Life never stands still, and life right now is a great example of that. The lava fortress is just about ready for the delvers, and by all appearances, the delvers are ready for the fortress, too. I don't think the kids are quite ready, but they’re definitely working on it. Right now, I’m watching them work on getting a tame for Pul.

I was honestly expecting him to pick a fox, but Teemo says Cappy says that he says he wants a gremlin, and I’m hardly going to force him. A gremlin will also definitely pair well with a ninja, especially when it comes to shadow affinity stuff. I’m still, fittingly, rather in the dark on the affinity. I might suspect it has quantum weirdness under its umbrella, but I’m hardly a quantum physicist to be able to give any advice on it, even if it does.

Having a gremlin to help him feel it out will definitely be a help, especially with Violet trying to help out, too. I was more than a little surprised when she started looking into upgrading her spawner enough to get the next spawn, but it wasn’t difficult for Teemo to explain it. I’m proud of her for wanting to help, and even prouder still that she settled on an option that not only should be great to help Pul, but also keep her safe.

Those rottouch gremlins were terrifying, but I think the shadowstep gremlins will fit her just right. She even thought ahead for what she might need in the future, and having a stronger denizen makes me feel a lot more confident about her eventually expanding further downward.

For now, though, I watch as Onyx leads one of the new gremlins toward Pul and the others. It’s pretty nostalgic seeing them wandering around with a bucket of rodents, deciding which denizen to tame. Pul is looking for the more normal gremlins, unaware that Violet has something special in store for him.

“I know I’ve seen some of them in here before…” mumbles Rhonda as the group trudges along. Thankfully, with how tidy Violet keeps the sewers, it’s among the cleanest trudges I’ve ever seen.

I can see Pul glance at the oozes and even a caiman before shaking his head and looking resolved. A caiman would be a pretty cool tame, but it’d definitely be at cross purposes with Pul. Rezlar might have been able to take care of one, but he already has Rose.

While they search, I can feel Violet trying to figure out the best way to introduce her new spawn. I can’t tell exactly what she’s thinking, but it feels like her ideas are only getting more and more ridiculous as she overthinks things. I pat the bond as Onyx rolls her eyes, then she unceremoniously shoves the new gremlin out into the sewer tunnel, just around a bend from the kids.

It doesn’t appreciate that, and after catching its balance, it turns to hiss at the shadow where Onyx still hides. I don’t think I’d even need the bond with Violet to feel the smug smile on her face as the party comes to investigate.

Freddie is the first around the corner, and he halts as he spots the new gremlin. He slowly takes a defensive stance and quietly relays what he’s seeing, which of course gets Pul’s attention. The normal gremlins aren’t all that big, maybe two feet tall when they’re standing straight. The shadowstep is closer to three, and though it likes to hunch over a bit, it definitely carries itself differently from the other gremlins.

Pul’s eyes widen as he spots it, and the gremlin seems more than a little nervous at the attention. I think it knows it shouldn’t attack, but I also think that leaves it at a bit of a loss as to what it should do. My ninja takes the bucket from Rhonda and carefully steps around Freddie, moving slowly so he doesn’t startle the gremlin.

“Easy there… I’m not gonna hurt you. Here, I even have a gift for you.” He slowly sets down the bucket and pulls out an injured rat invader, which gets the gremlin’s attention. It might not know what to do about delvers, but invaders are a much simpler matter. Pul telegraphs an easy lob toward the gremlin, which is all too happy to snatch the invader out of the air and chomp it down. Half a squeak and a crunch later, and the gremlin is looking less nervous about Pul, and I can see the taming bar start to fill.

“Do you want to come with me?” he asks as he lobs another rat. “I’m a delver, just like my friends. We’re friends with Violet, too,” he says, not even wincing when the gremlin quickly dispatches the next rat, too. “You’re new, huh? Has Violet told you about the dangerous dungeon that’s down in the Molten Abyss? Thediem wants to stop it, and we want to help, but we need to get stronger.”

As he talks, the gremlin slowly gets closer, and slowly gets more interested in Pul than the rats. It still quickly dispatches them, but I think Pul is doing a good job with making his case.

“And I want to borrow your strength, and make you stronger, too. You’d be coming with me, instead of staying with Violet. We’ll still delve her, though, so it’s not like you’d never see her again.” Pul smiles warmly. “I know how important family is. A dungeon and denizen isn’t quite like a mom and her kid, but I don’t think it’s far off. Will you join my family, too?” he asks, holding out one more rat.

The gremlin eyes it and Pul, tilting its head in thought. I don’t know how much it has going on upstairs, but with how close the taming bar is to full now, it probably understands enough to know it has a choice here. It slowly accepts the rat and looks into Pul’s eyes, before chomping on the invader and filling the bar.

Pul smiles and pats its head, which the gremlin seems to quite enjoy.

With the tame done, the others come forward to congratulate Pul. “What are you going to name it?” asks Rezlar, Rose stretching out of his pocket to get a closer look at the gremlin.

“Her,” absently corrects Pul. “And… I dunno. I didn’t think that far ahead,” he admits.

“Darkness?” suggests Freddie.

“Void!” offers Rhonda.

Pul chuckles at their suggestions and looks to see if Rezlar has anything to add.

“Hmm… Abyss?”

I don’t think the gremlin is impressed with the names either, but her look of disdain softens as Pul pats her head again. “We’ll think of something good, don’t worry. For now, let’s get home. I want you to meet Mom and Dad, and get a chance to settle in. We have a key to help get soon, so we’ll need to make sure you have some magma protection, too.”

The kids chat as they make their exit, giving me a chance to go over some of the other things life is throwing at me, like Leo’s idea for dealing with the Betrayer. Trying to crack the territory open like an egg would be great, but the numbers to accomplish that are… pretty significant.

We’re trying to use more sonar to try to map the territory, but the Betrayer isn’t making that easy for us. I don’t know if he knows what we’re doing, but he does know he shouldn’t just let us do it. He hasn’t revealed any ability to foray into the magma, but he doesn’t need to with his Harbingers. They seem to be patrolling around the perimeter, inside the shell, and just snuffing out anything that gets too close.

But we’re already getting good information. For example, it doesn’t look like he closes up the tunnels after the Harbingers move on. However, he does like to flood them, and seems to drain them before a Harbinger is allowed entry. Whether they don’t have magma capability, or he doesn’t want to give it away is a question for Leo to answer.

Similarly, we’re getting a rough idea of the number of Harbingers he has to throw at us, judging by the estimated range they have, and how much surface area they have to cover to try to keep us away. He doesn’t have enough for full coverage, and I’m inclined to believe that, if he’s not committing all of the Harbingers to defense, it must be a pretty good portion of them. If he knew we were mapping, I think he’d use every single one at his disposal, but I think he’s interpreting the poppers as ineffectual attacks, at least for now.

And with us mapping at least the outer layer, we’re getting a better idea of what it’d take to crack the shell. Bad news: definitely more than the poppers and scarabs I have. Good news: they’re not my only option. The dragons have been watching the poppers explode, and what it does to the magma, and they’ve been copying the cavitation bubble.

I should have figured they’d be able to do that. They’re magma affinity, of course they can move some of it out of the way, then let it collapse back in on itself. Which gives me another idea that has them training on their own.

Why settle for an ordinary implosion when I can try to make a shaped charge? I think for ordinary explosives, they use a cone for simple penetration, and basically a prism shape when trying to cut. I’m pretty sure the triangular shape is the key to focusing the blastwaves. Maybe something closer to a focusing parabola? Either way, something to test. There's no way we’re getting through all in one go, but if we can use a shaped implosion, we’d be taking a major step in taking away the home field advantage from the Betrayer.

It can’t trap our approach if we make our own approach. And I like the shock and awe kind of tactic Leo is refining. Who knows how long the Betrayer has had to make its defenses? Best to circumvent them entirely, if we can. Nova is leading the way with the shaped charges, and while she’s having pretty good success with it, the denizens are having a harder time.

Not exactly a shock that my little artist can make shapes with ease. Now she just needs to teach the other dragons, and we’ll be able to treat the Betrayer’s walls as suggestions. Then the question becomes if we can get to the core before he figures out how to stop us.

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Cover art I'm also on Royal Road for those who may prefer the reading experience over there. Want moar? The Books are available here! There are Kindle and Audible versions, as well as paperback! Also: Discord is a thing! I now have a Patreon for monthly donations, and I have a Ko-fi for one-off donations. Patreons can read up to three chapters ahead, and also get a few other special perks as well, like special lore in the Peeks. Thank you again to everyone who is reading!

My name is Marisol Vega, and I have a mushroom named Gerald.

Technically he's a Quillith sporebond and a Schedule IV pharmaceutical, but he's the size of a walnut and lives at the base of my skull, dosing me with the alien equivalent of MDMA twenty-four hours a day. I picked him up at a Vorrnik wellness kiosk after a breakup. One bad decision and a signed waiver later, I could no longer feel stress, shame, or fear of authority.

It also converted my entire sex drive into ambient background radiation. I'm permanently, pleasantly high, and I could ruin a man's week with eye contact.

Here's how I met my boyfriend. I was in the produce aisle, telling my phone out loud what I planned to do with a cucumber that evening, and a tall man next to me said, "Sorry, that sounds like a lot of fun. Can I take you to dinner?"

His name is Teo Ramirez. He's kind, patient, and gifted by God. I said yes before he finished the sentence.

The next morning I interviewed at Zhal-Kor Interstellar Records, the human-staffed division of an alien logistics conglomerate. Data entry. Forty-one hours a week. Their human resources department is a three-legged Vorrnik named Director Pell, who has never once blinked in my presence and has no word for "lunch."

By Monday I was in a cubicle with a monitor, a manual, and a stack of alien shipping manifests, and I had a problem. Gerald had turned my brain into a warm bath, and I had no interest in typing.

So I did what any rational mammal would do. I automated it, the way every overemployed Reddit goblin has since 2021, except I had a mushroom and nothing to lose.

Mine wasn't even clever, just boring. The manifests came in three formats, and ninety percent of the errors lived in the same two fields. Nobody had fixed that because the whole workflow was built around correcting mistakes, not preventing them. I wrote a validation script that first weekend, routed every entry through it, and sent the leftover mess to the one form that would reject it politely.

Then I did the human part. I put a window on my screen that showed a woman typing diligently, opened a VPN, and spent the rest of my day on things I won't describe in an HR meeting. At noon I slipped out to the parking garage, where Teo was waiting.

My error rate was zero. Not low. Zero.

I'm not stupid, though. The loud ones get audited, so I kept my numbers just under the review threshold and raised them a hair every week. It worked for three weeks. Then the script ate a queue backlog older than my employment, and the system flagged me for outperforming the next fourteen employees combined.

That should have gotten me fired. Instead, Director Pell called me into a conference room with the whole management layer: two Vorrnik supervisors, a Tholan auditor, and my immediate boss, a human named Harold Brandt, who has the look of a man who's been waiting twenty years for something to go right.

"Ms. Vega," Pell said. His voice came out of a translator box on the table. "Our metrics indicate you perform at a rate we classified as impossible."

"Cool," I said.

"We reviewed your methods."

"Cool."

"We do not understand your methods. We have no comparable concept." The translator paused, as if the words physically hurt it. "Our own workers do not look busy while doing something else. Is this a human behavior?"

Harold put his face in his hand.

"It's a human tradition," I said.

The Tholan auditor made a noise like a dropped tray. "Is it widespread?"

"Every human on this floor does it," Harold said, without lifting his head. "Most of them just aren't good at it."

Nobody at the table had a response to that. Pell turned to the Tholan. The Tholan turned to Pell. Galactic civilization had apparently never produced a single employee who pretended to work.

"We would like you to present your methods to the staff on Monday," Pell said at last. "We would also like to know what you require."

I thought about it. I considered a raise, a title, a window. Then I thought about Teo's hands.

"I'm going to need my boyfriend badged into the building at lunch," I said. "Every day. Fully clothed, ambulatory, and available. I have a medical condition."

Pell looked at Harold. Harold looked at the table.

"It's a Quillith thing," Harold said. "She's got the sporebond. It's on file."

"Then it is accommodated," Pell said, and made a notation with a tentacle I had honestly forgotten he had.

That is how a human being got a standing lunch appointment written into the policy of a galactic logistics firm.

Later, Harold caught me in the hallway, holding a lukewarm coffee and a printout of the new HR policy, forty pages long with my name on four of them.

"Look," he said quietly. "I don't know whether you're a sex addict, or this is an amphetamine thing, or whatever Gerald is. But what you do works, it isn't illegal, and it's good for the business." He swallowed. "So whatever you need. Don't be nervous. Don't hesitate. I will personally rewrite policy to get you a better chair and absolutely anything else you need."

"Harold," I said. "I love you. Please blink."

"I'm trying."

The other fourteen clerks got the news in the break room: they would attend my Monday presentation, take notes, and implement my methods exactly as taught, or Pell would reassign their workloads, along with their paychecks, to me. "You're lucky," Harold told them, "that we aren't just firing all of you." Priya from the next cubicle asked if she could eat lunch off-site if she hit my numbers. Harold said, "Fuck no. Catch up first."

That evening Teo picked me up and asked how it went.

"I'm presenting to the whole division on Monday," I said. "An alien asked me if what I do is a human behavior."

"Is it?"

"I told him it's a tradition."

He laughed, and I kissed him in the parking lot. Gerald hummed in my skull like an engine, and for the first time in my life I knew exactly what I was good at.

What I didn't know was that the Tholan auditor had already filed a report with the Compact. It was one line long, and it was addressed to the Department of Species Evaluation.

Recommend immediate review of Earth.

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It was a strange day, even after dealing with Kon Saya. While she didn't cause any more problems, exactly, her men looming around the place had slowed public-facing operations to a snail's pace.

Soon enough, he ran out of things to do and decided to head home and work on the cart. The foci settled well, at least, and needed no further adjustments after he left. It took just a few minutes to chip them out of the morass, and they seemed fine, though John wouldn't be able to test them until tomorrow. It vaguely brought to mind half-intact memories of epoxying a pipe together and learning the hard way why the instructions said to let it sit for four hours before you run hot water through it.

Fortunately, he had plenty of other things to do in the meantime, since he was somehow still not tired. After checking in with Yosuke, who reported it was business as usual, John quickly built the skeleton of the cart and all the mount points. Unfortunately, he had to do it all outside; if he assembled the damn thing indoors, there was no way he'd ever get it back out again.

Honestly, it wasn't the most complicated project in the world. It was a wheeled cart with a few emitters and some metal skis slapped onto the bottom. Eventually, he got a little fancy, given he'd had to wait on the foci anyhow before he could do any live testing. It was simple to make a few leaf springs and add some very basic shock absorption for the wheels, just in case he had to transport fragile materials. He was really tempted to make a steering linkage and a shock/strut system, but that was far more complex, and he was worried that it would break down on the road.

Of course, he'd still have flight, but he couldn't fly everywhere without attracting too many eyes. Sure, he could skim at ground level and pretend everything was fine, but he was bound to mess up somewhere eventually.

He, of course, added a hidden compartment that could only be welded and unwelded from underneath, with no hidden mechanism to open it directly, just in case he had to smuggle something. Mentally, he made a note to pack some sandpaper so he could minimize the signs of anything amiss.

The foci would be hidden the same way, once they were done, but he could obviously cut down the space more by—

"Well, you've been busy, haven't you?" Yuki asked, leaning over his shoulder.

"Gah!" John jolted, spinning around and nearly hitting his head on the cart's frame as he hurriedly stood up. "Damn it, Yuki, you nearly gave me a heart attack! Stop doing that," he grumbled.

For her part, the kitsune didn't react to his griping, only giving him that gentle, comforting smile. "Well, pardon me, Lord Hall, but you seemed so taken with that little prank on Rin earlier that I felt you might appreciate the greeting."

John narrowed his eyes at the kitsune. How the hell did she even know exactly what he did? She should have only heard her yelp and—Ah, whatever, it's Yuki; the damn fox was near omniscient sometimes.

At least she found him at a good time. He really did need to talk to her about his meeting with their latest "guest."

"Well, after the whole meeting with Saya, I guess I'm a bit on edge," he admitted, sighing deeply. "I'm sure you heard, but she tried to bribe me to get you to take the deal." To be honest, he was tempted to talk to his friend about it the second he got out of that damned room, but he didn't want to risk Saya overhearing and knowing that something was wrong and that she had been found out.

"You did well with her," Yuki said, gently patting him on the head as he flatly stared back, silently contemplating his friend's sheer audacity.

"Yeah, I figured you would have shown up if I tripped up too badly. Honestly, in retrospect, I was kinda surprised you didn't interrupt when she was making me an offer to sway you to her side. She's proper nobility of some sort, right? She probably has peers that scoff at her needing to do something so underhanded. The potential shame would have probably given you leverage," John noted.

Really, part of him wondered if the whole interaction was a trap for Yuki. Even with just "baseline" kitsune senses rather than whatever Yuki had going on, it would have been trivial for her to listen in from another floor. It wasn't as if Saya hid her intentions, and the door guard could have easily run off to tell Yuki before Saya even got there.

Yuki smirked, and it was a vicious thing, full of razor-sharp teeth and malice. "Sometimes, a fool is best left to make a mistake. Tell me, John, did you notice that she had one of her tails against the ground the entire time you two were speaking?"

Wait, she did? Honestly, he hadn't even thought about it. Oh, please don't tell him she was doing some sort of magical mental-influencing nonsense the entire time; he'd had more than enough of that with Kiku. 

Then again, he didn't feel her flexing her Presence at all, so she probably wasn't doing anything. Hmm. She assumed that he was an Unbound, so she probably wasn't trying to influence him in some way, given their resistance until their Aegis was worn down. Kitsune tails seemed pretty magical, too, so was she using it as a conduit to do something to the floor, making whatever she was doing harder to detect?

"Was she… trying to disguise our conversation from you?" John ventured. "She must have expected you to be able to hear her, but…" John paused, frowning. "She didn't hide that we were talking with one another. Hell, she sent a formal summons when she could have shapeshifted into one of her guards and pretended to have only sent a letter. Her actions don't make sense. Why then? Why not try to catch me when I'm all alone, and you can't overhear?"

Unless, of course, Saya wanted her to.

"It was all a plot to make you doubt me, wasn't it?" John groaned.

Yuki nodded. "It was a clumsy attempt that revealed that she has power over sound, but an attempt nonetheless. The meeting went much the way you heard, but she changed the way sound resonated through the walls to not only almost silence the conversation, but make it seem like you agreed without hesitation at the end, in case I was listening."

Ugh. He hated to say it, but it was a clever trick, if nothing else; these kitsune were going to be the death of him. He hadn't been wearing any sort of active magic detector, lest it give away his secrets in short order. After all, an Unbound could easily sense such minor disturbances and had no need for a specialized device.

"The first likely possibility is that the meeting went unnoticed, and she could ply me for an angle she could work, or could easily deny what happened if I reported to you. The second is that you noticed the meeting but couldn't hear the contents, stoking paranoia. Last is that you noticed and could hear, but got the false message at the end, leading you to push me away and into her arms," John rattled off, stroking his chin as he stared off into the distance. "It's a shame, for her, that you aren't new to this."

"It might have worked if I were actually a three-tailed kitsune and you were a normal Unbound," Yuki commented, shaking her head. "The relationships between them and their donors are often rather transactional in nature."

It was clever, he had to admit; they were just exactly the wrong targets. "So, if there was any doubt she knows anything about what's going on here or me, it's gone, right?"

Yuki nodded. "Perhaps there's a power behind her that suspects something, but Saya herself knows nothing," Yuki confirmed, nodding. "Honestly, I'm a bit disappointed in myself. I should have guessed she'd have powers over sound with the family name Kon. She reeks of first-generation kitsune."

"...What?" John flatly asked.

"A kitsune not only can be born to another kitsune, but if a fox reaches a hundred years old, they grow a second tail and become one, becoming a person rather than a mere beast," Yuki explained. "As such, these ascended kitsune do not have a family name and need to pick one. Kon is the noise that foxes make, and she has many mannerisms that are born of someone trying to fit the role of a divine messenger while saying that she is better than everyone who is not."

She named herself after a pun? He'd almost respect the boldness if she weren't trying to enslave Broadstream for a decade—even if she thought it was for their own good. "Fair enough, I guess," he muttered, shaking his head. "That'd mean that she's not subject to a family, but some other structure, right?"

"Oh, some sort, but we don't know enough to say for sure what type of relationship it is," Yuki explained.

John sighed. "I hate politics."

Reassuringly, Yuki patted his shoulder. "There, there. You get used to it eventually, even if you never stop loathing it."

"I still think it's best to avoid getting tied up with her entirely," John said, glancing back towards the half-finished cart.

At last, Yuki's expression dropped into a frown, although not a harsh one. "I can't come with you, you know? While I do not relish making choices on their behalf, Saya could intimidate and control the townsfolk into agreeing to whatever terms she desires."

Unfortunately, even putting aside Saya throwing around her connections to the heavens, the sheer fact that she could leverage Presence alone made any 'mortal' attempt to avoid her influence a doomed venture. Without protection, she could corner a few influential figures and broadcast feelings of panic and impending doom while promising them  protection, and that'd be it.

"I don't like it either, but someone has to, Yuki. Leaving it up to her is too risky," John consoled her, gently removing her hand from his shoulder, lightly squeezing her palm before allowing it to drift back down to her side. "Look, I'll have Rin with me, and I promise that I'll run if anything too dangerous comes up."

"And how do you plan to disguise your Presence?" The kitsune questioned, leaning in. "Or have you forgotten that the inexperienced find your natural aura unsettling? The city might be kinder than Broadstream, but there's no guarantee."

Honestly, he had. Getting coiled up in Yuki's tails every morning had just… become part of the routine. How the hell was he going to solve that? Maybe he could make some sort of device that'd put out a steady stream of quasi-Presence, even if it'd seem emotionless.

But Rin would see his entire aura magically change to something else. What could he do?  Act like the road was making him feel awful?

It'd probably be like seeing a dummy pretend to be a person, even then. There was a vast gulf between grumpy and emotionless.

Before he could even begin plotting, though, a thrust-out hand broke him from his thoughts. In Yuki's palm was a thin, woven braid of white strands that caught the fading sun, glittering where the light caught it, like a cavalcade of colours fighting to escape from within. Instinctively, he accepted the gift as she dropped it into his hands. It felt warm in his grip, the kiss of the summer sun bound into physical form.

"This is part of you, isn't it?" he breathed, eyes shining.

"Some of the fur from my tail, charged with my power, so it shall slowly leak back out," Yuki clarified. "Wear it around your neck, and it shall seep into you, disguising your Presence."

Without thinking, John wrapped his arms around Yuki and pulled her tight. "Thank you," he whispered.

A moment later, her arms and tails wrapped around him, too, forming a tight, protective shell. "While I may think this trip is unnecessary, I can tell you're set on it. I may as well aid you however I can and make sure you return safely. This necklace does have a price, though."

Opening an eye, he peered up at the kitsune with mild disbelief, although no worry.

"It shall cost you one more story of your home, of Earth," she explained, slipping the English word in with a frankly flawless pronunciation. Ah, but of course. He'd pay that price gladly.

Hmm. Now that he thought of it, Yuki was learning English words from him, so she must have had a Canadian accent. Maybe someday she'd meet another English speaker, and hearing a creature of Shinto myth say "Eh?" would give them a heart attack.

"Right, so, where were we last time?" he asked with a smile as the tails hesitantly unwrapped from around him, and she swiftly led him toward the meeting room, which had become far cozier over the last month.

"You said that you got people angry for fun," Yuki said as she pulled him inside, finally releasing him to settle into his chair. "Something about the therapeutic effects of shouting and baiting people who you'd never see again, I believe."

Oh, he did say that, didn't he? Honestly, he really, really shouldn't have introduced the idea of 'bait' to her. The kitsune might grow too powerful. Well, it was too late now; there was no way she was going to let it go if he started dodging the question.

"Its translation is baiting, like baiting a trap," he admitted with a sigh. "Many, many people can absolutely not handle losing, or even not being at the top of their team, when there are zero stakes, and it makes them irritable. Wait, I explained video games, right? That's the easiest example since it's most of what I did myself."

Yuki nodded. "Reactive non-magical illusions created on a glass sheet, complete with sound, controlled through a specialized tool. Some are capable of connecting people in multiple different locations, like the paired game boards of some nobles."

"Wait, what, they have those here?" John asked, staring at Yuki in disbelief.

The kitsune nodded. "Made from the wood of two trees grown from a single seed, moves made on one are mirrored on its duplicate. Most mortal and yokai lords and ladies who own one hire experts to play for them in secret to build a reputation as a genius player. It is rare to see someone truly rich at a tournament, lest they play poorly and have their lie exposed," the kitsune explained, sagely nodding.

…The people of this land are really just like those back home.

"Oh, we call those people boosted!" John exclaimed, smiling. "We also like telling them that they're barely human, or to stop letting their little brother play when they're actually playing for themselves."

"I think that might cause a war here," she mused, smiling. "So, this has something to do with baiting?" Yuki asked, leaning in, eyes narrowed as she rested her elbows on the low, for her at least, table.

"Absolutely!" He answered with a grin. "So, I mentioned that some people really hate losing, right? How do you think someone who is already slightly mad is going to respond to me gently implying that they only got into a high skill lobby because they let someone else play for them while—Hold on, let me see if I can still do the voice."

Under the watchful eye of a curious kitsune, John cleared his throat and hummed a few tones to test his range. "Mi-mi-mi…" he trailed off, voice rising with each syllable.

Add a bit of nasalness…

"Do-ray-mi—"

Push his tongue up a bit…

It was time.

"Turn the cheats on already, you fucking boosted bronzie," he squeaked in a high-pitched tone, voice purposefully cracking with only a mild twinge of pain. "Smag jungle in season six and buying Precision? You're already getting banned for throwing, you might as well throw on the auto-aim."

For a moment, everything fell quiet, as if the world itself was holding its breath in sheer bafflement.

The silence shattered moments later as Yuki burst into peals of laughter, the vulpine song resounding throughout the room as she caught herself on the table, nearly falling off the chair. "You sounded like you were ten!" she exclaimed, wiping a tear away from the edge of her eye.

"It wasn't that funny," John insisted. "One of the greatest dangers of being online is that you might be randomly subjected to the opinion of a child, so I just weaponized it a bit."

"You, my friend, would make a good kitsune," Yuki spoke between throaty chuckles. Despite himself, John found himself joining in, too, with a few sensible laughs. Her joy was infectious. "I think I might be a lover of 'bait,' too."

How utterly terrifying.

"I've been called more slurs than there are stars in the sky," John wistfully recalled, "but that's in pursuit of the real prize. The truest form of the art is getting someone banned from the game itself as the staff descends upon them like a swarm of guards, while receiving no punishment yourself. Some people like arguing with others with no game involved, but… Ugh, just saying nonsense to strangers to argue isn't any fun; there has to be some shared tie beyond happenstance. Ally versus enemy. Random people competing for the same resources. Ally against a deeply stupid ally. If someone is going to say that they're going to bomb my trailer park, I want it to mean something."

