First/Prev/Next

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Ethan’s POV…

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Ms. Lake was right when she said it would be a bit before we got to where we were going. It was well into the night when we left out, and the first rays of light started peeking over the horizon. And just like she said, we pulled up to an abandoned warehouse sector right by the water. As we got out, the smell of salt water hit my nose immediately, and in the far-off distance I could see ships coming and going about their business. While the C— I mean, while Ms. Lake walked over to one warehouse in particular and started fiddling with some keys.

​“Ethan, come on, you'll have plenty of time to walk around and get familiar with your new territory later! Commit this to memory; this is going to be your main home. We've already started getting things in place to make it somewhat more… liveable would be the right word.” She said as I followed her inside.

​The inside was roomy! That being my first thought, my second thought being. Wow, this will be a bitch to keep clean! But on the bright side, I would have plenty of room to work out and other little things. The entirety of the warehouse's interior was made up of concrete and metal; the high towers of pallets and the products that they would be carrying were now completely gone, and in their place were the things that make a place a home. In one of the corners, there was a small kitchenette area that looked right at home in a college student's first apartment. In the middle of the warehouse floor, there were three old and very used-looking couches placed around a lone TV that sat atop a crate. I briefly wondered how it was powered with it in the middle of the floor and there being no power outlet in sight, but I waved it off as just something to do with magic.

​I then turned my attention to the last thing of interest, that being what I guessed was the foreman's office or something. It was a separate room suspended above the floor. Ms. Lake crossed the warehouse and climbed the stairs in barely any time while I struggled to keep up with her. Once we were at the door leading into the office, Lake knocked on the door and waited silently for an answer.

​“Just a minute, I’ll be right out!” A voice came from the other side of the door. And the next moment, they opened the door, stepping out to greet Lake, and when I saw them, my jaw nearly hit the floor. It was… they were… Another Human!?

​
Morgan’s POV…

​
My old friend walked out of the office with his long, flowing grey hair trailing behind him, which complemented his pale, fair skin, and his blue eyes shone with life. He wore a pair of loose-fitting, baggy clothes that hung off his body, obscuring his physique, and worst of all, they were far too colorful for my liking.

​He sent me a flirtatious smile and a curious one to Ethan. But he turned his attention back to me, throwing his arms open, beckoning me for a hug, and I reluctantly gave in, knowing full well he would take it from me sooner or later.

​“Morry! It’s so good to see you again! When you asked me to get here as quickly as I could, I was more than a little concerned, but looking at this young man, it’s starting to come into focus. Nice to meet you, young man. My name is Morrison Duval, and your name?”

​Ethan was at first taken aback by Morrison but quickly regained his composure and offered his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Duval. My name is Ethan Zane. It’s only been a few weeks, but it is really nice to see another human again.” Ethan said with the same respectful tone that he had used with me earlier.

​“Mr. Duval? Heh, I haven’t been called that before; you make me feel like an old man!” He joked with a boisterous laugh. “Well, I am an old man, but still you don’t have to call me Mr. In fact, if I’m picking up on what’s going on, you can call me Teacher.” He then turned to me with that stupid smile that he always got when he solved a problem.

​“That is why you called me here, right? To teach this kid all I know about Soul Magic and Alsu?” He asked with a quizzical tilt of his head.

​“Yes, that is the reason why. This one was summoned by one of my own, and she and the others have pleaded for me to spare them but have also suggested that I bring him on as a secret weapon. And before you start, it wasn’t I who came up with that you can direct your ire towards my nephew.” I began explaining.

​“And if I just take into account all the things that you were able to do even without using your Soul Magic, I would much rather not have to live through that again. And currently I am in need of extra paws at this moment, and a well-trained human would be an invaluable asset.” I finished.

​The look Mor gave me was one of subtle disappointment, but he for now kept it to himself. He sighed, now refocusing on Ethan, and I could see the beginning of his mental assessment of him.

​“Tell me, Ethan, do you know what Soul Magic and Alsu are, young man?” Mor asked.

