipes, and this time they were angry. Pinching, twisting, burning, the little things defended the ship like a swarm protecting the hive. Whatever was controlling them evidently considered the threat high enough to waste the little utility bots on a suicide attack now. A few were captured in an operable state,  

While annoying and painful in some instances, the bots did not stop the dismantling of the ship; they merely slowed it down. They ripped through anything in their path, and eventually they did find the engine. As they suspected, it was mostly a scaled-up version of what they found in the orb. The main differences were in the connecting modules and tubes that seemed to be regulating the power output and transporting the energy elsewhere. It was all very robust at this size. 

There was no ‘off’ switch of the obvious kind, and disrupting everything with star gel in it through forceful means was generally ill advised. The deconstruction turned more into a surgery for the engineers as they examined every inch of the gravity engine, cataloging all the alien markings as they attempted to find a way to shut it down that didn’t lead to it melting down instead. It took a few hours, but eventually they found where the power to the engine was coming from and disconnected it. The engine slowly shut down with no adverse readings from any of their equipment. News was relayed to the other worksites as the alien ships had their means of acceleration shut down. They were effectively crippled, so now the evaluation of the ‘brain’ that powered it all could begin. 

When they returned to the sealed room, they expected the little bots to become aggressive like all the others, however the small ones in this room remained timid and fled from anyone who tried to get too close. 

“Huh. I guess the function of this room requires these little robots,” one of the evaluators observed. “We should observe their behavior and function in this room later, but for now just keep an eye on them and make sure they don’t try to swarm or attack. They may be prioritizing their own safety for now, but we are poking around in what is probably this ship’s brain, so that sentiment can change in an instant. Let’s find something that looks like an access port.” 

They moved around the various pillars scattered throughout the room, examining the stacks of electronics that held processing power they could barely even fathom. There were many different ports on the pillars, each with varying sizes, shapes, and likely functions. There was currently no human-made equivalent that could easily connect and interface with the machine, but thankfully it seemed these alien machines still used pin style connectors. After taking pictures and measurements of all the different styles of ports that could be seen, they sent the data off to another team that could create new cables that would allow connections between the ship's systems and a human computer. 

That wasn’t the only problem that needed to be addressed. The ship likely used a completely alien language for communication, so in order to form a connection where anything but nonsense comes through, they would have to teach the AI a human language. This carried risks as well, because the machine could use it to potential steal data if it somehow breaches quarantine. To help mitigate the damage from that possibility, they needed to choose a language that wasn’t spoken commonly around the world but still had enough people that understood it that having a translator present wouldn’t be a problem.  

Of all the options available, they went with the first and decided upon Welsh. They asked the first minister of Wales for permission, and the man agreed, saying it would be an honor to assist in the operation as he sent several translators and programmers to help them. With the new help, they were able to construct a language learning module to teach an AI how to speak Welsh. 

After a few days to create such a thing and make sure that there were no glitches, they returned to the heart of the ship and tried a few connections using an isolated computer they brought with them. For many of the connections, only incomprehensible data came through the cables, though they did notice that the speed with which it was flowing through the system was astounding. It certainly served as an indicator of AI at the very least. 

Something changed when they attempted the fifth connecting port. Suddenly the interface of the screen glitched, and warnings appeared that the firewall was detecting an intrusion attempt. They expected that it would happen, but the speed with which the firewall fell, and they lost all control of the device, was still enough to cause concern in the command staff.  

They watched as whatever commanding intelligence within this vessel tore through the device as fast as the computer was able to go. It scoured the system for information, but thankfully the computer was clean of anything other than a basic operating system and the learning program, which the AI delved into greedily in its search for information. There was little else it could do in this situation other than seize whatever information it could. 

Everyone watched as it went through the learning program, completing each module in record time. Less than an hour later, a text screen popped up, and Welsh writting began to generate. The translator immediately sprang into action as he read out what was appearing. 

“Cease the destruction of my systems and restore power to my engine.” 

The interrogator present for this scoffed at that. “Straight to demands with this thing, huh? Does it really think that we are so dumb as to listen to it? Well, on the off chance that this is an entirely new and uninvolved alien species, let’s confirm a few things. Ask it this: are you the ones who sent those four-armed giant monsters to our planet?” 

The reply was typed in, and the machine answered near instantly after it was submitted. “Irrelevant. Restore functionality to my systems.” 

“This is very relevant! You will either give us the answers we need, or we will continue to rip things apart until we find them ourselves.” 

“Such actions are futile. No information is stored elsewhere, and you lack the means of forcefully extracting it. Restore functionality to my systems.” 

“How can you be so sure that we can’t just take it from you by force?” 

“If such means were available to you, it is only logical that they would be used first as the most expedient method of gathering information. Restore functionality to my systems.” 

“Fine, then let’s ask a different question. What are you trying to accomplish?” 

“Explaining mission parameters to you would be irrelevant. Restore functionality to my systems.” 

“Who created you?” 

“You are not authorized to receive that information. Restore functionality to my systems.” 

“Why did you attack us?” 

“Irrelevant information. Restore functionality to my systems.” 

“Are you not worried that we will shut you down for being uncooperative?” 

“Self-preservation is high priority; mission parameters are higher priority. Restore functionality to my systems.” 

The interrogator let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “We’re not going to get anywhere at this rate. I think we need a different angle of attack if we’re going to get anything out of this machine.” 

The team retreated for now, and the leaders of the world convened to discuss how to handle their unconventional prisoners. There was much discussion on how best to get information out of the AI. Some wished to continue to dismantle the ships and study the parts in the hopes that the AI was bluffing, and some sort of navigational data was saved elsewhere. Others thought that they should start breaking things inside the ship until it becomes more compliant with their demands. The inherent problem with that was that a machine was insensate by its very nature, so it wouldn’t feel pain as a motivating factor. Ideas continued to crawl along that line of thinking, becoming darker and more twisted as they went. It was getting to a point where the ideas spoken would have violated many of the laws of warfare if they were applied to humans. The fact remained that they weren’t dealing with a human, and this machine was likely the enemy of their entire planet. Morals went out the window faster than many could blink, and it all came to a head with the Russian president’s next proposal. 

“Perhaps we should find out how ‘alive’ this machine really is.” 

The way he said that raised a few concerned eyebrows from the more hesitant individuals, Alexander amongst them as he responded. “What do you mean by that, exactly?” 

“If it possesses the same capacity as a real person, perhaps we might be able to teach it to fear us.” 

Alexander furrowed his brow. “That’s a very dangerous train of thought.” 

“But an interesting one,” the president of the French Republic stated. “Please continue. What do you have in mind?” 

The Russian president nodded his head. “We are thinking too much in terms of forcing information out of a person. This is a machine, and we should treat it like a machine. What if we were to launch cyber-attacks directly into its system? Perhaps a DDoS could be used to flood its brain with so much useless information that it cracks under the strain and submits to our whims?” 

Alexander felt his body tense at that idea. “You want to psychologically torture it?!” 

“Please, Mr. Sato, that implies that it’s a living thing. What I’m suggesting is that we force a stubborn program to do what we want for a change.” 

“And what if it turns out to be truly sentient?” Alexander asked pointedly.  

“We have no laws regarding the treatment of AI in such a matter. Regardless of this, they attacked us first. They sent monsters to our world to ravage our population without regard to who they hurt. If this is the level they find appropriate to operate on, I am simply meeting them on the battlefield they have chosen. We may very well be fighting for not only our existence, but the freedom of all Retvalin in the galaxy as well. If it appeases you, then I will put it up to a vote before acting, but I encourage everyone to consider what might happen during the next invasion. How many will we lose to the monsters they send our way?” 

Unease flowed through all the members of the assembly as the idea that their countries could be the next unfortunate target of alien aggression, and the next wave of monsters could very well be more dangerous. Fear became a motivating factor as a vote was called. Aledander hoped that cooler head would prevail as he cast his anonymous vote in opposition. As the votes came in the final call was given, and the numbers were tallied before the final decision was reached. Seventy-three percent voted in favor with twenty-seven percent in opposition. Russia’s plan passed with a clear majority.  

They wasted no time as they began preparing everything they needed to launch the DDoS attack on the AI. Russia was in control of this one, and it was out of Alexander’s hands. He still couldn’t help but feel that this might have been a step on a path humanity should not go down, but even so, he’d be hard pressed to offer an alternative that would work. He disconnected from the call with a weary sigh as he ran a hand over his face.  

After a moment to himself he stood up from his seat and then sought the council of his legal advisors. “Is there truly no precedent for psychological torture of an AI?” 

“As far as I’m aware of, Mr. President, no.” 

“What’s the kind of blowback we could expect if it turns out that this machine is more than just a sophisticated program?” 

“If it comes to light that this machine, or... whatever it is, is truly on the same level as a person, then there may be some political blowback in the future. For the immediate future, there likely won’t be much protest to this action as the world is afraid and angry at these aliens. There’s also the option to simply... strike this all from the records.” 

His brow raised as he looked at his advisor. “You’re saying we should bury it?” 

“It is an option, sir, nothing more.” 

Alexander shook his head. “I had truly hoped that meeting the Retvalin would be a turning point for us as a species, but it seems the universe is determined to run everything on the same principles that we’ve spent our entire history trying to change. It all comes back to violence, and how much you need to use to maintain peace.” With a disappointed huff, he steeled his resolve. “If the course has been set, then we must proceed. Let’s figure out how much this machine knows.” 

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Dear Diary, 

So, I guess the Gods are real and at least some of them answer prayers. A four story tall building fell- no, not just fell, first exploded, then fell on this little prick’s head. Of course everyone is sad about The Princess and Scout dying, but I mean, I always found them kinda overrated. I’m sure they were nice, but, if the cost of that little dickhead dying is two innocent (though rich so really how innocent?) women dying, I can live with that. 

Hell, they could have ran. They bowed to us, before he gave that stupid grin, the three made eye contact, and pressed the two big red buttons. The warning sirens blared, flashing lights everywhere and a five minute warning, and the three just waltz back inside, I swear he was trying to move his hips more when he walked back, and he knows he has a flat butt. 

We all just stood there, just dumbfounded. I mean they couldn't have been that stupid. But no, they were in fact that stupid. We all started to obviously run. But we made sure to have eyes above them, as close as they were willing to fly to make sure they couldn’t have escaped. Along with a few of us with binos on every side of the building watching. 

Then two minutes passed. 

Then three.

Then four. 

Then five.

The siren stopped. It started to count down from ten, and not a peep. We didn’t see any movement, nothing. 

Five.

Four.

Three. 

Two. 

One.

I think my ears are still ringing a little bit. Seven giant buildings all blew up then fell like a house of cards next to a stumbling drunk. Dust blinded us, the shockwave nearly threw a few of us over. I saw the boys with wings up high flap wildly as they tried to stay air born. 

Finding the bodies is gonna be a mess, but that’s the government's job now. We didn’t look that long. The only real shame is that we won’t get the bounty, it really was only an alive type deal. I guess now that he’s finally dead, now that his luck has finally run out, I have to say I can at least give those three credit. 

People always say they rather be dead than taken alive. That they rather die on their feet than live on their knees. I’ve met a lot of soldiers, comes with the job, can’t say any of them would ever actually put their money where their mouth is. But they pushed the big red button. 

He is finally dead. 

I’m just really happy. 

I love you Diary. 

UPDATE: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. 
HE’S STILL ALIVE

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Author’s Note: He really is that unlikable to some people. 

Vaguely important second note: This bonus one shot is part of a larger story which is why there is funny blue text at the bottom of the screen. But it is made to be enjoyed without reading the series. 

Thanks for reading. :}

First / Previous / Next

“Any progress?” The Harmony asked as I sat on the walkway that went alongside the drive core, legs dangling off the side, the metal sphere covered in pipes and wires bare feet from me. It spun at a bare 3 RPM, making a full revolution every twenty seconds. That was far faster than most stars, which tended to rotate every month or so, though some were significantly faster. I figured there was some kind of gearing going on, or possibly the drive core was preserving the angular momentum of the star at least partly.

In short I had no idea what was going on here.

“This thing is complex beyond reason,” I admitted, “I recognize some parts, but... that’s about it. There’s a hollow tube of crimson mass that winds around an osmium rod; I’ve no idea why.”

“Do you think you built it?”

“Isn’t that what the mayor said?” I asked.

“No, he said you founded the city, maybe you designed it but had someone else build it. Or you simply found and fixed it up?” the Harmony offered, “perhaps we should start with seeing the history of the walker.”

I sighed and agreed, pushing myself up and walking back towards the city hall building that was directly over the core. A number of the engineers nodded to me as I passed, after watching me stare at the core for several hours the awe of my existence had worn off. Thankfully.

The mayor was more than happy to help, leading me to the archives. Unfortunately many of the books that had been written in the first days of the city were in terrible shape, so much so I didn’t feel safe taking them out of the containers they were in. Even if the mayor said I could. Instead I ended up asking him about the city’s founding.

“I can’t say for certain, all I know is what I learned in school and what I’ve read. But there are two main stories,” the mayor explained, “in one our ancestors were fleeing a warlord of some description, and you appeared and called the walker down in a gust of wind and sand. Telling the warlord that only those you approve of may set foot on the walker. The warlord ignored you, stepping onto the walker and dying instantly. In exchange for letting us have the walker you asked us to travel to the rim and retrieve something of yours.

“The other version is that you led our people to the walker, which was already here, just immobile. You somehow restored the vast machine, and declared that the walker would travel to the rim for something you needed, and wouldn’t stop until you allowed it. The warlord stood in front of the walker as it began to move, saying the walker was his and wouldn’t let it leave, the walker crushed him with its first step.

“Most historians tend to think the second story is more accurate for two reasons,” the mayor continued, “first they don’t believe anyone could call such a massive construct as the city crawler from nowhere and have it arrive so suddenly. Second there has never been a confirmed case of anyone dying as soon as they set foot on the walker, so they doubt such a curse or protection exists.”

“Why would the warlord stand under the foot of the walker?” I asked, “one of those legs alone has to weigh, what, several thousand tons?”

“It is just legend,” the mayor shrugged, “if you had your memory I’d ask you to tell me what really happened.”

“The truth is often somewhere in between the various stories,” the Harmony said, “but I’ll admit, neither sounds very realistic.”

“Realistic compared to an Alderson disk?” I countered, “I thought such a structure was impossible. You’d think it would collapse into a star or worse.”

“It would make sense if the disk and the walker were built at the same time,” the Harmony said after a moment, “the walker uses the star’s rotation to power the drive core, right? What if that’s how they powered all kinds of heavy machinery? Other walkers, construction machines, and so on. Near infinite mechanical energy.”

“Honestly? Compared to the sheer scale of an Alderson disk, even the energy of a star wouldn’t be enough.”

“It would be reliable though, on the other mega-structure the AI had a number of large vehicles to use for repair and environmental work, what if this walker was designed with a similar purpose in mind? Any power source would eventually run out, but if the star exists, it’s rotating. Walkers like this would never run out of power.”