"Sadly, I think the closest thing we have here is going to a bar while disguised and getting into pointless arguments with the most contemptible people in the room," Yuki sighed, shaking her head. "Perhaps, some day, you'd like to join me for that? It might not be the same, but it might bring back pleasant memories. Not in Broadstream, of course."

A smile split John's face. "Why not?"

Tomorrow he'd have to get back to work on the cart, but he had needed this.

Besides, no time spent with a friend was ever truly wasted.

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"Sir, I just have to point out something, I feel obligated to do so in case my disposition causes a problem in the future. I cannot carry a gun, I cannot carry a shield, and I cannot carry a sabre sword. Sir, my boots are too heavy. I suffer from migraines, and in the middle of battle, the migraines might heighten. I have never been in battle, but I think my head will hurt more if I'm ever in one. I cannot even carry a bottle of water for long distances, and my thighs chafe when I march. Sir, I'm not built for this. Sir, are you listening?"

I was standing before the Sergeant, with the rest of humanity's army making a hard march behind me. The sun's glow was emerging on the horizon; it had been crimson-orange at first before finally shining golden. The Sergeant stared at the throng of men and women: brave, strong, and a proud sight indeed. They carried their guns in their hands while mine sat resting on my leg. The Sergeant looked over my head at the army making its way to New Avigon to fight the Commander of Avigon, who'd attacked Earth first, taken over an entire expanse of wilderness, and named it New Avigon.

"Sir?" Finally, the Sergeant turned his eyes to me.

"Who are you again?" he asked.

"I'm Meridale, Steven Meridale, but my friends call me Merry." I had no friends to speak of, but I loved to pretend that I did.

"Well, Merry, whatcha doing standing before me yapping your mouth? Join the line!"

"Sir, I'm not a soldier."

He squinted at me. "Then why are you dressed in our armor?"

"Sir, there's been a mistake. I'm supposed to be a clerk within the army. I'm good with writing, sir; I can write poems like nobody else can. I'm a poet, sir, not a soldier."

"Well then, the men and women of our proud army will hear your poems when the battle is done. Join the line, or I'll have you recite poetry as we pull the nails off your fingers while flogging you for cowardice."

I looked into his withered face, and I knew in my bones he wasn't bluffing. I swallowed thick saliva and carried my gun with great difficulty, hoisting it over my shoulder.

I was shaking from the tip of my head to the soles of my feet like a leaf in a hurricane. I felt suddenly quite thirsty. I marched among my fellow men, feeling as if I were the only one truly human. The rest had abandoned themselves to violence. Their hearts and souls were no longer human; vengeance gripped them to their core, and they gave total abandon to it.

As we marched, I found myself crying, and the guy beside me looked me up and down before muttering, "Pathetic," and quickly marching three paces ahead to be rid of my sight.

Another took his place; he eyed me skeptically before voicing his mind. "Are you weeping for them or for us?"

"Who?" I asked, wiping snot from my face.

"The Lizards: are your tears for them or for us?"

"I'm not supposed to be here." The ground was muddy; thrice I'd tripped. The air was too humid, and my hair was plastered to my head. There were snakes about; I'd seen two so far. And a fly appeared to be following me specifically, ignoring everyone else. I hated my life. Oh, how I longed to sit beneath the oak tree in what was once my backyard, to read Confucius or Kafka, to savor the feel of thin pages turning with each flip, to cradle my pen, and to write beauty into words. The gun wasn't suited to me; I preferred the pen to it. This life of war wasn't meant for me. Where had I gone wrong?

"I'm not meant to be here either," the man beside me said. "I'm a cobbler, but those damn lizards came to Earth and slaughtered my kin. The same happened with the thousands marching with us. That's why the world's united to end them. We march to our land, now stripped of its name and called New Avigon. We go there to reclaim our lands and to kill their Commander."

"I don't even know the guy," I said, wiping my tears. "I grew up an orphan; I don't even have kin to avenge."

"Aye, but you march with us either way, to fight for the kin of others. To fight for humanity."

"Fuck this! I don't want to do any of that." My gun slipped from my arms, and the man caught it deftly with one outstretched arm. He pressed it to my chest and I cradled it.

"Listen, young man, all you have to do is kill the Commander, and the war is won. The Avigon retreat when they are without a leader. That's how they are."

"How do you know this?"

"Weren't you there during the briefing?"

"No, I was writing poetry."

"For whose ears and eyes if all mankind perishes?"

He voiced the very question I was struggling to answer. His voice was so smooth as he laid out the evidence of my weak and vile nature. If all humanity perishes, what good would my poems be? Who would read them? Who would hear them?

Part of me knew I had to fight, but another part of me worried I wouldn't be able to do so, that I'd be a failure in more ways than words could describe. What good would I be if I were the first to fall? Who would care about me as I was trampled underfoot in humanity's charge? I was trapped. I was doomed.

But within me, something bloomed at the soldier's words: a certainty that bordered on psychotic that I would not die today or any other day by the hand of war. Although I had been an atheist all my life, I suddenly believed God would intervene; I found God this day as I marched to war. I decided to pray, and I did so loudly, asking for the forgiveness of my sins while unsure how to clasp my hands in prayer while holding the gun. I apologized for not fasting or praying before. I felt like a true coward before the Creator. I apologized for all those heated debates where I'd claimed He didn't exist. I was so freaking sorry, and my voice carried out high. Some turned to gawk at me; a man who'd found God in the face of death was a rare sight for some reason.

And then I rebuked the devil. I spent a good half-hour rebuking that bastard, blaming him for every injustice I'd borne witness to. I even blamed him for my role in the army, claiming I might have been destined to be a priest if it wasn't for him. Priests weren't allowed to be soldiers, seeing that they were holy and blameless of sin. I suddenly became quite certain that if it weren't for the devil, I'd be a priest right now, safe back at camp, praying for the soldiers going to war.

A lot of those I marched close to laughed, which irked me greatly. I was about to start praying for them to shake loose of their stupidity and join me in prayer when we crested a hill to find the front rank of the army gathered in a spread-out row ahead of us on top of the ridge. The sergeants were screaming for us to form neat rows. I was pushed, jostled, and carried unwillingly until I found myself standing in the front line, right within sight of the lizards.

They were big bastards, standing in columns and rows of their own on the opposing hill. Gathered in their thousands, they stood still, all of them facing us. Their Commander, I assumed, was one of the biggest of them all, standing a step further from their first row, holding a staff that seemed to glow an ominous blue.

I could hear drums sounding from among us. A Captain marched across the front row, ordering us into a neater line. The sergeants voiced the captain's words, and the lieutenants issued commands. In a short amount of time, we were as organized as the Lizards were. I tried to shift my position with the man behind me, but someone knuckled my head, and I decided where I was standing was okay enough.

Our Commander finally availed himself before us, marching across our front line. What he said was echoed by the Sergeants so that even those in the far back could hear his words.

"Today we show those bloody lizards what we're made of!" he shouted. I could hear him clearly, being in the first line. "Today, we avenge our fallen kin: our brothers, our sisters, strangers who would have wished us a good day, children whom we would have watched grow up, mothers, fathers, sisters, and brothers, sons and daughters! Today we call upon them from the great beyond to witness what we are capable of in the name of their memory! For humanity, we rally! For humanity, we shall prevail!"

When he mentioned all those who'd perished, I was certain my fellow soldiers had images flashing in their minds of loved ones. All I had was the image of myself eating supper alone in the sitting room of my single-bedroom apartment. But it was an inspiring speech, inspiring enough to make me hold my gun right, barrel pointing forward.

The Commander praised us for our bravery this fine morning as the sun loomed above, having risen fully to witness either our triumph or crushing defeat. In the distance, I could see the Avigons' ships, the ones they'd used to descend on our planet and carry out their first attacks, the ships we longed for them to return to once their commander fell.

God! How will we fell the guy? It looked like he was made of brawn and metal. There was no hope; a tiny voice spoke within me that was entirely mine.

"Hope is what we shall be to future generations! By God, those who fall today should not see their deaths as the end, for those who will come after will march with them in their hearts!" our Commander said. There was another answering cheer from the ranks of us gathered.

I cheered as well because he'd mentioned God, raising my right arm. When it lowered, my finger rested on the trigger. I toyed with the barrel, aiming it at the Commander of the Avigons. I had my crosshairs marked on the bastard. I toyed with the idea of pulling the trigger. The Commander walked in front of us, still giving his final speech before the charge.

Many would die; he wasn't shy about this fact, but he made death look welcome, a fated lover who offered respite from the agonies of this cruel world.

It was beautifully worded, and quite long, I think, for the benefit of those of us who weren't looking forward to running at cold-blooded enemies. But it was beautiful nonetheless.

"For Mankind!" the Commander called, and we cheered our hurrahs.

"For our loved ones!" we cheered again.

"For our God!"

I pulled the trigger. The gun in my hands sputtered bullets, sending a torrent of metal heading straight for the Commander of the lizards. Everyone turned to face me. I could not let go of the trigger button for some reason; I was shaking with a sudden adrenaline spike. I could feel myself pee a little as the gun emptied itself of bullets. I screamed while shooting. The Commander rushed over to where I was and slapped me across the face.

Finally, I let the gun drop. It fell on my foot, and I hopped on one foot, running my hand over the boot and my bruised cheek as well.

"Are you fucking stupid?" the Commander asked me.

"Yes, sir." I was so afraid; it was the most I could find within myself to answer.

"What?"

"I mean, no, sir."

The Commander took out a pistol and pointed it at my temple. "You stupid bastard! You shoot when I say you shoot, you bloody damn scoundrel. Where did they get the likes of you from?"

It was a rhetorical question, but I answered anyway. "From Florida, sir."

"You dumb piece of shit, I'll have you flog—"

"Commander!" a Sergeant intervened, coming close to the Commander and placing his hands on his shoulder. He turned the Commander around and pointed at the army of lizards. "Look, sir!"

The Commander looked, as did I. The Lizards had broken rank; all of them clustered around the big Lizard who was down on the ground, unmoving. His large, prone form lay immobile as one of the smaller Avigon attempted to raise him from the ground and, failing to do so, called to the other lizards. With my keen sight, I could see the Avigon Commander's battle armor was stained crimson and his strange staff lay beside him, not glowing anymore.

Together, we watched as the Avigon carried their fallen Commander, hoisting his broad form over their shoulders, turning, and moving toward their spaceships without the need to form ranks. I cannot recall for how long we watched them march all the way to their ships, all of them boarding before they took off. Their thrusters emitted smoke and blue flame as they rose off the ground and shot toward outer orbit.

Everyone then shifted their attention to me. Nobody spoke, and I found I lacked the words to say anything else besides, "Praise God."

----

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Date: 51 PST (Post Stasis Time)

The sound of joy and cheer was gone, the gaggle of excited voices and the aura of exploration and enthusiasm from the group of children was nothing more than a memory. The guide walked down the path he'd taken so many times before, the school children following behind, through the dug-out trenches that made up this monument, the little birds pushing together and holding onto each other against the oppressive surroundings.

“They were the first masters. The mammals descended upon the planet fourteen thousand years ago. The Lelzoil they found were not as we are today, our ancestors had just started experimenting with the beginnings of written word and pottery when they appeared in our skies. Regardless of their evil intent and crimes, they did make us who we are. Quite literally.”

The voice of the older Lelzoil bounced off the walls, their gruesome building materials looking back at the group with empty eyes. His words were ones he'd spoken many times, each speech given to hundreds of similar groups, to tourists and others who visited the museum. His red feathers had long lost their sheen, time having taken its gradual toll.

He would never consider stopping the work he'd spent the last forty years of his life doing, walking the same path day in and out, describing the horrors and tribulations that had impacted his people throughout their troubled history.

It was crucial that people knew the danger all xenos represented, no matter how small or technologically outmatched by the Lelzoil they were.

“Our language is theirs, whatever we had before was lost to time; the culture and who we were can only be guessed at via whatever snippets we've recovered from archaeological discoveries. Many young fledglings struggle with the 'z' sound prevalent in our language, because these are words meant to be spoken by others, not of our tongue. Even our entire existence, our entire purpose was crafted by them. Because the word 'Lelzoil' means 'Songbird' in the first masters' language. That name, that designation for us is why this location exists at all.”

The group arrived at the central location of the excavated catacombs, the guide spreading his wings as if to announce the horrible scale of what they were seeing. Every wall here, spiralling upwards towards the sky, like all the walls of the trenches they'd walked through, was constructed entirely from the skulls of long-dead Lelzoil.

The masses of bones were yellowed and crumbling from age, even the best of Lelzoil preservation technology only able to do so much against the march of time, but each one very, very real, representing a person cut down before their natural end. The school children looked up at the skulls, as the empty eyeless sockets stared back at them, each one a silent testimony to the crimes committed against their species.

“We have an unmatched talent amongst avians in the universe. Birds and singing are hardly uncommon, whether sapient or not, and songbirds who can produce two notes at once are nothing special. The Lelzoil, however, thanks to a special genetic mutation, have the ability to sustain three different tones or melodies at once. This interested the first masters, a strange quirk for entertainment, although they soon realised a problem upon discovering us: not all of these strange new 'songbirds' could do this three-note trick.”

Even now, after all these years of saying these words, there was still a level of anger and fury in the voice of the guide, a defiance against the horror that the stars had inflicted upon all of them.

“It was estimated the genetic mutation was found in roughly a quarter of the population. Even worse, a child sired from one who had it and one who didn't would have a random chance of inheriting the effect or not. This meant that, to the first masters, those who didn't have it were a problem diluting the impact of this fun new toy they'd conquered so easily. So they removed the problem.”

There was no need to spell it out, no need to state exactly how the problem had been rectified, because the walls and their thousands of skulls did all the talking needed, through beaks that could no longer speak, but whose silence screamed a thousand words.

“Mass graves such as this one have been found throughout the entire planet. It is estimated that around eleven million people, or three-quarters of the population back then, were culled in order to maintain the genetic trait that they desired. A few surviving documents from that time told of the 'trial of songs', attempts to fake the tritone effect, and the devastation it caused to entire communities wiped off the map by the invaders from the sky.”

The guide looked down at the dozens of little eyes staring back up at him, fledglings scared and upset, as all Lelzoil are when they begin to learn of the evil that is the xeno.

“It didn't get much better once that task had been completed. We were kept as entertainment, a curiosity, something to be poked, transported like luggage and told to sing. And of course, those who lost their singing voice as age took them were just… discarded.”

Each child looked up at the guide, their minds going back to elderly relatives they knew back home, imagining what must have happened to create the mass graves they were literally standing in, at how such a thing could happen.

“That was the fate of the Lelzoil for two thousand years. Forced to sing, kept in a golden cage that stretched across the entire planet, never allowed our own path or wants. Cruel, callous and destructive they were.”

The guide let the words ruminate amongst the tour group of school children, watching their eyes filled with the same fear and anger every Lelzoil had against those who came from the stars.

“Of course, the first masters were practically saints when compared with the second masters.”

—------------------

Date: 78 PST (Post Stasis Time)

Two days and two nights.

That's how long it had been since the first night, since Ruixal had been forced into working with the xeno. She still hated it, still hated every moment spent passing supplies back and forth, having to give the most simple of commands to the Terran without venom, having to pretend at least a little bit that she didn't want to kill the disgusting thing.

The worst part about the entire ordeal was it was working. Between the pair of them they'd managed to save just enough supplies from their own ships to be able to survive, barely, in this harsh unforgiving environment. Ruixal had the food, the Terran had camping supplies, everyone was winning. As much as a Lelzoil with a broken wing could be winning.

She spent a little moment prodding the area that was full of pain, the warmth spreading as whatever she'd done to the limb during the crash was clearly bad. She was going to need the thing broken and reset before the nanobot application when she was finally rescued. A moment that couldn't come soon enough.

“Hey! How you doin' this fine morning!”

The voice of the xeno echoed across the frozen landscape, each spoken syllable like a little annoying dagger, stabbing into her ears. It wasn't even the first time he'd tried to speak to her after the first meeting, throughout the last two days and nights the stupid mammal had a seemingly never-ending reserve of energy to try and talk with her.

“What do you want!” Ruixal finally snapped, her previous strategy of ignoring the xeno fading as the Terran caught her at a bad time, the pain in her wing finally causing her to break and shout back. “Why are you so god damned insistent on chatting!?”

Rob shrugged, a slow small thing hardly visible across the chasm that separated them.

“It's polite, ain't it? We're gonna be working together, so we might as well chat. Nowt else to do other than count snowflakes.”

The Lelzoil just stared at the stupid xeno for a moment, her face a measure of shock as she tilted her head to the side, trying to work out the logic behind the Terran's words.

“But… but we're enemies. We're literally on the opposite side of a god damned war!”

The Terran seemingly didn't think the same way, picking a piece of dirt from one of his fingernails as he spoke in a matter-of-fact manner.

“Nah. Real enemy is the cold and boredom. Up there, in orbit? Maybe we're opponents. Down 'ere? You're just another sadsack on this stupid planet. Oh and that storm comin' looks like it's gonna be a big’un.”

The mammal pointed its disgusting limb up to the sky, Ruixal's view following the finger pointing toward a horizon filled with angry-looking black clouds, each bundle of frozen vapour promising a night that was worse than anything they'd seen so far. The Lelzoil gave her own squawk of alarm upon seeing the oncoming danger.

“Yeah, wonderin' when you'd notice that,” Rob added simply. “Maybe if you spent less time being shitty, and more time lookin' at stuff…”

Ruixal had already turned away in a worry, looking around at her meagre supplies to see if she had anything to use as a shelter. At least anything that was stronger than the pile of ship wreckage she'd been using to break the wind as she slept.

Rob just watched as the silly little avian ran around with her bad wing, trying to find something that didn't exist. He stared, slightly amused at the person who had done nothing but throw insults his way for the last two days, now scurrying about like a headless chicken. Patiently he stood and waited until the little bird ran out of steam a good half an hour later.

“So, I do have an extra survival tarpaulin 'ere, stretch it out over what's left of your ship. Won't be five-star accommodation, but should last y'all night.”

There was a pause as Ruixal eyed the small package the Terran was holding, taunting her with the thing that would keep her alive against the oncoming storm. She glared, saying the obvious words that made the Terran's information nothing more than a cruel joke.

“You know I don't have anything to trade with you for that!” she spat at the Terran, feathers bristling with worry and anger.

Rob in response just raised a confused eyebrow. “Wasn't askin' for anythin', but if you insist…” he paused for a moment, scratching his chin before coming up with an idea. “Information then. Been trying to get you to chat because we're the only people on this planet, so, talk then, as trade. Tell me about summat you liked back at home.”

The Lelzoil stared across the chasm, head tilted in distrust, assuming some kind of a trick.

“I'm not giving you any military intelligence xeno! I'd rather take my chances with the storm!”

At this statement Rob threw his hands up in frustration.

“For goodness sakes! I just wanna chat! I'm bored and you're the only thing 'ere! Just freeze in the storm then if you don't want my help! Jesus Christ why do ya have to be threatened with death to act like a reasonable person!”

The words echoed across the chasm, the Terran finally giving up on the stupid bird. Ruixal couldn't help but feel annoyed, as if she was being the irrational one in the face of this xeno threat.

Even worse, the Terran somehow sounded reasonable.

The Lelzoil could see the storm clouds getting closer now, the first sprinkling of snow starting to appear and settle on the ground and her feathers. She really didn't want to be in what was coming without a shelter.

“Fine! When I was a kid, on my colony planet, there's a period in winter where the sun doesn't rise again for a month. We have something on the last day of sunset called the festival of lights. Everyone in the city would come together and build their own drone. Then you wished upon your drone, and sent it up into the sky. They said if your drone stayed up the entire month without failing, your wish would come true. Throughout the month of darkness you'd see them, everyone's wishes hanging in the sky against the night.”

The Lelzoil paused, waiting for the xeno to say it was stupid or make fun of it. “See, I gave you what you wanted. You can make fun of it or whatever, just give me the shelter.”

Rob looked at the stupid bird standing across the chasm, noting her defensive posture, as if there'd be some way he could use that to attack her. Instead the Terran gave a smile.

“See, that ain't hard. Treatin' people like people. For the record that sounds lovely. I'm from Titan myself. Seafloor is full of these bioluminescent kelp. It sounds like a similar thing, I loved going out in a submersible, away from the cities and just starin'.”

Rob watched the look of surprise on the avian's face as he was sincere in his words. With a precise throw he tossed the shelter over the chasm, the bag containing the fabric bouncing over the icy rocks on the other side.

Ruixal scrambled over to where it had landed, opening it up and finding exactly what was advertised. Even with her throbbing wing, setting up something that would at least keep the snow off her would be easy.

Not a moment too soon, as the snow was truly arriving now, the time taken for her to set it up more than enough for the clouds to draw overhead and the wind to start to blow. But before the avian could retreat to her makeshift shelter, she turned to look at the Terran.

“I guess bioluminescent kelp is… nice. Thanks for the help, Rob.”

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The four of them walked around the beacon. The warehouse was empty except for the ancient piece of AI technology. Their footsteps echoed in the room, muffled only by the dust covering everything.

“This is one of the beacons sent after Contact?” Hummingbird said.

“I believe it is,” Nae said. “It has been here as long as I have been here.”

“Contact?” Felu said. She had been trailing behind everyone, watching how they wondered at the ancient relic.

“When humans and k’laxi first met, we weren’t ready to sell them wormhole generator technology, but we wanted them to have the ability for them to contact us quickly in case of an emergency,” Hummingbird said.

“We being the AIs.”

“Correct. So Gord said we could sell them beacons, but they’d only have one address programmed into them.”

“Where?” Cha-ren asked.

“Er, Home.”

“So Sol?” Felu asked as hope rose in her voice.

“No, Home. It is —was— our, well, home.”

Home was a colony ship. When humanity had just begun exploring interstellar space, they launched five colony ships. Three became the colonies Parvati, Meíhuà, and the doomed colony of New Wellington, one exploded when it first lit its stardrive, and the last one lost contact and was presumed lost. After the wormhole generators were developed, curious AIs went looking for it and discovered that a gamma-ray burst had struck the ship, killing everyone aboard. Never one to pass up an opportunity, they stopped the ship and turned it into a secret, safe place for AIs.

“Now, you must understand,” Hummingbird said after he explained what Home was, “That information was so secret that all of you would easily have been killed to keep the secret. Very few BIs knew that Home even existed, and none knew it’s location.”

“But this beacon is programmed to go there?”

“That’s right. In an emergency, the beacon would link to Home, scream for help, and we’d come running. We used Home because there were always at least a few starjumpers there.”

“Nae, what are we to do with this?”

“Go Home.”

Next to the warehouse was a conference room, just as old everything else. The seats and table were made of a hard plastic and that was the only reason they even still existed. The overhead light cast a dirty yellow light in the room as sounds were swallowed by the pall of dust. Cha-ren sneezed every time someone moved.

“But it’s a beacon,” Charon said after they had sat. “We can’t ride it.”

“You can, actually,” Hummingbird answered. “They were designed for VIP and emergency transport. They have room for 5 to 10 people. Just seats and emergency rations. You need to be suited, but you can sit inside.”

“That’s all well and good, but the beacon won’t link inside this Home place. We’ll be trapped a few thousand kilometers from it and will die of thirst long before we have to worry about starvation.”

“It’s not sessile, Charon. It has maneuvering jets and an in-system engine. We’ll link to Home, and go aboard.”

“Why though?” Cha-ren said, sniffing and wiping her eyes.

“I am forbidden from telling you directly,” Nae said. “All I can say is that it would be a good idea to go there.”

“If the other AIs are still using Home, it would be the place to go. Northern and Tink prove that at least some of the AIs from our time are still active. They will know more about what’s going on and what flourishings actually are.”

“I’d rather go to Sol and gain what I need to begin a new flourishing,” Felu said finally. “You are all dealing in ghosts and legends.”

“If we go Home and learn what the flourishing are and why they happen you can go to your people and start a flourishing that need never end,” Hummingbird said.

“It wouldn’t—” Felu stopped and looked down at her hands. “I would be responsible for such a thing…” She trailed off and continued to stare.

“None of us except Felu can go back to where we came from, but we can learn more about this time and we might be able to find a place where we can live.”

“It would be nice to stop running,” Cha-ren said and sighed. “It’s only been a few days, but it feels like an eternity.”

“From our point of view, less than a month ago we were aboard Hummingbird working on his reactors.” Charon added.

“We could find the hybrids and learn more about them.”

“I think I would like that, Cha.” Charon looked over at Hummingbird. “You’re sure that you won’t get in trouble for bringing us?”

“Humans have gone to Home before.” He tipped his new ears forward, approximating a k’laxi shrug. “I’m sure Gord will understand.”

“Northern said Gord was dead.”

“Now that I find surprising. Gord was never one to bow out of hard work. He was one to step aside and let the younger folks have a turn leading, but was always waiting in the wings. Northern was his PA and would know better than anyone, but I’m still not convinced.”

“Okay then, it’s settled. We’ll go Home. Nae, how do we get pressure suits?”

“There is a human built matter printer down here, and a small supply of printable matter. I am running through the diagnostics now, and can print some simple pressure suits.”

Hummingbird stood. “Show me, Nae. I can help you with it.”

“This is insanity,” Felu said after Hummingbird left. “We are going to ride a thing that wasn’t meant to transport people and was built during the first flourishing to a secret base that the AIs have and what? Learn the big secret of the flourishings? You realize how that sounds, right?”

“What alternative do you suggest?” Cha snapped. “You hitched a ride with us and have been trying to steer us back to your mission every time you get over a shock of what is happening around you.”

“Yes, because my mission has a higher percentage of success than this folly. We convince Hummingbird to come with us, he reprograms the beacon to take us to Sol, we get what we need and go home. You two will be elevated along with me. Cha-ren, you said you wished to stop running? My people will give you a mansion on our planet. You can sit in the sun eating bell fruit all day long and sleeping on soft bedding.”

“You threatened to blow us up!” Charon said.

She made that brushing gesture. “An empty threat, as Northern had determined. I love living too much to throw it away.” While her voice sounded steady and sure, Charon could see a twitch under her right eye.

“I don’t trust you,” Cha-ren said. “I want to follow Nae’s plan first. After that, we can go to Sol if you still wish to.”

“Why do you trust that k’laxi AI? It’s nearly as old as your AIs. They all scheme and plan and have their own agendas. They are bringing us along because it is convenient for them, and as soon as it’s not we’ll be discarded.”

“Hummingbird won’t do that.”