​“Soul Magic is more or less a special type of ability that, on some level, represents who you are or your soul? And Alsu is a combination of three different types of energies: Mental, Spiritual, and Physical. And all together those make up the Life Energy, which is our version of mana that we can control?” He answered, seemingly somewhat unsure of said answer.

“Well, that's good enough for right now. Next question: have you been able to use your Soul Magic?” He asked with an inquisitive look.

​Ethan nodded his head and showed Morrison by raising his hand and having multiple strings protrude from said hand. Morrison walked closer, taking great interest in Ethan’s ability before nodding his head and walking over to the railing.

​“Alright then, that’s good, that's several lessons out of the way already. Say, how well can you control those strings, kid?” He asked with a smile of genuine excitement.

​Ethan was about to speak when I cut in. “Mor, why don’t you get a close and personal first paw experience by having a mock battle with Ethan? While I have some reports and a small amount of personal data on how he fights, I feel that a more deliberate battle between you two would be best. After all, there may very well come a time where he will have to fight other humans, and you could help provide him with some safe experience.” Morrison had a look on his face that read as a cross between disbelief and frustration.

​He, however, relented with a sigh and turned to Ethan. “Alright then, kid, what do you say? Up for a quick little match between the two of us?” Ethan nodded his head after a brief moment of hesitation.

​Morrison then climbed up onto the railing and dropped to the ground floor, causing a small tremor as he landed. Ethan stared down at Morrison in awe, like a pup seeing magic for the first time. He even made a similar spectacle climbing up and hopping off the railing, but before he could hit the ground, he stopped as if he landed on something just a bit off the ground, and on a closer look I saw that he had landed on something else. As he hopped off the single thread of string that managed to break his fall, he followed after the other human till they were both standing in the middle of the warehouse.

​“Well, kid, if you are going to be hanging around Morgan and doing missions and the like for her, then she’s right. While running into another one of us is a rarity, that doesn't mean that it won't ever happen. And fighting another human who has a decent grasp on their own Soul Magic can quickly become deadly if you aren’t versed in facing one.” Morrison began explaining.

​“Granted, just like how not every human knows how to fight, not every human knows how to use Soul Magic. But on the off chance that you meet one who does, then the first thing you need to do is find out what their Soul Magic is. So let this fight be your crash course in what you should do if you find yourself fighting another human.”

​Morrison got into a fighting stance and signaled for Ethan to take that first move, and the one decision proved to be a miscalculation on his part. With a burst of speed, Ethan had closed the gap between them in less than a second. The far younger human started with two punches, one from both sides, which Morrison barely managed to avoid. Ethan wasn’t deterred, however, and he continued to apply pressure to my old friend by adding in multiple different types, mixing them to create a dreadful barrage of blows that, if Morrison wasn’t careful, would draw this match to a close.

​At some point, Ethan had slowed down and even fell into a rhythm that Morrison had also seemed to notice. I could tell that Morrison was about to launch a counterattack, but that seemed to be exactly what Ethan had wanted. At the last possible moment, he weaved out of the way of an incoming jab, pulling back his right hand to ready an attack. The second he did, however, Ethan attempted to punish him by using his strings to bind his right hand. Morrison was shocked at the suddenness of this move, and before he could even try to free himself, Ethan yanked him towards himself and went for some kind of spinning elbow. At first I had thought that the blow connected, but on a closer look it was clear that it hadn’t, for Morrison brought his remaining free hand up in time to block the strike.