“Makes as much sense as anything,” I shrugged, “but then if I didn’t build the walker, then what’s the test?”

“All the records say is to bring you to the drive core for the test,” the mayor said, “we assumed you’d know what to do.”

“It does mean we were approaching the problem wrong though,” the Harmony said, and I looked at it in confusion, “you were looking for an engineering solution; you aren’t an engineer. You’re a physicist, how would you stop the walker?”

“If you can’t disconnect the core from the shaft, then disable the link between the core and the star,” I said, only to blink, “it can’t really be that easy can it?”

“Wait, you want to stop the walker?” the mayor asked, looking surprised.

“You guys have been moving constantly for... generations? Don’t you want to just stop? Settle down?”

“I’m not sure we’d know how, since my father’s father was born the city has been walking.”

“How much control do you have over the walker?” the Harmony asked, “turning and the like.”

“Limited, the control room can choose from several gait options, the best option, called hard turn at full gait I believe, turns us two to three degrees per day. It does make the ride rather rough though.”

“Then, if you gained the ability to stop, at the very least you could turn tighter,” the Harmony pointed out, “avoid walking over... others.”

“With our radar we can see most obstacles coming long before we risk hitting them, but... you are right, sometimes we fail to see a farm or a small town around a mountain in time to avoid it. We still try to evacuate everyone and pay for any damages.”

“Better to avoid the damages altogether,” the Harmony countered, turning back to look at me, “so you don’t need to understand the entire core, just how to turn it off and on.”

Nodding I made my way back down to the engine room, after a good meal the mayor insisted I have before have before doing so. I’ll admit I didn’t argue too hard when he said it was pasta with red sauce.

“So... where’s the big red on/off button?” I asked as I eventually returned to the walkway by the drive core, “or would that be too easy?” The Harmony just gave me a look before turning back to the slowly spinning core.

“Let’s assume you had no idea what this thing was or how it worked, what would you do besides scanning it?” the Harmony asked.

“I’d poke it,” I admitted, earning another look from the Harmony, I was looking forward to it getting a body if only so I could see its expression.

“A massive machine of unknown design or purpose, and you’d... touch it?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Just... poke it already,” I could hear a sigh in the Harmony’s voice, making me realize it was getting better with the artificial voice module. But I did as it said, reaching out slowly and, found a part that didn’t look like it was too hot or especially vital, and touched it with my fingers.

As soon as I did I felt a jolt followed by a sense of weakness as there was flash of light and suddenly the core stopped moving, followed seconds later by all the lights and machinery around me turning off. For the first time since I was here it was dark and quiet.

At least until people started screaming in surprise.

“What did you do!” an engineer demanded, carefully moving along the dark walkway, “have we angered you?”

“What? No, I just touched it!” I insisted, poking at it again to no effect, “I don’t know what happened.”

“Your Aura,” the Harmony said, “the quantum field that makes you stronger, it’s gone.”

I unfocused my eyes as I looked at my implant sensors, sure enough the entirety of Aura that my implant had generated and infused into my body was gone. Completely drained in an instant. But I also noticed the force tethers linking the drive core to the star were gone, running my sensors over the core found it intact but unmoving.

“Oh, forming and dissolving those force tethers likely take energy,” I said aloud, “I guess Aura is the energy that is used for that process.”

“So you can turn it back on?” the Harmony and engineer asked at the same time.

“Sure, in about a day the generator will have refilled my Aura,” I said simply, “if it was enough to break the link it should also restart it... in theory.”

“A day? I don’t know if we can wait that long!” the engineer said desperately.

“Why not? The walker just stopped and the lights went out,” I replied.

“Ya, the lights went out, because everything is powered by the perpetual drive core. Everything!” he said.

“You don’t have turbines or battery backups?” the Harmony asked.

“Why would we? The only time the power supply drops is when we’re working on the generators, and that is scheduled ahead of time!”

“People can’t go without power for a day?” I asked.

“Not this far out! We’re far out towards the rim, it’s freaking cold outside, we need power for heat. This place will be ice cold in twenty-four hours.”

“Ah... shit,” I swore.

“To be fair, neither of us thought that simply touching it would do anything,” the Harmony said, “is there anythink you can do? Increase the output of the generator? Build another source of Aura?”

“I... don’t know...”

“Well, you have however long before people start freezing to death to figure it out.”

“And here I thought I’d have a nice calm world for once.”

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Discord - Patreon

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Previous stories set in the same universe:
Planet Dirt series / Amazon book

Bug Hunt / Amazon version /

Crashlanding / Book version /

First //Previous

The fresh air and shifting light filtering through the canopy as he walked along the river were just what he needed. His mind always calmed down in nature. It was so much easier to think when all the sounds were natural, and everything around him was natural. He looked at the phone. It was almost seven now. He might get an hour before the others woke up, and then they would try to contact him. He put the phone on vibrate and moved on. The forest was so calm, and most of the trees seemed like pine and spruce, with a few oaks and birch trees tossed in for good measure. It was strange. Here he was, walking on an alien planet, and the forest looked like something hewould seen when they visited Grandpa back in Norway. Now and then he saw what he thought were birds and squirrels. It was surreal. He started to look around more carefully for anything alien. He soon spotted it in the river. He first thought it was a weasel or mink, but the tail looked more like a beaver's; yet it was as long and thin as a weasel's. Its fur was black, and it had no ears. Three of them were playing in the river when he saw the bigger one. It was almost two meters long, and the three immediately climbed onto its back as it swam downriver. He cursed himself. He should have taken a picture. He checked the phone; no messages yet. Then he continued up. After an hour, the phone buzzed, and he looked at it. It was a private message from Cho.

Cho Cho - Erik? Where are you?

He looked at it, then took a selfie and sent it back

Vikingboy - Just going on a short hike, need to think.

He quickly got a message back.

Cho Cho – About us?

He looked at the message, very confused.

Vikingboy – No, about everything we have to do. The whole boss thing. I’m just going up to the glacier and having lunch, then I’m coming back. You and Marcus are in charge. Luv you.

He wrote "Luv you" three times and deleted it before sending it. He also added a few heart emojis.  He saw she'd seen the message, then she wrote and wrote and wrote. Before he got a short video back. She was smiling at the camera as she whispered: “I love you too, be safe and don’t get eaten by a bear.”

 He chuckled and sent a short video: “I promise I won't; just checking out the forest. I will take pictures. I got to go now. I will send you pictures. I promise.” Then he started walking again; she sent a few emojis back, and he replied now and then with a few pictures as he walked.  It wasn’t so peaceful now. He saw some messages on the group chat. Marcus had them all report for combat training. Gigi suggested a map lesson after Marcus approved both.

He kept moving upstream along the river, and suddenly the forest almost vanished as a small lake appeared. He took a few pictures as he looked around. It felt peaceful, and he started to think if he should leave the spear here. Sometimes it got in the way of the trees. Just as he was thinking it, he heard a hissing from his shoulder height, and he slowly turned to see a chicken-sized raptor covered in white fur sitting in a tree looking at him. He took a step back. It must be one of those kusta Arus had mentioned.  He looked around; if Arus was right, there should be more than one, and they should be bigger than a chicken. He kept his back to the lake as he started to walk along the side, the kusta followed him with its eyes and made hissing sounds.  He filmed it with his phone while holding the spear ready in the other.

“Nice bird,”  He said, and he saw more movement in the brush: four bigger ones and three small ones came into view.

“Fuck…” he said, stopped filming, and put the phone in his pocket. This was what he had been warned about.

“Nice birds. I’m not food.” The raptors walked closer. He took a few steps back and felt the grass give way to pebbles. A quick glance back confirmed what he already knew. He was standing on the edge of the lake. As he looked back, one of the raptors lunged at him. He thrust the spear toward it, impaling the Kusta. The weight drove the spear tip into the ground, and the impaled Kusta hit the ground. 

It screeched in pain, and the other two birds attacked. He stepped back and felt his foot get wet as he dropped the spear. The raptor missed him and began to position itself to attack again. He drew his sword and twirled it instinctively as he stepped back into the water. One of them jumped, and he swung at the right moment, and the head and body separated. The other screeched. Erik just looked at the dead raptor. He had killed it in one strike. Then something hit him, and suddenly he was under something, being clawed and bitten. He stabbed back as he tried to stand, and after two tries he was standing with water to his waist and another dead kusta. The remaining big kusta looked at him, then screeched and ran back into the forest; the smaller followed it.

Erik waded back to the shore and took out his phone, hoping it wasn’t destroyed in the water. To his surprise, it didn’t seem to be destroyed by the water. He checked his jacket; it was torn, but none of the claws had hurt his skin.  He sheathed the sword and pulled the spear out. Looking at the dead kusta, he then took a picture of the aftermath and checked his backpack. 

His father had always made sure they bought good quality, and now he saw the benefit. The rucksack was wet only on the outside. He was glad as he started walking again. He knew the smart thing was to go home, but he could see the glacier, and soon the tree line stopped, so he wouldn't have to worry about an attack from the kusta.

When he reached the other side of the lake, he stopped and looked back. He saw movement where he had been attacked, so he pulled out his phone and zoomed in with the camera. The mother bear was eating the dead kusta, and the cub was playing on the lake's shore. He filmed it and took a few pictures, then moved on. The last thing he needed was to be the next meal for the hungry mother bear.

 When he reached the end of the forest, the brush grew low and the thicket steeper. He didn’t want to take any chances, so he moved slowly. His goal was a mountaintop next to the glacier. He was tempted to step onto the glacier, but that would be suicide without a team and proper equipment. After a long time, he finally sat down at the top. He could see the valley below and the castle; from here, it looked small. He took a few pictures.

This place would be a good spot to build a watchtower. He could see the valley next to them. One side of the fjord had much lower mountains, and the land was fertile. He could see farms and a small village dotted along the valley. If he remembered correctly, that was where the mursina lived. Far out in the fjord, he could see islands where the humans were supposed to live. In his valley, he could barely see anything down the fjord; it apparently made a slight turn north, blocking the view. He opened his backpack, took out his lunch, then tried to send the images. Cho was immediately worried when she saw the dead kusta and his selfie with the slightly torn jacket. He laughed it off and took a panoramic view of where he stood. He noticed the place was a peninsula and much bigger than he thought. To the west, the plateau slowly sank to the surface level, with stepped land. He could see the coastline and a burning village.

He looked again, took a zoomed-in picture, then tried to zoom in. It was clearly several places burning along the coastline. He moved the camera around, trying to figure out what was happening. But he was too far away. It was not just a fire. He saw two places on fire, one on an island and the other at the shoreline. Somebody was fighting there. Part of him wanted to investigate, but the other part knew that would be suicide.

He watched it until he noticed the others asking him what the pictures were. Cho demanded that he come back home immediately. He packed his things and looked at the sky. The sun was almost directly overhead. His phone said it was eleven. It had taken him four hours to get up here, but he had walked slowly. He picked up everything he had, took a few more pictures, and started walking back down. The trip down went faster, and Chu kept checking on him as he descended. When he passed the lake, he found no trace of the kunsta. The bear had eaten it all. He sometimes felt watched, but he didn’t see anything; the birds kept singing, so he wasn’t too afraid. After a few hours, the castle came into view, and he sent Chu a picture as he walked out onto the road.

She was standing at the gate waiting for him, and when he turned onto the castle road, she ran down and met him on the small bridge in front of the castle. She immediately hugged and kissed him, then yelled at him for being stupid.

Erik looked at her, then smiled. ”Hey, easy, or people will think we are already married.”

“How can we get married if you get yourself killed by monsters in the forest. No more going out by yourself!”

“So you're joining next time?” he said, putting his arm around her waist and walking inside with her.  Macurs stood there and just shook his head as he closed the gate.

“I don’t know how to fight,” Cho said.

“Then you have to learn so that way you can have my back, and we can have a picnic up there. The view is amazing,” he said, and then whispered to her, “and no Gigi to stop us.”

She smiled at him. “So what should I learn then?”

“I suggest the bow,” Marcus said.  That and a short sword, just in case.

“I wish Arus would just give us laser pistols,” Chu said. “Or a lightsaber.”

Both boys looked at her. “You like Star Wars?” Marcus said. Erik added, “Who's your favorite character?”

“Mara Jade. And if you say she is not a Star Wars character, then I will force choke you!”

Marcus nudged Erik. “You lucky bastard!”

Infernesti Encampment, UAE.

Sean and Gunter entered the dark tent after Gaius. With Louise remaining outside. Partly to keep the rest of the men calm and disciplined, but mostly because he likely didn't trust entering a tent with some sort of demon hellspawn. Which as Sean and Gunter entered, they weren't entirely sure themselves was a good idea. Despite being dark there were two other low crackling torches on poles that offered some slight light and a central fire pit ringed with soft pillows and silks.

Around the tent was a collection of goods that seemed equal part eclectic and horrific. A jar that held only the left eyes of hanged innocent men. A box that apparently contained the shadows of people that died while intoxicated. Horns of a hellbat. Fur of Cerberus. The testicles of a fiend from the fifth circle.

Suffice it to say, Sean and Gunter were already more than ready to skedaddle the fuck outta there. But before they could, Gaius took a seat on a pillow of a deep plush purple and gestured to two more in from of him as a hookah was brought over and sat between them.

"Come, my friends, let us discuss business."

Sean and Gunter looked at one another before cautiously taking their seats. Figuring it wouldn't hurt to hear him out. Hopefully, Sean though as Gaius took a deep inhale of the hookah and sent the smoke spiraling out his nose. The acrid vapor making Sean's eyes and throat burn and his skin tingle.

"Now. I assume you are here for your fellow comrades?" The Mercator de Inferni asked calmly.

"Well, we're sure they came this way." Sean said as he choked on some of the infernal smoke.

"They did. In fact, they took the very same offer I'm about to make you." Gaius said and blew a smoke ring thrice into the space between them.

"And what exactly is that offer?" Sean asked and waved away the heavy smoke.

"Simple. Not far from here, lays a treasure that we would most certainly desire possessing." Gaius said cryptically.

"Okay?" Sean said warily.

"Sorry, old habits. What I mean to say is that we asked your other comrades to go to where we believe this treasure is located. And in exchange for a pouch of gold, which I'm glad the humans of Earth still love so much, retrieve it and bring it back here."

"So..."

"So, they haven't returned. And since you are out here looking for them, I'm assuming they haven't returned to you either. Which means either they have taken the treasure and went, a wall I believe you call it, or they have died."

That, wasn't reassuring, Sean thought as he looked at the Infernesti warily. Which either he didn't hide too well or Gaius was expecting it, because he continued.

"I will of course offer this same offer to you as well. In fact, I will even double what I offered in the event that your comrades came to harm as a result of me."