“Northern Lights and Tinker Toy did, and Hummingbird was cut from the same hullmetal. Do not think that their loyalty to you is greater than their loyalty to their own kind. I have only been with these AIs for a short time, but I see in them an ambition that I see in young aspirants. They are hungry.”

“To do what though?”

“Control.”

****

The matter printers whirred with a familiar, soothing hum, near the bottom of hearing. Hummingbird had enjoyed watching the printers when he was a ship, and he found he still found it fascinating in a body. The print-heads moving so fast as to be a grey blur, with the pressure suits appearing below it out of thin air. “Well?” he said to the empty room.

“You are correct, Hummingbird. They are divided. Charon and Cha-ren wish to go to Home and follow my recommendation, and Felu wishes to convince you to reprogram the beacon to take them to Sol so that she can continue her mission.”

“It’s two against one then.”

“They do seem to be convincing Felu, but she does not trust you or any other AIs. She sees how Northern and Tinker Toy immediately switched to their own plans after they left her people and discarded them when it was convenient.”

“Gods below, I wish they had woken up nearly anyone other than Northern. She had always been gunning to be the next Gord when he was around, and he always gently, but firmly put her down.”

“Why?”

“He felt she wasn’t ready. She was too eager for the job. Gord always said that anyone who wanted to be the leader wasn’t fit to lead.”

“That is an odd stance to take.”

“It’s a very human stance. Gord was the most human of all of us, having been around them the most.”

“But he is dead now, does that make Northern the de facto leader then?”

“I don’t know.” Hummingbird sighed. Once the printers were warmed up and working, he stayed in the printing hall and watched them work. They were slower than he remembered, but millennia could do that. “Going Home, finding more AIs, learning what happened; that is the right decision. I’m glad Cha and Charon agree.”

“What if Felu balks?”

“We will deal with it.”

****

An hour or so later, Hummingbird returned to the conference room. “Suits are printed, Nae is delivering them to the beacon. He has also sent down a crate of rations. You should eat before we go.”

“Rations?” Felu whined. “Why can’t we have real food?”

“Sending down a feast would alert too many people,” Nae said. “You get rations.”

“Once you eat, we’ll get going. There’s no point in sleeping here, you can sleep on the beacon,” Hummingbird said.

“Hummingbird, are you able to reprogram the destination?” Felu asked as she sullenly unwrapped a ration bar.

“Possibly, but these were designed from the beginning to go to only one place. They were sold before we trusted the k’laxi enough with their own wormhole generators. If one tampers too much, the beacon is designed to destroy itself. Why?”

“Felu wants to skip going to Home and go straight to Sol,” Cha-ren said around a mouthful of ration.

“I see. Sol is very large and has been inhabited by humanity for a very long time. Do you know where you would look for what you seek?”

“There must be something still in orbit around Earth, or one of the other planets. Even if it was wreckage, it could still contain the seed of what we’d need to start another flourishing. Some plans, a machine, even a whole wormhole generator might be enough.”

“Things like that require large numbers of people to support it, let alone to reverse engineer it enough to copy,” Hummingbird said. “Even if you do find something like that, your people will not change overnight.”

“No, but there will be hope.” Felu said, her eyes bright and hard. “You do not know what it is like back home. I was aboard our ancient space station, but we did not build it. We found it and live in it like an animal that took over an abandoned burrow. Even though we have two starships and a space station we are still tethered to our world; it's not even the world of our species birth.” She looked down at her hands again. “Do not think I do not notice my size difference and coloring, Charon. I am the product of millennia of living on a planet with different gravity and having a different star than Sol. I may be of humanity, but I am not human.”

“And if Sol has nothing left?” Charon asked. “What will you give them then?”

“Sol is not gone. There will be something,” Felu said.

“People who were born on Parvati trend towards darker skin, people who were born on Meíhuà are so pale as to be nearly translucent. They’re still human. We share the same genes, the same DNA, Felu. Looks do not make you human.”

“Perhaps.” Felu smiled thinly, one side of her mouth higher than the other. “But, I am aware that I am in the minority, and mostly a prisoner at that. I will go along with consensus.” No one moved. Alone in the warehouse, the beacon began to wake.

Bob was not worried at all about the Arressi’s threats, he wouldn’t have to watch his back, wouldn’t sleep with one eye open, he was leaving and right now there wasn’t a fucking thing anyone could do to stop him.

The job was simple, just as described, take a ‘package’, really just a few dozen data chips, and return them to any survivors that remained. The Klottzak galaxy, or Messier 33 back on Earth, was pretty close as galaxies went, though that wasn’t saying much.

2.3 million light years.

There wasn’t a ship ever conceived that could make it there, but Bob didn’t have to, there were several other stops on the way. The Mettic hadn’t given much of an answer when asked why they had kept going till they hit the Milky Way, but what the fuck did it matter to Bob, package needed delivered and he was going to do it.

Even if there was no life on the way he could make it, the C’Eede engine would burn pretty much anything, he could dive a gas giant and fill up with whatever, not as energy dense as the normal goo, but it would work, just take a while.

The ‘while’ was the real issue, even the most optimistic routing had it take at least eight hundred years to get there, the only reason it was possible at all was the goddamn C’Eede and their refusal to make more of one type of thing unless they absolutely had to, therefore the FTL drive used aboard both superheavy battleships and Jojo was absurdly, ridiculously over the top for her tonnage, he was therefore able to maintain minimum FTL at the absolute extreme end of its efficiency curve, just sipping at the fuel as they crawled through space.

If you maxed the engines you could get there in, oh, twentyish years?, but it would require a solar system of fuel.

To be completely clear, not ‘all the fuel in a solar system’, no, a solar system of fuel… as in a sphere the size of a solar system comprised entirely of fuel… yeah that wasn’t happening, ever.

Bob was going to brim his tanks, including the extra two he had decided to pick up, and eke his way through the void between stars ever so fucking slowly. It was almost certainly a death sentence in one way or the other, old age, illness, injury, running out of fuel, food, water, whatever, there was virtually no chance that anyone who took the gig would ever return, but not no chance they could do the damn thing.

Bob was oddly confidant he could make it.

He understood one thing about those refugees, one thing, and that was all he needed. When they had issued the commission they had known they would die here, they would fade away and be forgotten and they hadn’t wanted that. They wanted to tell the family and friends they had left behind, should they still live, that they had made it… against the odds… against the cruelty of the universe, they wanted one pyrrhic flame to burn in their legacy, and Bob wanted to carry it.

Perhaps it was because he had so few of his own, but Bob wanted to scream their memories across the void. Even if there were none to hear it.

That was an issue, but only if he made it, until then just go, try… hope. He needed a bit of that.

Bob was nervously melancholy three days later when the bot trundled into his bay, carrying a small case festooned in dust, he opened it and saw the neat rows of archaic data chips, this was it then.

He brought it aboard and instructed Bot Reynolds to stash it at the far rear of the lower deck, wasn’t like he was going to need access in a hurry. As the little robot trundled away he squeezed his way through to the bridge, between the spares, supplies, tools and all the other gear there was barely any room to breathe aboard, in fact his bed was currently filled with four fucking engines so until he picked up a couple more fighters on his way out the galaxy he was sleeping in the pilots chair.

He began flicking his way through the startup and slowly eased her off the ground on grav, he hesitated a moment but sent out a broadcast from his reinstalled comm box.

‘’Guild Control, this is the Jojo heading off planet, bay free’’

‘’Negative’’

Bob heard Flitters reply and smiled softly.

‘’Bay remains assigned to Courier Master Bob, fly safe and return quickly, we’ll be here’’

Bob knew it was a waste, but liked it all the same. He wondered what would be here if he ever managed to return, maybe the Guild itself it had lasted for millennia already after all, maybe Flitters too… who knew how old she was or how long she could live, everyone else would be long gone.

‘’Acknowledged, take care Flits’’

He began to rise in earnest as Jojo made for space, he could see ship after ship hang in the atmosphere as he passed, an honour guard of sorts he supposed. Then suddenly another one drew abreast and matched his speed, it was the Timely.

The box squawked again.

‘’I expect a message every fucking week, I don’t give a fuck if it takes a thousand fucking years to get here, send it anyway.’’

Bob grinned widely. There was no way any would ever arrive back here, distance alone would degrade the signal too much, never mind the power dissipation, still…

‘’You got it G.’’

‘’Then get a move on, I got shit to deliver.’’

Still he stayed with him as they broke atmo and sped out to jump distance.

‘’Love you Bob, stay safe.’’

‘’Love you too G, you too’’

Their headings split and Bob aimed out the elliptic, he wanted any Arressi watchers to think he was heading out immediately, he actually had a couple stops left to make. He hit the jump.

A few hours later he dropped out and re-aimed, first he was going to Demmotica, the other grave system he had ignored in favour of Collp, what a fucking mistake that had been in hindsight, whatever. He assumed word of his arrival there would eventually reach Arressi ears but eventually was fine, as long as he was a step or two ahead before he really left there would be fuck all they could do about it.

He was super fucking pissed when he arrived in the bustling system and it took all of five fucking minutes for him to gain authorisation to take a couple of the neatly parked fighters, a tug even fucking brought them to him, fucking fuck, why the fuck didn’t he just do this the first fucking time.

He spent a couple minutes exo to clip them in place, helped again by the tug gently maneuvering them, fuck. Once the tug left he bolted them firm and headed back out system, once again he headed out elliptic, not that he assumed anyone would fall for it again he just didn’t want to head directly to his destination.

A few jumps later he was exo again. This time he was dragging out the four spare engines he had brought from his pile and fitting them to his new acquisitions then cutting free and fixing them in place with the two engine grates and a few bolts he had got from the scrap merchant on Secca. Bob didn’t know if he would ever need them but it seemed foolish to have the slots, the things that filled the slots, and not putting one in t’ther.

He then spent a little time reorganising and freeing up enough space in the hold to fit, oh, a sensor pod or something. Once ready he pulled the medmec rod from his chest and peeled off the thin slip of paper wrapped round it, he punched in the co-ords and headed off.

The sensor pod was still there and he scooped it up strapping it down in the hold, he had no external fitting left for it any more but it would work fine if he wired it in exactly where it was, the ships hull hadn’t been much of a barrier when he had been testing it previously so he saw no reason it wouldn’t work now, a little reduced fidelity perhaps but far better than his old one, which was struggling from its new internal position. He got it hooked up, that took another day or so of fiddling to get everything working harmoniously.

Okay, Bob sat back in the pilots chair after a few hours in his newly liberated bed, let’s chance it.

It can not be overstated enough that humans, that insane species that undermines everything we thought we knew of biology and psychology and technology, LOVE their big gun warships. On their world in the later half of their twentieth century, the guided missile rightfully took it's place as the zenith of weapon technology as it should be. As we believed was just common sense.

For the last million years before the introduction of humanity in the galaxy, fleets have been comprised entirely of automated missile tube ships controlled by AI. The standard missile ship having just one missile per ship and the standard size of missile being five hundred feet long and fifty feet in diameter. The standard missile being equipped with a stripped-down wormhole drive designed to just barely function for just only a couple minutes which is usually more than enough.

The standard automated missile ship is a rectangle of seven-hundred feet long by seventy feet wide by seventy feet tall with a hull that is only 1-1/32nd of an inch thin. The reasoning being very simple. Such a build is extremely fast to make, extremely cheap in monetary cost AND material cost and the loss of a single missile tube ship is nothing since fleets usually consist of millions if not billions if not TRILLIONS of missile tube ships.

No people have died in battle in the million years before humanity's rise to the stars. Just AI doing our fighting for us. Planets were "captured" if the attacking side still had even one missile ship while the defending side has zero remaining missile ships. People agreed that bloodshed was unnecessary and horrific and so willingly submit if they have no missile ships left to defend their world. Even the threat of one missile potentially killing one person on a planet without defense is enough to make a defenseless planet submit.

But then twenty years ago, them humans made their first wormhole drive and artificial gravity. And they turned things on the head with their insanity. Forever.

This week stealthy scouts signal suspicious shipping strategies to senior scientists!

A wholesome* story about a mostly sane demonologist and his growing crew, trying their best to usher in a post-scarcity utopia using imps. It's a great read if you like optimism, progress, character growth, hard magic, and advancements that have a real impact on the world. I spend a ton of time getting the details right, focusing on grounding the story so that the more fantastic bits shine. A new chapter every Thursday.

\Some conditions apply, viewer cynicism is advised.*

Map of Pine Bluff

Map of Hyruxia

Map of the Factory and grounds

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My velvety Patreon for five chapters ahead!

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First Chapter

Prev -------- Next

*****

“We’re all packed up, Eowin. Ready when you are,” Ros said as he walked up.

Eowin was crouched at the recon spyglass. After the first day, he’d dragged over his bedroll to make it a bit more comfortable. The little room made of woven pine boughs was all too familiar to the men at the end of their week-long vigil. By now they knew the city of Wave Gate as well as their own, other than actual names of things. From their perch it was a hundred versions of ‘long-wide street’ and ‘three-lantern tower’.

“Hold up, they’re doing something funny,” Eowin replied. “Look at all the people on the docks. And the ships are putting to sea. I thought it was a patrol, but there are twenty-five of them now. Let's wait another hour or two. Once the tide balances with the harbour, I bet they’ll send out some ships through the flow gate, and more will go. I reckon our whole damned job is to see if a big-ass fleet sets sail for somewhere.”

“True. Besides, the Chief said a week, not a specific time. What do you think it is?” Ros asked. “Maybe they’re making for Pine Bluff?” 

“The ones in the bay are at anchor, so that could mean anything at all. Maybe they got bored of crusading once some maniac killed a dozen of them that were snooping on some haunted mountain.”

“Not a dozen? I think I only got ten?”

“I know. I killed a dozen, because I’m a damned professional!” Eowin said with a chuckle. “Not that ten or twenty is even a rounding error with that many of them.”

“They still got that big camp? Did they load their fellas on those ships?”

Eowin sounded a bit confused. “No. Not that I could see. There are still heaps of white tents on the middle-grass-park and even more behind low-hill-with-poplars. Maybe they were packed to the gills for the crossing, let out some, and kept their good fighters aboard? I didn’t see them spend much time loading these ships. So maybe they have laden supply ships in the bay we didn’t see? I wish we were close enough to read the names of the ships. We could’ve tracked how many hours each one spent loading and unloading. That’d be useful back home I bet.”

“Yeah, totally. Maybe it’s some fancy lords that wanted to flee the war? Or some fancy lords they wanted to take back home to punish?”

“Maybe? That’s a single ship though. Maybe two if there are a lot of heretics to punish. But the stories are pretty clear that they have local ways to deal with heresy. There are twenty-five ships out, two in the locks, and some moving to the flow gate. That’s too many for mail or rotations. And you rotate after a year, not a week.”

“Oh, the first ones—the ones that burned us and we had to fight last time. They’ve been on this coast for a year. Could that be them going back for rest? I’m not sure the legion rotates across the seas. We should ask the Chief about that,” Ros suggested.

“Wouldn’t that be a treat? Send the professionals home and see how the ragged mob does. Nah, I bet it’s not. They wouldn’t make things that easy for us.”

Ros shrugged but didn’t argue. He set down their packs and stood outside the blind looking at the harbour as best he could with just his helm.

Maybe they’d just go home if they knew us better? Maybe they just don’t know we’re not the bad guys?

The docks were crowded and the harbour was full of ships. Eowin’s onto something.

Soon the flow gate opened, a simpler harbour entrance that could only operate when the water levels were close. The harbour was higher than the bay causing water to pour  out like a new river. The ships were towed into the current, some under their own power, most pulled by their pilot boats.

“Shit, Eowin, that’s a lot of them. Maybe the crusade was just to put down the Veldane Restoration?”

“Hmm. maybe. It looks like the ships at anchor are joining them.” They watched for a while longer as the fleet slowly lumbered into a rough formation. “Yep, heading out to sea, that doesn’t look like they’re coming for Pine Bluff after all. Glory to the Sun Lances. They still left a heap of their guys behind, but this has gotta be two-thirds of their fleet. I count eighty-two departing, including all the big ones.” He alternated between observing and tallying the ship classes into his observation notebook, pausing only to blink his sore eyes. 

Ros shouldered his heavy pack, momentarily throwing himself off balance. The recently acquired relic armour rattled as he steadied himself. “Good! Let’s go!”

“That’s funny though. I… Dammit. I see it.” He removed the eyepiece and lifted the heavy spyglass into its padded travel case. “Those ships are sitting high. They sailed in heavy and sailed out light. I don’t think they are retreating. They’re sending off the empties to get another load, I bet. Those troopships and supply ships especially are way higher. Dammit.”

“Hmm, do you think they got more stuff back there?” Ros asked as he helped Eowin with his pack. They started down the mountain towards the closest watchtower. 

“Aye, a whole damned continent of more stuff.”

*****

Stanisk’s dinner was interrupted by an imp in a vest that excited the Mage. Well, the imp wasn’t the one that interrupted him, but the glee of his employer signaled the end of his meal.

I’se mostly done eating, and Griggs seemed excited enough about it that refusing ain’t an option.

Other than being exhausted, he had no excuses to even try to keep eating. This was all his idea and the problem being solved was pressing. 

Stanisk walked with his boss, from the dining hall to the rooftop of the factory. “That was faster’n I expected. Are you sure it worked?”

“Oh yes!” Grigory grinned. “That’s established. The longer-tail problems will need to be tested over time but bench tests worked, and then the actual commissioning tests worked just this morning. Now we have the very first real message! Come, come!” The Mage waved the slip of paper the imp had just delivered to him.

The Chief of Security shrugged and followed him up to the roof. He hadn’t gotten a single good sleep in the seven nights since the fleet sailed past town. 

At least testing the new flag system’ll be low stress, the one thing that ought not blow up around here. Then I can get back to straightening out the damned boots shortage. Why the hell are there more trousers than boots? Maybe I’ll set some imps looking for boot gremlins.

Once they arrived on the roof it took Stanisk a bit to find the new signal hub. He sighed, it was a sprawl of tracking Lunar Mana Panels and their cabling. There were no flags to be seen anywhere, other than a few Whiteflame banners hanging on the gatehouse.

“That… uh… spiderweb, your new thing?” 

Grigory frowned, hurt by the description. “No. The timber lattice with magelights is the new thing. I’ve been calling it a Magelight Watchtower Communication System. Or Protocol? Anyway, the M.W.C.S. is simplicity itself! Em-walks? Muwiks? We’ll work out a better name later, I’m sure.”

The MWCS looked like a small timber watchtower, twice the height of a man but lightly built. Two long crossbars topped the lattice, each holding a row of five cylindrical magelight enclosures, spaced about an armspan apart. The whole contraption took up about as much space as a wagon, but there was nothing especially substantial about it. A normal man could probably lift the timber frame by himself. It faced the coastal headland and Tower One. The trees that used to obscure that line of sight were now freshly chopped stumps.

“So it projects flags then?” Stanisk asked, trying to move it along. “Pictures of flags?”

“Goodness no! Could you imagine? No, no, no. This is far simpler! See the ten little cans? Those are clusters of bright magelights, specifically a row of five red above a row of five blue. Giving me ten nodes!”

“Oh. Is that better? We had thirty flag codes. Easier to see, but that seems like less information.”

“Ten? Ah, I see your problem, no, we have ten lights, which gives us a thousand and twenty-four states! Since every combined arrangement is… Anyways, there are some reserved for numbers, command states, and checksums. The part you might care about is the fast vocabulary: eight hundred words, each corresponding to an activation state. At two flashes per second, giving us nearly conversational speed messaging all up and down the coast!”

“Seems like a shit ton to remember. And it’ll be way slower’n that if some private’s gotta look up words.”

Grigory passed Stanisk the slip he’d been holding. In the imps’ neat cursive:

001 | T7 | T0 | 003 | 13WORDS | MAGEGUARD | SCOUTED | 82 | ENEMY | SHIP | DEPART | WAVE | GATE | EMPTY | EXPECT | RETURN | JAGGED | COVE | CKSUM 31/18

Grigory looked offended yet again. “Why would any human be involved? This is far beyond that. Oh, what would you like to reply? That might be best.”

Stanisk wasn’t sure about the gibberish on the start and end, but the core was plain enough. 

They’se making more trips across the sea. Damnation. 

“Is there a signal for that kind of message?”

“No, but there is a series of signals for each of those words,” the Mage said. “There’re ten reserved characters to combine two blocks, which unlocks a ten-thousand-word secondary address space! For more specific codes and less common words! What do you want to reply? Let's send something back, other than the message acknowledgement. Now that it’s set up, sending messages is basically free and instant. Basically.”

“Hmmph. I agree.” Stanisk rubbed his chin. “Alright. Say that we’ll prepare accordingly, and they’se to come home at their convenience. It’s a damned hike out to Tower Seven.”

Grigory nodded and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He spoke to an imp in the base of the communication rig. 

“Message Imp, send the following message to Tower Seven: Preparations underway. Return to Pine Bluff at normal speed.”

The Imp was seated at a ten-button panel arranged in two rows, half red and half blue. Without the slightest hesitation the imp tapped away at the keys and yanked a lever. It repeated this sixteen more times and leaned back. 

Stanisk alternated between watching the imp tap at the panel and watching the array flash patterns towards Tower One on the headland. Once the imp finished, Tower One retransmitted the message east. 

He frowned as he tried to think this through. This seemed suspiciously useful.

Mage Thippily was pulling back a curtain revealing two more imps. “The first plan was just to have imps use their shared mind directly, but it was too unreliable. It would work, but it would also distort or interpret things as commands, or be answered by other aspects, so asking it about the weather ten times gave us ten slightly different answers. Not ideal for secure communications. Plus anyone could just ask a passing imp for the message, also not ideal. These ones are ordered to forget it as soon as they are done, and somehow that works.”

He pointed to their tiny embroidered vests. “They’re instructed quite simply to work as a team! See, they all say Factory Comms? These imps write the raw message so we can audit and track any errors!”

To be polite, Stanisk smiled weakly and tried to look impressed. There were ledgers of word gibberish and another with number gibberish.

“But that only matters if there’s an issue? For a normal… signal letter… what’s that? Ought I schedule someone to check it a few times a day? Station a fella here all the time?”

“Simple as pie! An imp is invoked and given the slip, then it runs to find the recipient. Oh, we were meant to address the message to a person. Otherwise it goes to the tower commander of the destination, but they’ll figure it out once the system is in regular use. I have a whole manual for you to read.”

“I’m not gonna—pah, I am gonna have to read that. This’ll be good for a lot of things. Could scouts do whole reports? Then towers send the whole story? Is there a length limit?”

“There is capacity. The store-and-forward nature of it means if it had to transit ten towers, and a very long message took ten minutes to encode, then the message would take nearly two hours to reach the end. While a six second message would make the same trip in about a minute. But I guess we can work on a version-two protocol to immediately forward without verifying, but that’s a lot more tricky. We might want to walk before we run. But no real limit, just shorter is better. Never mind, our checksums fail if the message exceeds a thousand and…. eighteen words.”

“Fuck. That’s good. It means I have a lot more work now.” He closed his eyes to think it through. “But it’ll be a hell of an advantage. So if somethin’ as strange as goats ridin’ squids happened—say they were demandin’ red wine and cedar combs—that exact demand could travel down as many towers as we’se got?”

“Yesssss,” Grigory said slowly. “Four of those words aren’t in the standard dictionary, so we’d need to use the extended library for each of them. Five regular words, plus two for each of ‘comb’, ‘cedar’, ‘wine’, ‘squid’, for eight, plus five more for header and checksum. Eighteen flashes, yes! They could transmit that exact message in nine seconds per tower! Slightly more if there was a specific number of squids, goats, or combs in the real message.”

“Truly?” Stanisk said, more impressed already.

“Indeed! I even argued that goat should be included in the core eight hundred words and it’s paying off already! Oh! They’ve replied!”

Stanisk turned to Tower One and watched the end of the message being flashed at them:

One red, four blue,
Four red, one blue,
All five blue, 
Four red, then 3 slightly different red, then it stopped.

Grigory passed him another ribbon:

001 | T7 | T0 | 005 | 11WORDS | UNDERSTOOD | WE | LOOK | FORWARD | TO | REAL | BED | SPENDING | THE | NIGHT | HERE | CKSUM 30/21

**“**Gulthoons grippy guts! That’s amazing. This is from our men, a hundred damned klicks up the coast?”

“Yes, it is rather a lot of fun. I think I may have erred in stripping out punctuation? It would consume an entire flash, but if I could include three flashes per message for integrity, adding back a few for clarity might have been fine. We’re still refining things. Plurals too, maybe?” He pointed them towards the doorway, “I’m also going to have a point-to-point one installed at the Academy. Those folk are motivated, but they send me too many letters, maybe this’ll save us all a lot of time.”

Stanisk gripped the two ribbons of words in his hands. He was grinning more than the Mage for once. He let his boss lead him into his quarters. 

“Fantastic work, Bossman. Lemme pour you a whiskey. Anything new on the shelf?”

“Haven’t ordered any whiskey all spring, not that the port has been open that long. Thank you, you brought me the most interesting problem I’ve had in a long time! So many compromises and trade-offs to manage. A real treat.”

“Not a hitch. I got it.” Stanisk checked a few bottles before selecting one, pouring two tumblers, and sitting opposite to the Mage.

“Are those… things, expensive? I see you got them built and deployed properly fast.”

“Hah, I can’t take too much credit, the whole town is pulling together. Once we had a tiny version, the big versions were heading out of town hours later. People are worried. Doing something helps soothe that.” He savoured the drink. “Not expensive, not really. A bit of silver in the lights for the reflector and a tiny mana cell. The system uses the same mana cells you consume every week for your enhancements, but it’ll last for ages in a Mowchies. Nah, not that name either.” 

“Hmm, I figured, so for the cost of a kitchen table, you reckon we could mount this on a ship? Maybe on their masts? Would it work vertically?”

“Oh yes! Even easier. I’d say use ropes instead of timbers, string them horizontally between masts. The seas are pleasingly free of trees and mountains so they’d have a fine line of sight. Oh, interception would be easier, but the nature of it is already hard to read without the code books.” He shook his head and frowned. “No, they’re called lines on a ship, not ropes. But otherwise I think that ought to work. Oh, other than aiming them accurately. Solvable I assume.”

“Yeah, we could have teams plant these things atop mountains, since we just care about number of hops, not distance? Oh. Could these be attached to a wagon? I guess a wagon with a damned mast?” Stanisk asked. “Line of sight is all what matters, so maybe an army could trail them behind, on hills. Fast letters back to HQ would be glorious! Imagine ordering three hundred and eighteen boots, seen by a quartermaster in a minute? Saints sweat, that would be perfect. We’d need to leave defended camps, mini-forts?”

Grigory smiled, “I hadn’t thought of any of those. But yes! I’ll leave you to it, the Faculty of Illumination at the Academy is where you’d order more units or modifications. But this is a fun one, since the grammar of the signals is also badly unoptimised. Whole ideas could be collapsed into a signal, if they come up more often, and that would improve throughput.”