​Now it was Morrison’s turn to apply the pressure. He gripped Ethan’s elbow tightly, and I watched as Ethan’s eyes widened as a powerful shockwave shot through his arm and sent him flying. He skidded to a halt only a few feet away from the couch and TV. He attempted to get up, but the moment he put any weight on his arm, he winced in what I read as great pain. Morrison had begun to return the treatment that he had received from the younger man moments ago. He raised one of his feet and slammed it down on the ground, and before Ethan could move, another shockwave hit Ethan from below and sent him halfway up to the ceiling. This second blast seemed to have hit Ethan hard, but he still had enough composure to use his strings to hang from the roof using the purlins as an anchor point…

​
Etahn’s POV

​

As I hung from the ceiling by one arm, the other one currently hanging limply like a pool noodle, I began racking my brain over what had just happened. All he had done, as far as I’m aware, was that when I went in for that spinning elbow, he caught my elbow just before I made contact. And then after that I got blasted away with some kind of power… Could that be his Soul Magic? But on the other hand, that could have very well just been some regular technique, and he was just doing this to throw me off and then blind side me with his real ability. Was I just overthinking things, and that was his real one, or perhaps that’s what he wanted me to think?

​I sighed in frustration but also excitement. This was super fun! A whole hell of a lot more fun than I had initially thought! Looking down at my arm, I could feel the fractures in my bones and the mild burns to my skin healing up nicely. I gave some practice swings, and outside of some slight pain, it was largely good as new.

​Which was great, as I would be putting it to good use immediately as my danger sense went off and, as if on instinct, I swung away from my current position and took a quick glance back to see that another explosion shockwave thing had gone off where I just was. As I dangled from my new perch, I started assessing my best route of attack. But just like before, another shockwave came, and this time I didn’t manage to escape without injury, as the blast this time was far longer, and I was sent flying; this time all I could do was brace for the impact. Thankfully, the fall wasn’t that far as I landed on the raised platform where the office was.

​“Are you okay, Ethan? Can you still fight?” Morrison asked, concern present and clear in his voice.

​I wrapped my strings around the railing and used it to pull myself up. I rubbed the back of my head as I waved him off, hopping over the railing and landing with a wobble. Once more, I squared up ready for round two. He spent a moment looking over my body before nodding. He then lifted both his hands up and then slammed his palms together, and like before, I felt my body move before my mind caught up and jumped to the side. And taking into account what happened last time, I brought up arms and strings poured out and formed themselves into a round shield. While the shockwave was harsh this time not so much.

​“Wow! It’s been a while since I’ve fought someone whose ability was this versatile. Let’s see if you can put any of that to good use!” He began pulling his hands back, and before he could do the same attack again, I dug deep and chucked the string shield.

​Morrison saw what I was trying to do and jumped back, but before he could get out of the way of my improvised projectile, it expanded, turning into a net which quickly ensnared him. I wasn’t really sure if that would work well. I didn't know that would even happen, but hey, I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.  Morrison struggled trying to break free, but it was no use.

​“Okay, I guess it was a bad idea to call attention to how versatile your ability is. Hey, I give up, I surrender, ya win, bud.” As Morrison said that the Capt– I mean Ms. Lake chimed in.

​“Morrison, what are you doing? I know that something as simple as a net can’t be what beats you. Or have you gotten weak in your old age? If so, I am disappointed but not surprised.” Ms. Lake teased Morrison, trying to rile him up.

​And to my shock, it worked; Morrison just laughed as, with seemingly no effort at all, he broke free of the restraints. He stood up, dusting himself off, no worse for wear, walking over and patting me on the shoulder with a congratulating smile and thumbs up.

​“Good work, kid, that was a good first showing. I look forward to helping you develop your skills. And as for you!” He said, shifting his stare to Morgan. “I know that this is a foreign concept to you, but when or if I’m going to train someone, I try to encourage them, not tear them down and drag them through the mud.” He said with a pointed look, his words charged with some energy that came from some prior event that I wasn’t aware of.

​Morgan just gave an indignant snort in response before she spoke. “I think that’s going far too easy on them, but you never listen to me. It seems like you men are incapable of doing so…” She muttered under her breath. “Regardless! For the time being, that is a satisfactory demonstration. Once the last of the deliveries arrive, I’ll take my leave and leave you two to your devices. I’ll be checking in every now and again to see how your progress is going and to bring fresh clothes, toiletries, food, and what have you.”