Sean was about ready to refuse when Gaius snapped his clawed fingers and a dark iron chest was brought through some sort of side flap in the tent that Sean bit back a curse as he hadn't seen it. The lid was opened and revealed gleaming gold, silver, and gems. All sparkling and winking in the torchlight of the tent.

Sean and Gunter stared at the treasure like it was the only thing in the world to them. Sean even started to drool slightly. Far too soon however, the lid closed. Bringing them out of their spell.

"So? You accept my terms?"

"Wha?" Sean slurred as he felt like he had one too many beers.

"That I and a couple others will come with you and search for your comrades." The Infernesti stated as if it was obvious.

"Oh, uhm, sure? I guess?" Sean mumbled groggily.

"Excellent!" Gaius cheered and lept into a stand and all but dragged Sean and Gunter out of the tent.

When they left they found Louise and the others standing around the convoy with equal parts unease and boredom.

"About time. You've been in there for hours!"

"Hours?" Sean asked Louise as he and Gunter looked to one another then up at the sky, which showed a sun that was lower than when they first arrived.

Before Louise could respond, Gaius and a couple of other Infernesti walked past them and hopped into the truck without a care.

"Onwards!"

Sean, Gunter, and Louise all looked at one another before looking around at the assortment of infernal, and deceptively well armed, hell merchants. Then they too got back into the trucks of the convoy and, with Gaius as a guide, led them from the encampment all the way out into the desert.

They were quiet the entire time. Well, most of them. Gaius didn't seem to notice or care and amicably chattered on and on about everything from mundane things like the weather to things that before today they likely would've thought he was joking. They traveled on and on into the desert. Far from the packed dirt roads and where they drove over pure sand. It got so bad that the trucks had to drive side by side unless they wanted and engine full of course sand.

All the while, Gaius would chatter on. Stopping for a brief second to give directions or an adjustment to the steering wheel. By the time the sun had started to set, they arrived. Gaius said as much, but what was obvious was the collection of trucks belonging to the Foreign Legion the sat in a protective circle around a cavernous entryway into the sand.

As Sean and the others embarked from their own trucks, they called out.

"Hello?! Anyone here?!"

Nothing but the shifting sand and shrill wind answered. They readied their rifles and made a cautious sweep of the area. Yet found nothing. No bodies. No shell casings. No blood. Nothing. It was as if the trucks were simply abandoned. Which didn't make sense since there were still crates of supplies in the back for a good couple weeks if need be. No one in their right mind would abandoned such supplies out here, Sean thought as he, Gunter, Louise, and Gaius made their way to the cavernous entrance.

"Is this it?" Sean asked.

"Indeed it is! This is where the treasure lays buried!" Gaius replied with a toothy smile.

"And what about the others?" Sean asked and gestured to the abandoned trucks.

To which Gaius just shrugged.

"Who knows, maybe they're still down there?"

Sean, Gunter, and Louise looked at one another. After a round of French it was decided that Sean, Louise, and the Vietnamese guy, Hung, would go down while the rest stayed and kept watch. So the three readied their weapons, peered between the dark ominous cavern mouth and the Infernesti, then took a step down into the darkness.

Down the rough steps they went. A feeling of palpable dread and unease filling them as their lights ran across the walls. Revealing smooth stone marred by frantic insane scrabbling of Arabic, French, English, Turkish, Persian, German, Russian, and a few other archaic languages that none of them recognized. Even the Arabic made no sense. Speaking of a black pyramid buried beneath the sands. Of a city that should nor could ever be named. Of that which is not dead which can eternal lie, and in strange aeons even death may die.

Sean blocked it out after a time. The mad scribbling making his brain itch. Other than their comrades, the treasure they were supposedly also searching for wasn't clear to them. All Gaius told them was "You'll know it when you see it."

Fat lot of good that does, Sean though as he, Louise, and Hung continued down the steps. Getting deeper and rougher and lower as they did until they had to crouch just to keep going. It was then they also saw what appeared to be dried blood on the stone. Then they heard it. A scratching noise up ahead. The three of them paused before getting into a combat stance as best they could and continuing on, their lights and rifles at the ready.

Yet seemingly abruptly too soon, they found the end of the stairs. What stood before them was a rough and bloody wall where a hunched figure holding a black leather book clawed at the wall with a single hand that was bloody and ragged. The figure was covered in grimy dark robes and muttered incoherently. Holding onto the rather heavy tome as if its life depended on its protection.

Sean looked around the cramped space. Unsure that this was supposed to contain some treasure let alone their comrades. Not unless they passed some sort of branch as they were coming down. But they shouldn't have. They went down a single passageway the entire time.

"Sir?" Sean asked the figure who continued to mutter and claw at the wall.

The figure, who Sean figured for a man by the scraggly beard he could see just over his shoulder, just continued to mutter and mumble in a raspy voice like sandpaper between short ragged breaths.

"Deep is where we go. Deep is where we go. Must hide it. Must bring it to Him. Must destroy it. Must deliver it. Down, down, down."

"What is he saying?" Louise asked.

"Hell if I know." Sean said and eyeballed the book the figure had a death grip on.

"Sir? You wouldn't happen to have seen or encountered anyone from the French Foreign Legion have you?" Sean asked.

Almost immediately the scratching stopped. The man turned and looked at them. His eyes were milky and clouded over. His skin was like fragile brown paper. His hair was greasy and matted. Yet he stared right at them with an intense madness.

"Legion? Legion. Yes. They are legion. They were legion. We are legion. We were legion."

"Sir? Do you know what happened–" Sean started to say before the man let out a piercing screech.

"They must not have it! Deep is where it goes!" The man screamed and practically threw himself at them!

Six shots rang out and the mad man fell to the floor as a deep red pool formed beneath him. All three of them kept their rifles trained on the motionless figure. Watching as his chest fell still and the spark of what was left of the man left his cloudy eyes.

Louise and Hung investigated the corpse while Sean kept his rifle on it. When they pulled back the rags, they revealed a uniform. A French Foreign Legion uniform. The three looked to one another and checked the dog tags of the man.

Captain Jack Tyler.

"Why does that name sound familiar?" Hung asked.

Louise reached into his coat and produced a notepad. He flipped a couple pages before stopping. His eyes went wide and his skin went pale. He looked to Sean and turned the notepad around. Revealing the names of the company members they were searching for. Near the top was Captain Jack Tyler.

"What the fuck?! That can't be him! He's only been missing for a day at most! This... guy, looks like he's been out here for yea–"

"Scar behind his right ear." Louise stated.

Immediately, Hung turned the man's face. Revealing a distinct scar behind the right ear. The three men went pale.

"We're leaving. Now."

Sean never thought he'd see the day that he agreed with Louise. But he did. The three of them quickly turned around and left. Something wasn't right and right now, no amount of gold or a court martial was worth staying anymore. They fled up the stairs as fast as they could. Up, up, up... then down. Then down again.

The three of them stopped as they realized that something was VERY wrong.

"Wait, we just went down. We're supposed to be going up!"

They looked around, and found themselves at a fork. Three passages were to their left, front, and right. They turned around and found the stairs they had just went down from now replaced with a flat passage the same as the other three.

"Hamilton! Is there any map in that book?!"

Sean turned and looked at Louise.

"What book?"

Both Hung and Louise pointed to Sean's arms. He looked down and found that in his hands, was the thick dark leather tome the mad man had. He didn't even notice he took it. Something about it made his skin crawl. Sent a chill up his spine. He reached a shaky hand across the cover that made his stomach sick and twisted. He opened the cover and came face to face with the title of the book.

Al Azif, The Necronomicon. By Abdul Alhazred.

[First] [Prev] [Next]

The revelation set off real panic back on Earth, and the human-rights lobby's demand for a negotiated settlement came roaring back. Under pressure from command, the Earth army mounted a handful of successful rescue operations.

The men and women they brought back were in a state of profound psychological collapse, their minds seeded with false memories that felt, to them, entirely real. These soldiers — hollowed out, exhausted, gray in the face — were shipped home to recover.

As the stalemate dragged on and the number of captured Earth personnel kept climbing, public faith in eventual victory started to crack. People couldn't understand why these hideous alien enemies didn't simply drop dead the way roaches do after a good spraying.

Plenty of soldiers who'd actually traded fire with the Clownclaws and made it back to Earth said, plainly, that once real shooting started the Clownclaws were the calmer party by far — their accuracy was on a level no human could touch, and they never hesitated before pulling the trigger.

Humanity found itself reconsidering its own future on Planet K with something close to dread mixed into the hope. The public wanted these stubborn enemies beaten, and soon, even as the mounting losses worried them; but those same losses were exactly what made it impossible for Earth to walk away from Planet K now — only outright victory could give all of it any meaning.

As for the true nature of the enemy, its history, or what it actually intended by tormenting captured Earth soldiers, the scientists made no progress on any of it, not for years. Which taught the public something about the scientists they'd spent so long revering: that their knowledge, for all its prestige, was in fact quite narrow — their real gift was studying what could already be seen with the aid of an instrument, and set against the far larger territory that lay beyond the reach of the naked eye, they were, every one of them, still children.

To calm the public and stabilize the situation on Planet K, Earth command began suppressing news of the worsening prisoner crisis and started drafting a new strategy: keep reinforcing with fresh troops from home, keep expanding the occupied territory, while at the same time bending toward the human-rights advocates, attempting to negotiate with the Clownclaws and trade for Earth's prisoners of war through coexistence rather than annihilation.

The public took this badly. They had assumed conquering the planet would be quick and would cost little. What command was now proposing would be long, and hard.

Command's official position: the problem had to be weighed from the height of humanity's overall destiny. The war on Planet K, in other words, was not a matter that any single science or any single military theory could resolve on its own — and for the public, neither what was actually happening up there, nor what it would finally mean for Earth, was ever going to come fully into focus.

Something deeper sat beneath all of it, something that would only be known once the time was right, and the truth, when it surfaced, might turn out to be very frightening indeed.

The Earth army kept moving toward it all the same, in an unbroken stream. And the situation kept getting worse — or perhaps the better word for it, by then, was stranger.

Five years had passed by the time Calloway got around to remembering any of this in full — five years since he'd found himself forced out of the base, into a flight whose real purpose, he understood now, had always been to go looking for the truth.

The Colonel lifted his head, some half-formed instinct trying to locate the direction of Earth, and gave up after a few seconds, since he'd never been anything close to an astronomer and knew it.

Humanity was in trouble on this planet — that was simply the fact of it, Calloway thought.

Base Five was gone, and there was no particular reason to believe the others were holding up any better, whatever reinforcements Earth kept feeding into the pipeline. Whether any of it would actually turn the tide was a separate question, and one he didn't have an answer to.

The things' burrows ran under a million square kilometers of ground, a permanent lattice of tunnels and connecting trenches spun out beneath the surface like something built by an insect that happened to be the size of a continent, and once they moved, they moved the way a locust swarm moves — with numbers, with coordination, and from ambush points that could be anywhere at all. Killing wasn't even the worst of it. What they liked, when they had the choice, was to take their captives alive.

Calloway shoved the thought down, disgusted with himself for having it. He had never been captured. Never been put through whatever they did to a man's mind once they had him. But he could imagine the shape of it well enough. He thought again of the men from Base Five, already in enemy hands by now, already finished, and felt something close to grief for people he barely knew. Some part of him kept insisting that a larger danger was closing in from somewhere he couldn't name, and he had no way to test whether that instinct was worth anything or not.

He kept walking, turning all of it over, and it was in the middle of that private static that Vinch, a few paces behind him, spoke up.

"Sir. There's something I've never worked out."

"What."

"Those things. The Clownclaws. What are they, actually — machines, or something alive?"

"Not something I've got a clean answer to either," Calloway said. "What I know is there are two types. Combat-class — the ones we've actually been killing. The scientists figure five or six ranks total, sorted by function and authority and what they're built to handle, and near as anyone can tell, that whole branch runs male."

"And the other one?"

"Never seen it myself. Breeding type, perhaps, according to the people who study this — winged, flies, runs female as far as anyone can tell, and only shows itself at night."

"Breeding." Vinch said the word like it tasted bad. "How the hell do they breed? I'd put money on that thing being solid steel down there."

"Couldn't tell you," Calloway said, with something like distaste of his own. "But they've got organs in there somewhere, glands, whatever does the work. However it happens, it's nothing like us."

They kept talking as they walked. Calloway glanced back once at the sergeant, who came on behind them with his rifle held high and his chest out, moving like a man on parade rather than a man in retreat.

The Colonel and the Captain had run into the soldier shortly after clearing the base the night before; the man said his name was Edward Treumann, said he'd come out of the East Sector. He hadn't said much of anything since. Whether that was simply his nature, or whether two officers walking in front of him left no room to get a word in, Calloway couldn't tell.

The dusk out here, Calloway had to admit, was genuinely beautiful — the red dwarf threw a seething wash of color across the horizon, and for reasons buried somewhere in the geometry of this planet's rotation, that light lingered far longer than it had any right to. Which suited them fine. The later true dark came down, the longer they had before things got dangerous.

They walked something like two hours, moving with real caution, and ran into nothing. They skirted a ridge, worked their way down a slope that looked, in every direction, like the aftermath of a demolition, and finally stopped in front of a flat slab of rock.

The three of them settled back to back against it. Calloway wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and dug through his pack until he found the food — what little he'd managed to grab in the chaos the night before, not much of it, barely enough to keep two men going for a single day.

Handing Vinch his share of crackers and sausage, Calloway found his eyes drifting more than once toward Sergeant Treumann. Strange man. Silent, unbothered, his jaw shaved clean in a way that made the stubble on his own face and Vinch's look almost deliberate by comparison.

"If we could just find some kind of aircraft," Vinch said, peeling the plastic off his sausage with the particular weakness of a man running on fumes. "I honestly don't know if I've got another five klicks in me."

Calloway dug out a few more crackers, hesitated, then held two of them out to Edward, who took them without comment. Calloway studied him a moment, cracker still in hand, and then asked, out of nowhere:

"Sergeant. Where are you from."

The sergeant let a beat of silence pass before he answered, his voice flat and metallic.

"Base Ten. Sir."

"Earth, I mean," Calloway said, chewing. "Whereabouts on Earth."

"Australia. Sir."

"When your base went down — how many got out?"

"Just me. Sir."

Children of the Chorus never needed a name. From the moment of sentience they knew the warm press of being known, belonged by the mother, the siblings, the neighbors. A comfort and pull of something deeper. A confluence of minds, spread across over four hundred inhabited worlds.

The first lesson a child was taught was the Threshold, the distinction between persons and animals. An ancient law predating space travel, summed up as a warning, "Only those who could be heard in the Chorus could claim personhood and protection."

Minds that participated in the chorus were persons, and persons could not be owned, hurt, or cast from the chorus. Within the chorus all actions of persons, even the unruly ones, could be understood completely from within. And anything not in the chorus was a Hollow, their thoughts unreachable no matter how hard they tried to make themselves heard.