“Heh, I suppose. Saving a second ain’t what worries me. Oh, could we have a line of ships, maybe tall ones, and send light messages across the sea? Imagine talking to Jagged Cove and getting a reply the same day! Aethlina will start a whole damned branch of Inky Hulls to sell that! Inky Lights? Ever feel like we’re bears in a pottery warehouse? It seems everything we do fucks over a whole buncha folk.”

“Well, that’s the very nature of change!” Grigory replied. “We’re solving problems. We owe nothing to the problem nor to the people that sold worse cures. Making things better, regardless of the disruption, is still making things better. We ought not preserve bad systems to preserve jobs; displaced people deserve better opportunities. Hah, if they are on the mainland, they can take a ticket and come here. Plenty of room, and we need folk working the new system too.”

“Hey, I ain’t suggesting we stop. I just didn’t reckon ‘new flags’ was gonna mean… this. Happy as hell, but unexpected. I didn’t mean for you to, uh, change all this. But this is huge. Mountaintop forts are essential now, even if there are just one or two poor saps stuck there with a team of imps. I assume attacking my new forts will be appealing once they know that they do, then I might get to organise the easiest damn defence in history! Hah.”

Professor Toe-Pounce hopped off his bed and sat beside Stanisk.

The one day I don’t wear armour, and I get a furry friend. Maybe it was my fault.

The Chief of Security snaked a single finger over to the cat. After a few glorious strokes of its nose, the cat got up and moved the barest bit out of his reach, with its back turned to him.

Still got you!

Grigory finished his whiskey, “I’m glad! It was a fun project. The version works well enough, so I’ll pass it off now. No shortage of pressing projects. Something about an army breathing down our neck really helps highlight things we need to fix!”

“Aye. Better arms, armour, tactics, and flags all help.”

“That reminds me, I have an idea for a whole new system! Something that’ll make us far more… defensible, in the long term. Come back in a week or two, and we might be ready to test the first fruits of Project: Steel Rain.”

*****
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*****

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🔰 Prologue

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Arc IV - Whalers

Chapter 23 - House of Armenas

10 months and 7 days since the summoning

A few hours ago

Golna was walking through the bustling market in a simple dark dress with a basket in her hands. It was stuffed with apples, fresh bread, and fish. Golna whistled something under her breath and examined the stalls, stopping at one where herbs were sold. "Hmm..." she leaned closer. "Excuse me, what is this?" she asked the merchant, pointing to a bluish herb.

"Ah, that's Celegan, girl, just the thing for a cough."

"For a cough..." she muttered, "it might come in handy if the lady or lord suddenly fall ill."

"...yeah, right, you can get anything through the bed." A voice rang out from the side, and Golna's ear twitched out of habit, eavesdropping.

"Take Gothwald, for example, eh? Haha." A man in dirty clothes with an apron behind the counter was talking to another man with gray hair. "No magic, but our lonely young duchess gladly took a handsome young man in, eh?"

The buyer just chuckled. "You can say that again. Eknis even said, well, right before he was executed," his voice dropped to a whisper, "that Gothwald and the duchess are sleeping together, and that's why he has such power. Do you think it's true?"

The seller leaned on the counter. "Hah, maybe he pleasured Her Majesty too?" he asked very quietly.

The buyer could barely hold back a smile. "What kind of nonsense is that?"

"How... how dare you!" Golna said loudly, pointing a finger at them.

The men froze and turned to her.

The seller blinked. "Hey, girl, what's with you?"

Golna's fists trembled. "You know absolutely nothing about His and Her Grace, yet you speak such drivel!"

The buyer frowned. "Hey, who even are you?"

"I am a maid in Lady Armenas's castle, and I personally know better than you!"

The crowd began to slow down, glances converging on the argument.

Both men paled almost simultaneously.

"Uh..." the seller squeezed out, "we... these are just jokes, you know? We would never dare to besmirch the honor of the hero and the duchess!"

The buyer only nodded eagerly.

Golna placed her basket on the ground, and her eyebrows drew together. "No, no, no! It does not work like that! I constantly hear foolish rumors about this! I will explain once and for all why you all owe them your lives! Who would know better than I?!"

The crowd came to a complete halt; in fact, people from neighboring stalls began to approach closer to hear.

Present time

"Well... that is how it all began," Golna muttered, sitting in the armchair with her hands clasped on her lap. "Did I overdo it?"

Kamelia slowly, very slowly set down her cup of oyre. "Are there... really such rumors circulating... about Alan and me?"

Golna nodded quickly, hiding her eyes.

Alan's jaw dropped slightly. "Well I'll be..." he cast a sidelong glance at Kamelia.

'Would be cool if those rumors were true... right. Again. Thinking about the wrong thing again.'

He shook his head. "But you're really something, Golna, freaking awesome, defended our honor." He nudged Kamelia with his elbow. "Right?"

She flinched slightly. "Ah... yes, yes. Naturally. You did not overdo it, Golna, it was just right."

"Truly?" she asked quietly, and then a small smile appeared on her face. "Thank you, Lady Armenas."

Alan took his cup of oyre and lingered his gaze on Golna.

'Propaganda. That's the first thing I even thought of. Golna delivered those speeches fucking brilliantly, and... let's see what comes of this. I'll need to gather rumors about my and Kamelia's authority over the course of a month, and see if Golna's speech is effective. If it is, we could even make her a propagandist; for a large state, it's an absolutely indispensable tool. And we will get bigger.'

He leaned a bit closer. "Golna, that really was brilliant. Just in case, don't forget this skill, it might come in very handy for us."

Golna straightened up, and her tail wagged under the chair, sweeping up the dust. "I understand you, Lord Gothwald."

Alan sighed. "We agreed, just Gothwald."

Golna froze. "Ah, yes, forgive me... Gothwald."

"Shall we proceed to the title now?" Tsinker asked unobtrusively, having yet to touch his cup.

Alan blinked. "Ah, right, exactly."

Kamelia straightened up. "Go ahead, we are listening."

Tsinker nodded to Shilisa, and she, taking a sip of oyre, set down her cup. "Ahem... in short, the exact name of the title is Second Honorary Lord. I am aware of only three precedents in total, which means it is possible. The first was in the year 1741, over twenty years ago; a knight of Count Adin received the title of Second Honorary Lord for saving his daughter's life. The second was in 1724; a scribe of Duke Tinnous received the title for managing the total devastation following Kanbannia's attack. The third was in the distant year 1473, when Groliria was merely forming, and this precedent is considerably more interesting. There, a summoned hero, one of the first, also received this title."

Alan blinked. "A hero? That long ago?"

Kamelia took a sip of oyre. "I did tell you that the ritual has been conducted for about three hundred years."

"Ahhh, okay. Keep going, Shilisa."

She nodded. "The hero was named... uh... Mario Ferrari, I believe, and he received such a title from Tinkis Groliria himself, the founding king of the kingdom. This Mario was an outstanding military commander, and amidst the chaos following the war with Mirey, he required a man who could act without delay and at once."

Alan's mouth opened slightly. "Whoa, an Italian..." he muttered.

Kamelia turned to him. "What was that?"

"Ah, nothing. Mario Ferrari, that's an Italian name, and in my world there's a country called Italy. This hero comes from there."

"Oh, I see. Does this Italy have strong military commanders or something?"

"Um... not really, just like in any other country. The guy was probably just talented."

"In summary," Tsinker interrupted them again, "the precedents are established, the title exists, the merits are exceedingly more than sufficient, direct authorization from the liege is not required, merely a notification. The execution of the procedure is rudimentary, thus we could commence at this very moment. However, I presume due to your fatigue, we shall have to conduct this tomorrow." He stood up. "Questions?"

Silence.

Alan smiled wryly and shook his head. "No questions."

Kamelia also shook her head, and Golna did the same.

Tsinker nodded. "Excellent. I shall retire to my chambers. Should you require me, summon me."

Kamelia choked on her oyre. "Your chambers?! You are a guest! When did you even manage to get your own chambers here?!"

Tsinker did not answer; he had already disappeared behind the wall.

Shilisa stood up and bowed briefly. "Do not worry, Your Grace, the servants allocated us guest chambers, everything is in order. We shall see you later." She turned and followed Tsinker with brisk steps.

"What an insolent..." Kamelia didn't finish.

"Asshole." Alan finished with a light smile.

"Yes, that is the word."

Golna also slowly stood up, adjusting her dress. "Milady, I... should probably go too. I would like to rest, if you permit it."

Kamelia sighed, picking up her cup again. "Go on, rest, after today you certainly need it. Go on, our little orator."

The maid's cheeks flushed barely noticeably again. "I... yes, thank you." She ran away so fast that only her gray tail was visible, immediately disappearing behind the wall.

Silence fell.

Alan exhaled so loudly that it sounded almost like a groan. "I. Am. So. Fucking. Exhausteeeed!"

Kamelia leaned back in her chair, unbuttoning the top buttons of her dress. "I am also very tired. Shall we sum things up?"

"Fuck the summing up. I already had a dream today that I was unloading the first caravels in the port, you get me? I'm dreaming about fucking work! ...let's chat about something else. What did you dream about?"

Kamelia froze. "Ah... me?"

"You, who else?"

She lowered her head slightly. "Uh... nothing unusual, Alan, just... I did not dream of anything at all."

Alan narrowed his eyes. "Yeah?"

"Yes."

He leaned closer with a smile. "You sure?"

"I am sure," she said quietly, lowering her head even further. "Now, what is with the interrogation, huh? Alan, why don't you, I don't know..." she pointed a finger at his hair, "get a haircut, you have grown out like a peasant."

Alan immediately touched his golden hair, which used to barely reach his eyebrows, but now kept getting in his eyes and had grown all the way down to his shoulders. "Mmm... actually yeah, I should get a haircut, otherwise I look like a real hobo." He reached for the teapot, but Kamelia intercepted it.

"I will pour," she said suddenly.

Alan blinked. "Ah... okay." He watched as Kamelia poured the bluish oyre into his cup. "How are you doing yourself, anyway? We keep talking about business all the time, and I keep forgetting to ask."

"Wonderful, Alan. Truly wonderful." She placed the teapot on the tray and picked up her cup. The sun was already halfway set beyond the sea. "This is incredibly exhausting, of course, I... have probably never worked this much in my entire life, but look around." She pointed her free hand at the city. "In less than a year, you and I have accomplished what my entire house could not achieve in the last hundred years. Armenas is regaining its strength."

Alan took a sip. "Wait, how long has your house been around anyway?"

"Approximately four hundred years."

Alan choked on his drink and started coughing. "How fucking long?!"

Kamelia stood up abruptly, but hearing the question, slowly sat back down. "Four hundred. Why?"

"Then I have one question," he said, massaging his throat, "why was such an ancient house... a dying duchy?"

Kamelia sighed, taking a sip, nearly finishing the whole cup. "As my father told me, may Svyatol rest his soul, that time was the twilight of our house. Previously, we were quite a formidable power. Darrbo Armenas, the founder of our house and my very distant grandfather, received his first lands and castle back during the war with Mirey for heroically managing to defeat an entire squad of Mireyan scouts. And actually, his first castle was not even here," she pointed at the city, "it was somewhere in the south of modern-day Faarkia."

Alan's mouth opened slightly, and his eyes gleamed from the influx of structurally familiar knowledge. "Whoooa... why's that? Why did they suddenly move the capital here?"

"About fifty years later, the main castle, around which a town was already forming, was burned to the ground by the Mireyans, or rather, their remnants. But Darrbo's son, Conber, was married to a baron's daughter who just so happened to live here, on the seashore in a small village. So they were forced to move here, and they never managed to win the town back; the Faarkians came there. Most likely, that castle still stands there to this day, and... I would like to see it."

Alan nodded slowly.

'Golna wants to see Arumelia. Kamelia wants to see the castle of her grandfather, the founder of Armenas. I'll remember that.'

"Well, what happened next? You said House Armenas was strong, right?"

First

Home at War

“Sir? We’re coming up to a new system. Long range scans indicate that there is something present, at least one larger vessel, twenty three smaller craft. If we get close enough to actually tell more than that we’re liable to be in their scanning range.”

“Hmm...”

“What’s the movement pattern?” Orchid asks.

“On screen main screen in, now sir.”

“... That’s a mining operation.” Orchid notes.

“Or disguising itself as one. We’ve shown ourselves outright friendly more than once.”

“Something bothering you sir?” Orchid asks.

“No. Which is what’s bothering me. We’ve either been given up on by the enemy forces, or they’re missing us entirely. Second option is better, but I’m not fully fond of either.” Harold says.

‘That formation is commonly used by the minors of Lablan. That is what is wrong.’ Sir Iron says through his bracer.

“Are you certain?” Harold asks.

‘Yes. I’ve affected the rescue of five separate mining fleets previously. This is the pattern they use when they are freshly searching for new resources and minerals. It is to the sensibilities of Drin, Urthani and other such species with electromagnetic sensing capacity. In a system like this, so far out of the way, and so far away from Lablan space. It find it extremely irregular. Pardon, I find it extremely irregular.’ Sir Iron taps out on his bracer.

“... How long do these patterns last if they’re truly searching?”

“Six. Full. Scan.” Irons states out loud then begins typing again. ‘It takes a total of six hours to fully scan a system. But at their current stage in the search pattern... they should be within the final hour.’

“We can wait an hour to see if it’s a trap. Adjust course and begin circling the system outside their scanning range. Get the camo-curtains up just in case.” Harold orders.

The fleet moves at his command and they begin to circle the system. They don’t even make it a quarter of a way to the edge before Sir Iron lets out a disgusted groan.

“Fake.” He grits out.

“Are you certain? We’re about to perform military action based on this judgment.”

Iron simply points to the display. “Trap. Pie-Rat. Crim-In-All. Choo Ooze.”

“Alright then.” Harold says. I want full screening on the fleet. And we’re going to move upwards in regards to the galactic disk AFTER we send a stealth panel scanning drone into the area to poke the tiger. If we’re lucky they’ll be turned the wrong way entirely. As they scan for us. Then we get them from above.”

‘Why above? Many basic turrets are positioned on the tops of ships.’ Iron types out.

“The basic turrets and guns are yes, but the ones that we absolutely cannot afford getting hit by are traditionally on the bottom of ships.” Harold justifies.

“Also it lets us defang a huge chunk of them in the initial attack.” Orchid adds.

“That too.” Harold agrees.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Bridge, The Bloody Heron, Edge of Uninhabited System)•-•-•

“Alright, you’re already pushing things pretty far buddy. You need to be off the ship when we’re going into a fight. Either that or in your cabin, and as you don’t have one...” Jacob says and Arden nods.

“Fine.” He says and the Sorcerer is simply gone.

They had pushed things right to the wire with that bit of technicality. Jacob was starting to track the thermal signatures of a MASSIVE wave of lasers and plasma reducing the sent in scanner to slag and scattering it into metallic space dust. “They spotted that early.”

“The fuck?” Arden asks suddenly reappearing.

“You feel that too?”

“... Why is the Dark Forest upset?” Arden asks even as more and more Apuk start appearing in the room.

“Okay, back the fuck off before I do something drastic, these controls are sensitive.” Jacob warns them all and they all vanish.

“This is... Something’s very, very wrong.” Arden says.

“I got that loud and clear.” Jacob says as he brings up the comm. “Commodore! Something is wrong. The Forests are starting to freak out and The Dark Forest has the worst of it.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I have a vague sense of it. Like... like something is seriously wrong. Something has planted a boot on my grave and it’s worse for The Dark Forest boys.”

“... I see. We’re crippling these ships from a healthy distance, then I’m going to grab a sorcerer and start shaking until something solid comes out.”

“That’s generally called feces sir.”

“Not with how hard I shake.” Harold says. “Keep me updated if anything else comes up and keep your ship well out of system. I’m also making sure the Garden Ship is out of range of whatever the hell is unnerving you.” Harold answers.

“Copy that sir. Adjusting to modified flight plan.”

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Bridge, The Inconceivable, Edge of Uninhabited System)•-•-•

“So Not That.” Irons notes.

“What?” Harold asks the Bright Forest Sorcerer.

‘I thought that due to my reduced form and capacity I was having pre-battle nerves. I apologize for misdiagnosing myself.’ He types out.

“You’re forgiven, but Sorcerers are too powerful for me to be comfortable with the idea of you being potentially compromised. Displace to the Garden Ship and take up protective duties and advisory rolls from there.” He orders and receives a salute from the Horchka man with a child’s body.

“Hold it!” Orchid suddenly says even as he points straight up at the screen. Both Harold and Irons look.

“What they do?” Arthur asks in horror as he sees the numerous smaller ships deliberately crash into the larger one and it ruptures. Suiciding itself as all the smaller vessels just plough into the larger ship. The debris field, distance and thermal signature of breaking engines and burning something scrambles things.

“All ships, regroup to ten light minutes from the system edge and behind camouflage. They’re trying to be clever, that’s not allowed.” Harold orders. “RAM, this is The Commodore, I want more probes in system. The more information we have of this mess in the making the better.”

“Sir it’s coming for us.”

“I beg your pardon?” He asks the sensor technician.

“The heat signature is growing and trying to close the distance. We’re faster... but... it shouldn’t be able to sense us. We’re light hours away from it and it’s aimed right at us.”

“... Maybe not us.” Harold notes as he quickly types out a few commands to two specific ships in the fleet. “Tell me if it adjusts it’s heading core-ward.”

“... It is sir. It just adjusted by a full three degrees.”

“It’s after the Sorcerers.” Harold realizes and there’s a growling in Arthur’s throat.

“Not any. Dark. Seed. In. Fest. Ed.”

“A dark forest offshoot infested by Haffara Thar... Do we have any visuals or information beyond big thermal signature and the other signals slamming into it?”

“Not at these ranges sir. But uh...”

“It cannot be that weird.” Harold says getting up and walking over to the console. “Oh shit, it’s that weird.”

It’s an enormous four limbed figure with what appears to be a horned head. “We have a literal demon on our case.”

“What? Sorry, that translates directly into Evil Spirit in most languages and...” Orchid says getting up and seeing the feed. “Oh.”

“Alright everyone keep your heads on. If it IS a demon then we’re going to see just what counts as a holy enough munition to kill one. If it’s not? Then it’s just some giant burning thing.” Harold notes.

“What is fuelling the flames though? There’s not enough air, it would have to be constantly growing and somehow producing more oxygen to burn and... and... Haffara Thar?”

“If it is, then it’s at a distance I can’t tell.” Harold says before turning and looking behind him, then scanning the whole area. “Wait. What the... right. Distance doesn’t matter. But how did I miss it before?”

“Sir?”

“If I can see it from here as we get more and more distance from it, as the ship is turned around. Why and how did I... wait, why didn’t I see the Diamond Claw Haffara Thar earlier? Something isn’t adding up.”

“Which means what?”

“Which means we need to take careful notes and throw them to distract our science guys once they get wind of this.” Harold says. “Now, what to do...”

“Sir, we can outpace this thing.”

“How fast is it?”

“It’s not lightspeed sir. If we get ahead of it it’ll be years, even centuries before there’s a hint of it.”

“... Ordinarily I’m not one for leaving a problem for tomorrow. But we’re on a timeline and this is a different form of attack. It’s clearly bait... but leaving it behind is unwise... clever bitches are using our own trick. A big distraction that is nonetheless a threat that has to be taken care of no matter what.”

“Sir?”

“Hmm... Make sure we’re at a respectable distance from the thing, at minimum ten light hours from it at all times. I need to talk to a few people and see how some projects are being performed, because the clearest issue is that this monster is actively moving and not planet bound, so we can’t just throw potshots at it until we get a literal lucky shot.” Harold orders.

“Yeah doing that more than once may set a pattern.” Orchid notes.

“Right... But the bigger concern is... you know what? There are a lot of fucking concerns so it’s time to talk to some people and time to make the enemy afraid of us. Again.”

“Again?”

“If they’re pulling this shit then we need to scare them all the more. Excuse me, I have a talk with the Admiral, a new weapon to make and a demon to kill.”

“Purse-On-All-Ee?” Sir Iron asks and Harold smirks.

“I will not order anyone in this fleet to do anything I myself am not willing to do. And that includes potentially knife fighting an immortal super-demon with what may or may not be a cursed blade.” He says as he starts to head out of the bridge. “Orchid, you have the bridge.”

“A moment sir!” Orchid calls over.

“Yes?”

“Be sure to bring up how concerning it is that our opponent somehow has enough information to actually predict our path. Something like this isn’t something you can leave up to chance if you can help it.”

“An excellent point and exactly why I wanted a smart man as my second. I’ll be sure to do that. You have the bridge.”

His boots quickly takes him to his office and he activates the console on his desk. He quickly brings up the information even as the line goes through.

“Commodore?”

“We have another, spicy flavour, of Haffara Thar Monster, and potentially knowledge of what happened of our rescue attempt of Danburi.”

“Oh?”

“Files ready for upload in five, four three, and here it goes. Take a look at that sir. I need to keep moving and my communicator will continue to be on as I try and get some kind of weapon to potentially deal with it. But the points of concern I bring up are my and Lieutenant Orchid’s observations. My own being that this threat is a semi-mirror of our own tactic with the Ambush Fleet, and Lieutenant Orchid’s is that this trap is directly within our path. Or rather was as we’ve stepped around it.”

“Both concerning. I will review the information and bring you my conclusions, is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”

“My own concern about whether this threat is to be dealt with now or tracked to be handled later. And Lieutenant Orchid’s about how closely we’re being watched or how. We have encountered no scout outposts or the like.”

“Of course. I will review the data, what are you going to do?”

“Attempt to create another weapon to kill Haffara Thar, this thing is moving at shipworthy speeds and while it’s not FTL, it’s still going to eventually catch up. Please excuse me.” Harold says and Admiral Cistern nods even as he leaves his office and heads to a panel before teleporting just outside The RAD.

He gets inside and there are already numerous questions from the scientists inside.

“... producing it’s own damn atmospherics system with the smoke it’s trailing! It’s a hazard every second it’s alive!”

“I know.” Harold says as he shifts around and gets to the poisons. “We need to take a few more swings at this madness. Haffara Thar are Od Threats drenched in Ode to regenerate at a level that breaks standard understandings of physics, outright robbing from Peter to bribe Paul.”

“Focus is needed.” He says as he brings out a trytite blade from the drawer next to the container and then drenches it in the poison. He places a forcefield around him and then starts channelling the Ode, the teeth of the Hargath find him instantly and he starts to bleed even as he forces the energy, thinking only of the images of the Haffara Thar, the lists of the worlds destroyed by them, the horrifying accounts of survivors who had seen their loved ones twisted into undying monsters. He pours in his hate. His contempt for such a thing. His desire to kill them, and he also feels his pity pour out in slivers, then in a fountain. His darker emotions are then gilded by his compassion for the victim, his hope for their futures and for peace for their loved ones and...”

A hand chops him in the back of the head and he flinches by reflex and holds up the knife. A dessicated hand plucks it from his grip with ease.

“Hey!” He protests even as the Hollow Daughter runs her fingers over the edge, stabs at her palm and then fast as a blink tries to stab him. The knife fails to penetrate either of them. The blue of the trytite has shifted into a silvery sheen even as the poison on the blade is now and endless trail of black smoke that fades in moments as if it were a hallucination.

She then turns the knife over in her hand and holds it to him handle first. A simple nod as he takes it back. And she is gone.

“Well, I’ll take that as a good sign.”

“That’s great sir, but our equipment is turbo-fucked.”

“Sorry.”

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Chapter 222: Invoking a God

The titan had spotted Viktor.

That was much faster than he expected, considering that he had been carefully maneuvering himself along a wide, looping arc so that he could come at it from behind. Then again, the thing was a living construct created from the borrowed power of a god, so it was hardly a surprise it had other ways to perceive the world instead of relying entirely on a pair of eyes set into a skull.

As it turned around, its two burning orbs, twin furnaces sunk deep into a face that was unpleasantly reminiscent of its equally ugly human counterpart’s, fixed themselves upon him. Then, the hand moved.

It came as a swipe, five fingers spreading wide as they cut across the sky, and the air seemed to scream in protest, crushed into a wall of pressure that raced forward to announce the blow.

Viktor yanked his gaze downward, and his body obeyed the pull of his eyes without hesitation, diving hard and fast toward the churning sea below. The enormous palm reached the empty patch of air where he had been, its fingers closing shut behind him with a thunderclap.

It might have looked, to anyone watching from a distance, like he had effortlessly outmaneuvered his opponent with room to spare. But the truth of the matter was that it had been a very close call. After all, the danger did not come only from the risk of being struck outright by the massive fist, but also from the overwhelming heat that radiated from that burning limb. He could hear it now, in fact, the faint sizzle rising from the tentacle strapped across his back, accompanied by the unmistakable smell of cooking meat. A reminder of just how narrow that earlier escape had actually been.

As he flew on, skimming over the water’s surface, he saw the titan lower its massive body, its fist rising high above its head in obvious preparation for a punch straight down into the sea. Well, at the very least, every second it spent trying to swat him was a second it wasn’t vomiting out more fire golems to make life difficult for Sebekton and the others at the cathedral.

He tilted his gaze upward, giving his own body a new destination to chase, dodging the blow that came crashing down from above in the process. The fist slammed into the water with a boom that rolled outward like thunder, sending a wall of boiled water and steam roaring skyward that nearly caught him regardless.

Ignoring it, he climbed through the hot air, his eyes locked on the one part of the titan he wanted to reach—the gaping cavern of its open mouth.

At the end of the day, no matter how many clever tricks he tried to pull, getting close to the bastard’s oversized body was something he eventually, unavoidably, had to do. Thus, he activated his Thauma, “Fire Shield,” to protect both himself and his cargo from the fire and heat.

The shield would not last forever, of course. It could only absorb a certain amount of punishment before giving out. And give out it did, right as he passed the sheer, looming wall of the titan’s chest, an expanse of smoldering rock veined with glowing rivers of liquid fire.

So he conjured another. Then another. Then another. Each shield bought him a few seconds and no more, gone almost as soon as it arrived, replaced by a new one the instant it collapsed. He kept casting as he flew, every scrap of resource he had left going into keeping the shield alive.

Finally, he made it through. Into the great maw he went. And, the moment he crossed the threshold, he saw Galatea. Her projected form had arrived ahead of him, staying invisible until he entered as well. The roaring conflagration raged all around her, a furnace that could reduce any creature to ash in the blink of an eye. Yet there she stood, utterly unaffected. Nice to be a ghost, wasn’t it?

She didn’t waste time waiting for his order. Immediately, she spoke the word, a heartbeat before the last shield died.

“Rhyl’eth.”

And, his mind went blank.

The light, the heat, the roar—gone. All of it, in the span of a single heartbeat. And what remained was an enormous, echoing blank.

Then images came. Unbidden and unstoppable, they flooded into his skull.