She walked down the stairs with a slow and elegant gait. She gave Morrison a small and quick hug before she went outside. Leaving just the two of us. When I turned to Morrison, he was already halfway across the room, going through the fridge.

​“Ho— how did you do that!?” I asked, not even trying to hide my surprise.

​“When you live the life I have, you learn to move quickly and quietly, and trust me, I’ll be teaching you how to do this later. But right now, here, drink this. It might have a bit of a funny taste to it, but I promise that it’ll be your favorite energy drink ever before long.” He handed me an Arizona tea-sized can that was green and red in color with some kind of creature on it looking super fierce.

​Doing as Morrison suggested, I cracked open the can that had the very familiar sound but an alien taste. There was the sweetness that came with being an energy drink, but at the same time there was also a sour undertone. It honestly tasted like drinking a super sweet sour candy with some extra caffeine mixed in it. It wasn't half bad. I could see myself drinking tons of these in the future.

​“Not bad, right? It took a while to find stuff that my taste buds agreed with. A lot of things have tastes that you wouldn’t expect them to have. Anyway, Ethan, tell me about yourself. What was life for you like before you got summoned?” He asked, taking a generous swig of his own can.

​“I haven’t really ever been asked a question like that before. I ain’t quite sure how I would sum up my life before all this.” I ran my memories through my mind, going over the bad and good in what I felt was equal measure. However, I soon realized that digging deep into my memories like that poked at still-fresh wounds, and what was just supposed to be a brief look back turned into something far more. My emotions threatened to overwhelm me, and I just did my damnedest to choke it all down before Morrison could pick up on any of it.  I imagine that on the outside I probably looked like I was staring out into space. On the inside I was having quite a bit of turmoil. But once a minute or two passed, the sadness dimmed, and I got my head straight.

​After that, all I had to say was. “It was good. Plenty of bad and good times, a pretty fulfilling life… I– I guess I just wish I got to–.”

​“Say goodbye?”

​“Yeah… Say, were you a summon too?”

​“I am, or was it all happened about fifty or sixty years back now. What, are you eighteen?” Morrison asked, and I nodded in response.  “Yeah, I was about your age. I had recently gotten out of high school and was having one last summer of fun with my boys before it happened.”

​We both stood there in silence, only occasionally being broken by our sips. Just like the taste of this juice, I let the older man’s answers seep in. I have so many questions to ask, but at the same time I have no idea which I want to ask him first. Did it really even matter which one I asked first? After all, it wasn’t like the order really mattered; what matters was the questions themselves. As I took another swig in an attempt to quench my suddenly dry throat, the first question bubbled to the surface.

​“Dose… does it ever get easier? Does it ever go away? The pain and loneliness, I mean.” As I asked that question, my throat went dry all over again.

​He looked down at his drink and sighed deeply like he got a call saying he had to come in to work on his off day. “No, kid, it doesn’t. The pain eases with time, but it’ll never go away completely. Tell me, kid, was there anyone that you left on a bad note before you got snatched into this world?”

​“No. None that I can think of. I had watched so many shows and stuff where someone gets sent to another world. Usually from dying in some freak accident or really pathetic way, so I would usually try to leave things on a good note when I could.” I explained.

​“Good, good, well, at the very least, you can try to take comfort in the fact that at the very least, the last words that your loved ones will remember you saying to them were something kind and heartwarming and not bitter and hurtful. I’m not sure how much comfort that will give you, but I hope that it’s more than nothing.” His words seemed to be tinged with sadness; it seemed that this was advice someone else had given him before.  

​The mood had now soured even further, and it seemed like neither of us wanted to continue the conversation. We just went back to drinking our drinks in total silence, until Morrison suddenly perked up and yelled at the top of his lungs. I jumped back in shock, nearly choking on my drink as a result.

​“Wha– what’s happening!? What are you screaming for!?”