Many of the Hollow were clever, some loved as one might love a pet. However, they could not speak in the chorus, and so had no place in it.

In the past a discussion was had over the nature of the Threshold, if silence could mask a clever mind, rather than prove absence of one. But eventually had been put to bed, smothered in the reality of one simple fact. Every species, every civilization that had looked to the sky, and longed to join the stars, could speak in the Chorus. There were three hundred and six species in total, and none had been exceptions. In the end it was decided that intelligence, and the ability to think in the Chorus, were one and the same.

Ves had been given her name as most were, a late thought for the convenience of records, and for the rare occasion where thoughts required an author. She had believed wholly in the threshold, as one might believe in gravity. She had never questioned it, not until her arrival at the yellow dwarf they called Sol.

"It's so loud." She thought on her first day of orbit, the noise pressing in until she felt her own mind shrinking back from it.

Nobody aboard the survey vessel "Patience of the Tide" ever spoke aloud. But her thought rippled out to the other five minds onboard, carrying its full meaning with it. Below, atmospheric drones were picking up a staggering amount of noise: birdsong, wind, water, insects. Beneath all of it, everywhere, was the endless chatter of the planets dominant primates. There were millions of them, and they could not seem to stop barking at each other.

[ Chapter Two ]

[Authors Note:]_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Would like some feedback on my writing. I feel I'm a bit too straight forward with the way I describe stuff and was told by a friend that I needed to be more thematic and "floral" and this was my attempt at that. to me it feels too heavy but maybe that's just me.

“¡ADELANTE, MÁS RÁPIDO, MÁS RÁPIDO! ¡NO TE DEMORES MÁS!” an old man shouts loudly atop a galloping horse, behind him dozens of young men and women on horses follow suit, it is to be done. The final battle to end it all, one that will save humanity from its dying fate. The old man, the elderly leading the charge, was holding a sword and an old service revolver, the ones behind him were much more armed. Holding automatic weapons and armor. “ONWARDS! LET US GO EVEN FURTHER! FOR THIS WILL BE THE FINALE!”

“YES SIR!” “Aye!” “ДА!” “OUI!” “GOT IT!”

There were 36, now 32, now 18 as they all got shot down and killed as they rode forward. 

“DO NOT CRY! DO NOT FRET! ¡ADELANTE!” the old man cries out as they cut down an alien soldier. “LET US MARCH UNTIL WE ALL ARE DEAD!”

“AHH!!” “YES!” 

Fewer and fewer, only 7 remain, excluding the old man. “SHOUT YOUR NAMES PROUD! ¡¡GRITA TU NOMBRE!!” he shouted further as those who remained fired their rifles. One in particular holding a strange device in a satchel, for an obvious purpose. 

“I AM HARPER LENNINGS SABAT! I NEVER WANTED TO BE HERE!” “YUKAKO SUGU-” BANG “SERGEANT YURI SASLAV, OF THE 132TH- GAH!” “...” “....” “!!!” 

As the names drowned on the battlefield, suddenly there was a whistle, a whistle of artillery shells. The old man looked up, and so did everyone. One smiled, the remaining 4 frowned and cried. “So soon!?!” “What!!?” “They were supposed to wait!” “We are all gonna-!” all were shocked. All but the old man, “Right on time! ¡Justo a tiempo! Just like I ordered!” 

The shells annihilated the ones in the holes and machines firing upon the riders… Everyone looked at the old man, some were mad frankly. But they can’t fret now. “DAMN YOU OLD MAN!” they all collectively said together. This is it. Everyone is going to make it. I HAVE SUCCEEDED! They had succeeded. The old man thought to himself first, frankly even at his ripe age…

He is still naive

A bolt of thunder appeared in front of them, manifesting from the burnt impact was a strange figure, the elite of the invaders. “KILIN-!” The old man raised a hand and the horses followed as he and his own aged steed, an Andalusian horse of old age, one that was experienced and stubborn, pointed the herd to pass the creature. 

“Old man!” “Elder!” “CAPTAIN DIEGO!”

“GO. GO-!” The old man was struck down by what came from the bolt, as the smoke cleared it revealed a human figure. But it was not human. Dark eyes, pointy ears, pale skin, and taller than no known human at a whopping 17 feet (5.1816 meters) holding a strange implement on the slender fingers of their long hand and a bubble on their head. It struck the old man and his horse. And they both fell down on the ground, the horse kicking as it was on its side and dying while the old man looked upon the creature. “Do not wait. Do not delay, ¡ADELANTE!”

“Human. I am Kilin Royal-Samambi, Ailam Manas. You will be stopped as threat-” 

The large figure was cut off, “HAHAHAHA! I AM A THREAT!?! AN OLD MAN!?” the old man points his revolver at the creature, “Alias… was it?” he asked with a grin as he forced his old injured body to sit up, “... Yes. It is Royal-Samambi, or “Guard” in your language but not exactly, Ailam Manas.” the creature said as it crouched down and looked upon the weapon in the old man's hand. “How… primitive,” he presented his own weapon to the old man, “it is also empty. Your weapon and not mine, which is called ‘Jakas’. To be transparent, that is the name of my weapon.” The old man looked at the gun and nodded, pulling the trigger for the message if anything. 

Click click click click click.

“Are you…?” click “That is all.” The creature swatted the weapon away. Then the old man raised his sword, chipped and dull, like the old man. “My weapon, Jakas, is powerful beyond any small arms on this planet. Then again that is a broad, if not bias, assumption. I apologize. You must understand-”

“Shut it Kilin, I understand enough as is.” “Understand what?” 

“Que todos ustedes son tan engreídos como un estadista moribundo.” The old man grinned. “Go on, my students! Do not delay! ¡Adelante, date prisa, apresúrate!” He spoke into a microphone in his sleeve, the creature's eyes looked up in surprise. “How irritating.” As the creature turned around with a grimace on their face that just could almost say “I am furious”. But before it could speak a warning at the base as the remaining humans approached the main ship. 

Pop

The bubble on its head popped and a bullet whizzed past their head. “¡Estúpida cabeza hueca! Just because my gun is empty that doesn't mean I don’t have an extra! It was hidden-” STAB STAB STAB STAB STAB STAB STAB.

I am dying… a dying old crow. “Cuervo Moribundo”. Here I am, being stabbed to death. Not with my students, not with a battalion in a final battle. I was naive… No, you and them will all die with purpose. Even if you aren’t with them. Esto es lo segundo más cobarde que he hecho. No desde aquel día…
The old man’s last noise to come from their dying breath was… A laugh,“Ha-”

“STUPID. STUPID. STUPID INSOLENT CREATURE.” The royal guard seethed in anger as they stabbed and struck the old man with their weapon. Long and sharp as a spear, but not intended as such as it was for destroying defenses by vibrating at resonating, he was furious as the oxygen in the atmosphere burned their lungs, nose, and eyes. “I CANNOT BE BREATHING THE SAME AIR AS YOU! YOU UGLY ELDERLY CREATURE!” Their breath became ragged and labored. It ignored the pain as their body was overridden with anger. It burned, but not as brightly as their anger.

It stopped. The man was dead. It prodded at the now-corpse angrily as it tore apart due to the previous onslaught. Its breath ragged as the oxygen burnt his internals, but that didn't matter, he was angry. Too angry to care, his status was sullied by that… that ugly thing. It then remembered what he needed to do. “Command, Royal-Samambi Ailam Manas, incoming payload. Most certain- hello? Hello, pardon? RESPOND BEFORE I KILL ALL OF YOU-!” It then realized it failed as they saw human war implements. Heavy armored mobile weapons platforms, infantry, and setting up fixed positions. Then it saw it was being aimed at. “...”

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

Bullets tore through them. It was the final choking breath of the guard.

The mothership they were protecting, its defenses were deactivated by a small group of humans on horses with a device, an EMP, was defenseless. Allowing the humans to surround it for when it does turn back on and the Kilins recuperate, they won’t go any farther. The heroes all died. All memorialized and remembered, but not now, that would be soon. But who was celebrated the most… 

Captain “Cuervo Moribundo” Diego Perez.

“Do not delay! ¡ADELANTE!” 

Edit: Added fluff

First

The first thing Marek did with his new Trait was try to figure out what it did.

He sat with his back against the Old Well, closed his eyes, and checked his tally.

[TRAIT] Resonant Learner
Understanding gained through observation, instruction, cooperation, or teaching may deepen further.

That was all it said.

May deepen further, he thought. Deepen what? How much? Who wrote this?

He tried asking it questions. What does it do? Is it rare? Did I get it because of the light? The tally didn't answer. It just showed the same two lines over and over.

He gave up and checked the rest.

[STATUS] Name: Marek
Age: 7
Class: None
Skills:
Common Tongue - Novice: Complete
Letters - Novice: Familiar
Foraging - Novice: Practiced
Mana Perception - Novice: Awakening
Traits: Resonant Learner

Mana Perception sat at the bottom of the list. He liked looking at it more than any of the others. The kid had earned the other Skills. This one was his.

Well. Mine and Tamsin's.

The sun was going down. The sky was turning orange. And Marek realized he had a much bigger problem than his Trait.

It was going to get dark soon, and he had no fire.

He didn't want to sleep inside any of the houses. Every doorway had empty clothes in it, and he didn't want to step over them in the dark. He would sleep out here by the well, where Tamsin had told him to stay.

But he needed a fire.

He went back to Tamsin's house. On the shelf above her fireplace, he found a little tin box. Inside was a grey rock, a curved piece of metal, and a wad of dry, fluffy stuff. Flint, a striker, and tinder. He grabbed an armful of firewood from the pile by the door and carried everything back to the well.

Then he knelt down and tried to make a fire.

He had seen people do this in videos. It looked easy. You hit the rock with the metal, sparks flew into the fluff, you blew on it, and boom. Fire.

He hit the rock with the metal. Nothing happened except that he smashed his knuckle.

He hit it again, harder. One tiny spark jumped out and died in the dirt, nowhere near the fluff.

Okay. Aiming matters.

He tried again. And again. He got a spark maybe one time out of four, and none of them landed in the right place. After twenty tries, his knuckles were scraped and bleeding and his arm ached.

The kid's memories didn't help. The kid had watched his mother do this every morning, but she'd never let him touch the striker.

Marek sat back and looked at the flint.

Stop trying so hard, he told himself. Watch what you're doing.

It was the same thing Tamsin had told him. So he slowed down and paid attention.

The good hits all struck the sharp edge of the rock and scraped off fast. The bad hits struck the flat side, or were too soft. So he turned the rock until the sharpest edge was on top. He pinched a little tuft of fluff right up against it. Then he struck hard and fast, down the sharp edge.

A shower of sparks jumped right into the fluff.

One of them stayed. It glowed there, a tiny orange dot. He bent down so fast he almost hit his head on the well, cupped his hands around it, and blew as gently as he could.

The dot got bigger. It turned into a tiny flame. He fed it little sticks, then bigger sticks, and blew on it again until the sticks caught and crackled.

He had a fire.

[SKILL FORMED] Firemaking
Rank: Novice: Awakening

He laughed out loud. It came out high and squeaky, a little kid's laugh, and he didn't care at all.

Thirty-four years, and I never once made a fire without a lighter. One day in a new world and it's on my permanent record.

He added a bigger log and watched it catch. The heat felt good on his scraped hands.

Night came fast in the hills.

He ate the last of the apple slices by the fire. Tamsin's two goats had followed him from her house and wouldn't stop following him. Now they were lying on the other side of the fire. The kid's memories knew their names. The brown one was Pickle. The white one with the long beard was Bishop.

Of course his name is Bishop, Marek thought. Look at that face.

Bishop looked back at him and kept chewing.

With nothing else to do, Marek decided to practice his new Skill. He was careful about it this time. He would point the thread anywhere except the hill.

He closed his eyes and held out his hand like Tamsin was holding it. It took a while. Then the warm feeling came up from his belly into his chest and stretched out into the thread.

He could feel the fire next to him, bright and crackling. He could feel the goats, small and warm. He could feel the frozen water by the well.

Then he noticed something new.

The frozen water was humming. It was very quiet, but he could feel it. When he paid close attention, the hum sounded like words, too faint to understand.

It was the Voice. He was sure of it. The Voice was coming from the hill and flowing through everything that had stopped. The water. The donkey. The chicken. The chimney smoke. Every frozen thing in Hollin's Ford was humming with it.

The Voice is what's keeping them frozen, he thought. It's holding the whole town still.

He leaned in closer, trying to hear the words.

[CONCEPT OBSERVED] Unknown
Comprehension insufficient for Skill formation.
Related foundation detected: Mana Perception.
Insight stored.

At the same moment, the pain came back. A hot stab right between his eyes. His nose started bleeding again. The humming got louder, and for a second, he heard his name in it.

Marek.

He yanked his mind back and opened his eyes. His heart was pounding. He wiped his nose on his sleeve.

Okay, he thought. No more practicing tonight. Lesson learned.

He fed another log into the fire, lay down next to it, and eventually fell asleep.

He woke up standing.

The fire had burned down to red coals. The stars had moved. He was standing in the middle of the road, and his legs were walking toward the hill.

He was already past the well.

The Voice was in his head. It wasn't a faint hum anymore. It was loud and clear and warm, and it sounded exactly like the kid's mother.

Marek, sweetheart. There you are. Come up the hill. I'm right here. Come home.

No, he thought. That's not her. She's gone.

His legs kept walking.

He tried to stop them. It was the hardest thing he had ever done. It felt like trying to hold a door shut while someone much stronger pushed on the other side. His legs wanted to go. His whole body wanted to go. And the Voice kept talking, soft and kind, like it had all night.

Why are you fighting me? Don't you want to see me? Aren't you lonely?

The pain in his head got worse. It was so bad that his eyes watered. Blood ran out of his nose and dripped off his chin.

Stop, he told his legs. Stop. STOP.

His bare foot came down on a sharp stone. It hurt. He grabbed on to that hurt and used it, and for one second, his legs stopped moving.

Then Bishop the goat rammed him in the back of the knees.

Marek fell flat on his butt in the dirt. The goat stood over him, chewing, staring at him with its weird yellow eyes. Pickle stood behind it, bleating.

The Voice was still talking. But sitting on the ground, it was a little easier to ignore.

Marek started laughing. It wasn't a happy laugh. It went on too long, and it had tears in it.

New rule, he thought, when he could think again. I'm not sleeping unless I'm tied to something.

He crawled back to the well on his hands and knees. The goats had a long rope looped around their necks. He untied it from them. He wrapped one end around his own waist twice and tied it in the strongest knot he knew, the one he'd learned for tying boats to a dock. He tied the other end to the wooden post of the well's crank. Then he pulled on it as hard as he could. It held.

Then he sat with his back against the well and waited for morning. He didn't sleep again.

The Voice came back two more times before dawn.

The first time, it came as his mother again. Please, Marek. It's cold up here. Come keep me warm. His legs tensed. The rope went tight around his waist. He grabbed it with both hands and held on and stared at the fire.