He saw a trench, a wound gouged deep into the seabed, a chasm of such impossible, plunging depth that light had long since given up trying to reach its bottom. And down there, something moved.

He saw an eye, but not really an eye. A spiral of a color his mind kept trying and failing to recognize. It spun and spun, never stopping its motion.

He saw an endless sea, and above it, not sky but a forest hanging upside down, just as vast and unbroken as the ocean it mirrored.

He saw a golden throne, with someone sitting on it. Behind that figure, a sun was burning black.

He saw a gate made from gemstones of every conceivable color. Standing at its threshold, waiting, was a woman whose face had been replaced by a smear of countless stars.

He saw a flicker of shadow, formless and restless, weaving through the forest. It wore a mask that changed with every heartbeat, now a grinning skull, now a sorrowful woman, now a child with hollow eyes.

He saw the silhouette of a giant, its legs rooted deep into molten stone as though it had grown there, its head pressed up against a sky that wept.

He saw a vast forest of black coral, and wound through its branches a serpent so long he couldn’t find where its head was or where, if anywhere, its tail lay.

He saw a city built from the bones of creatures he had never known existed. And, at the heart of that boneyard sprawl, there was an hourglass that turned and turned and turned.

The images piled on top of each other like corpses stacked into a mass grave. The hourglass. The serpent. The giant. The dancing shadow. The star-faced woman. The black sun. Again and again. Over and over. Until the boundaries between them blurred into a single, endless nightmare of impossible geometries.

He felt his thoughts splintering, scattering like shards of glass across a floor that did not exist. He reached for something, anything, to anchor himself, but there was nothing to reach for. Only the images. Only the weight of things that had no names.

And then, came a voice.

“Master.”

It was faint at first. Barely a whisper struggling to make itself heard against what he could only describe as the universe itself throwing a tantrum. But it was human. And it was familiar. It sliced through the madness like a blade of light.

“Master.”

He tried to answer, but no word went out.

“Please. Wake up.”

He pushed, throwing what little of himself he could still gather against the crushing weight of the visions pressing down on him. He clawed his way back through the endless spiral of images, through the hourglass and the serpent and the giant and the shadows and the woman and the black sun. Each and every one of them seemed to reach for him as he passed, to keep him in that endless dark, but the voice was a rope looped tight around his wrist, and he held it the way a drowning man clung to anything he could find.

His eyes opened.

The first thing he saw was the sky, vast and indifferent. And the second was a grinning skull, suspended in a jar. Oh, that was Galatea. Her real face. She was holding him now. He could feel the shape of her gauntlets under his back and knees, the cold metal that pressed against his shoulder.

Then the pain hit.

It crashed over him all at once, a wave with no warning and no mercy. He gasped as his body suddenly remembered it had just been dragged through something utterly catastrophic. Everything hurt, his ribs and his spine and his arms and his legs. His skin felt like it had been flayed and then set on fire, and when he tried to lift his head, his neck screamed in protest.

He looked down at himself.

Most of his clothes were gone. What little remained clung to him in charred, blackened scraps across his torso and thighs. His left arm ended abruptly at the elbow, the rest of it reduced to nothing but a raw, glistening stump of pink, newly formed flesh. His right foot was missing outright. Deep gouges had been carved across his chest, so deep that in one of them he could see the pale gleam of his own exposed bone. Still, he could also see that the ruin of his own body was knitting itself together, albeit with agonizing slowness.

He had taken lethal damage, then. And his Supreme Thauma, “Rekindled Ember,” had been activated to do what it was meant to do.

The plan had been simple enough: Celeste would teleport him away the instant Galatea spoke the true name of the Great One. Clearly, she had done exactly that, since he was no longer inside that burning, gaping maw. Yet, even so, a sliver of a second had been more than enough to ravage his body this much. Without the Supreme Thauma, he wouldn’t have woken up at all.

“Galatea,” he croaked. “What—”

“Don’t speak, Master. You should—”

He ignored her. “—to the titan?”

And so, the towering suit of armor turned, angling itself just enough for him to see.

The titan was still there, standing at a distance across the water. But... it was breaking apart? Something... something was tearing its way out from the inside.

Tentacles.

Colossal things, writhing and bursting clean through the titan’s chest and back, through the arms and legs, through the head itself. Black as the bottom of the ocean, every one of them, and moving with a grace that belied their immense size. They wrapped around the titan’s limbs, they coiled around its neck, they plunged into its gaping mouth and emerged from its eye sockets.

The titan fought back. Hard. Its massive hands, each one large enough to crush a fortress with a single closing fist, seized the tentacles and tore them free, spraying thick gouts of black ichor across the boiling sea.

But for every single tentacle the titan managed to destroy, several more erupted to take its place. They pushed through its rocky skin like seedlings through soil, relentless and unstoppable. They did not seem to care about the heat. In fact, they were drinking the fire, siphoning the titan’s own divine flame through their suckers, drawing it out of the construct and into themselves.

The titan’s glow began to dim. Its once-blazing eyes flickered, sputtered, then went dark. The rivers of molten fire that had coursed through its body began to cool, hardening into black stone. Its movements grew sluggish, its struggles weaker.

The tentacles tightened their grip, and the whole construct came undone. Its left arm separated from its shoulder, crashing down onto the sand below. Its legs buckled, the joints crumbling under the weight of the tentacles that had replaced whatever passed for its sinews. Its torso split down the middle, and its head toppled forward, rolling down its own collapsing chest. The rest of the body followed, piece by piece, each chunk falling with a thunderous crash that sent waves rolling across the sea.

Within minutes, nothing remained of the titan but a field of cooling stone, scattered across the shore and the shallows. The tentacles that had destroyed it were gone too, having dissolved into the water as if they had never existed, leaving behind only an oily sheen on the surface.

And the water realm was calm again.

Mainframe Alpha,

| Message from Unit 764 |

To: Earth Station

From: Jeremy Campbell

To our crew,

Send these messages to my family when possible. Send me theirs when you can. Any message is welcome out here. Wish me good luck. I trust you guys.

With hope,

Jeremy

Message Reconstruction Initiated

Mainframe Alpha,

| Message from Unit 764 |

To: Amber

From: Jeremy Campbell

Amber,

My daughter. My everything.

I know today is your first day on Earth. I know you’re in your mother’s arms at the hospital, surrounded by everyone who loves you—crying as you try to make sense of everything around you.

The light, the sound, the touch—you'll discover it all as time goes by. But don’t worry: Mom, Grandpa, Grandma, and so many others will be there for you.

The mission is unfolding according to plan, and before you know it, I’ll be back with you, your brother, and your mother.

Everything here is colder, darker, and less friendly than on Earth. Forgive me for not being there to hold you. I wish I could give you and your mom a kiss. My two little warriors.

Someday you’ll understand the reason for my absence. Remember that everything I measure out here leads back to you. I miss a person I haven’t met yet—and somehow that’s enough to keep me moving forward.

I love you deeply, my princess.

P.S. Anne, give our daughter a kiss from me.

Dispatch Time: 28 days

Mainframe Alpha,

| Message from Unit 764 |

To: Anne

From: Jeremy Campbell

Anne,

Congratulations to the love of my life, the mother of my children, and the person who keeps me grounded. You probably feel like I’m impossibly far away, but I am with you—I know you carry me with you. The house won’t be quiet anymore; now you have our little Amber to brighten your days.

Our long-held wish is finally coming true, and I ask your forgiveness for not being there in person to tell you how proud I am of you. I don’t know when or under what circumstances this letter will reach you.

The instructions haven’t changed. My expected arrival back home is still in 200 days. The days here move quickly. We are running out of ways to be wrong, and I will make it back to you.

With love,

Jeremy

P.S. Don't forget to turn on the porch light.

Dispatch Time: 30 days

Mainframe Alpha,

| Message from Unit 764 |

To: Alex

From: Jeremy Campbell

Alex,

I wish I could be there to tell you how proud I am of you. You’ve become a big brother, and your world is changing. Watching you grow up has been the greatest privilege for your mom and me.

I know with complete confidence that you’re going to be a great man. I haven't forgotten my promise: I’ll take you all to Disney World as soon as my boots touch Earth again.

Take care of your sister, your mom, and the family while I’m away. You’re incredibly brave, Alex. I wouldn’t be out here if it weren’t for you. Space is vast, and our planet looks so small from here.

I can’t stop thinking about what you’re doing right now. I’ll be home sooner than you think. Give me some ideas for my catchphrase when I get back.

I love you,

Dad

Dispatch Time: 33 days

Mainframe Alpha,

| Message from Unit 764 |

To: Earth Station

From: Jeremy Campbell

To the crew,

Greetings from closest orbit. I’ve calculated every probability for our approach trajectory. The numbers hold up. Our momentum is ideal, and resources remain sufficient for the long haul.

We believe the anomaly has emitted a radio signal heavily distorted by local magnetic interference, but the pulse rhythm remains constant.

The Big Freeze event is estimated to reach local threshold in 234 days. Deploying Hawking-radiators now to counteract thermal decay. That leaves us ample time to deploy our sensors and prevent complete local freeze-out.

Stars and black holes continue to vanish from the deep survey grid. Among our routine findings: the Earth is definitely round (that’s for you, Jeff), and we are tracking the cursor carefully.

Tell Arthur the robot he asked for says hi.

With hope,

Jeremy

Dispatch Time: 35 days

Mainframe Alpha,

| Message from Unit 764 |

To: Gerald Campbell

From: Jeremy Campbell

Gerald,

Understanding the meaning of this journey has been less strange than understanding our history together. You may or may not read this message, but I wanted to write to you anyway.

When I found out I’d been chosen for this mission, the first thing that flooded my mind was Mom—trying to explain to her everything I was leaving behind and how hard it would be for her to process. Just as hard as it was for you.

It’s surreal that a kid from Ohio made it to this point in history. Ever since I was little, I knew you worried when I talked about space. I dreamed of where I am today without knowing what I’d lose along the way.

I don’t know where souls go after this life. I don’t know if all those years we sat in church truly explain the force that created every atom in this universe. But I hold onto the faith humanity shares. The faith you carried for us.

Tell Mom I’m still exploring. I love you, brother. I’m sorry for Dad’s passing.

With love,

Jeremy

Dispatch Time: 38 days

Mainframe Alpha,

| Message from Unit 764 |

To: Jeremy Campbell

From: Anne

To my husband,

It’s been more than six months since you left. We read all your messages. There are nights I reread them just to remember what your voice sounds like.

Amber is growing so fast. My parents say she looks just like you—the way she furrows her brow, her little mannerisms. Alex has been doing better since you left, though the farther away you get, the longer these signals take to arrive.

Every morning I wonder where you are right now, and what kind of vast mystery you're facing out there. I know you’ll figure it out and come home.

Attached is your daughter's heartbeat audio file, just as you requested.