​“I have found that when I’m really down or stuck in one emotion, the best way for me to get out of it and back to neutral is a good shout. Now let’s move on to something less sad and more exciting! Tell me, have you ever been to any town before?” He asked with a mischievous grin.

​“Well, I did go in on last week, but when I did, I had a disguise, and I left it back at Ms. Morgan’s base.”

​“No worries! I brought some of my own just in case. While I am going to be teaching you how to use Soul Magic. I also wholly intend to teach you how to get by as a human. In case this doesn't play out and this isn’t what you want to do with your life. Is this something you want to do with your life?”

​When he asked for the first time in a while, I actually stopped to think about what I was doing and what I wanted to do with my life past the here and now. And frankly? I hadn’t the foggiest idea whatsoever. I was somewhat aimless before I got summoned to this world, and now, after everything I had gone through over the last two weeks?

​“I… I’m not sure what I want to do. I had a rough draft of what I wanted to do with the rest of my life before, but now? Well, I got nothing unless you have some old guy wisdom to hand out?”

​“As a matter of fact, I do! As much as it is a tragedy that you have had all ties to your home and loved ones irreversibly severed, this is also the best time in your life to rebuild yourself into someone new! It’s what I did a long time ago, and while I’m not saying that this is the right course for you, it may be able to help you.” He offered with an encouraging pat on my shoulder, with a smile to boot.

​“And if this really isn't something that you want to do. If Morgan or your Master pushes you to do things that you don’t want to do or goes against what you believe in, then I won’t hesitate to help you get out. I know quite a lot of people who specialize in breaking summon ties and helping humans disappear.” He said in a dead serious tone.

​“Yeah, thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. But for right now I’ll stick with things as they are… To be honest, I’ve kind of come to like fighting? And plus, if I can learn to harness my powers, maybe I can use them for good?”

​“Well, that’s good to hear; just know the offer will always stand. And yeah, don’t think too hard about that; it seems most of us summoned humans get a taste for fighting. It's hard to say if the thirst for battle came from within us all along or if that was something given to us when we were summoned; it's hard to tell, but it’s a part of us now. However, let's save these sorts of talks for later. I have some games that I can teach you to help pass the time till night. Then you and I are gonna hit the town and see what kind of trouble we can get into…”

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First/Prev/Next

“Five minutes until landing, stay buckled, you lot,” shouted the pilot as they felt the dropship break into the planet's atmosphere. Jack looked up from his datapad, finishing reading it then handed it over to Petra next to him for final confirmation of plans.

“Looks all good, sir.” Petra uttered sweetly. Then continued to read over her own plans on her lap.

“Plans: good people double-check your stuff; we won't have time in the field.” Jack ordered as he saw four helmeted heads check over there equipment and seals one final time. 

“All ready, sir,” sounded the others as they looked over to the unarmored Petra next to their squad leader. Currently the task they were given was much easier than blowing up a factory or infiltrating a city. All they had to do was make sure the Petra lady here was unharmed and made it to the talks with the Eukripita. Three months ago Terra had discovered they were no longer alone in the wide galaxy; a colony ship was moving to settle down on a planet when they received a radio message commanding them to leave the system or be forced out. Word spread quickly, and checking with other factions spread across the stars, it was surmised that an alien race had been found finally. This resounded in measures to find out more about them, for both military and scientific reasons. People from all walks of life were interested in these weird and strange creatures, which looked closest to the ancient Terran species Eurypterida. The few pictures the Eurkripids had been willing to send spelled it out. They were not the bipedal grey aliens of nights long past but wholly different. 

“Patrick, you know more about scientific stuff than me and have read more on these things. Do they live on land or in water, from what we know?” Pondered Jack over the radio.

“Well, we don't know much, but they seem semi-aquatic; most of their planets seem to be Earth-like with large amounts of water, although they seem to have mining bases on desert planets, so it's possible they can inhabit places like us. Although unlikely.” Remarked Patrick in his standard thinking voice, as finished checking the medical equipment on himself.