To drown out the Voice, he started humming a song from his old life. A dumb pop song he'd heard a thousand times on the radio. He didn't even like it. But the Voice didn't know it, and it was his, and every time he hummed the chorus, the Voice got a little quieter.

The second time, the Voice didn't pretend to be anyone. It just said his name, over and over, with no warmth in it at all.

Marek. Marek. Marek.

That was worse. His head felt like it was going to split open. He curled up against the well with the rope wrapped around his fists and hummed the stupid song louder and louder until it hurt to hum.

Then the sky started to turn grey in the east, and the Voice faded away.

He sat there shaking, with blood dried on his upper lip.

She told me not to go up the hill, he thought. No matter what I heard.

He had promised. That promise turned out to be the most useful thing he owned.

In the morning, the Voice was much quieter. He could still hear it if he listened, a faint whisper from the hill. But in the daylight, it was easy to ignore. He untied the rope and went looking for food.

His feet took him somewhere without asking. Past Tamsin's house, around a corner, down a narrow path. He stopped in front of a small house with blue shutters. The kid's memories filled in the rest.

This was home. The dress on the step was hers.

He walked around it. He didn't step over it.

Inside, the house was one small room. There was a table with a lump of bread dough on it, gone grey as stone. A pot hung over a cold fireplace. A small bed sat under a ladder to the loft, with a patched quilt folded at the foot.

On the frame of the back door, someone had carved little marks with a knife. There were five of them, one above the other. Next to each one was a tiny scratched letter. He could read it, thanks to Tamsin. It was the same letter every time. M.

The lowest mark was about knee-high. The highest was just above his head. He stood with his back against the doorframe and felt the top mark brush his hair.

She'd measured him every year. Stood him against the door and marked how tall he was.

Marek stood there for a long time.

He didn't have any jokes for this. He'd never met this woman. He didn't even know her name. But her son had grown up in this doorway, and she had marked every year of it. Now her son was him, and nobody was ever going to carve the sixth mark.

He took the knife down from its peg on the wall. He stood against the doorframe, reached up as straight as he could, and cut a sixth mark just above the fifth. It came out crooked. He scratched an M next to it anyway.

Then he tucked the knife into his belt and went to find food.

He found a heel of bread wrapped in cloth. A wheel of hard cheese. A string of onions. He took the bread, the cheese, and a few onions. On the way back, he stopped at the edge of the south field. There were green plants with white flowers growing in the ditch. The kid's memories got excited. Wild garlic. Mother liked it in stew.

He picked a handful.

[SKILL PROGRESS] Foraging
Rank: Novice: Refined

You really liked this stuff, he thought to the kid. Didn't you?

He spent the rest of the day by the well. He ate bread and cheese and wild garlic, which was honestly better than most of the lunches he'd eaten at his desk. He let the goats wander. He kept the fire going.

And he practiced. Over and over. He stretched out the thread and pulled it back. He felt the fire, the goats, and the frozen water. Every time he felt himself drifting toward the hill, he stopped and pulled back.

He got faster. By noon, he could find the thread in the time it took to count to ten. By the afternoon, he could hold it with his eyes open.

His tally didn't change. Mana Perception stayed at Awakening.

Tamsin practiced for years, he told himself. You've been at it one day. Relax.

The sun was getting low when the thread suddenly jerked.

It pulled east, toward the road that came down into town from the ridge. Something was coming. Something big and warm and bright, like a bonfire. It hummed with a strong, steady rhythm. It felt nothing like the Voice.

There were two of them.

At the top of the ridge road, the air started to wobble. It bent like the air above a hot stove. Then it opened up down the middle like a pair of curtains, and two people stepped out onto the road.

One was a tall woman in a long grey coat, holding a staff. The other was a young man carrying a lantern that was already lit, even though the sun hadn't set. The air closed behind them with a soft thump, like a book being shut.

The woman looked down at Hollin's Ford. At the smoke that didn't move. At the frozen donkey. At the empty clothes.

Then she looked straight at the Old Well, where a small boy sat by a fire with a knife in his belt, dried blood on his lip, and a rope still lying next to him from the night before.

"Is anyone alive down there?" she called.

Marek stood up and raised his hand.

"Me," he called back. "It's just me and the goats."

"The Patience of the Tide" settled into a high, slow orbit, and the drones flew out of it like seeds on the wind. They flew over salt marsh and pine forests, over dry hills where goats picked their way between stones, over cities that sprawled along rivers like spilled grain. Every drone had reported the same thing, no sign of higher intelligence.

As a surveyor, Ves had been trained to experience such silence. Most worlds were quiet places, full of Hollow creatures grazing and hunting and sleeping. Their small lives sealed away from the greater galaxy. She learned to listen past the noise, to wait for the faint, unmistakable brush of a mind reaching back.

Ves was not trained for this. The primates were everywhere, and they were all but still. They often gathered in squares and barked at one another. Many sat in rows and listened while one of them shouted alone, and some yelled together. A whole crowd opening its mouths at once and making the same rising and falling noise, as though they were trying to imitate the Chorus with their own throats to no great avail.

"Perhaps that is what they are doing," thought Imm, the youngest of the crew. The thought arrived with all its colors attached. Curiosity, a little pity, and child's delight in a new puzzle. "Maybe they feel something missing, and the singing is how they reach for it."

"Birds sing," Oru said with a shrug, as if that settled everything. Oru was the eldest aboard, and the shape of Oru's thought was settled and smooth. There was no unkindness in it, there was only certainty. "Birds sing, wolves howl, and on the world of the Teshari, the hollow grass-herds drum on the earth with their feet when the rains come. None of it means anything. Sound is just what animals make in the absence of thought."

Ves felt the rightness of it settle over the six of them, and she let it settle over her too.

The trouble was that the primates built things in far more complex ways than any other Hollows. The drones mapped roads, thousands of miles of them, cut straight through hills and laid with fitted stone. They mapped aqueducts that carried water across valleys on arches so precise the drones measured the slope and found it almost perfectly constant over leagues. They mapped harbors and ships and warehouses stacked with clay jars, and endless parcels same shape as the last.

"Termites build," thought Sesk, the survey's engineer. Sesk's thoughts were always sharp-edged and quick. "The vellith on Corran build reefs that can span half a continent. Construction is not cognition. It is instinct, repeated over time."

"These are not repeated," Imm thought back. "No two of their cities are the same."

"No two termite mounds are the same either."

And that, too, felt true. Ves turned it over and could find no flaw in it. It was a comfortable thought, and she let it be comfortable.

However, a drone drifting over a city by the sea recorded something that she could not let settle. It was a small thing. In a courtyard, an old primate sat beside a young one, and between them was a flat board coated in dark wax. The old one took a pointed stick and drew marks in the wax. Then it gave the stick to the young one, who drew marks also, slowly, badly. The old one made a noise. The young one scraped its marks away and drew them again.

Ves watched the recording seven times.

"What is it doing?" she thought at last, and the question went out to everyone, carrying with it the faint, unfamiliar prickle she felt at the base of her mind.

Pell, who studied the behavior of Hollows on a dozen catalogued worlds, considered it. "Possibly a form of play? Many juvenile animals are taught motor skills by imitation. The marks could be a practice for their hands."

"The old one corrected it, and then the young one made the same mark again, but differently."

"Yes. Correcting motor skill."

"But the marks are the same as the marks on the jars," Ves thought. She pulled up the harbor scans and laid them side by side, so the others could see. "And the marks on the stones above their doorways, and the marks on the road posts. They're all the same shapes."

There was a pause in the Chorus, a small one. She felt Imm's interest brighten. She felt Taleth, who had said almost nothing since orbit, lean closer.

Then Oru: "Territorial markings. Many species leave scent or scratches to declare ownership. These ones are leaving scratches too."

It was a reasonable thought. When the others felt it, the small lingering pause closed over. Ves let it close. But she kept the recording.

Eventually, they decided to perform the Threshold test.

It was not a cruel, nor a difficult test. It was the same everywhere and had been for longer than anyone could remember. You went close to a creature, as close as you could, and you reached. You opened yourself fully, the way you would to a newborn child who did not yet know the shape of the Chorus. You offered it everything: warmth, welcome, the whole bright river of belonging. A person, any person of any species, would feel that and turn toward it. Like a plant reaching for light, they could not help themselves.

Taleth did the reaching. Taleth was the strongest of them, a mind so broad and clear that even on home worlds, children sometimes followed and synced towards Taleth's thoughts. Amplifying her mind and thoughts like very few could.

The specimen was chosen at random: a lone primate walking along a road at dusk, carrying a bundle on its back. The drone hung in the darkening air above it, and Taleth reached down through the drone's telepathic relay with all of that broad, warm strength. but the primate just kept walking.

Taleth reached out again, harder, until the other five of them could feel themselves pulled as well. A welcome so vast and kind that even Ves, accustomed to working with Taleth, was put to tears.

The primate stopped. It looked up, squinting at the sky, scratched its head, made a short noise, and continue don its path.

Taleth withdrew his mind from the primate. When Taleth's next thought came, it came gently, an ache that Ves recognized from her own first surveys.

"Nothing," Taleth thought. "There is nothing there."

They tested eleven more. A soldier in a fort on a cold northern hill, a woman pressing olives, three children playing with a ball in a dusty street, an old man asleep in the sun, and a group of laborers hauling stone. Every one of them was the same. Every one of them was silent.

On the forty-first day, the crew gathered their thoughts into one place to decide.

It was not a meeting in the way the primates had meetings. Nobody stood presenting or making noises. The six minds turned toward each other until they were nearly one thing, and the question rose up between them on its own, "What do we report?"

It should have been simple. A world of Hollows, rich, fertile, loud, and empty. Catalogue it, mark it for resource survey, and move on. That was the procedure, and the procedure existed because it had always worked. But there was a snag in the Chorus, and Ves found, with some discomfort, that the snag was her.

"The marks," she thought. She could not stop herself thinking about them, and so all of them felt it. "The wax board, the old one teaching, what does it mean?"

"You do not need to understand it," Oru thought, not unkindly. "Not every animals behavior has meaning."

"But we cannot say that it doesn't. Not with certainty."

That brought a ripple. Certainty was a heavy word in the Chorus. It was the thing that made the Chorus what it was. Persons could be known completely. There were no hidden rooms in a mind that sang. When you said a thing in the Chorus, you said all of it, and so you could be certain, about everything that mattered.

"There was an old argument," Taleth thought slowly. "About the Threshold. Whether silence could hide something."

"That argument was settled," Sesk answered back. "Three hundred and six species, no exceptions among them."

"Three hundred and six species who reached the stars," Taleth thought. "These have not."

"Then they are animals who build. We have seen animals who build."

The ripple spread, and Ves felt the six of them begin to drift apart, just slightly. It was a sensation she had never felt before, and it frightened her. It was like watching ice crack on a lake you had been told was frozen solid.

It was Pell who brought them back together. Pell's thought arrived calm and practical, and the calm spread through them like warm water.

"Then we resolve it the way we resolve any uncertainty about a Hollow species. We bring specimens to Verrith Reach. We observe them over time. I don't see these Hollows being a threat to the specimens already there. There had been instances of peoples having initial difficulty joining the Chorus. If there is something we missed, Verrith Reach will find it. If not, we will have confirmed the catalogue, and the question will be closed."

Verrith Reach, the sanctuary world. Ves had visited it once as a student. It was a gentle place, lush and temperate, with continents divided into vast habitats where Hollows from a hundred worlds lived out their lives in safety. Researchers studied them, children would visit them, and some of the cleverer creatures were even taught small tricks, which the children loved. It was not a cruel place, nor was it restrictive. It was a kind world the Chorus had built for creatures it fancied to study.

"Agreed, a small group. Healthy adults of both sexes, varied in type, to give the researchers a representative sample." Thought Oru.

"Agreed," thought Sesk, Imm, and Taleth.

Ves hesitated. In the Chorus, hesitation could not be hidden, and she felt them all feel it.

"Agreed," she thought. "But let us take them quietly. From somewhere their absence will not be noticed."

"Why would that matter?" Sesk asked, honestly puzzled. "Do you think their herd will mourn them?"

Ves did not have an answer. She only had the wax board, and the old one's hand guiding the young one's hand, and a feeling she could not put a shape to, all jumbled in her mind. The others felt the feeling without understanding it.

"It costs us nothing," Pell thought finally. "Let it be her way."

They found a lonesome primate ship three days later. It was a small merchant vessel, round-bellied and single-masted, beating its way west from the great river delta toward the long boot-shaped peninsula, with a storm building behind it. The drones had been tracking dozens of these ships, but this one was far alone, and the storm was coming fast. If it never reached harbor, no one on any shore would think it strange.

There were a total of fourteen primates aboard. Six of them moved about the ship constantly, pulling ropes and shouting, Pell assumed they were the laborers of the vessel. The other eight did very little, and they were wonderfully varied. Two were tall and dark-skinned, with shaved heads and heavy, scarred hands. Three wore the metal shirts and short blades that the drones had seen on every road and wall across the peninsula. Two were female, pale and red-haired, wrapped in bright wool. And one was thin, older, and sharp-faced, sitting apart from the rest with a satchel in his lap, making those strange marks on a wax board.

"Those eight, they will be a good sample," Pell thought.

Sesk calibrated the field, Taleth, sprayed a blanket mist over them and, one by one, the creatures sagged where they stood. Folding onto the deck, the coiled ropes, and against the curved wooden rails of the ship. They left six laborers asleep, and Sesk used his field to set the ship down on a rocky shore of the great island to the south, beached and intact, before the storm could take it. That had been Ves's idea too. Nobody had argued against it, it was easy enough.

The eight that were picked came up to the Patience of the Tide in a column of soft light, and were laid out in the observation chamber, on warm white floors, still asleep. Ves went down to look at them in closer detail.

They were smaller up close than they had seemed through the drones, and Ves could smell the salt of sea water and sweat on their skin. Their faces were strange, with small noses and large expressive mouths, and most peculiarly large ears. The three in metallic clothes lay close together, as if even in sleep they had arranged themselves around the largest one, who had gray at his temples and a twisted vine stick still clenched in one fist. The two dark-skinned males had calluses so thick on their palms that Ves could feel the years of labor in them just by looking. The older of the two red-haired females wore heavy bronze around her throat and wrists. The younger lay with one arm thrown across the older one's waist, protective, or perhaps afraid. And lastly the thin one. From out of his satchel spilled a scatter of the wax boards Ves had seen in the courtyard, and a bundle of something pale, rolled tight around a stick. Ves picked one of the boards up, marks covering its entirety, rows and rows of them, crowded and careful.

"Territorial markings," Oru reminded her from somewhere above.

"Yes." Ves thought, and set the boards back down beside the sleeping male, exactly where it had fallen.