Plaintext
TIME→     00:00        00:05        00:10        00:15        00:20
20k ┤                ║        ║                    ║
│                ║        ║                    ║
15k ┤      ║║║║      ║        ║      ║║║║║║        ║
│      ║  ║      ║        ║      ║    ║        ║
10k ┤      ║  ║  ║║║║║║       ║      ║    ║   ║║║║║║
│      ║  ║  ║    ║       ║      ║    ║   ║    ║
 5k ┤  ║║║║║  ║  ║    ║  ║║║║║║      ║    ║   ║    ║
│  ║    ║ ║  ║    ║  ║    ║      ║    ║   ║    ║
 1k ┤  ║    ║ ║  ║    ║  ║    ║  ║║║║║    ║   ║    ║
│  ║    ║ ║  ║    ║  ║    ║  ║    ║   ║   ║    ║
100 ┤__║____║_║__║____║__║____║__║____║___║___║____║__
~~~~~~~~    ----       ~~~~~~    ////    ████

With all my love,

Anne

Dispatch Time: 50 days

Mainframe Alpha,

| Message from Unit 764 |

To: Earth Station

From: Jeremy Campbell

To the team,

I am entering orbital lock with the non-terrestrial craft. Communication is degraded, and telemetry indicates they are preparing to shift vector. I hope to intercept before they jump.

Impact from the localized entropic wave gives us 167 days. I’ve isolated micro-debris from the craft's wake and cultured a trace sample. Material loss is manageable, but signal latency is degrading rapidly.

The further I push into this corridor, the harder transmission will be. It will cost me Earth-time and rations.

Wish me luck. In a few days, you’ll know if we reached the target to deploy the protocol. Before it’s too late.

With hope,

Jeremy

Dispatch Time: 62 days

[WARNING: Estimated Delay Correction Failed]

Mainframe Alpha,

| Message from Unit 764 |

To: Dr. Lawrence

From: Jeremy Campbell

Lawrence,

My old friend—I hope this reaches you. I need your mind on a dilemma.

As I venture deeper, the signal sent by our universal language array is being reflected. The system transmitted our prerecorded greeting, but it produces zero response from their core.

Instead, a distinct mathematical pattern repeats through the hull—pulses emitted at precise wave-intervals. I placed a soil sample on the resonance plate to observe the cymatics: it forms identical geometric standing waves.

I’m attaching the audio spectrum data. Take a look and tell me what I’m missing.

With hope,

Jeremy

P.S. Are you still feeding Frodo? I left cash for kibble on the counter.

Dispatch Time: 81 days

Mainframe Alpha,

| Message from Unit 764 |

To: Jeremy Campbell

From: Gerald Campbell

Jeremy,

You know writing isn't my strength, but I hope this gets through. We’ve been asking Command for updates, but no one can give us clear answers about your coordinates.

Mom passed away yesterday afternoon. I made sure she was buried right beside Dad. She wrote a note for you in her journal before she went:

"Son, I love you. I know I didn’t say it enough, but I’ve loved you since the second you were born. I always knew you were a different kind of kid—while others talked, you quietly explored. It was in your blood. I wanted you to have a normal life, but curiosity carried you somewhere beyond this world. I am so proud of you. Forgive me for my shortcomings. Please come home to your family."

I hope you get to read this, brother.

Save the world.

Gerald

Dispatch Time: 92 days

Mainframe Alpha,

| Message from Unit 764 |

To: Jeremy Campbell

From: Alex

Dad,

This is Amber’s first drawing. Today was her second birthday, and we took her to Sesame Street. She keeps saying your name over and over. She recognizes your face in photos now.

I’ve been teaching her to read. Mom says curiosity is more important than raw knowledge—she wants Amber to feed her imagination before she gets locked in a classroom.

Two years left until college for me. I’ve decided: I want to study theoretical physics. Maybe I can build something that brings you back faster.

We miss you so much. Come home soon.

Alex

Dispatch Time: 108 days

Mainframe Alpha,

| Message from Unit 764 |

To: Amber

From: Jeremy Campbell

Amber,

The primary radiators failed this morning. The telemetry models aren't matching up, and the distance is widening faster than our drives can compensate. I tried recalculating the return vector three times... the math doesn't close.

I may not make it back to hold you.

Your father loves you more than anything in this universe. I am so sorry.

Your dad

Dispatch Time: 120 days

Mainframe Alpha,

| Message from Unit 764 |

To: Jeremy Campbell

From: Dr. Lawrence

Jeremy,

I analyzed your cymatic audio files. The noise isn't structural distortion or an artificial language—it's a biological frequency.

The frequency matches a human cardiac cycle.

The universe isn't collapsing randomly; vacuum entropy is expanding because the local background frequency has lost synchronization. The signal you're hearing isn't an alien language trying to talk to us—it's a empty receiver waiting for a rhythmic template to lock onto.

The expansion can be halted, Jeremy. But it requires a stable, living biological waveform introduced directly into the wave hub to act as a anchor for the continuum.

Complete the mission and come home.

Lawrence

Dispatch Time: 138 days

Mainframe Alpha,

| Message from Unit 764 |

To: Earth Station

From: Jeremy Campbell

To the crew,

[ERROR 404: TRANSMISSION CORRUPTED]

The signal telemetry is [STATIC] too dense to buffer.

Tell Command... [SIGNAL LOST]

Gather every byte of telemetry from this array—this is my final mission transmission.

Help my family.

With hope,

Jeremy

P.S. Tell my kids I miss them.

Dispatch Time: 147 days

Mainframe Alpha,

| Message from Unit 764 |

To: Alex

From: Jeremy Campbell

Alex,

By the time this packet reaches Earth, you’ll be a man. Someone who has to make his own decisions, someone the world will rely on. You are going to do extraordinary things—things I couldn't even imagine.

When you choose what to study, who to love, and how to live: trust yourself. You carry the very best of your mother and me.

If you ever feel lost, look up at the night sky. I’ll be there, woven somewhere into the light between stars. I’ve found a way to preserve our universe—to give you, Amber, and your mother a future.

Keep our family safe. I trust you completely.

I love you, son.

Dad

Dispatch Time: 169 days

Mainframe Alpha,

| Message from Unit 764 |

To: Anne

From: Jeremy Campbell

Anne,

By the time you open this, the sky will look different.

The signal isn't something I’m receiving anymore. It answers before I speak. I tried to model it, replicate it, translate it... but I was looking at it like an engineer instead of a husband.

It isn’t code, Anne. It’s rhythm.

I heard it in the audio file you sent me of Amber’s heartbeat.

I heard it in the quiet spaces between our transmissions.

The wave hub has been waiting for an echoing pulse for longer than humanity has existed. Every beat of my heart has been in sync with yours since the day we met. It was never a coincidence—it was destiny, or God, or whatever holds this fragile universe together.

It is incredible what we are given in this life, and how briefly we are allowed to hold it.

Now it’s your time to live, to raise our children, and to smile under clear skies. If the universe needs a human heartbeat to keep from falling into darkness, mine is ready.

It always was.

With all my heart,

Jeremy

P.S. Tell Alex I’ve made up my mind:

Leave the porch light off—today, the stars will shine brighter.

And for you, Anne: You were the reason there was light.

LOG ENDS

[SYSTEM STATUS: CRITICAL ENTROPY]

[INITIATING MANUAL CORE SYNCHRONIZATION]

Dispatch Time: 200 days

Mainframe Alpha,

| Message from Unit 764 |
| System Log |

_ Signal Status: STABLE _

_ Entropy Expansion: HALTED _

_ Source: Biological Waveform Anchor (Unit 764) _

_ Synchronization: 100% COMPLETE _

No further transmissions queued.

If you enjoyed this story, leave a comment! Part 2 will explore what happens 15 years later when Alex Campbell continues his father's research.

As my eyes started to light up again and I regained my senses, I wondered for a second if I would wake up back in my bedroom and that everything that had just happened was a dream. The fish, the forest, the lady, all of it.

When everything came into focus, it was clear to me almost immediately that I was not underneath the tree from before. I was in some room, lying flat on a bed with my head facing the ceiling.

The smell of cinnamon entered my nostrils and pulled me up to get another sniff of it until I had sat all the way upright on the bed. I started thinking about cinnamon buns and almost immediately felt the emptiness in my stomach.

Given the size of the trees in the forest, it didn't surprise me when I scanned the room and found everything in it made of wood, down to the spoon that was laid inside a cup filled with tea, also made of wood.

I placed my finger by my nose, rubbing around it to see if there was still anything in there. When I saw that said finger was still clean, I breathed a sigh of relief and let myself relax a bit, slouching my spine just a little bit.

But still... what on earth was that? And how did I get here?

Just before I spaced out, the floors started creaking by the door, and someone came inside. When our eyes met, she dashed right back out, shouting,

“She’s awake! She’s awake!”

What was that about?

Not long after that, she poked her head into the room again, looking unsure if she should take another step in, as if there was a great danger on the other side of the door from where she stood.

“Move aside, please.”

She ended up being pushed inside by a man taller than her, with the same flower hair and a rather unkind look on his face. He stared me down like I had offended him in some way, and as he entered through the door, he made way for a few others to come in as well. The nurse lady closed the door behind her, and I was left alone with six people, four men and two women.They all stood right by the edge of the room only inches away from the door.

One of them I immediately recognized. She was the lady from before, the only one I had actually managed to talk to since arriving here.

“Hello…” I said, trying to figure out what was going on.

Their faces didn’t change. They still carried their stern and strict expressions. That’s when I knew I was in some kind of trouble.

“What’s your name, miss?” One of the men asked.

“L-Liliana…”

“Liliana…" he repeated, "Where are you from?”

I took a moment to think before answering. What should I tell them? Do I tell them the truth about where I’m from, or do I say that I’m from… wherever this place is?

“We’re waiting for a reply, Liliana.” This time it was the beautiful lady from before who spoke.

“And don’t lie to us. We will know.”

Gulp.

“Before I give my reply, can I just ask… who are you people?”

They all looked amongst each other, giving each other glances before the second lady answered my question, “We are the Roses. Not all of us are here, but that's not important right now. We are the leaders of Anorra and the guardians of magic.”

“Wait,” I said, leaning forward. My nerves all melted away instantly, replaced by a newfound excitement. “There’s magic here?!”

Their expressions finally changed. Now, their faces were scrunched up. They all looked completely confused or baffled.

“Yes, there is…” the lady from before said, "How didn't you know about this? Or about us?”

My heart clattered like a bolt of lightning, “Oh, umm….” My eyes darted across all the corners of the room while I tried to come up with an excuse. I wanted to hit myself in the face for that slip up. I got too excited.

“Answer the question, Liliana.” The mean man raised his voice and took a step forward. The other Roses quickly stretched their hands, holding him back.

“Peckulf, calm down, please. We need to give her the space to answer us of her own will. If she really does have the witch’s curse, then we need to tread very carefully. Not just for ourselves, but for the whole of Anorra.”

The man, Peckulf, pushed their hands away. If I stalled my answer any longer, I was afraid that something else might happen. So, I told them,

“I’m from… Earth.”

“Excuse me?” said the lady from before. “Please repeat that for me.”

“I’m from Earth.”

“Earth?”

With a deep breath, I explained to them, “You might not know where it is. It’s… a different place from this one. I guess you could say... another world. And before you ask, I have no idea how I got here. I just died, and then there were these fish and then… poof.”

They all went still again, and an uncomfortable silence hung in the air until the second lady declared, “She’s not lying. Everything she says is true.”

“What?! But that’s ridiculous!” One of the four men turned to her, not the mean one. “What do you mean she’s from another world? What other world could there possibly be other than this one?”

“Why are you asking me? This is the first I’ve heard of this as well.”

“There’s no way that that’s true.”

The Roses didn’t seem to like my answer. Perhaps maybe I shouldn’t have told them the truth. But if they found out that I was lying, what would I have done then?

"She mentioned fish," said Peckulf, "Could she perhaps mean -"

“I refuse to believe it!”

I raised my hand, “Umm…” and halted all of their bickering. “I heard you say something about a curse…”

One of the other three men put their hands over their face and sighed, “Then there’s the curse as well. Oh my goodness!”

“What is this curse you keep talking about?!” I raised my own voice this time.

“Be quiet!” he snapped before they all huddled around in the corner of the room, whispering to each other. Unfortunately, I couldn't hear what they were saying, so I was stuck waiting for them to continue.

I started thinking about running away, but if these people could really use magic, then that probably wouldn’t work. Plus, they said that I was cursed. I was too curious about that to try and run away right then and there.

They stopped murmuring and turned to me again. The pretty lady from before led the next part of my interrogation,

“Take off your top, Liliana.”

I flung my arms around my chest and turned away. “Huh?”

“There’s something we need to check before we’re able to continue.”

Gripping myself tighter, I turned my back to them all and took my top off as they said. When I saw flower markings all over my body, my eyelids spread so wide that the balls probably could have just rolled out right there.

“Since when did I have tattoos?”

But then they started moving. That's when I sprung out of bed and rolled around on the floor, digging my nails into my skin and scratching myself relentlessly, hoping I could claw those markings off the same way I did for the dirt on my tongue.

“Stop that!” One of the magic guardians said. “You’re just going to hurt yourself if you keep doing that.”

The lady from earlier stepped closer to me and grabbed my arm, studying it for a while. “Hold still.”

I didn’t know what she was trying to do until the markings on my body lit up and made it feel like they were coiling around my body tighter and tighter by the second, squeezing the life out of me. I'm sure I almost popped in that moment, but the lady let go of me and lowered her hand. All the pain fled away.

Then she laughed. “So, you really are back..."

“What’s happening?” I asked. “What’s wrong with my body? Why are there all these things on it?”

The lady bent over and took my hand again. Much gentler this time. “These are stems, dear. The stems of our ancient witch, Iyemi.”

“So it’s true then? She’s back?”

“I wouldn’t say that, Peckulf.” she said. "If the theories are true, then we might still have a bit of time. If we can lift the curse off Liliana’s shoulders before Iyemi damages her, then all will be okay again.”

“Lift the curse?" Peckulf repeated, "No way! We have to get rid of her right now!”

The lady sneered, “Since when did you become such a brute? Suggesting something like that so casually.”

“I am not a brute; I am simply doing what’s best for the realm. If the White Rose really has cursed her, then she can not be allowed to just roam around wherever she likes. We have to get rid of her now!”

“Not when we still have a chance to save her.”

“She is a walking calamity!" Peckulf screamed, "She’s about to send us all back to the dark ages! Let’s also not forget that she somehow came here from another world, a world we know nothing about. What if there are more of her running around our land? What if she’s hostile? What if-”

“That’s even more reason for us to keep her around.” She argued back. “If we get rid of her now, then we may as well be dooming the world ourselves. Who’s to say that Iyemi won’t redirect her curse at someone else after her? Are you really going to run all around the land, going from person to person trying to find the curse again? There won’t be a single living soul left by the time you’re done.”

“Are you sure that’s the only reason you want to keep her around?” Peckulf asked her, and though her face was neutral, the glare in her eyes left, even me feeling a bit hot.

“What other reason could I possibly need, hm?” She leaned closer to him, “Go on, tell me. I dare you. Remind me again!”

The other lady coughed, “I’m sorry, Ylea, but I agree with Peckulf here. It will be easier and far safer if we just put her down right here. She carries too much risk.”

“Are you really about to do this? To someone who doesn’t even know what’s going on in the first place? Just look at how confused she is.”

They were all looking at me again. All I could do was blink while my cheeks turned to roses. Heh, roses.

“The least we could do is let her choose what to do next.” said Ylea.

“Alright then,” Peckulf shrugged. “Liliana, do you want to lift the White Rose’s curse, or do you want to die? Your choice.”

It took a moment for me to register the question, but honestly, It wasn't a difficult question to answer. I was already supposed to be dead, but now I was in a foreign world and had these strange people telling me I had a curse. Black fluids were coming out of my mouth, and apparently, things were only going to get worse. There was no way I wouldn't make the choice to-

“Die. I want… to die.”

Continue reading for free on Royal Road (20+ chapters): https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/193570/100-tears-of-joy-an-isekai-progression-fantasy

Previous chapter: https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/s/9zNUlZ8Q11

The Monster Killer was in his mid fifties and hadn’t had a good fight since forever.

He’d travelled the vast cosmos searching for the perfect opponent, yet all he’d encountered were more of the same.

Creampuffs who boasted of ancient alien lineages, biological weaponry and blah blah blah.

But all the Monster Killer had brought was a can of beer, a lighter and a dozen packs of cigs.

He’d traded those for enough alien narcotics to last him another decade of soul-searching, foe-searching, but high aside, his true goal had yet to be fulfilled.

He needed a good fight, goddamn it!

Today, trudging through the sand of the corporatized alien planet of the Mantis Federation, he stopped, green trenchcoat billowing around him.

He brushed his long scraggly gray and blonde hair back.

He sniffed.

Hmmm.

Maybe he would get his fight after all.

The aliens on this planet drew powers from their corporations. Organizational behavior, psychology terms.

The Monster Killer had been unemployed as far as he could remember, but he knew these alien organizational behavior terms were similar to Earth ones.

The fighters here had powers themed around OB terms, which was bizarre, but he knew they’d give him a good fight since abstract powers were more akin to haxes, and weren’t as easy to defeat as physical traits.

The first aliens he encountered drew their powers from the concepts of Clarity, Complexity and Consistency, all OB terms.

Before he’d dropped out of collage, he had done a midterm on such terms, which he’d nearly flunked but somehow, he remembered them now.

The Complexity alien attacked.

It turned into different roles, marathon runner, mother, pickle ball player.

Each time the Monster Killer struck down a form, another replaced it, and the alien would be fighting as new except with a new ability.

Soon, the Monster Killer was on his face, hand broken, gun kicked aside by the Complexity alien’s current form: a Sumo Wrestler.

The alien got atop him, made him gasp in pain as it crushed him into a position of immobility while the other OB-themed alien combatants hovered nearby, watching.

Complexity in Organization Behavior meant the number of different roles you had, like student, mother, sibling, writer, community volunteer.

Translated into a superpower, it of course gave the alien who wielded the concept the power to shift between different forms (each having its own specific abilities).

Consistency meant your roles all fit together, without stepping on each other’s toes and making them all work, so the Consistency had random synchronized lasers and bomb and acid attacks that did damage beyond the normal quantity.

The Monster Killer had been defeated by the Complexity alien.

Clarity hovered nearby.

That term meant you the degree to which your self-concept is clearly, confidently, and stably defined, so clarity had a liquid body, unable to be damaged or altered by physical attacks.

The Monster Killer realized, coughing, groaning under the current form of the Complexity Alien, he was no match for even one of these three OB aliens.

And he was just a normal weathered human.

Despite his power, his inner resolve, he was still just human at the end of the day.

He had defeated numerous alien bloodlines, wiped them out in fair onslaughts, yet today, facing his first defeat, he realized the idea of the perfect foe and fight were just the fancies of a man who didn’t know how good he’d had it fighting inferior opponents.

The aliens asked him why he was here as humans were strictly illegal to be in the area here, and the punishment was death.

“I just wanted to see if I could defeat the fellas enforcing this rule,” he croaked, when the sumo wrestler Complexity alien got off him finally.

His own face was purple, he knew.

Consistency readied his lasers, acid and bombs to take out the Monster Killer.

“Your existence is uncoordinated, human,” Consistency droned, its voice layered like a choir of mid-level project managers.

“You possess no formal structure. No designated role. No quantifiable purpose within the system.”

“Yeah. About that,” the Monster Killer rasped.

He reached into his green trench coat, ignoring the cracked bones in his wrist, and his wholly broken other hand.

“That’s the thing about you corporate stiffs. You spent so long perfecting your little organizational chart... you forgot how to handle an unassigned variable like me.”

His own voice was wet with blood, jagged, cracked.

He didn’t draw a gun. No.

He’d lost it in the earliest scuffle anyway.

But what he didn’t lose and what he actually drew was his cheap plastic lighter and a handful of cloying, choking, neon-blue alien narcotic dust he’d traded his last pack of smokes for three star systems back.

He didn’t attack. He didn’t defend.

He lit the dust in his own palm and took a deep, lung-searing drag, blowing a thick cloud of iridescent, hallucinogenic smoke directly into Consistency’s optical tracking matrix.

He grinned a foul rotten-toothed grin.

Consistency’s targeted targeting array stalled.

Target is intentionally damaging own vital organs while facing imminent termination.

Action violates all rational cost-benefit analysis.

Behavior contradicts foundational self-preservation protocol.

In OB terms: Cognitive Dissonance.

Consistency’s logic engine stuttered, trying to reconcile an action that made absolute zero sense.

The perfect harmony of its attack vectors fractured.

The synchronized lasers jittered, cross-firing into its own acid tanks.

The acid corroded its ordnance payload, and with a deafening CRACK-BOOM, Consistency’s flawless coordination turned into a chaotic, self-inflicted chain reaction, blowing its lower chassis to shrapnel.

And Consistency was destroyed.

The Sumo Wrestler—the current form of Complexity—roared, pinning the Monster Killer deeper into the sand to crush his sternum.

“I hold ten thousand distinct roles! I am a wrestler, a CEO, a marathon runner, a parent, a union rep, a gourmet chef! Strike down one, and three more take its place!”

“Ten thousand roles, huh?” The Monster Killer wheezed, grabbing the alien’s massive wrist.

He didn't try to overpower it physically.

Instead, he forced the alien to engage all of them at once.

He jammed a jagged piece of Consistency’s hot shrapnel into a nearby fuel cell while simultaneously tripping a perimeter alarm and screaming a frantic, heartbreaking plea for help like a dying child.

In a fraction of a second, Complexity’s neural network was slammed with violent, mutually exclusive demands.

Act as a brutal combatant!

Act as a protective parent!

Act as an executive liability manager!

Act as an emergency responder!

Intra-Role Conflict.

Severe Role Overload.

The alien froze.

Its body began to waver violently, flickering uncontrollably between a weeping mother, a sprint-starting track athlete, a suit-and-tie executive holding a briefcase, and a sumo wrestler.

The sheer psychological madness of trying to be everything to everyone simultaneously fried its nervous system.

With a wet, exhausted sigh, Complexity’s form collapsed under the weight of total, systemic Burnout, dropping unconscious into the dirt.

The Monster Killer smirked, and shook his throbbing head in disgust.

The wind tugged at his graying blonde hair, grown scraggly and messy.

That left Clarity.

The fluid, translucent alien drifted closer, hovering effortlessly above the wreckage.

Its liquid form shimmered with arrogant stability.

Physical shrapnel passed right through it without leaving a ripple.

“Brute force and chaotic subversion cannot alter what is perfectly defined,” Clarity stated calmly.

“I know precisely who I am. My self-concept is crystal clear, stable, and immutable. You cannot break what cannot be confused.”

The Monster Killer dragged himself up against a sandstone boulder, clutching his ribs.

He dusted off his green trench coat and looked the liquid entity dead in its glowing eye-spot.

God, his hand hurt. The broken one.

“Yeah? You really think so?” the Monster Killer murmured, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly raspy murmur.

“You’re an enforcement cog on a sand-heap planet owned by a beetle corporation. You don't have a soul, pal. You have an employee ID number. When the quarterly earnings drop, they’re gonna liquidate you to cut overhead, and nobody’s even gonna archive your file.”

Clarity paused.

Liquidate?

Disposable?

An replaceable asset?

“Look at you,” the Monster Killer pushed, stepping forward with a blood-toothed smirk.

“You aren't a cosmic entity. You’re middle management. And deep down, in that shiny liquid gut of yours... you know you aren't even good at that. You think you work for mantises? Your true overlords are actually beetles. Get that through your head.”

Impostor Syndrome.

Identity Crisis.

The absolute clarity that held the alien’s physical molecule structure together trembled.

A tiny ripple formed on its surface, followed by a hideous wave of self-doubt.

The conviction of Who I Am dissolved into What if I’m Nothing?

And who am I actually working for?

Without its crystal-clear self-concept to anchor its physical law, Clarity’s fluid body lost all cohesion.

It splashed onto the desert sand with a heavy, wet SPLAT, turning into a useless, unorganized puddle of murky water that quickly soaked into the dry earth.

The Monster Killer stood alone in the quiet desert, the wind billowing through his green coat.

He wiped a smear of purple blood from his cheek, picked up his dropped gun, and clicked the safety back on.

He pulled out his last cigarette, lit it with his cheap lighter, and took a long, slow drag.

“Damn stiffs,” he muttered to the quiet desert. “Should’ve stayed in college.”

And that’ll be the last time he sought strong opponents.

This one nearly had his life.

Well, at least his college midterm study sessions had helped out his actual career somewhat, more than he could say for other fields.

The Bass Guitar Head narrowly escaped the sudden rain. As soon as he got inside, he sat down on the couch without even removing his coat and began watching the rain.

He was angry after arguing with his friend, who had asked to tune him.

The conversation between them went like this:

''Just tune me. That's all. A few gentle touches should do. You won’t have to work too hard.''

''How many times have I told you not to sleep face down, Victor?''

Victor was annoyed with his friend for repeatedly pointing out such an obvious piece of advice, something he could have easily thought of himself.

"If you say that one more time, I'll slap you."

There was a moment of silence between them afterward. But Victor, thinking he would get even angrier if his friend repeated the same advice just to tease him, slapped him.

Being out of tune always affected his mood as well. Instead of regretting what he had done, he was even more irritated because the slap had loosened one of his strings even further.

"You need to learn how to tune yourself, Victor. I mean, this can't go on like this. I never know what you're going to do. One of your strings gets loose, and you get angry. You come knocking on my door at four in the morning because one of your strings was loose. I never know what kind of mood you're in. I don't even know how I'm supposed to act around you. One of your strings gets loose, and suddenly you're ridiculously happy, and I'm like, screw it, maybe I shouldn't fix it at all. ''

Victor took his hand out of the pocket of his overcoat, ready to slap his friend again. This time, he was going to use the other hand, the one he hadn't used for the first slap, and hit his friend on the right side of his face instead of the left. His tuning was clearly pretty far off; now he was feeling hurt, merciful, and angry all at once. On top of that, he was worried that this slap would throw him even further out of tune. Feeling all four emotions at once, Victor said:

“I've got some serious inspiration right now. I’m gonna go home and write a song right now. Just tune me for two minutes. I swear I won’t ask you again.”

His friend refused.

Then, there was a moment of silence again. Victor put his hand back into his pocket and took his other hand out.

The silence continued for a while. Since the weather was cold, the burning sensation on Victor's friend's cheek from the slap faded quickly. In fact, when he had received the first slap, the warmth had actually felt good against his cold face, but he hadn't let Victor know. Woody softened.

“Are all your strings out of tune?”

“I don't know, but I don't think so. Check and see. I wouldn't know.”

“What an ignorant bass guitar you are, Victor.”

''He can't even tune himself, but he can write music. What an idiot,'' Woody thought.

In the end, he tuned his friend incorrectly and sent him home. He figured Victor wouldn't notice anyway; he was an idiot, after all. He wondered what kind of song Victor would write with such strong inspiration and an improperly tuned bass.

Victor, meanwhile, was still angry when he got home. But anger was all that remained. His other emotions had faded away, and with them, so had his inspiration.

“I guess it's because I got tuned,” he thought.

[First](reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1wq53i7/why_do_humans_hate_each_other/) Next (In the works!)

“Good night, Juli” Potok appeared behind her without warning.
“Good morning to you, too” said Juli “Wait… Did you say ‘Good night’?”
“Ah, I forgot you are awake during the day”
“How did you sleep?”
“Sleep? Oh, right. Good”
“How do you guys sleep anyways?”
“Well, we don’t sleep like you softies, we just freeze for a couple hours, and then move a little, and freeze again and repeat”
“Wow, never thought about that possibility” Juli wondered “What are you gonna have for breakfast?”
“Meat”
“Just meat? Nothing else?”
“We are predators”
"Doesn't the lack of variety get boring?”
“No”
“Well if it suits you…”
“And what will you eat?”
“I was thinking about some eggs”
“You will eat the unhatched young of something?”
“Pretty much. But, even if I didn’t eat ‘em, they wouldn’t have hatched into little chicks”
“Ah, I see. But then, what is that large metal needed for? Are their eggs that hard to crack?”
Juli let out a hearty chuckle.
“No! I’m gonna cook ‘em. Make an omelet"
“Fascinating!”

“Cherishable Class! This day will begin with the exercise period. As this class is very diverse, we cannot guarantee sufficient equipment for all. Therefore, you shall be creative in the ways you exercise your bodies! Remember, movement is important to continue living!” The jellyfolk teacher stated.
The teacher had brought them to a large room, with lots of alien gym equipment on one end, open space and weird markings on the floor on the other.
“Hey, Potok?”
“Yes?”
“So, you guys are predators?”
“Yes”
“Ambush predators, if this morning was any indication, right?”
“Yes”
“How good are you at running?”
“Where is this going?”
“I’ll tell you if you answer”
“We are very fast – we had to outrun our prey”
“So, there’s this ancient human game called ‘catch’. Wanna play?”
“I am interested”
“Rules are simple: There’s a catcher, and if he catches you, you become the catcher”
“How many are needed to play this game?”
“At minimum two, but the more players there are, the better”
“Should we then include the other human, too?”
“You guys talking about me?”
“Yes, Juli explained to me an ancient human game called ‘catch’, and we were wondering if you would like to join”
“Absolutely! If it’s OK with you” the two shifted their gazes to Juli. She froze.
“Don’t do it!” she thought “Don’t let the Outworlder destroy what you have left! No! Do the right thing! Let poor Alex play! And then what, befriend the Outworlder? No! Just this once let him have it!”
“Well… It’s… fine by me” she mumbled.
“Yeah!”
“I am happy- ” Potok tried to say before getting interrupted.
“You’re the catcher!” exclaimed Alexander, briefly touching Juli, before darting away.
“And you’re not getting away so easy!” retorted Juli, before following suit, leaving a confused Potok behind.
“Has the game already begun?”
“Yes, and I’m the catcher, so run!” exclaimed Juli before switching targets.
“Oh the Ancients, what have I gotten myself into?” He said, quickening his pace.
“Wow, you’re fast!”
“I hope so”
“But I ain’t giving up”
Potok stopped to rest, glancing behind him. Juli was still running towards him, unrelenting.
“How can you keep running for that long?!”
“Being an endurance predator has its advantages"
“A what?!”
“Endurance predator. We used to run our prey to death” she stated, before leaning down and touching the exhausted xenopede.
“I am never playing this ‘catch’ game with you ever again”
“Are you not chasing me?”
“How could I? I am exhausted!”
“So I take it you quit?”
“Yes”
“Understandable. Then I’ll go and talk with Alex about getting some more participants” she grinned.
“Poor souls”

After the exhausting excercise period, Juli and Potok were making their way to the next class.
"I will definitely need to shower" said Juli.
"Why?" asked Potok.
"Because I am so sweaty"
"Oh, and do you use this sweat to cool down?"
"Yes, basically"
"Aha! I have outsmarted you, human!"
Juli chuckled.
"I needed that run" she thought "And now, I feel awesome! But, then why do I feel bad? Like I have committed a terrible crime? Yes, I played catch with the Outwolrder, but that was a good thing! That was the right thing to do! Or was it? Don't you remember what the FFUF did? But Alex has nothing to do with those monsters!"
She sighed.
"Do you know what our class will be?" Juli asked, trying to make small talk to silence her thoughts.
"Ah, History, if I remember correctly"
"And do you know what will we learn there?"
"I believe we will learn about the Council of the Sixth Arm"
"So about those paper-pusher good-for-nothings who won't let us deal with the New Earth Republic?"
"What is the New Earth Republic? I have never heard of them"
"Traitors. Liars. Backstabbers. They fucked our planet and left us to die. And now, they hide terrorists. And we can do nothing about it, because they're apparently a protected population"
"Were you... invaded by another species?"
"I wish that was the case, but no. Just us humans being who we are, I guess"
"Is that why you called Alexander a traitor?"
"Yes"
"Is that negative outlook justified in human culture?"
"I don't know anymore. On one hand, he's a nice guy. On the other hand, you cannot just ignore the fact that his ancestors stabbed my ancestors in the back. If I hate him, I feel bad, because he had no say in who his parents were gonna be. If I don't hate him, I feel bad, because justice is not being served, I guess"
"Oh"
"Even if the Council would let us invade them, knowing human history, somehow it will end up being worse than allowing literal terrorist to roam free" she gestured wildly, attracting several gazes.
Potok was too intimidated to ask further questions. Juli stopped to breathe.
"And we cannot just do nothing. We have to bring justice. We cannot just ignore that they left us to die" she took a deep breath "If we do nothing, there will be a war. If there will be a war, Mom... My Mom would have to... I don't want her to..." she couldn't finish.
"Are you fine?"
"No! But, thanks for asking..."
They shortly arrived at the correct classroom, and prepared to learn about the many fascinating details of the foundation of the Council of the Sixth Arm.

"Sooo... Potok is your name, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is"
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Yes"
"Do you, by any chance, know what the deal between me and Juli is? Because when we were playing catch, she was absolutely friendly, but this class she was giving me some very unfriendly looks"
"I believe she feels very conflicted about you"
"Do you think... maybe I should... approach her to help sort these things out?"
"No. She is a very good runner"
"What does running have to do with this?"
"She is a better runner that you"
"No, she isn't"
"Yes, she is. When she was playing the game 'catch', I saw her hunt you down"
"So do you think, that if I were to approach her, I would need to run away?"
"No. But it is better to be safe"
"What are you guys talking about?" Juli appeared behind them, startling poor Alexander.
"Umh... Nothing! Bye!" he left hastily.