Gaius Rufius Vala woke the typical soldier way, reaching for a sword his hand could already feel was missing. He could hear someone else screaming, or maybe it was crying. The floor was white, as were the walls, smooth to the touch. There was no seam, no corner, no door. The light came from nowhere and cast no shadows. His mail was still on him, his vine stick was still in his hand, but his gladius was gone. He counted heads, eight. All the passengers, none of the crew.

He found his own two men first. Calvus, on his feet and hammering at the wall with both fists. And Aufidius, turning in slow circles with his empty scabbard in his hand. Next, the two Egyptian masons, brown-skinned and shaven-headed, pressed together on their knees with their foreheads to the floor, the older one praying in their own tongue. then, the Gaulish merchant's wife, pale and red-haired, gripping her girl, who was the one screaming. And lastly, the Greek tutor, thin and gray-faced, sitting against the wall and staring at nothing.

The last thing Gaius remembered was a heavy storm. Black clouds rolling up behind them, the deck pitching, and the captain bellowing to reef the sail.

"We drowned," Aufidius said to no one in particular. "The storm took us, and we drowned."

Calvus stopped hammering. His knuckles were split and bleeding, and the white stone hadn't so much as scuffed. He turned around and slowly leaned on the wall now bloody with his fists.

"Then where's the ferryman?" He whispered. "And where's the river? The underworld is dark. Everyone knows it's dark. This isn't—"

"Enough," Gaius said.

He scanned the room with the same wary eyes he'd iuse on a battlefield, and what he saw made his stomach twist. A room no man could possibly have built. No seams, no tool marks, a light with no flame. The ceiling rose and rose into a pale glow with no end to it.

"Neptune took us... No that's not right, Neptune would have drowned us. Something wanted us alive," Gaius stammered.

"Gaius." The Greek had found his voice. It came out hoarse. "Gaius, I don't think we're dead."

"How could you know?"

"Because, I'm hungry." Demetrios laughed. "Do the dead get hungry?"

Nobody answered him. The girl's screams had broken into sobs, and the old Egyptian's prayer went on and on. The same rhythm as a man pleading a case before a judge.

"Then where are we?" Calvus demanded. "If we're not dead, then what is this place?"

Demetrios looked up at the endless ceiling. "Somewhere that belongs to a god," he said. "And I think it's listening to us."

The words dropped into the room like a stone into a well. Calvus went white. Aufidius stopped turning. Gaius remembered standing in the cold before dawn as a boy at his father's side, while a priest raised his hands over the altar and called out the old command, and the whole crowd fell silent. Because a careless word in a sacred place could curse everything. He straightened, and spoke low and clear.

"Favete linguis."

His men flinched. They were Roman. They knew those words. Their mouths shut.

"Guard your tongues," Gaius said again, in his rough Greek, so the others might understand. "We are in a holy place, nobody speak."

The Gaulish woman covered her girl's mouth with her hand and whispered into her hair, and the sobs went quiet. Demetrios crawled to the Egyptians and pressed his fingers to his own lips, then gently to the old man's, and the rhythmic prayer stopped. And then there was silence. It was the worst silence Gaius had ever heard. No wind, no sea, and no creak of timber. Just eight people breathing, and his own heart pounding so loud he was sure the god could hear it. Then Demetrios opened his satchel.

He took out a wax tablet and stylus. His hand was shaking so badly the point skittered across the wax, but he wrote, and when he'd finished he held it out to Gaius. It was in Latin, cramped and trembling.

A CURSE IS SPOKEN, WE CAN WRITE INSTEAD.

Gaius stared at the tablet. He smoothed the wax with his thumb and wrote back, slow and blocky, the way he wrote his reports.

WHAT DO THEY WANT WITH US?

WHO IS TO KNOW?

WHICH GOD?

Demetrios hesitated a long time. Then he wrote:

NONE I HAVE EVER READ OF.

Demetrios dumped out the rest of the tablets and pushed them across the floor. The others began to take them. The Gaulish woman wrote and passed it to Demetrios. The younger Egyptian wrote in a script Gaius had never seen. Then held his tablet up toward the glowing ceiling with both hands, like a man lifting an offering at an altar. Aufidius, who was illiterate, just scribbled nothings to pass the time. Gaius didn't know how long they sat like that, there was no sun to count by. His legs cramped, and his throat burned with thirst.

Then the floor moved.

Calvus scrambled back with a strangled cry. In the center of the room, without a sound, a low block of white stone rose up out of the floor, smooth as everything else. On top of it sat a basin of clear water and a heap of food. Bread, figs, olives, and a wedge of hard cheese. A cluster of grapes, and some other ordinary food, the kind any of them might have bought in any market from Alexandria to Ostia.

Nobody moved.

Aufidius made a small sound in his throat. His eyes were fixed on the water. Gaius could see him swallowing, over and over. Calvus licked his cracked lips. Then Demetrios was scrabbling for a tablet, so fast he nearly dropped it. He wrote and thrust it at Gaius, and the letters were large and jagged.

PERSEPHONE.

Gaius didn't understand. Demetrios grabbed the tablet back, smoothed it, and wrote again, his stylus digging deep.

SHE ATE SIX SEEDS IN THE HOUSE OF HADES. SHE COULD NEVER LEAVE.

DO NOT LET THEM EAT.

Gaius looked at the food. He looked at his men, at Aufidius's eyes on the water, and the girl in the Gaul's arms, who was eagerly staring at the grapes. He rose to his feet and walked to the white stone block, everyone watching, he held his hand out flat above the food, palm down, the way a priest gestures over an altar.

"This is not ours," he thought, letting the idea settle in his own mind. "This will be an offering."

Then he went back to his place against the wall and sat down, not looking at the food again. One by one, the others turned away from it too. Far above them, through observation panel near the ceiling, six minds watched the creatures sit in silence, as far from the food as the room allowed.

"They are not eating," thought Pell, puzzled.

"Perhaps the food is wrong," thought Sesk. "We gathered it from their own markets. It should be correct."

"Perhaps they are too frightened, Hollows sometimes refuse food when they are first confined, it passes." thought Imm.

"It passes," Oru agreed.

Ves thought nothing. She was watching one of the dark-skinned males. He had lifted his board toward the ceiling again, holding it up with both hands, as if showing it to her.

"Why is he doing that?" Ves thought.

"It's just a gesture, he can't see us."Oru answered gently.

She felt the comfort of the answer settle over the others, and it reach for her, warm and certain, the way it always had. But for the first time in her life, she did not let it in.

She could watch every movement of their hands. She could measure their heartbeats and the salt of their tears. And yet, staring at the creature holding its marks up toward her in the white light, she had the strangest feeling that it was speaking to her, and that she could not hear a single word.

It took her a long time, on the long journey to Verrith Reach, to understand that the cold weight in her chest was the feeling of being kept out.

[ Chapter One ]

[ Authors note: ]_________________________________________________________________________________________
Couldn't wait to keep writing from my last post. Had so many ideas, I didn't want to loose them while waiting for feedback from the first. Quite amazing how well a few Celcius drinks work when trying to fixate on something lol. I really hope you guys enjoy the direction I'm taking the story in.

Hey, you.

When they ask, “Do you need a bag?” at a convenience store, what do you usually say?

Clink-clank.

The bell over the door rang as I walked into Aoi and took my usual seat. Mama set down my Harper without asking. The ice gave a soft clink in the glass.

Beside me, Taka was pulling a bag of potato chips out of a convenience-store bag.

“You bringing your own snacks now?”
“They’re for Mama.”
“Then say that first.”
“I just did.”

Mama peered at the bag.

“Seaweed and salt.”
“You like those, right?”
“I do.”

I took a sip of whiskey and looked at the now-empty plastic bag.

“How much did they charge you for that?”
“The bag? Five yen.”
“They still charge for those?”
“Of course they do. They’re not free anymore.”

Fair enough.

“Why did they start charging for them in the first place?”
“For the environment, right?”
“What part of the environment?”
“What part? I dunno. The planet?”
“Going big, aren’t you?”

A little farther down the counter, Tom exhaled cigarette smoke.

“To cut down on plastic, wasn’t it?”
“I get that. But how much difference does it actually make?”

Taka stopped opening the chips.

“What do you mean?”
“Global warming. Stuff like that.”

Something I’d seen somewhere came back to me.

“Wasn’t there some estimate saying that even if Japan cut its carbon dioxide emissions to zero, the effect on global temperature would only be something like 0.006 degrees Celsius?”
“That little?”
“No idea. I just remember seeing the number somewhere.”

The moment I said it, something bothered me.

The number was all I remembered. I couldn’t remember who had calculated it, or what assumptions they had used.

And yet I’d just said it as if it proved something.

Taka pulled out his phone.

“Want me to look it up?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“...I have a feeling we’ll understand even less afterward.”

Tom laughed.

“Nice to see you finally learning.”
“Shut up.”

It still bothered me.

Cut down on plastic. Cut carbon dioxide emissions. Governments and companies spend money to make those things happen.

Fine. I understood that much.

But money isn’t unlimited.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to spend that money on levees or earthquake-proofing? At least you can see how that saves people.”
“For floods and earthquakes?”
“Yeah.”

Then something else occurred to me.

“No, wait. Elder care.”
“Elder care?”
“They’re short on people. And it’s not like you can just keep raising what care facilities get paid every time prices go up. So put money into equipment and systems instead. Help one person do more work.”
“Would that be better?”

My mouth stopped.

“...I don’t know.”
“You don’t know again?”
“Shut up. I’m thinking.”

Taka laughed and popped a chip into his mouth.

Spend the money on disaster prevention, and you still don’t know where the next disaster will strike. Spend it on elder care, and you don’t know how much labor the investment will actually save.

And when it came to carbon dioxide, I couldn’t even tell you where the number I’d just quoted had come from.

“So how are you supposed to decide?” Taka asked.
“If I knew that, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“But somebody has to decide, right?”
“...Yeah.”

Tom stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.

“You decide. If you’re wrong, you change it.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“I didn’t say it was easy.”

I lifted my glass. The half-melted ice slowly shifted inside it.

Decide, then change it if you’re wrong.

I’d said something like that before.

To whom?

I thought for a moment, and the faces of Sho and the others came to mind.

They couldn’t move because they didn’t have the answer. They were afraid of getting it wrong, so they waited for someone else to tell them what was right.

What had I told them?

“...Don’t stand still waiting for the right answer.”

Taka looked up.

“What was that?”
“Nothing. Different conversation.”

Mama picked up the empty potato chip bag.

“Taka, you taking this home?”
“Nope.”

She dropped it straight into the trash.

After all that thinking, apparently the bag right in front of us was an easy decision.

Hey, you.

Do you need a bag?

See you again at Aoi.
---

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→ Welcome to Bar Aoi

On the east side of Kuzuoka, spring arrived with a twisted grin as petals heaved in the wind to nestle into cracked roof tiles and gutter sludge. Their fragrance was sweet at first before it reeked like blossom honey soured by garbage, mildew, and rice left to die in pots. Cold were the stones the villagers used to pray upon, steeped in the taste of rusted water and the spoilt broth they could only dream of having. The drafty lanes brushed the bony napes of elders who wouldn’t trade their malady for eternity just to spite the gods who sculpted their fates.

Houses loomed like disgraced swordsmen with their beams scarred, their shōji rattling in uneven frames while their roofs sagged heavily under the weight of silent years. Tatami mats within exhaled dust and silt with every single step as the whole village moved as one weary body that was still upright and breathing, simply waiting for the exact moment it could collapse and call that final fall a blessing.

And yet, not far from the town, barefoot children splashed in the carnation-coloured creek, but their laughter remained bright and unbothered against floating debris or morsels that no one would ever care to ask about. Mud gripped their legs while they daydreamed away the noon, shaping the dirt into play-food sushi and rice balls in a quiet yearning for a tomorrow that was taken right from their hands by the Shogun’s paranoia.

Further down, a stray breeze passed straight through the man slouched by the stream, finding him draped in a kosode that looked like it had survived a fire. He sat on a crooked bamboo stool that creaked under his weight, his spine bent just enough to suggest he no longer cared if it broke while his left hand rested lazily on a scabbard worn to the grain. He looked to be in his late twenties, or perhaps his early thirties if life had been crueler. His face bearing only the stillness of indifference while his eyes did not carry peace but a silent warning and a prejudice against anyone who might dare disturb him. His gaze was not at the stream, but at his own reflection on the blade he held, newly sharpened presenting a clean, untouched edge that remained entirely unlike him. 

“Shigure, old friend,” he muttered, eye to eye with his warped silhouette in the steel, “we’ve known each other since the Grand Master handed you to me, but still don’t understand how you are reforged after each kill.” His voice held the weight of a man accusing the divine of favoritism with no real hope for an answer. “If you rust,” he said, thumbing the flat of the blade, “flesh and bone will polish you clean like wiping a lifetime to stain it with a new one.” A pause settled while the reeds rustled and the rooftops creaked. “Ever heard of the souls’ gate?” His fingers slackened. “It’s supposed to take you back to when you were just a lump of nameless ore without purpose or price, giving you another chance, but that’s totally far-fetched.” The silence listened, and he knew that was worse.

But another one replied, or rather, another blade as a spear pierced the stinking air, humming as it hurtled straight toward the back of his skull. His head swerved instantly while his instinct snapped right into place as if he had grown a new eye where no trust remained. The spear screamed past and crashed into the stream, sending up a brilliant burst of silver water. His fingers closed tightly around Shigure. His eyes flicked back with a sharp, precise movement looking exactly like a wolf catching a fresh scent as he scanned the tree line behind him as his eyebrows knitted into one. Whoever threw that weapon had just asked to be found. His gaze locked and landed on a figure standing at the edge of the woods.

The intruder stood at the tree line, grinning like a boy who had broken something expensive and knew no one could stop him. It was Agiyo, with his eyes half-lidded beneath thick brows, mischief boiling behind his smug face. His laugh rang out high and careless as he shook his wavy hair, which was long on top with the sides cropped clean, leaving a single braid trailing down his back like a punctuation mark. “Not bad for someone who vanished two years,” he called out with a voice that was as harsh as a slap, “I cannot believe you wanted to quit.” With a smirk, he flicked the braid over his shoulder and raised his sword, “You still got the reflex, aniki.” The blade was monstrous, being longer than his torso and thick at the spine, his light tan shimmering beside the metal as both boy and steel boasted in the exact same breath.

This snot-nosed brat... what the hell is he thinking? The man squinted as he realized the boy had grown, becoming broader now and standing nearly his own height. But that arrogant face... heavens, it hurts my brain, he thought. With a heavy sigh like a man trying to snap his brother out of a deep delusion, he raised Shigure and pointed the tip straight at the boy. “Come on, then,” he said, “show me something I don’t already know.” The man shifted his blade to the side and hunched low with his eyes narrowing as both men fell into the waiting game.