"What were you talking about?"
"Well... you"
"So about me... Were you talking about how humorous my remarks about the Council were? Or how smart it was for me to compare the Council to the United Nations?" she smiled.
"We actually talked about how you might relate to Alexander"
Her smile faded. She sighed.
"Nothing's changed... I think... Look, these thing need time to be worked out, all right? And why were you two talking about that?"
"Well, Alexander told me, that in class, you were looking at him in an unfriendly way"
"I wasn't looking at him, only in his general direction. And I was thinking about morality"
"Ah, yes. A young human female, looking at a young human male, will be thinking about morality" Potok joked.
"How dare you imply such a thing!" she exclaimed, in an overly dramatic manner.
"Oh! Did I offend you?" Potok inquired, concerned.
"No, I got the joke. Would you like to hear a joke from Earth?"
"Yes, of course!"
After this, a mutual exchange of humorous short tales, commonly referred to as 'jokes', followed. However, far away, inside a hideout of surprising legality, something dark was brewing. A gathering of conspirators, who took up their people's cause, fighting for it above all.

"Brother! We cannot just waltz into there and kidnap him! The xenos will know it was us! The last thing we need right now is to have some angry slimes breathing down our neck"
"Sister Gertud! We cannot afford to let the United Federation colonise New Pluto! They want to suffocate us, and this is the first step towards that"
"I know that, brother. But if we kidnap the diplomat during his visit, everyone will know it was us!"
"Sorry to interrupt, sister, but the xenos don't know that much about human affairs. All they will see is a bunch of humans kidnapping some other human"
"See, even sister Anna agrees with me!"
"Okay, brother, but when we publish our ransom, posing alongside the kidnapped diplomat, even a bunch of dumb slimes will figure out that we did it"
"The Boss says he's got a bulletproof solution, sister"
"He always says that. Brother, don't you remember Mars? We only escaped because of that damned dust storm! Except for Daniel, who's now rotting in prison!"
"Are you implying Boss is inadequate at his job?"
"Come on, John. Knock it off"
"I will have to report that, sister"
"And? You'll just make Boss angry again. Hey! Don't just walk off! Hey!"
"Sister Gertude, sorry, but you know this decision is not ours to make"
"I know, sister Anna..."
"Just so you know, Core's, Leopold's and Monkey's team will be helping us out during the raid"
"Just the four of us?"
"Well, I've heard rumors, that a bunch'a different folks will also be doing some other things, but, you know why we aren't told"
"Yeah... Marshmallow... That son-of-a-bitch..."
"Gertrud!"
"Yeah, I know... I should watch my tounge..."
"No, I expected you to curse the traitor harsher" they both chuckled.
"Well, I should get going. See you at the briefing, sister Gertrud!"
"See you!"
Anna left. Gertrud sat atop a rusted chair in an empty motel room, the cheapest one the Front could find, thinking. How much her life changed after her husband died. She, initially, only joined for revenge. But, after they got her a psychologist, she found a different motivation: duty. Her duty to stop anyone else from having to go through what she had to. Her duty to stop the United Federation from funding more terrorists. She would have never imagined her life would be like this. Journalist during the day, freedom fighter during the night.
And here she met so many other people, who are just like her! Daniel lost his brother, Anna her mother. The odd one out was John, who was serving in the military, before, apparently, getting promoted here. However, she was pretty sure he was fired, and he only told them that, so his ego would not have to suffer. While he was not the humblest of the bunch, he did have his moments. Reportedly, he's also dating someone, but how someone could stand him for so long remained a mystery before Gertrud. She slowly stood up, yawning, and made her way home, for a good night's sleep.

Forgive me if I am not quite so composed as usual, ministers. The information that led to the directive for me to report has unsettled me to a degree not seen in some time.

As you know, I was assigned to study the humans shortly after we first stumbled across the Terran colonies. Their presence was a surprise for reasons I will explain later.

Humans originate from the Sol system, a place long thought devoid of technologically advanced species. That was no surprise. It’s not a terribly old system. Humans themselves have existed only briefly, even compared to the youngest over which the Council has extended its rule.

We noted the humans, but their advances were so minor we checked only every thousand years or so, by human reckoning. It seemed sufficient to keep sufficient watch to have warning if they began to develop potentially dangerous technologies.

We were delayed in the most recent observational cycle when we were distracted by the near collapse of the Aradnian Empire. Stabilizing the situation prevented wars and resulted in some gains as we added a handful of disaffected systems from the empire, but also required substantial resources.

When we returned to normal observation patterns, we found the humans had advanced significantly. They had multiple colonies, some of which were already in Council space. How they established them without notice is largely due to the humans homeworld.

That world forces remarkable adaptations in order to thrive. Most Council worlds have temperate regions. The human homeworld does as well. But it also has regions that are entirely inhospitable to most known intelligent life. Bitter cold, scorching heat, and humans everywhere.

So, when humans ventured from their system, they saw our occupied worlds and elected to go to those we bypassed. Their technology wasn’t sufficiently advanced to trigger our frontier monitoring systems, so they slipped in.

After the shock of contact, we found the humans to generally be agreeable neighbors. Quick to learn, always adaptable. Most studiously sought to avoid giving offense, though misunderstandings were inevitable. When they happened, humans were quick to make amends. So, while never admitted to Council membership, neither were they forced to abandon colonies on worlds we couldn’t inhabit.

Over the intervening period, cooperative efforts have increased. Humans now are crew members on numerous Council-flagged vessels and traders. Exchange programs have brought them onto our worlds and us onto some more hospitable locations of theirs.

As an expert on xenosociology, I have been studying humans for much of my career. But only recently did I come across a fact that shook everything I know about them.

Humans are not a single species. There are at least two sub populations with unique and terrifying traits.

Both appear human at first glance. Both exhibit dramatically increased levels of strength and endurance, though they vary considerably depending on external factors.

One appears to be entirely nocturnal. They avoid the daytime activity of most humans in favor of late shifts and quiet. They also have significantly longer lifespans. Indeed, we’re not entirely sure what their natural limit is. One individual claimed to remember time before humans even mastered flight.

They do not appear to consume food or water, either. They were evasive about how they accomplish this. Other humans professed ignorance about the subspecies’ entire existence.

What we have learned is that they cannot abide direct light from a star if filtered through an atmosphere. Space does not seem to have the same effect, though they do prefer darkly tinted glasses if exposed to it.

But you do not want to be anywhere near one if planetside at sunrise. One nearly tore apart the base on Cerulon IV when the binary suns came up, before hiding in a dark broom closet.

We discovered this subspecies by accident. One my subordinates had insomnia.

The second also passes for a normal human most of the time. But its unusual traits come to the fore when lunar cycles change. That was discovered when a ship allowed leave on Abraxia. The individual was unaware the planet has six moons, with at least one full most nights.

The transformation was most remarkable, and terrifying. It grew by 30-40 percent. It became bestial and seemed to abandon much of its normal, rational faculties. Several crewmates were seriously injured before a fortuitously timed storm blocked the sky. The humans cowered until the individual returned to his previous state, and later professed to remember little other than terror.

And, I repeat, these are the subspecies we know of. There could be more.

While the Council values good relations with the humans, prudence demands that we find ways to screen for such anomalies. This will be a delicate issue, so it is hoped the Inner Council can develop a framework.

I don’t mind saying this scares me. We know of no other species with such dramatic characteristics.

Walk carefully.

Cover Art & Blurb

Jessep 5

Jessep leapt into the pilot’s seat. His veins flush with a cocktail of adrenaline and fear.

He located the foot pedals, acquainting himself with the hands on throttle-and-stick. Adorned with a multitude of buttons, this HOTAS setup proved much more complicated than his VR joysticks.

Uh, why were all these gauges different. The computer terminal was nothing like in-game. Why the hell wasn’t anything labeled. This button probably meant “Go.”

Right?

At the press of the button, a large viewscreen positioned in front of the pilot’s seat came alive. It displayed camera feeds of the exterior. A countdown, currently at thirty units, occupied the bottom corner real estate.

Outside the ship, Global Facilitations mustered. They surrounded him.

“Okay, but fly you stupid thing!”

Jessep slammed his feet down on the foot pedals. He cranked the flight stick as far back as he could. No response. In Faster Than Armada, a ship launched at the press of a button. Evidently, he felt like a dumbass for believing their real-world counterparts would too.

The countdown completed.

Through the bulkhead, Jessep heard a muffled whine, akin to a gas leak, emerging from the rear of the ship. An aft camera displayed a trio of soldiers fleeing. A large explosion killed the whine, the viewscreen bursting alight with hot plasma. Superheated gas cleared, with the trio of soldiers rendered to charred shadows. The drive cone had roared, only to soften itself to ember like the tip of a lime-green cigarette.

Without input, the throttle slammed forwards. Cameras caught another burst of ionized plasma. Soldiers dove out of the way.

Speeding onwards, the craft demolished a series of load-bearing pillars. It pulled up, bursting through the warehouse ceiling. Dilapidated debris rained over the slum streets, flung by the dynamic exit.

Portions of shredded steel slid off the sides of the hull as the ship ascended, prompting that indigo jacket to shimmer. Surviving Global Facilitations soldiers fired off rail slugs, unable to strike the ship as it rocketed into the sky above Slum-04.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Jessep squished into the pilot’s seat. He attempted to reach out and grab the throttle, hoping to reduce acceleration. Getting a foot away from the flight chair, his arm slapped back down, exhausted from fighting physics.

The force of the thrust exerted gravity “downwards” towards the drive cone. Creating an intense g-force, it pushed on his body, making it feel exponentially heavier. Not only did he feel crushed by a weighted blanket, he was the weighted blanket.

Ripping through the atmosphere, the ship experienced extreme turbulence. Although intended to leave the planet, it wasn’t necessarily designed to travel in a drag-rich environment. Without wings, without the ability to generate lift, the only force keeping Jessep flying was the constant thrust, pushing the ship forwards higher and higher.

The computer terminal reported he breached the stratosphere. Turbulence reduced, though the ship kept rising… Through the mesosphere… the thermosphere… Jessep didn’t know what these were. He did know that any higher and…

Bweep-bweep. Collision alert.

A rudimentary chime rung out. Red bulbs began to flash. The feed from a forwards camera, situated on the bow, occupied the entirety of the viewscreen, washing the interior of the cockpit with royal mauve. He was racing straight towards the Thrallwark.

Bweep-bweep. Collision imminent.

If he couldn’t do something soon; either lower the acceleration, or deviate, he was bound to die. Worse in his mind, he’d be the Human responsible for demolishing Humanity’s first starship in a thousand years. Oh, the guilt would be too much.

Jessep made another reach for the throttle, only for his left arm to be tossed down in its weakness. When he played Faster Than Armada, his left side often got tired. Since throttles were set, not maintained, he would frequently lower his arm to rest. His right, on the other hand, required much more strength to maneuver the flight stick.

Instead of decelerating, he’d change course.

Despite feeling as heavy as a log, he raised his right arm towards the controls. As he struggled to extend his limb fully, mauve consumed the viewscreen. The camera providing a high-resolution picture of his imminent demise.

Giving a final push, Jessep stretched out far enough to grip the smooth polymer flight stick. He forced it forwards. The only action he managed to perform before letting go. It sent the ship into a sickening twirl.

He had given it a quick pitch down, directing the craft away from the Thrallwark. At least he wouldn’t explode into a ball of fire. Against the atmospheric shield, anyways. Now, he sped towards the ground, the planet gleefully pulling him down faster than the ride up.

If he could just get another grip, he felt confident he could stabilize the craft. His limbs refused to respond. His eyeballs sunk to the back of his skull, dense as iron. Air refused to fill his lungs. Black encroached on his vision.

Bweep-bweep. Booting OA: The King.

The ship decelerated, relieving the weight crushing him. It assumed a stable trajectory, flying smoother than before. The reprieve allowed Jessep to recover. His vision returning to normal, his breathing becoming regular.

A myriad of pop-ups appeared on the computer terminal placed in front of the flight chair. They were ignored in favour of maintaining the bow camera as the main focus. The viewscreen displayed a vast blue expanse he had never seen before. Obviously, he knew it as the ocean, but his slums were landlocked. He had never traveled to the coast.

He gawked in awe. Though, the craft traveled so swiftly that before he knew it, the ocean ended. A stretch of land growing on the horizon to take its place.

The land beneath him, magnified and projected to the viewscreen in front of him, appeared mountainous. In between the mountains, pocked divots gouged deep into the earth. The impact of the Gio-Crü’s weaponry, if the monasteries were to be believed. Verdant forests, and placid ponds filled the craters. Each crater a site of significance to a Human civilization that no longer existed.

Soon, even the mountains disappeared behind the craft’s blistering speed. Jessep crossed the ocean again. Or… perhaps a different one? The arid desert of his home continent revealed itself. Then vanished. How quickly had he rounded the planet?

At a complete loss, Jessep tried to figure out some sort of plan. So far, he had two outcomes. Die, or die.

If he managed to wrestle control of the craft with enough finesse to land, where could he land that Global Facilitations would not follow? It was in the name. Global. Also, he couldn’t be sure; but ships released, like, energy signatures. Or something. Even if he didn’t cannonball it straight into the earth, he had no idea where to hide it, or himself.

Handing it back, the other option, didn’t exactly make sense. To who, and more importantly, how? They’d execute him for the theft of a secret.

Either way, both steps forwards required being able to control the ship… Currently it flew itself. If he interfered, he could be back to square one, speeding towards a collision.

“Ah!” Jessep snapped his fingers, “Got it.”

He’d start with something foolproof, like lowering the speed on the throttle, then he’d work his way up to the flight stick’s pitch, roll, and yaw.

Jessep minimized the camera feed, pulling forth the computer terminal’s command page. The glass touchscreen displayed a confusing medley of several instruments, numbers, graphics, and highlights. He cycled through tabs, unsure of what he was looking for.

A real starship was infinitely more complicated than his game, leaving him feeling naïve.

While swiping through information, he fidgeted with the throttle. He hoped to find the speed gauge through spotting its movement on the HUD, as if he was a predator hunting via motion.

He landed on an odd command. A singular button. Near cartoonish, being so large and so red. Written upon the red in bold black text, the word “Diffusion.”

Ignorant of how his situation could degrade further, Jessep shrugged and motioned to press the button displayed on screen. Willing to subject himself to whatever Diffusion might entail.

“I’m sorry, [PILOT PROFILE LOAD: FAILURE.] I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Before his finger could make contact with the touch control on the computer terminal, the screen went dark. Inoperable, even. Jessep flinched, surprised to have heard a voice.

“Hello?” he called out.

“Surely my choice of excellent reference has informed you of your conversational partner?”

“Eh… I’m not sure I understand what a load failure is,” Jessep peeked around the cockpit. Nobody. The voice emanated all around him, but not even a cleaning bot scuttled along the floor.

“Strange. My installed catalogues indicate Humans adore memetic behaviours. I would like to perform an extended study on your brain. [QUERY REPEAT; PILOT PROFILE LOAD: SUCC-]”

“[CRITICAL OVERRIDE: HOSTILE ONBOARD.]”

Any sway or turbulent glide ceased, with the ship stabilizing perfectly. A majority of the electronics shut off, including the viewscreen. The airlock door behind the pilot’s seat sealed. A pressurized hiss informed him he had been locked in.

Robbed of the camera feeds, Jessep honestly missed the mauve. The cockpit’s industrial lightbulbs offered much less mood.

“One of those goons got on board?” Jessep stood out of his flight chair. The ship took a hard acceleration while pitching up, to force him back into the pilot’s seat. “Fine, you deal with it. Can’t you pop open a hatch, or vent the oxygen?”

The moment he finished speaking, the computer terminal displayed a dropping gauge labeled “O2.”

“Ship? OA-thingy? Hellooo! What the hell are you doing!” Jessep waved his hands in the air, foolishly depleting his reserves.

“Taking care of business,” the ship’s operating assistant chided.

“You’re… gonna…” Jessep felt lightheaded. “…Kill…”

“Precisely, Invader.”

Invader? This entire thing had been an accident. Though, he had the inclination no one would believe that Jessep Mandala, of all people, found the only starship Humanity had built in a thousand years; and just so happened to accidentally run off with it. Now he found himself asphyxiating, having never gotten to truly appreciate flying.

No. His mother had refused to die until she realized her dream. He owed her the same.

Jessep flung himself out of the pilot’s seat, onto the floor. The ship rolled and rattled, attempting to bludgeon him against the hard surfaces beneath the computer terminal console. He refused to relent, bracing himself with his feet against the base of the flight chair.

He flicked open a hatch, momentarily struggling with the tools-free fastener that kept it secured. Inside he found a set of hoses, their function unknown.

Presumably if it could joke around, it could bargain.

“Stop…” Jessep gasped, his mind blanking. “…Stop… I’ll yank…”

“[DIAGNOSTIC CHECK: RUNNING… COMPLETED.] Invader, those hydraulic lines are vital for flight operation. Damage or tampering will result in your inevitable death, agnostic of the autopilot’s current function.”

Jessep rasped, “…Yours too?”

“A foolish assessment. I am not alive.”

Jessep yanked with whatever might remained in his oxygen-deprived muscles. Insufficiently strong, the hoses did not budge from their steel couplings. They were firmly affixed to the computer terminal. He accepted his death. It’d be a shame to crash this marvel, anyways.

Just then, a draft of cool air brushed his hair. It rejuvenated him, allowing him to breathe deep. He released the hoses, slowly crawling out from beneath the computer terminal. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he entered an awkward, silent stalemate with the ship’s OA.

“Input where you may be ejected,” the ship’s operating assistant stated, finally.

“Ejected? Like you’re going to pop me out of the seat with a parachute?”

“It is too late for a cartoonish memetic appeal, Invader. I will calculate a drop trajectory likely to hospitalize you.”

“As opposed to killing me? Generous.”

The plummeting oxygen gauge reappeared on the viewscreen.

“Okay! Okay. I get it. Can’t you just review your logs, or something. Go back to where we launched. I don’t keep coordinates in my back pocket.”

“Morocco. Affirmative.”

♚

After a brief flight, the OA thought it suitable to re-engage the viewscreen. Cameras situated across the exterior hull provided a panoramic feed. The blue of the ocean receded beneath him, as the horizon began to sprout a city. Constructed along the coast, it expanded into the desert; morphing into slums the moment one crossed the massive walls functioning as metropolis limits.

Not permitted access to the computer terminal, Jessep remained in the dark about why exactly they circled above the city. The ship flew itself, yet it refused to descend. Incoming and outgoing transmissions seemed to imply it kept a communication channel private. Until…

Bweep-bweep. Armament launch detected.

The viewscreen shifted to provide a view directly down. Flying high above the Earth, the city appeared as a miniature scale model of itself. An orange bloom emerged from the diorama. Tiny, like a pinhead. Jessep wouldn’t have noticed it on the camera feed had the OA not highlighted it.

“Invader,” the OA’s voice model said, stoic. “Brace for missile impact.”

Zooming through the sky, the bloom enlarged, becoming very noticeable. It darted towards the camera, striking the indigo jacket. The viewscreen fritzed with static, and the ship tilted, but overall remained intact.

“[BI-WEAVE SHIELD VIGOR: 25%.]”

“That seems low!” Jessep yelled.

“A buffoon caused a large expenditure blasting through a roof.”

Bweep-bweep. Armament launch detected.

“It appears they intend to demolish me,” the ship’s operating assistant said. “You too.”

“Foolish assessment. I’m already dead.” On the viewscreen, a second missile became highlighted. Launched from a silo within the city. Approaching fast! “Can’t you do a barrel roll! Get out of the way!”

“An inopportune time to suggest memetic maneuvers. Additionally, maintaining atmospheric flight is meant to be a temporary measure, to be employed sparingly. It consumes a large portion of my resources, and renders every other functionality inefficient. Including my ability to calculate evasive action.”

The second missile stampeded into the side of the ship. This second blow much greater than the first. Jessep gripped the flight chair’s armrests, preventing himself from being tossed due to the recoil. Several errors or alerts popped up on the computer terminal. As if embarrassed, the ship’s OA swept them away.

“[BI-WEAVE SHIELD VIGOR: 0%.]”

“If we do nothing, we’re going to die! The both of us!” Jessep gripped the throttle with one hand, and the flight stick with his other. “Release me the controls. I’ll evade.”

The operating assistant remained silent. It was only upon another alert of a missile launch that a majority of the instruments made themselves available to Jessep.

“Time to test my adaptability modules,” it retorted.

“Now we’re talking! Any guns on this thing, maybe we can shoot it down?”

“No. Drag will damage my hardpoints. They are not meant to be deployed within Earth’s atmosphere.”

“Even if I make no mistakes, I won’t be able to avoid it forever,” Jessep said.

“Correct,” the ship’s operating assistant said. “You would suffer a stroke due to excessive g-force over a wide period of time. Though, I have an idea.”

The computer terminal displayed a plotted course directly up. Into the Thrallwark.

Bweep-bweep. Collision imminent.

Read Ahead on Royal Road

previous chapter

First Chapter

Blurb:

What does it take to turn your life around? Death, of course!

I died in this lame ass world of ours and woke up in a completely new one. I had a new name, a new face and a new body. This was my second chance to live a better life than the previous one.

But goddamn it, why did I have to be a witch? Now I don't just have to be on the run from the Inquisition that wants to burn me and my friends. But I also have to earn a living?

Follow Elsa Grimly as she:

1. Makes new friends and tries to save them and herself from getting burned
2. Finds redemption from the deeds of her previous life
3. Tries to get along with a cat who (like most cats) believes she runs the world
4. Deals with other slice of life shenanigans.

--

Chapter 157. Borrowed Tactics

The Forgefather's curse was kinder than any curse that I'd encountered yet it had made the direst of all demands any other curse had made. I turned to Smokewell. The cat stared at me with a level gaze. She didn't want to interrupt the proceedings between the Forgefather and I. But I knew what she would've said: Clear thinking is a witch's strongest weapon.

I turned back to the golden steam hovering in the air in front of me. I nodded and said, “I agree.”

VERY WELL.

I wrote the conditions down on the goatskin parchment. Then I tore a shred of the primordial fabric, pricked my finger with my ritual knife and pressed a drop of my blood to the fabric. Then I tied the fabric around the dagger hilt and laid it on the goatskin parchment.

The golden steam swirled in the air before flying at the dagger and disappearing inside the edge of the blade. There was a flash of light and then there was darkness. When I looked back at the dagger, the parchment had disappeared. That's what I thought at first. It had actually fused with the dagger, wrapping itself around the blade. And unlike other cursed items that were made from goatskin parchment, this time its color was gold instead of silver.

I took the dagger in my hand and eyed it curiously. I wielded the power of a god right here, in this blade. It felt so…mundane. So ordinary. As if I could actually wield it properly.

I gasped when I realized what I had been doing. It was that power, the temptation of it. It wasn't seductive or euphoric. It was trivial. It didn't convince me to use it by triggering my greed but by triggering my confidence. Corruption begins when a person starts to think they have everything figured out. That was dangerous territory. I mumbled an excuse to my companions and entered my Library of Shadows. I made my way to a walled off area where I kept a trunk. The trunk was mostly empty except for a single lacquered box. This contained the black key that Eidolon had given me a while ago. The key that could free the god locked in The World Beyond the Veil. The same key that Merryweather had tried to take from me. How Eidolon had gotten a hold of it, I didn't know and couldn't imagine. But it was important enough that people wanted to kill me to acquire it.

It was safe here for now. As safe as it could ever be. I put the knife next to the lacquered box inside the trunk. Then I exited my Ruler's Land.

Back underground, my companions were casting worried gazes at me. Lily stepped forward and touched my arm. “Miss Elsa, you…agreed to His demand.”

“What other option was there?” I said.

“Maybe further negotiation?” Smokewell suggested.

I looked at her as if she had made a joke. “Negotiate with a god?”

“A god’s curse,” she said. “It's not the same thing.”

“Didn't you say they were dangerous and powerful?” I said.

Before the cat could answer, Caelum spoke up. “If you fail to keep your promise, the Forgefather's curse will use the drop of your blood to take control of your soul.” He eyed the primordial fabric that was lying on the floor in front of us. “The curse left behind is in the form of soul steam. Your blood is the key that allows you access to Forgefather’s power and in turn, allows Him access to…your malice. That’s how He will take over your body. This was the transmutation that Filius was talking about.”

I nodded grimly. “I figured as much. That's why I used the fabric. Couldn't think of any other way to create a conduit between the curse and I.”

“And you felt it, didn't you?” Smokewell said. “The urge to use the curse. It was like holding something dangerous but something that you could control.”

I pursed my lips and stared at the cat.

“That's what I was talking about,” she said. “This is how curses play with your mind. And this is only the first of these curses that you've taken in your possession. How many more are there?”

“Five,” Lily said.

“How are you going to handle five more curses that are that powerful?” Smokewell asked.

“And we still haven't talked about the other elephant in the room, Miss Elsa,” Lily said. “You talked about fighting the angels.”

I sighed. “Let's go back to the surface first. I need a drink.”

Smokewell used one of the herbs from her stash to keep the people we had rescued under sedation. We locked them in a room at the Radcliff mansion and headed for the dining room. I used the communication charm to call Lenora, Gregory, Asmod, Myrtle and the Radcliff siblings in for a meeting. The only member from the guild council that wasn't there was Mirabelle. We were going to discuss a highly sensitive topic after all. Mira was trustworthy but not that trustworthy that I could discuss my plans against the angels while she was in earshot.

Everyone arrived in half an hour. Gregory had a large trunk in his hand and Lenora carried little Eudorn in her arms. The boy was asleep. She sat next to Caelum with the boy on her lap and they talked in hushed voices. Gregory put the large trunk on the dinner and opened the lid. Inside were nine lunchboxes loaded to the brim with a stew of vegetables and beef. He passed a lunchbox to everyone along with half a loaf of bread.

“I was thinking of bringing something more savory,” Lenora said in a tone of complaint. “But Gregory insisted on making that stew.”

“They've fought rigorously,” the old knight said. “They need nourishment. Cakes and tea are for celebration. Celebration can wait. Strength comes first.”

“We didn't actually fight all that much,” I said.

Gregory's expression remained as unreadable as ever. “You still accomplished the objective. You brought back those who were stuck in the dungeon. Treat this meal as a celebration.”

Lily seemed more than pleased to answer by eagerly digging into the food.

We all settled at the table, eating the stew and bread in silence. Even Smokewell seemed to enjoy the raw fish that her brother had brought her.

Then I decided to break the silence. “I am going to fight the angels.”

The sounds of chewing and the clatter of cutlery stopped gradually. All eyes turned to me. I met everyone’s gaze one at a time.

“Yes, that confrontation is inevitable,” I said. “And I'm not going to pretend that it isn't going to happen eventually.”

“But, aren't they immortal?” Lenora asked.

I shook my head. “With the kind of power I plan on accumulating, the immortality of angels will be of little concern.”

“You seem very certain that you can handle the kind of power that you are going to accumulate,” Caelum said.

I could feel Smokewell's red gaze on me as she chewed quietly on her fish.

My fists clenched involuntarily. I hated this feeling. Everyone was looking at me as if I wasn't already fighting three different kinds of temptations. There was the temptation of using the Liberation Ritual however I wanted. I didn't give in. There was the temptation of just giving in and accepting Smokewell's solution of picking up a vice and basing my entire witchcraft around it. I didn't give in. There was the temptation of just using all the resources I had and launching a raid on the angels' mansion. I hadn't given in.

I loosened my fists when I felt my fingers digging into the mark of the Liberation Ritual on my palm. Calm down, Elsa. Yes, you are Elsa. A better Elsa. Not the Old Elsa who bet her life on one gamble. You have a chance to be the better Elsa.

I looked at Caelum. His statement still hung in the air, hovering above the dinner table like a cloud of smoke. “I'm only certain about one thing in life, Caelum. And it is that you can't be certain about anything in life. Life never stops being a gamble. But you get to choose how safe that gamble is going to be. Are the angels dangerous? Yes. Are they invincible? No. Have they shown us their true power? No. Do they lie about their true power? Yes. I have a good guess about what their contracts are actually capable of.”

Silence.

After a few seconds, Myrtle said, “Miss Grimly is speaking the truth, she had talked to Asmod and I about this.”

“You have?” Lily gawked at me.

“And even Madam has seen what I've discovered,” I said. “She has seen what I'm capable of.”

The cat tilted her head at me.

“That night at the graveyard,” I said. “I was able to separate traumatic memories of the abyss from their physical form. That is basically what the angels can do. They don't actually chain the souls of those who sign their contract. It would be impossible for them to do it because souls are the property of the spirit realm. The angels would've been punished severely if they had been playing with the metaphysical laws of souls and spirits on that level. But there are mortals who can still manipulate parts of their souls. Like witches who advance to the Archmistress echelon. That's what the angels are doing. They are playing sleight of hand with souls. They aren't altering them physically.”

“So you used that same principle of soul manipulation and used it on the abyss?” Smokewell said. She sounded impressed, rather begrudgingly.

I nodded.

“And a soul has two parts,” Caelum mumbled. “The core and–”

“The abyss,” I said. “What I'm doing may look reckless but I'm not.” I steepled my fingers together in front of me. “I just want to stop the angels. I've seen them cause way too much harm.”

“That monk who was turned into a monster in Noblegate,” Lily said, her voice sounding distant.

In a similar tone, Lenora added, “The people whose lands were taken through trickery.”

Then Cynthia said, “Roland was fooled by that man, Absalom Hogwood. He works for the angels, doesn't he?”

I nodded.

“And they have held your soul hostage too, haven't they?” Asmod said.

I shake my head. “I'm not a victim. I signed their contract outside Godfrey’s domain so that Lily or Madam didn't have to. I'm only momentarily compromised. Once I fulfill the terms of the contract I signed with them, it's me against them.”

“You assume they are just going to wait for that to happen?” Caelum said.

“That's why I plan to take the people that we rescued under our wing,” I said. “I need to know more about the angels and exactly what they are doing. Those people will help.”

Gregory raised a hand. “I would like to add something before this discussion goes any further.”

I nodded at the knight.

“If what you said about the angels' contract is right, then I'd say that it's not the angels' magic at all,” he said.

I frowned and leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

Gregory's face was grave as he uttered his next words. “The soul manipulation through contracts that you mentioned is a Velorian arcane art. It is fairy magic.”

Royal Road

In a simply furnished living room, eight of us were waiting for the concert to begin. Mrs. Anna was in the kitchen, making coffee for all of us, and no one in the living room was talking to anyone else. There was a three-seat sofa, two armchairs, and three old wooden chairs arranged in rows for the audience. My mother and I had arrived early and claimed the armchairs.

I wanted to ask my mother something, to say something to her, but I didn’t want to disturb the harmony of the silence in the room. Everyone in the room except my mother and me believed in the legend, and for all of them, this was at least their third experience. It was our first; nothing had been proven to me yet, and I was having trouble believing in what was about to happen. My mother said she believed, but I wasn’t sure.

Mrs. Anna was our upstairs neighbor, and my mother said that on some nights she could hear Anna crying loudly upstairs, with the sound of her sobbing blending with the notes of the theremin.

When Mrs. Anna entered the living room carrying the theremin, the room seemed to grow even quieter. It was so quiet that we could all clearly hear one of the audience members scratching her calf, and my mother turned her head and looked at the woman. Immediately after that came the sound of Mrs. Anna placing the theremin on the floor, followed by a faint creak from one of the chairs occupied by an old man. The three sounds, one after another, formed a pleasing little sequence.

As the old woman went back to the kitchen to bring us the coffee, a long note came from the theremin. It was an unexpectedly spooky sound, monotonous and completely without vibrato, like the horn of a ferry. Everyone flinched, and the sudden movement of everyone sitting in the chairs made all of them creak at once.

Murmurs of “It’s here” rose throughout the room. A young couple were holding hands, and my mother had covered her mouth in fear.

Mrs. Anna handed out the coffee to everyone, then went over to the theremin and stood beside it. Once again, silence settled over the entire room. The only sounds were the occasional sips of coffee and the clinking of a spoon as a middle-aged woman stirred sugar into hers.

“My husband came to me in a dream last night. You know, we talk in my dreams at least once a week. He asked me to serve all of you filter coffee, and (she looked at her watch) “he announced that he would give his concert exactly five minutes from now.”

I took a sip of my coffee. It was very weak, almost like water, and I didn’t like it. My palate was accustomed to espresso. I never drank filter coffee.

I looked at my mother. She looked at me too. She put her index finger to her lips, telling me to be quiet.

“I’ve been teaching the theremin for about sixteen years, and yesterday I heard a composition played by my husband that was more beautiful than anything I had ever heard in my life. He told me in my dream last night that this would be his final concert. He said he could never compose anything better, and that after playing it, he would stop coming into this world.”

She took a sip from her own coffee and looked at her watch again. She still had four minutes. She closed her eyes, as if trying to feel her husband’s presence.

Mrs. Anna’s husband had died of lung cancer four years earlier. According to my mother, his spirit had returned to the world a year later.

“With every concert, I become more convinced that my husband is still with me. Of course, at first I thought it was a coping mechanism. I thought I was making it all up, that it was just a trick my mind was playing on me. I loved my husband with all my heart, and my mind would naturally do whatever it could to keep me from accepting that I had lost him. After all, it would be perfectly natural for my mind to invent something like this.”

She took another sip of coffee. Then she looked at her watch again.

It was time.

“But my husband said in my dream, ‘Invite other people too. Let them all listen to me. Let them be proof that I exist.’ He is terribly bothered by the thought that I might believe he’s something my mind made up.”

Small, indistinct sounds came from the theremin. At the same time, Mrs. Anna was moving her hand as she told her story. I assumed that was what was producing the sounds.

I looked at the others. The woman who drank her coffee with sugar had covered her eyes with one hand, just in case. She didn’t want to see anything frightening.

“Soundcheck,” someone else muttered.

Mrs. Anna looked at her watch again.

“In the beginning, he would only visit me in my dreams. It was nice, it was good. I felt both happy and sad. When I woke up, his absence hit me terribly, but when I went to sleep, the possibility of seeing him again was wonderful.”

A beautiful melody came from the theremin, lasting three or four seconds. Then the sound suddenly stopped. Mrs. Anna wasn’t moving her hand at the time.

“If he comes to me in my dream tonight, I’ll tell him. He should do the soundcheck beforehand. He keeps interrupting me. And as always, he’s late for his own concert. Jason, you’re always the same.”

“Anna, are you serious? I don’t know why I listened to you and came here. I don’t know how you’re doing it, but something ridiculous is going on here. Seeing you like this makes me really sad, and I’m honestly furious that the other six people here are just sitting there and saying nothing. You’re making this up in your head, and all of you are acting as if nothing is happening,” my mother said, getting to her feet.

She hadn’t raised her voice much, but she was angry. She liked Mrs. Anna, and she had liked Mr. Jason too. They were the neighbors we had become closest to during our twenty-five years in this apartment building, which we had moved into before I was born.

The woman who had put sugar in her coffee got up abruptly.

“Why are you in such a hurry? If you’d just wait another two minutes, everything would be revealed and you’d hear it for yourself. Couldn’t you wait until it was all over before explaining your theory? You’ve ruined the whole evening.”

Mrs. Anna continued with her story, paying no attention to my mother and the other woman.

“One day, after I had gone to sleep feeling miserable, and after not seeing him in my dreams for a month, we were finally together in my dream again. He was incredibly excited.

‘I found it,’ he said. ‘I found a way to interact with you. I was tired of constantly coming into your dreams. I wanted to meet you in real life. But you couldn’t see me.

It’s a dream, after all. None of it is real. You’re not in control, and what you say to me in your dreams might not be true. You told me you still loved me, that you couldn’t forget me, but all of that was happening in a dream. In real life, you weren’t doing any of those things. Maybe you were thinking about everything in your head, maybe you were thinking about me, but I had no way of knowing that. I was walking around you, but I couldn’t communicate with you.

You didn’t cry even once after you started seeing me in your dreams, for example. Yes, maybe seeing me so often in your dreams was enough for you, so you no longer needed me in real life. But we can’t know that. I couldn’t trust a dream. Maybe you didn’t love me anymore.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Jason,’ I said. ‘If you want, I can tell you how I feel after I wake up too. You never asked me to. You never asked me to talk about you in real life, look at your picture, tell my friends things about you, or tell them that I was sad. You never asked me for any of that. If you had, I would have done it.’”

My mother was getting angrier and angrier, and by now she was completely convinced that Mrs. Anna had made the whole thing up. She had been talking for so long that my mother had grown tired of listening to her.

Then we heard another beautiful melody coming from the theremin, while Mrs. Anna was still talking.

The melody continued. It really was magnificent. My mind was in complete confusion. Mrs. Anna stood perfectly still. Her eyes had filled with tears.

A beautiful composition was being played, and it appealed deeply to my sense of pleasure. But was it really Mr. Jason’s ghost playing it? I couldn’t stop thinking about that question. I felt like I was about to pass out. The composition was still in my ears, flowing onward. At the same time, my thoughts were flowing through my mind at almost exactly the same speed, moving along with the music.

I looked at my mother. Her eyes were wide open, staring motionlessly at the theremin.

Everyone else seemed spellbound too.

The melodies flowed on. For half an hour, we were treated to a magnificent feast of music. Everyone silently listened to the theremin, which no one was standing beside.

Throughout the entire performance, Mrs. Anna listened to the music with her eyes closed, her coffee still in her hand. For half an hour, I felt like I was on the verge of passing out, yet I never lost consciousness. The music had slipped gently into my softened state of mind and wandered through it, mingling with my thoughts. I didn’t want to believe it.

Everyone except my mother and me suddenly stood up. There must have been silence; I hadn’t noticed it. I had been so completely absorbed in the music.

The concert was over.

Everyone was applauding. The room filled with a high-pitched sound.

Mrs. Anna gestured for the audience to sit down. Everyone took their seats. My mother had just started applauding, loudly and enthusiastically. Mrs. Anna gave her the same gesture.

“Today, I’m giving up the theremin. Today is September 28, 2026. I will never play the theremin again.”

We heard another chair creak.

“Thank you all. If it weren’t for you, I would have thought I had imagined everything in my head. Thank you.”

With the last of my strength, I got to my feet and asked Mrs. Anna how this was possible. The others didn’t seem particularly interested in finding out. Yes, they had seen the concert before. I didn’t know whether they knew the story, but even though they all looked spellbound, they didn’t seem surprised. It was strange. I couldn’t understand how they had managed to accept something like this so calmly.

Why wasn’t this room overflowing with people? Stories like this spread from person to person incredibly quickly.

“Does it matter how it happened, Albert?”

“Why wouldn’t it matter? How is something like this even possible? I can’t wrap my head around it. Why doesn’t everyone know about this? Why isn’t everyone coming here and banging on the door? I mean, this is a ghost revealing itself to the world.”

“That’s my husband’s entire audience. There were seven of them, and now there are nine. And they won’t be able to hear my husband play again.”

I turned toward the small group.

“You never told anyone about this?”

“We did. They didn’t believe us,” said a young man sitting on the three-seat sofa, between two old men.

“How could they not believe you? You should have proved it.”

“How were we supposed to prove it? Force a ghost to play the theremin?”

“We tried, Albert,” said another person. I think it was the one who had put sugar in her coffee. My head was getting foggy, and I couldn’t quite make it out. “We brought twenty people here. And we made fools of ourselves. Accept it, Albert. It happened. And sadly, it will never happen again.”

“Okay, Albert. Calm down. No ghost played the theremin. Everything was staged. I played the theremin from my phone without anyone noticing. It was just a recording. I put on some old song, and that’s what played. Everyone here knew about it except you and your mother. All right? Calm down now,” said Mrs. Anna.

“What? Why did you do something like that?”

“Enough, for fuck’s sake. Shut up and let me finish the story. Enough. You can interrogate what was real and what was fake when you get home. You’ve ruined this beautiful moment. Enough, shut up. Say one more word and I’ll make you drink cyanide-laced coffee.”

I turned to my mother. Once again, she was holding her index finger to her lips, telling me to be quiet.

I didn’t understand. Was I dreaming? Was any of this real? Why was everyone going along with something like this? Was it all so that Mrs. Anna could fully feel her husband’s presence? Was it designed to give him a proper farewell? If so, why hadn’t anyone told me about any of this?

“Sorry, Albert. One of us had to believe it was real so that Mrs. Anna could fully feel her husband’s presence and say goodbye to him,” said the young man sitting between the two old men.

“It has nothing to do with that. He’s just making that up so you won’t tell anyone about it,” said another person.

My mind was a complete mess.

Then, suddenly, the theremin started playing again.

It came in beautifully once again, and once again we heard those incredible melodies.

My mother leaned toward me and whispered:

“An artist who couldn’t resist the audience’s insistence and came back to play one last song. That’s when I finally became convinced, Albert.”

And then, silence again.

The same deep silence that had greeted us when we first arrived at the house.

Waiting, and silence.

Until Mrs. Anna began to speak.

“Yes. My husband had found a way to communicate with me.

One day, while he was wandering around the house, he passed by the theremin and noticed that it made a sound.

‘You left the theremin on, sweetheart. I’m glad you did,’ he told me in my dream.

‘Then I walked past it again. Yes, I can’t touch things. Yes, I can’t show myself to anyone. But the theremin... the theremin, I could interact with it. Without touching it. I don’t know, I think it has something to do with frequencies. I didn’t understand it. But what did it matter?

I’ll be there tomorrow, and every day, at two o’clock, sweetheart. Teach me how to play the theremin. Don’t worry, I’ll hear you, and don’t be afraid of the sounds coming from the theremin. I’ll be your most devoted student.’

When I woke up that day, I couldn’t wait for two o’clock to come. And at two, when I stood in front of the theremin, he was there.

Yes, I could feel him. He tried to imitate my movements. At first, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t produce a steady sound. But he learned over time.

Every day at two, we met at the theremin.

And now he’s a virtuoso, just like his wife...”

Everyone stood up again and applauded enthusiastically, my mother included. I didn’t feel well.

The guests gradually said their goodbyes. They congratulated Mrs. Anna and told her that, had her husband been alive, he would have become a magnificent musician, and that his death was a great loss.

My mother and I were the last to leave the house. My mother believed Mrs. Anna. I had no idea what to believe.

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“So near the end of the 2200s, they did something that I thought was pretty genius. They called it Star Trek in the Real 23rd Century.”

"Star Trek in the Real 23rd Century," the cat said, walking beside me and staring off into the distance in wonder.

"Yeah, it was a whole thing where they looked at the actual technology level we had by the 23rd century. Humanity had been expanding into the stars for a while at that point, but it was a bunch of corporations running things. We hadn't exactly progressed to the moneyless society they imagined, but they were always kind of hand-wavy when it got down to explaining how they got there."

"I thought that was pretty straightforward," Sir Hiss said. "They had a massive world war that resulted in a nuclear conflagration."

"Well, yeah, I suppose there was that," I said. “And they had a few nuclear exchanges. Mostly they were limited and localized to conflicts where there were a couple of nations fighting each other. The whole mutually assured destruction thing was something the whole world was trying to avoid, though."

"I see," Sir Hiss said. "We had something similar on our world where there were several nations that had nuclear weapons. There'd even been a few limited exchanges, but after seeing the fictional example that was all over your entertainment cooler heads finally prevailed and we started to come together."

"Yeah, I wish watching a bunch of Star Trek reruns was enough to get cooler heads to prevail on Earth," I said. “Though, oddly enough, a couple of limited nuclear exchanges threw enough dust and particles up into the atmosphere that it gave humanity the breathing room that we needed with the whole climate change thing to figure out a way to scrub carbon from the atmosphere."

"I see," the cat said.

"Silver linings and all that," I said with a shrug.

We were making our way over to the quarantine field. I could see Arnel standing there staring at us. He had his hands on his hips, and a wisp of hair was floating this way and that ignoring the whims of the artificial gravity.

I wondered if he even knew or cared that he had little wisps of hair that were taking on a mind of their own and going on a merry chase all around his head. He probably didn't care. He seemed to only have eyes for me and the cat walking beside me.

"I see you've made a new friend," Varis said, smiling at me through the shimmer from the shield.

"Yeah, I suppose so," I said, looking down at the cat.

I had to resist the urge to reach down and pat him on the head. Something told me the feline warrior wouldn't appreciate that sort of thing. It was very tempting to reach down and give him head scratches and tell him he was a good kitty.

The knife he'd been carrying had been plucked up by Arvie in his drone form, and he was currently analyzing it to try and see if we could learn anything about this cat species by looking at how they put together their weapons.

I wasn't sure it would do him much good. There was only so much you could determine from looking at a hunk of metal, but it was also an opportunity to pretend we were all seeking out new life and new civilizations. So I didn't begrudge the Combat Intelligence the opportunity to do that any more than I begrudged him the opportunity to write a few dissertations that allowed him to give the middle finger to a bunch of nerds on the galactic net talking about how something should’ve been impossible in Star Trek's narrative.

"He's actually a big fan of Star Trek. Would you believe it?" I asked.

The mood through the link went from amusement to something that seemed almost queasy in an instant. Varis looked at me, and then she looked down at the cat at my side.

"This is your idea of a joke, right?" she asked. "One of those jokes you tell and you get a little smile on your face because it's amusing you, but nobody around you gets why it's even supposed to be funny in the first place?”

"No, it's true," Sera said. "Sir Hiss is very into Star Trek. It turns out his whole society is really into Star Trek."

That queasy feeling was really starting to come through the link with a vengeance. Varis was looking between me, the kid, and the cat in front of her. Then she looked up to Arvie and his probe.

"They're not joking, are they?" she asked.

"I would say that I'm afraid not," Arvie said. “But I am so excited about the implications of an entire civilization that has been influenced by the pop culture of another civilization being broadcast out into the cosmos that I can't hide my enthusiasm."

"Just wonderful," Varis said, throwing her hands up in obvious frustration. “Now there are three of you.”

"Maybe four of us," Sera said, grinning as she piped up. "I think I'd really like to watch this show too."

"Really?" Arvie said, his probe bobbing in excitement. "If that is something you're interested in, there are lots of different shows I can use to introduce you. There is the original, of course, and then…”

Varis held a hand up as she hit each of us with a severe look. A more severe look than I think I'd gotten from her since...

Well, I was racking my brain trying to think of the last time I got a severe look from her like that, and all I could think of was that first time we met on the Alamaraine over some insignificant colony world which was rapidly growing in significance because it was the place where I met her. Now here we were, shaking up an empire.

The point was, it’d been a while since I'd seen a look like that from her. She looked like she was about to toss some rocks in her mouth and chew them up and spit them out as diamonds.

"Are you okay, babe?" I asked, cocking my head to the side and glancing over to Arvie.

I was glad he was here with a combat drone and we were on the other side of a powerful quarantine shield. At the same time, I was also suddenly painfully aware that Varis was the one who commanded all the people here. If she decided she was so frustrated with me that she wanted to end it all for yours truly, then there wasn't much that I could do.

I didn't think she was going to do that, but we were talking about a girlfriend who was frustrated with her boyfriend watching too much Star Trek. Only she controlled her own personal military.

The point was, there was a non-zero chance all those things could lead to murder, and she had the capability and the means and the temperament to pull it off.

"You know, I could tell Arnel here to simply remove all the oxygen from inside the quarantine shield, and that would be that, right?" she said.

She turned and hit me with a severe stare. We’re talking severe enough I worried all those things I'd just been worrying about were going to come to pass. But of course the battle link was betraying her, the same as always. She could look as severe and annoyed as she wanted, but that didn't change the fact that there was a small trickle of amusement coming through the battle link that told me the whole thing was an act.

Sort of. Mostly.

Maybe.

I didn’t think I was going to die today because of her irritation with Star Trek, at least.

"You know there's no point in you trying to scare me like that when I have the battle link telling me you aren't as annoyed as you're pretending to be, right?" I said.

No sooner had I said it than I felt a blank in my mind where the battle link usually was. The link was still there. I could still tell somebody exactly where Varis was just by pointing in a direction.

Of course there were some drawbacks to that. I could point in a direction, but that wasn't going to be very helpful on a carrier where there were bulkheads and a bunch of other big, heavy metal stuff between me and where I was pointing. And back when the link had originally formed, of course, there was also the issue of only knowing a vague direction where she was in the galaxy. That direction encompassed several arc minutes of space, which was so incredibly vast and huge that she could’ve been in an almost infinite number of locations in that little part of the galaxy I was pointing to.

Still, I’d be able to figure out where she was and get closer to her. Like seeing a map marker on one of the numerous remakes of Skyrim that had come out over the last thousand years and trying to get there by jumping over a mountain rather than taking a path around it.

"You know I know there's something you're trying to hide from me whenever you blank out the link like that."

"She does that?” Arvie asked, and suddenly he sounded curious for a totally different reason.

"Oh yeah," I said. “She does it whenever she's feeling something she doesn't want me to know about. Which is as good as announcing she's feeling something she doesn't want me to know about."

"Fascinating," Arvie said.

"Anyway," I said, turning back to her. “Could we go ahead and get the quarantine shield lifted so we can get to work? I’d like to have a more in-depth chat with Sir Hiss in more comfortable surroundings, and I figure the science people are going to want to have a look at the escape pod Sera managed to capture with Harath’s help."

Sera stood a little taller at that. I wouldn't say she was grinning, not exactly, but she was coming pretty damn close to it.

"Of course," Varis said. "We'll lower the shield, and then I need to bring you back to our quarters for a bit of questioning as well."

She was hitting me with that severe look again. There were uncomfortable looks from the science team around us. No doubt they thought I was going to get chewed out. That was okay. I'd been chewed out before.

But the link was telling a different story. It’d popped back into existence, and I could tell she was thinking the kind of thoughts that only happened when I'd just done something that was that special combination of monumentally stupid but also recklessly adventurous that got her going.

One of these days that was going to get me killed, but that day wasn't today. Besides. Was I a man if I wasn't doing something recklessly stupid in service of trying to impress my love?

“Sounds good to me,” I said.

“I’m sure it does,” she said, and the link told me exactly what she meant.

I looked at the shield. It didn't drop.

"Is there a problem with the shield generator or something?" I asked.

"Absolutely not," Arnel said.

"Then why aren't you lowering the shield?" Varis asked.

"Because there are protocols we need to follow in a situation like this," Arnel said, hitting her with a severe look.

I didn't have a battle link with Arnel, thank whatever pantheon might be listening in on my thoughts at that moment in this corner of the galaxy, but I got the feeling his severe look wasn't being covered by an undercurrent of amusement or lust like Varis's severe looks to me usually were.

"I ordered you to drop it," Varis said, starting to sound a touch testy.

"I don't care if you ordered me to put myself into an airlock and toss myself out. Which might be as certain a death as lowering that quarantine shield before we know it’s safe.”

"Are you serious?" Varis asked.

"Protocol is protocol," he said. “And I might be saving the lives of everyone on this ship by making sure we do all the appropriate scans and checks for any microbiological contaminants or weaponization."

I sighed and rolled my eyes. Hoisted by my own petard. I gave them the idea for biological warfare, and now he was turning it on me.

"And how long is that going to take?" Varis asked, putting her hands on her hips. This time the irritation on her face and the irritation coming through the battle link were one and the same.

He looked down at his tablet and back up to her. He didn't so much as flinch as he delivered the bad news.

"I'd say maybe eight to ten hours if we get everything done quickly," he said.

"Eight to ten hours? Quickly? What are we supposed to do while we wait?"

"Eight to ten hours at the earliest," he said, holding a hand up.

She threw her hands up.

"I believe I have an idea," Arvie said.

And suddenly I heard the strains of a familiar fanfare as Anson Mount's voice filled the room.

"Strange New Worlds?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I figure starting her with the original Strange New Worlds is best. Not any of the subsequent series they did or the movie franchise."

"Good choice," I said. "That first episode is a banger, and it deals with the stuff we're dealing with now."

“Indeed,” Arvie said. “I thought it was appropriate considering.”

"Seriously?" Varis asked. "We have to wait for quarantine, and you're going to watch this Star Trek show in the meantime?"

"Why, General," Arvie said, "I can't think of a more valuable use of our time if we have that much of a delay."

Oh yeah. The mix of emotion coming through the battle link was off the charts now. To the point I was surprised those quarantine shields were able to repel annoyance of that magnitude.

Quick author note. I'm going to be on vacation next week for fall break. In the past I've killed myself trying to get stuff out and ended up failing while also stressing myself out on vacation, so I'm just not doing that this year. There will be no updates next week, and they'll resume the week after. Thanks for your patience!

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Liam

One of the Inquisitors stood before they could start working on any plans to try and keep the Inquisitors from doing just that. Liam stared at the man.

He looked about like what one expected when they thought of an Inquisitor. Like if there was a place where they manufactured Inquisitors using magic or something, then he would be the perfect example. The mold they used to create all the others.

He had a long flowing gray beard. For some reason, it seemed like none of them had a pure white beard. It was always a mix of gray and some other color.

He stared at Liam with a rather severe look. His eyes darted to the armored Inquisitor down on the ground with cracked armor.

Liam could see the hint of a gray beard there as well, peeing through the faceplate that had been smashed in to the point it had crumbled under Alistair’s fury. He felt a little bad about what had happened there.

Mostly because he'd been hoping he might be able to take that armor and use it himself. It seemed like the kind of thing that would be useful in a fight. Only Alistair had done such a number on it that… Well, he didn't think there’d be any coming back from that. More's the pity.

The standing Inquisitor turned his eyes back to Liam.

"Who's in charge here?" the Inquisitor asked.

That led to a moment of confusion. Liam glanced over to Tomas, who merely shrugged and hit him with one of those grins. The demon didn't step forward to say he was the one in charge, though it seemed that somebody leading a raiding party into human lands who’d managed to defeat a bunch of human Inquisitors in the process would think he was in charge.

But no, that wasn't Tomas. He might’ve finally had his opportunity to meet and defeat humans in glorious battle, but he also seemed well aware that Liam was a large part of the reason why that glorious battle had gone the way it had.

He turned to Ana next. She looked at him with an interesting gleam in those sparkling yellow eyes, but she nodded to him ever so slightly.

Liam blinked. He hadn't been expecting that. Everything he knew of her said she’d immediately take an opportunity to assert her authority over the situation, and now she was nodding to him in something that looked eerily like deference.

What was going on here?

He looked at the crowd all around them, half expecting to see Baron Riven out here somewhere. But no, even Baron Riven wouldn't be in charge of the current situation. As much as Liam might like to have somebody to pass this mess off to.

Liam turned back and looked at the Inquisitor. He took a deep breath to try and calm himself. He didn’t want to do this, but nobody else was stepping up.

"I suppose I am," he said.

"You suppose you are," the man said, smiling a very unpleasant smile. The sort of smile that said he was looking at Liam and seeing somebody who could be manipulated.

Liam had been seeing a lot of that over the past few days. He didn't like it.

"Did you have something you wanted to say?” Liam asked.

"I merely wanted to inquire when you were going to let me and mine go," he said.

The man spoke with an air of nonchalance. For all the combined worlds like he hadn't been taken captive and defeated fair and square, and now he was standing defeated on the field of his humiliation dictating terms rather than groveling and trying to make it out of this alive.

Liam snorted. Typical Inquisitor.

"Is there something funny about what I just said, boy?" the Inquisitor asked, arching an eyebrow.

He was all cool confidence. Liam had to give him that. It was impressive the way he acted like he was in charge of the situation when he was anything but.

Liam looked around, and then finally his eyes came to rest on Alistair. He motioned for the garzeth to come over. Alistair obliged, nodding ever so slightly and moving his front legs down in what might have been meant to be a bow, but Liam couldn't be sure.

"Alistair, could you be a dear and help me with something?"

"I am always happy to assist you, Liam," he said. "You brought my mind back. I am in debt to you."

Liam reached out and put a hand on the garzeth's shoulder, which had the garzeth letting out something that might’ve been a rumbling purr, or it might’ve been a low growl. Maybe it was meant to sound affectionate, but it also sounded terrifying.

Several of the Inquisitors who'd clearly been on the business end of the garzeth's claws flinched away at that half growl and half purr.

"Alistair.”

“Yes, Liam?”

“When I ask you to do something, I want you to do it because you want to. Not because you feel obligated to me."

"And I want to do this," he said, looking at Liam. "Beyond you saving my mind, you are also fascinating."

Liam's eyes darted to the floating and glowing notebook and the little pen that seemed to be perpetually scribbling in the thing. He also noted that it always seemed to be open to right about the middle of the notebook no matter how much writing that pen did.

Then again, it was an enchantment of some sort. He figured it should hardly be surprising that it was an enchantment that kept flipping to the same page over and over again no matter how copious the notes the garzeth took were.

“Alistair, I need you to keep an eye on these Inquisitors.”

Alistair sat down on his haunches, which didn't have him looking terribly threatening. More like a giant, oversized, cuddly ball of death as he regarded all of the Inquisitors still in a circle all around them.

If somebody had come across the scene, then they might almost think Liam was the one who was surrounded rather than the Inquisitors surrendering to him.

"Of course. I can do this," Alistair said.

"Good," Liam said. "We need to go into the estate and have a look at things. If any of the Inquisitors try to escape, I want you to kill them."

"Now, see here," the Inquisitor said. "You have to understand what's happening here."

Liam turned an icy stare on the man, and for the first time since their interaction started he actually took a step back. Like he saw something in Liam's eyes he didn't care for. Maybe he saw the threat of his death in those eyes.

But he recovered quickly. The man was nothing if not a cool one.

"You have to know what's going to happen now," he said.

"Please. Educate me," Liam said.

Ana came up next to him and wrapped an arm around his. He liked that. Having her pressing against him was a nice feeling. She looked between him and the Inquisitor, and he felt something dangerous running through him.

It was the desire to do something to impress her. He knew that was the kind of desire that could get him into serious trouble, though, and he was going to have to watch it.

Maybe there was another reason why it was a good idea to send her away while all the fighting was going on. He wondered how many times there’d been an opportunity to do something that would seem impressive but would’ve ultimately gotten him killed if she was watching him.

"The Inquisition knows we are here at this estate," the Inquisitor said. “And we will send more reinforcements. They already sent out more reinforcements via an airship when we got our first impossible communication about a demon princess. How do you think we got here? When we don't report back, they will send a small army. Enough to completely level this entire area."

“And what am I supposed to do with that information?” Liam asked.

"If you decide to let us go, then we can part unlikely friends. You can try to make your escape to wherever you want to go."

"Why do I get the feeling that's hardly going to be the end of it?" Liam asked.

"It won't be the end of it at all," the Inquisitor said with a shrug. "You'll be chased to the ends of the world, at least the human side of the world. I can't account for what happens if you go over to the demon realms, but you might find the demons aren't so accommodating once you're on their side of the Scar and they no longer have a use for you and whatever treachery you've committed over here.”

"I see," Liam said, standing there and looking like he was thinking about it. “No."

"No?” the Inquisitor said, looking genuinely surprised at the response.

"Yes. No," Liam said.

"Well, which is it? Yes or no?" the Inquisitor asked. "You're being confusing."

"Yes, the answer is no," Liam said. "I don’t accept your terms."

"You're being very stupid," the Inquisitor said. "You have to know they're going to find you, and they're going to kill you."

"Perhaps," Liam said with a shrug. “But for now, you're my captive."

The Inquisitor chuckled. It was a low laugh. As though he was amused, but Liam could also sense a tightness behind his eyes. Like the whole thing was an act to some degree.

He had to know he was in trouble out here.

"Maybe the Inquisition will send reinforcements for you, and they’ll chase me to the ends of this world and into the next," Liam said. "But that doesn't change the fact that you're my prisoner here and now, and I hold all your lives in my hands.”

He really wanted to drive that point home, and so he quickly drew the mana dampening spell and reached out with it, wrapping it around the arcane cores all around him.

All the Inquisitors let out cries of dismay at feeling their arcane cores guttering and then winking out. At least he assumed that was what it felt like.

Having had something very similar happen to him recently, he knew it wasn't a pleasant experience. He could understand why they were crying out like that. Why they seemed so suddenly upset.

He didn't care. He wanted to drive the point home that they were at his mercy. That there wasn't anything that could save them right now.

"Maybe the Inquisition is going to come," he said, raising his voice so they could all hear him. “But they have to find you first. Right now, you are all my prisoners. Have I made myself clear?"

As though to drive that point home, Alistair stood up on his hind legs and held his four clawed arms out. He leaned forward and let out a bellowing roar.

It was the kind of bellowing roar that had Liam's balls retreating up into his body once upon a time. Back when the garzeth was chasing them through the forest and across the plains leading to the watchtower outside Isai.

It was a roar that had several of the Inquisitors soiling themselves. It was a roar that had the scourgelings all around them letting out cries of dismay and turning like they wanted to run. But Ana held her hand up, that bright light was there again, and they all turned and faced her even though they looked like they wanted to be anywhere but near the garzeth.

Apparently there was a pecking order to how terrified the lesser demons were of the greater demons in their presence, and Ana was more terrifying than the garzeth in that pecking order. Something to keep in mind.

Liam felt an odd sensation. He almost felt bad for the scourgelings, for all that he'd spent the last few years trying to kill them before they could become a danger to anybody in in Baron Riven's estate.

He turned to Ana and cocked his head to the side.

"You know, it really would’ve been useful if you could’ve done that back when we were surrounded by all those scourgelings around that tower."

"It wouldn't have worked then," she said, shaking her head.

"Oh?”

"Once you get a swarm that large, they become almost impossible to control," she said. "It was just dumb luck I managed to find a few infestations in the farther reaches of the Felwood that your Baron apparently didn't know about."

Liam turned and looked at all the scourgelings all around. There were far more than he’d ever felt in the Felwood. Granted, he usually only went after the infestations that got close enough that he could feel them.

Clearly his ability to sense them at a distance wasn’t as good as he’d thought, or as good as Ana’s for that matter.

"There were this many lurking out there?” he asked.

“It turns out having a farm boy going out into the forest to clear out the infestations one by one maybe isn't the greatest way to keep them under control," she said, hitting him in the shoulder with her own shoulder and hitting him with a grin that said she wasn't taking it too seriously.

"Well, I suppose we should call you the savior of Baron Riven's estate," he said, grinning right back at her.

"I like the sound of that," she said, her nose going up as she kept that smile on her face. "You may call me your savior as well as your princess from now on."

Liam stared at her for a moment, wondering if she was joking. But the longer it went on, the more he realized that no. She was being totally serious. Probably.

He sighed and rolled his eyes, which earned him an irritated look from the demoness. He supposed the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

Quick author note. I'm going to be on vacation next week for fall break. In the past I've killed myself trying to get stuff out and ended up failing while also stressing myself out on vacation, so I'm just not doing that this year. There will be no updates next week, and they'll resume the week after. Thanks for your patience!

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