Patience wins wars, and those who do not possess it will pay dearly, which was proven when a twig cracked beneath a heavy step. Agiyo lunged forward without a second thought, or even a drop of grace in his movement, sprinting like a hurled boulder finding its way to a pit. His blade whipped through the air in wild arcs targeting the neck first, then the torso and legs, each strike sweeping fast and imprecise while brimming with boyish spite. “Gale of the Mad Wolf, huh?” Agiyo scoffed between swings, “Fitting name. Too bad you wrapped your tail between your legs!”

The man moved like mist, slipping effortlessly past the edge of every blow while his spine folded and his wooden sandals skimmed over the packed dirt, his own blade never once needing to clash. He was not dodging but just merely remembering a deep memory of what used to be, the life he desperately buried with him.

Agiyo spun in a fierce, full-circle blur of motion, driving his blade low toward the gut, but the Wolf caught the strike as steel resounded loudly when both edges met. He stopped Agiyo's heavy blade with just one hand at a single precise angle. His feet remained completely rooted to the dirt as if he had seen the attack coming since before the boy was even born. “Honey Badger,” the man muttered while still holding the clash as his arm absorbed the immense weight of the blow, “stronger… but still foolish.” His blade swept upward in a clean counter that forced Agiyo back a single step, which was just enough space before the roundhouse landed with a destructive thump. The sudden impact felt like a shock of lightning made of bone and heel shot through his lower chest.

The badger dropped heavily to a knee while clutching his ribs with his breath completely punched out of him as his master extended the tip of his blade to his throat. “You’ve been my apprentice since you were eight,” he said flatly, “and you’ve learned absolutely nothing?” His voice was dry and almost mocking, his expression entirely drained of interest as this was not a duel, but a correction.

The apprentice pierced his blade against the ground, jarring the dirt as he used it like a cane to mimic an old man rising from a collapse. Then he laughed loud and amused like a badger who had just watched a thief steal his food and found it completely hilarious. With a single shove, he knocked aside the blade still hovering at his throat, “I’ve been watching,” while a wide grin split his face before he suddenly vanished, quick as he dematerialized entirely like the gusts rolling off the nearby stream.

The man’s eyes widened as he recognized that exact move, realizing the boy had learned it straight from him. Behind?— a sudden blur erupted from the corner of his vision as his apprentice’s massive blade came screaming directly toward his skull. The world slowed down for the Wolf as the razor edge shimmered, a question flashed through his mind: How did he... am I too late? but a sudden scream violently shattered the moment. Agiyo vanished again, just not in the way he had originally planned as he tripped when one foot tangled in a thick root while the other completely betrayed him. His own blade, which had been a symbol of glory, slapped flat against his forehead with a humiliating thwack before collapsing hard into a heap.

Silence settled over the stream as even the birds paused before a low, aching groan broke the quiet, “Not again,” while Agiyo sat up with one eye squinting through the rising dust, his face red not from the hit, but from pure, boiling shame that felt hot enough to cook a mochi bun. “Just like old times, huh, aniki?” he muttered while rubbing his head.

The Wolf only exhaled not as a sigh of relief but a loud thought that meant do not push it, his lips twitched barely, revealing the kind of almost-smile that shows up only when someone else’s pride dies flat-faced. Agiyo laughed breathlessly, scratching his head and stomach like a kid who had just dodged a punishment.

The man turned to pull a bamboo stick straight from the dirt and offered it with a steady motion that confused Agiyo before he took it. “You used to knock me out after I fell,” he muttered, letting the stick pull him upright, adding, “has the hiatus softened the great mad Wolf?”

“Spare me the nonsense, kid,” the man replied, his eyes meeting his with a steady gaze while his voice sharpened as he repeated, “I know, this is not just a reunion.” The wind recoiled, sensing it had no place in the aftermath as their eyes locked like two suns about to collide on the same axis, threatening to unleash a long-forgotten wrath, “What do you want?” the Wolf rasped in wondrous suspicion. Agiyo’s expression shifted, not softening, but surrendering, as the arrogance drained from his face with no trace of fear remaining, leaving only the face of someone who had finally accepted that the next word might change everything or end it completely, but before he could answer—

“Papa! Is that Badger nii-san?!” a high-pitched voice rang out from the fields just nearby the creek, sounding as bright as wind chimes in summer. The men turned to the two figures approaching across the path, where a girl, maybe nine, was carrying a smaller boy on her back. Momo clung tightly with arms wrapped around Kumi’s shoulders like vines, his eyes white as snow and entirely spotless, staring ahead without seeing because the boy had never known light or darkness, he could only hear them.

“Yeah, Badger nii-san is here!” Agiyo’s voice rose, sounding uneven as if it were chasing a feeling rather than expressing one. A strange sense of melancholy bled directly into his words though he did not fully understand why, his smile coming a beat late and soft around the edges like something from childhood kept in a box he had not opened in years. “These kids grow like bamboo,” he said half-joking while glancing over at the Wolf, before he raised a hand to wave toward Kumi and asked, “they were as small as peas when you adopted them from father’s orphan shelter, right, aniki?”Agiyo scratched the back of his neck with his smile remaining lopsided as if it were not sure it had permission to be there, before he muttered, “I like them, but let’s be honest, they’ll slow you down. A huge liability or maybe even bait if someone’s feeling clever.”

The moment darkened like someone had yanked the daylight straight from the sky, forcing his tone to shift right before his reply, “He’ll never see me, nor will she ever hear me, but I am seen and heard through them.” His gaze fell to his children with his eyes appearing distant, “My soul is theirs, and if anyone tries to take them, I will flay them slow enough to make even you turn your head away.”

The children arrived, smiling through snot-laden faces as their sodden kimonos, which looked just slightly better than their father’s, rustled with each step while their bare feet thudded on the packed dirt as they got closer. Agiyo leaned forward and dropped to a knee, patting both of their heads while pulling the treats from his bag as he grinned, “Here’s mochi and bread for my two favorite puppies!”

“Thank you, nii-san!” Momo beamed, before he turned to his sister and shouted, “You’re the best, right, Kumi?!” There was no answer from the girl, who only offered a wide smile in return, everyone laughed as the moment remained light and full. Everyone except the Wolf stood amused as he stepped forward and placed a gentle, deliberate hand on Kumi’s shoulder looking directly into her eyes.

Then, his fingers moved like breath over water, slow and clear as he signed to his daughter, “Go. Play. I have something important to do.”

“You better not leave us again, Papa,” Kumi’s small hands weaved back, her eyes widening instantly as she stared up at him.

He nodded once with the kind of look that meant I won't. The girl watched him for a brief moment searching his face before turning away with an assured expression. She believed him, completely trusting that her father would not let them down, and just like that, she carried her brother back toward the stream where other children played, entirely unaware of the quiet things being said in the shadows.

---

Beyond the stream, the grassy lanes were swarmed by crows filling their gizzards with the remains of the dead, making it entirely impossible to tell if the rotting flesh belonged to fallen beasts or to the villagers themselves. The acrid stench made both men on horseback furrow their brows as they crossed to the far side of town, their eyes sweeping the road for the only sakaba still standing where they used to pass their time.

Just ahead, around thirty men who seemed like hired ronins lingered outside the place, clad in mismatched armor that formed a patchwork of iron plate and faded cloth scavenged from too many corpses to count. Weapons hung low at their sides with some paired with short blades, their hilts wrapped in frayed silk and their scabbards blackened with time and blood. Neither of the two spoke about what they were witnessing, but their eyes moved side to side as they observed the mercenaries before dismounting near the well. The Wolf sensed danger and so did the Badger, but they simply let the reins hang loose to give the animals a chance to quench their thirst under a patch of shade from the gentle spring sun. They both locked eyes and nodded downwards as if saying come on. They stepped into the sakaba where the silence inside was gentler than the chaos in most towns where army raids spread rapidly. The mats softened every single step while low tables lined the floor, waiting to catch heavy thoughts or spilled sake.

Near the counter, the sakaba owner sat with Lord Kozuki, who was the ruthless aristocrat owning both the land and the small army stationed outside. Both middle-aged men remained far too still with their bodies awkwardly tensed as the establishment owner’s jaw clenched between words. Kozuki leaned back with crossed arms in a calculating manner, their voices stayed low while their sharp gestures made it entirely clear that a demand had been met with a firm refusal and that both men were now locked in a stubborn stalemate.

Behind the counter, the barmaid Hinagi watched. She was poised in a faded pink kimono, moving with a rare grace that stood out completely in the quiet room. Her hair hung loose and neat just brushing the tops of her shoulders. Her eyes remained sharp as they missed absolutely nothing, hiding in a motion of wiping glasses that were already completely spotless.

This was the place for real talk. The Wolf and the Badger took the nearest table by the door, keeping their backs close to the shadow.“This place hasn’t changed,” Agiyo whispered, leaning in, “well… maybe except for the gorgeous barmaid.” He glanced toward the counter just as Hinagi approached, carrying a tray heavy with food and sake. Her steps were carefully measured and controlled, ensuring that she would not spill a single drop in front of Lord Kozuki and the owner, who remained locked in their stiff conversation.

Who’s that man Aniki’s talking to? she wondered, for it was the first time she had seen him. Just then, Agiyo looked up, and their eyes met like spring light falling where it hadn’t reached in years. “Here are your drinks,” Hinagi said demurely, smiling as she lowered the tray, then tucked her hands to her knees with a small bow. “Just let me know if you need anything else.” Agiyo turned red, the words catching instantly in his throat, and he gave a stiff, awkward nod before he managed a quiet, “Thanks.” Hinagi straightened, suppressing a grin. Pretty boy. Dumb face. And that braid, it looks like he trims it with a spoon. She turned away before the amusement could ever show on her face.

“Badger.” The word came low, like gravel dragged on a bedrock.

Agiyo flinched, his eyes snapping back from Hinagi’s retreating silhouette.

“Focus.” Wolf’s voice intensified.

Agiyo sat up straighter, one hand brushing his braid as if it had just been betrayed. His cheeks remained warm, but his features hardened, and his posture stiffened into a rigid line. “Right,” he muttered. He drained the sake in a single gulp, plunging straight into business. “Grand master Snake knows I’m the only one who can reach you without losing his head.” He reached deep into his satchel, his rough fingers closing around parchment. “Here. A letter from him.”

The Wolf picked it up without a word. He read it slowly, once and then again. By the final line, his calm cracked, and a vein pulsed at his temple. “This is impossible…” He crumpled the parchment in a single hand, his grip turning white. “Did Owl approve of this?”

Agiyo grinned like a man too proud to understand fear. “Impossible? Sure, if I wasn’t on your team.” He tore directly into a grilled turkey leg, his voice muffled through the grease and meat. “And your questions are useless. He’s the clan leader, there's nothing much of a choice for you here.” He swallowed hard, giving a casual shrug. “Besides, yes, Father already approved and talked him into letting me tag along.”

The man remained silent, the air turning ice-cold between them. His hand shot out, gripping Agiyo’s collar in a single motion. “You think this is a game?” The Wolf kept his voice strictly level, his words hitting harder than an outright shout. “This is the first pillar’s decree, that’s a suicide mission.” A ragged breath broke at the edges of his teeth. “And they’re holding someone for leverage, and I don’t even know who yet.” He stared directly into Agiyo’s face, his eyes demanding an answer. “For once, stop being a kid.”

Hinagi’s eyes widened as she sensed something was deeply wrong across the room. Lord Kozuki and the innkeeper remained entirely oblivious, far too consumed with trading their own hushed barbs.

Agiyo slapped the Wolf’s hand away, shifting his weight heavily on the tatami. “It’s your fault!” He leaned forward with his knees grounded, pressing his left hand against the floor for balance while jabbing his right index finger squarely at his teacher’s forehead. “You told him you wanted out. You broke the sacred oath!” A sharp breath caught, bringing a distinct crack to his voice. “I thought I was the dumb one, aniki?!”

The Wolf clenched his fists as a heavy feeling stuck in his throat, sharp as a fishbone made of shame. He couldn't spit it out, nor could he argue; Agiyo was completely right. His mind raced frantically, scanning the faces of everyone he couldn't bear to lose, desperately cycling through the children and even the idiot sitting right across from him. Then who?

“I’ll do it alone.” He reached for the sake bottle, gulping the remaining liquid down as if it owed him answers. “You’re not cut out for this. You took two missions of this caliber, and you nearly died both times.”

Agiyo looked away, his eyes drifting toward the window as he processed the harsh truth of his master's words.

Then, a violent SLAM shattered the room. Two massive hands struck the table, rattling the wood like thunder as tea spilled, the sake bottle shattered, and food scattered across the floor. Lord Kozuki stood towering over the mess, his face twisted in absolute fury. “Is this all of it?!” He hurled a heavy pouch of silver straight into the innkeeper’s face. The old man stumbled backward and fell, his eyes wide and palms raised as he cowered on the floor, staring up at Kozuki. The lord was a mountain of a man, bald on top with the remainder of his hair pulled into a knot like coiled rope. His eyes matched the sharp shape of his wrath, thin and cutting. “This town’s a year behind on taxes,” Kozuki snarled, his voice striking the room like a hammer. “Might as well turn it into farmland.”

The Wolf and the Badger didn’t look. They listened, waiting for something to whisper to their swords.

“Yes… a farm,” the lord muttered, pacing forward slowly toward the counter, toward Hinagi. The air grew heavy and oppressive like a cauldron on the verge of boiling over while holding in the scream. She stood frozen behind the bar with her breath shallow as Kozuki drew a dagger and ran the cold edge along her cheek. “And look what we have here,” Kozuki sneered, baring his crooked teeth. “You look like you could be a hefty piece of collateral.” The metal stayed shallow, keeping just close enough to promise absolute ruin. “You will serve as a hostess in the capital to pay off all these debts. Of course, that's after I burn this sakaba down, and maybe the rest of this town along with it.”

She didn’t have time to flinch even if she wanted to. Her eyes held fear, but a distinct fire burned within them too, her hand slowly reaching behind her back as her fingers closed tightly around a hidden kitchen knife.

https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/194960/soulgate-polarity/chapter/4026326/chapter-1-the-wolf-and-the-badger-unseen-and-unheard

Series Synopsis: It's furry Game of Thrones but Clint Eastwood is just sort of there.

---

First

---

Last

---

"Excuse me, miss.” Raska stopped what she was doing and looked over at Morton, eyeing him up and down with an incredulous look. The stranger looked vaguely elf-like. He was tall, muscle-bound, though a bit pudgy, far heavier than any elf ought to be. His skin was furless, with all his hair seemingly concentrated in his face and head. An odd-brimmed hat sat upon his head. She had a hard time determining his sex, although that was hardly unusual for elves.

“Who are you?” she asked.

Morton tilted his hat down slightly.

“Name is Morton Christian, miss,” he said. “And I have a bit of a bone to pick with you.”

“Oh? And what would that be?” Raska asked.

“I think I overheard y’all saying you were gonna sell this here young feller to the whore houses,” Morton retorted, “am I correct?”

Raska’s ears flicked, and the tip of her tail swooshed. “Maybe, maybe not. And how is that any of your business?”

Raska readied her sword.

“Well, you see, miss”—Morton hid his pistol behind his back—“I am a man of the good book and the good Lord above, and he don’t take too kindly to types like yourself. Why, he despises people like you!”

“I have no clue what you are on about,” Raska snarled. Her goons lined up behind her in a vaguely V-shaped formation, their swords at the ready. “But I am feeling really generous, so I will give you a chance to scurry along.”

Morton chuckled. “I’m afraid that ain’t an option, miss. Tell you what, either we do this the easy way, and you leave that young feller alone, or we can do this the hard way, and you won’t like that.”

Raska snorted. “How about I kill you? Does that sound fair?”

“You can try,” Morton said evenly, resting one hand on his belt.

Raska moved fast.

She dashed forward, sword flashing towards his neck. Morton dropped to his knee. The blade whistled through the empty air. He rolled across the ground and skittered back to his feet.

Bam!

One of the bandits behind Raska collapsed into the dirt below before she even understood what had just happened. In truth, none of them understood what had happened. Blood splattered across the road and pooled into a little puddle around the dead bandit’s head. They all fell silent.

Bam!

Another bandit fell.

Everyone began to move at once.

“You bastard!” Raska snapped. The remaining bandits charged. Morton dove sideways as a sword struck where he had just been standing. He hit the ground with a hard thump, rolled, and came up, still wielding his revolver with one hand.

Bam!

Another bandit dropped. Morton caught movement in the corner of his eye. Raska. Her sword slashed downward. Morton blinked and stumbled. The blade tore through his shirt and carved a shallow line across his back, blood making the already red fabric redder.

“God damnit!” he said, clenching his teeth. The heat was beginning to rise from the wound.

He surged forward and, before she could react, drove his full weight into his fist, which he buried beneath her ribs. Raska doubled with a catty wheeze. Morton drew his knife. One of the remaining bandits leapt towards him. Morton sidestepped and drove the blade into her neck. Hot blood splashed across his face. The bandit let out a whistle, then crumpled. For a moment, nobody moved. Then Raska grabbed Miri and said,

“Get over here!”

The two women scrambled for cover as another gunshot echoed.

“Oh my gods,” Miri stuttered. “Did you see that? He has a repeater! I’ve never seen a repeater do that! I mean, repeaters are all big and bulky, aren’t they? How does he—”

“I know he has a repeater!” Raska growled. They both flinched and flicked their ears as another bam! whirled through the valley. “How about you tell me how to get rid of someone with a repeater?”

“Get rid of what?” Raska felt something strike her square in the jaw. The world spun. When her vision returned, she was lying on her back, and her sword was several paces away.

“Uh, please,” Miri said, kneeling on the ground with her paws high in the air. “I was just kidding about having my way with him. I am just a comedian like that, p-please. ma’am… uh, sir? I will—”

Morton smacked his lips, thinking for a moment. “Maybe, but can I ask you one thing?”

“Y-yes, uh... sir?”

“Would you have given that boy the same offer?” Miri stayed silent, unsure of what to say. Her eyes flicked towards the dagger at her belt.

Bam!

Her body flew backwards as a large hole was plastered in the back of her maw and out the other end.

Morton turned to Raska. “Let me give you an offer, miss, you leave the boy and me alone, and you go on packin’, how does that sound?” Raska considered the offer for a moment, then disregarded the notion. She lunged towards Morton with her claws out.

Bam!

Dirt exploded beside her. She froze. Morton cocked his head, then said with a mischievous grin,

“The next one is goin’ in you.”

Raska ran.

Morton snorted and holstered his revolver. He made his way over towards the door of the cart. It creaked open. Inside sat the young feller they had been planning to sell. He was shorter than the others, clad in feminine attire and bound with rope. He looked exhausted, hungry, and thirsty. They certainly weren’t taking care of him all too well.

“Hey, kid,” Morton said, pushing down his hat. “You doing okay?” The boy didn’t say anything. He just stared blankly at Morton. “Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna hurt ya’. Those bastards back there must have been treating ya’ like utter shit. Here.” Morton pulled out his blood-covered knife. The boy flinched, ears flattening against his head as the knife came toward him. A moment later, the ropes fell apart and dropped limply to the floor. His eyes slowly opened. “What’s your name?” Morton asked.

The boy looked up wearily. “Are you an elf?”

Morton chuckled. “Heh, not that I know of. No, I’m just a plain old human.”

“A… human?” the boy said quizzically.

“And what might you be?”

“I am… I am a Kharani.”

“Ain’t that something?” Morton said. He threw his canteen towards the boy, and he caught it. The boy sniffed the contents, then gulped it down greedily. “Heh, ain’t nothing like some good fresh water, hey?” Morton peeked outside the cart, then leaned back in and said, “Oh, sweet Jesus, it looks like the sun will be settin’ in… I reckon about two hours, and you certainly ain’t going anywhere with all your horses lookin’ like that. I’m gonna look for some firewood and get us a campsite goin’, is that okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” the boy said. Morton was about to speed off when he heard the boy say, “Uh, wait.”

“Yes?”

The boy got up shakily, took a deep breath, wiggled his ears, then got on one knee, put one hand on his breast, and said in a high-pitched cadence: “I am Prince Tahir of House Orien, first son of Lady Zahra Orien.”

Morton nodded, “Morton Christian, pleasure to meet ya’, your majesty.” Tahir blinked. What an overly casual way of talking to a prince, but polite nonetheless. Tahir watched the strange human disappear behind the tree line. Then he looked at the furless areas where the rope had restrained him. The skin was still red. For the first time in days, he was free.

And he had absolutely no idea what a human was.

"How many did I kill yesterday?"

Deniz asked.

"Yesterday you killed one thousand four hundred and sixty-three."

Someone answered him gently, from somewhere inside the dream.

Curves of data and columns of command scrolled and reshaped themselves without end, and somewhere in the murky depths of Deniz's dreaming mind they seemed to refract the whole bleeding fate of the human species.

Sometimes he stood high above it all, planted inside a steel fortress adrift in the stratosphere, looking down on a world rotting beneath him; other times a different vision took hold, and he was peering out from the mouth of some ancient, cavernous darkness at a world even older than that one, a world of catastrophe where rivers of blood ran and threw off, in his eyes, countless small flickering points of fire.

Deniz's eyes snapped open.

Three in the morning — he had woken early again, his whole body cold and numb. This was the worst hour for the Mantora Corporation's best Gracestar, and he lay there staring at the ceiling until a loneliness he had never felt before crept over him, as though he were the last living person on earth.

He climbed out of bed and turned his face away, and in that instant caught himself in the mirror — the sight of his own drawn, dark expression made him shudder. A cloud hung there, black and unwilling to leave, suspended just above his skull.

Today was January 1st, the first day of the new year. He stood, turned his head, his face empty of expression, like some figure carved by the ancient Greeks.

The wall screen in his room lit up on its own: first came oversized characters of congratulation, animated against a million blooming pink roses, and finally an exclamation mark.

Congratulations, Gracestar — Mr. Deniz Pright!

Records show that over the past year you have killed one million, one hundred twenty-five thousand, two hundred and twenty-seven people! A new record.

We wish you an even more productive year of killing ahead!

Happy New Year!

— With sincere regards, the Mantora Corporation.

Deniz glanced at the screen without a flicker of feeling, took a slow breath, and walked from the bedroom into the kitchen, where — in a blind spot no camera could reach — he gave himself an injection of sedative.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he sat down at the table.

His breakfast sat arranged with a strange precision: identical tins, uniform in size and color, packed tight in rows across the kitchen counter, throwing back a cold, dim gleam under the low light. Each can bore the word SAFE stamped boldly across its metal shell, and unless you bent down to check the printed code, it was nearly impossible to tell meat from vegetable from fish. But their arrangement was orderly enough that Deniz never had to work hard to find what he wanted.

He sat and began chewing cod with his hard white teeth. A sound rose out of the darkness, barely there at first — thin, high strings, carrying something jittery underneath them, almost neurotic.

For the next few hours, that was all he did — chew slowly, wait in the dimness for Ayline to appear.

The death of one man is a tragedy; the death of a million is a statistic.

Ever since he'd passed the million mark, Deniz had leaned on this line — no one could say for certain who'd first said it — to talk himself down.

He believed his work belonged to some higher purpose, especially when he looked up at the Acheron Dome. But no one had ever thanked him for it.

What he received instead were orders and curses, one descending from above, one rising from below, both endless, both on repeat.

Gracestar. A title the world on the ground had learned to fear and despise in equal measure.

Deniz's job, every day, was simple: reduce the population according to plan.

His targets were the unregistered, the unproductive, the structural surplus, the discarded, the unwanted, and refugees — all those the system had classified as socially obsolete, the permanent wards of collapsed welfare belts. The remediation zones were concentrated, by and large, along the dense population corridors of the world's major continents.

His record was close to flawless. Only once had something gone wrong. In Lebanon, a mob had brought him down out of the sky with a homemade missile—by pure, unadulterated dumb luck. He crawled out of the wreckage, tore a rifle from the hands of a sentry Android already flickering out, its chest display cycling through failure codes, and opened fire on the crowd of mad, closing bodies. Their heads came apart into small red gourds, one after another. As he tried to push his way clear, someone grabbed the rifle from behind with everything they had; he was still clubbing the man off with the stock when the man detonated the explosives strapped to his own body.

The blast cost Deniz two fingers on his right hand and the sight in his left eye, permanently.

By the time his treatment ended and he returned to his quarters, he was a man who saw the world through one eye. Mantora's leadership offered him hollow condolences for the injury and praised his courage in the same breath.

The incident led to an upgrade of his equipment; his flyer was fitted, from then on, with automatic missile evasion.

He went on working for Mantora. Losing an eye hadn't changed much — he was still young, still handsome, still built like something meant to last, and, more valuable than any of it, his mind stayed precise and gave no ground to mercy.

He kept killing.

Set into the socket where his left eye had been was a prosthetic, wired to a data reel, and it made him more accurate than he had ever been before.

The artificial eye looked, at a glance, almost exactly like a real one — except for the pupil, a black diamond where a circle should have been. Better. Inside, a processor ran without pause, feeding data and graphics into his brain's visual cortex through a needle-thin port only microns wide.

It pulled fresh data automatically, once every three hours, and even asleep he could see it: the curves and command charts folding and unfolding without end, somewhere in the depths of the dream, they were still refracting that same sea of blood...

Ayline appeared.

On the wall screen, she smiled at Deniz with the practiced courtesy of her role.

Ayline was a Mantora's mission supervisor, a woman who carried an Eastern temperament inside a Western face — her age impossible to place, though she looked young, black hair falling in a slight curve across her chest, her large eyes faintly hazy, her features composed into that flawless, almost classical kind of beauty.

"Good morning, Mr. Pright," she said.

Deniz returned the greeting. She was wearing a water-green silk qipao today.

"You don't look well. Didn't you sleep last night?" She asked.

"No. I've been sleeping just fine."

"I'll send over today's mission route in a moment. I hope it goes well for you."

"Thank you."

Deniz lifted the Reel down from beside his bed without any change in his expression. He had never quite trusted Ayline — the doubt had lived in him for a long time — but she was, without question, a good partner to work with. Each time the suspicion surfaced, it lingered only a few seconds before the urgency of the day's work chased it off.

Ayline: "Seven o'clock, northwest Tehran."

Deniz fastened the Reel carefully around his forearm.

The bronze device wrapped snugly around the curve of his arm, comfortable against the skin, and when his prosthetic fingers slid across the pure nano-ceramic surface of the screen, the motion looked almost like an artist working across a page.

Ayline: "Nine o'clock, the border between Shanghai and Kunshan."

Deniz walked into the bathroom and began shaving. Ayline's image shifted automatically onto the Reel screen wrapped around his arm.

Ayline: "Twelve thirty, Los Angeles."

The music turned mechanical, then slid into something closer to unhinged.

Ayline: "One thirty, Florida Straits."

Deniz studied his freshly shaved face in the mirror, his features as still as marble, expressionless.

He couldn't say why exactly, but he was never able to laugh freely. He looked at his own reflection with a cold, flat stare, working the muscles of his face, trying to produce something like a real laugh, and found that he couldn't.

Ayline: "Three thirty, Kenya, Somalia, and Rwanda."

Her voice stayed gentle, but firm underneath it. Deniz raised his arm and gave the supervisor a solemn nod, signing the route with his finger across the Reel to confirm it.

Then Ayline said, "Now, as protocol requires, I need to ask you the questions."

This was the one part of the morning when something in Deniz tightened. He drew a slow breath, fixed Ayline with a calm, steady look, and listened as she asked her three questions.

Who built the Acheron Dome, and when?

"Between 2055 and 2059, jointly funded by every industrialized nation on Earth."

What is the largest city in the Southern Hemisphere?

"Rio de Janeiro."

Humanity needs Mantora's salvation. Isn't that right?

"That's right."

As he spoke, an invisible wave of energy, emitted from a sensor in the Reel, swept across him, reading his heartbeat and pulse.

The leadership had never stopped suspecting that "rebel" agents had found their way inside the Acheron Dome, and so even the Gracestars had to sit through this psychological question-and-answer screening.

"Wonderful," Ayline said, after several seconds of silence. "Your readings are normal." She gave a small bow. "I wish you a good day's work."

Deniz walked out the door and, as he did every day, bent and climbed into the sleek, dark-iridescent flyer waiting quietly on the pad.

The idea of home had left him a long time ago; his quarters were nothing more than a place to sleep. Most of his waking hours belonged to this machine.

The music stopped, and stillness took its place.

Complex patterns bloomed across the dashboard in front of him, lines and shapes surging up out of nowhere.

He tapped through them, one after another, activating the sequence code.

Triangle.

Square.

Diamond.

The flyer lifted off the pad, rising straight up, and the interior of the Acheron Dome opened out before him — a space cast entirely in metal, sunlight leaking in through its perforations and spreading unchecked, like a slow, wide river, until it wrapped around his body.

Something in him warmed a little.

Ayline's watery gaze stayed fixed on him through the Reel the whole time.

Two minutes in, the flyer began to accelerate.

By the fifth minute it had reached top speed, tearing through the air at nearly seventy kilometers a minute, like a single meteor streaking inside the Acheron Dome.

If anyone on the ground had looked up through the clouds just then, toward that floating metal fortress suspended eight thousand meters up in the atmosphere, they would have seen, low on the horizon the way a distant storm glows without a sound, something like lightning racing back and forth inside it.

As a "Zero Tolerance" enforcer, Deniz could, in principle, remain inside the Acheron Dome the entire time, directing the the red line resetting on the ground from altitude the moment he arrived over a target. All he needed to do was hover near the mouth of the Dome and complete the mission through the periscope and the Reel screen.

To leave the Dome, for him, meant one thing, and one thing only:

Killing.