“Hey, maybe there'll be some cute ones. What's to say? All of them look like the ugly ones ‘ey.” Jeered Sandford.

“Yeah, I gave up for that a while ago; you should have too. Also, not like you’d have a chance with one.” Uttered Elliot, cleaning the scope on his sniper rifle. 

“You're just saying that because you have no chance. Bah! just watch me.” Shouted Sanford as he checked the detonator in hand before tucking it into his vest.

“Try not to shout over the radio too much; it hurts my damn ears.” Jack said somberly looking over to the quiet man in the corner. This man was the newest member of the squad and the designated machine gunner; he had been sitting awkwardly and quietly the entire descent, not even bothering to join the jeering of his comrades. *They know each other so well, why am i here, im just a private. Just keep cleaning like they taught you.* Thought Stevens as he continued to clean.

“What do you think, lady? Are you on team cute, or not.” Asked Stevens to Petra, as she jolted from being address.

“Probably not cute by whatever metric your measuring.” She relied back.

“One minute people button up.” Sounded the pilot over the speaker system in the dropship.

“You heard the man button up.” The sounds of clicking magazines and weapons resounded through the drop bay. “Also, Elliot, stop the music I know your listening to. The last thing I need is you dying because you couldn't stop listening to the sweet tunes of J-pop.” Jack ordered.

“You know it was SynthV this time, but whatever.” He unclipped his black helmet and set the earbud down before resealing the helmet. 

“30 secs get ready, lads; uh… looks like they have a greeting party down there.” The pilot said, a touch worried. Without a word the soldiers stood and did final checks on the weapons they had: Jack, Patrick, and Sandford with their rifles; Elliot with his pistol sniper rifle slung behind him; and Stevens with his large machine gun held wearyly. Petra took the lead; she was the only one who had a translation device on her, and it was unlikely that they would attack them the second the doors opened. 

The door slowly opened, filling the drop room with warm sea air and bright sunlight. Greeting them were around ten aliens. They were standing upright or as upright as a creature like the one before them could. They had two strong-looking back legs; they seemed to support most of the lower body with a few smaller ones also touching the ground. Following along the chest, was it it a chest? Were smaller arms like things that wiggled in the ocean breeze at the top where a human’s shoulders would happen to be seemed to be large arms ending in claws. Two of the ten creatures bore rifle-like weapons looking just as advanced as the ones the Terran soldiers were holding currently. The creatures seemed to be nobility, with large cloaks of fantastical color, and the soldiers seemed to be wearing more ceremonial-type uniforms with a sort of chest plate similar to that of knights of Terra’s past. 

Petra stepped forward, her ginger hair looking even more beautiful in the sunlight. Patrick was keenly interested in Petra; she was by no means ugly. In fact, by his own thoughts, she was the most beautiful Terran senator. Which meant a lot considering the sheer number of senators in the Terran Senate. Smells weird here, like the sea but less salty. Maybe it's the large palace that's making that smell. Patrick looked up as Petra continued her introduction of them and Terra. Handing one of them a emblem of the Terran initiative. The palace was huge; he couldn't discern the complete size of it, but it was made out of what seemed to be a large portion of hardened sandstone blocks, giving a kind of golden look to it. The spaceport they had landed on was seemingly concrete, more rocky but still concrete. They certainly have the same constructions as us. I just hope this goes well. 

Petra continued talking; speaking through a translator was harder work than talking in senate, but certainly more interesting. She just hoped her current replacement would not make a mess of her work. Why am I worrying about Terra right now when I'm talking to these wonderful people. She found them incredibly interesting, much more than the soldiers she was stuck with; she didn't hate them. It was more when compared to an alien species; soldiers were boring. She continued talking, telling them about all the good the Terran Innachitive had done. The language that they spoke in was completely unspeakable by human tongues; it seemed to require organs or things that a species with a spine were unable to produce. So all talks had to be made through devices that conveyed what the message they wanted was. It wasn't the best, but it was quicker and easier than any other choice. Finally at last they told her that the meeting with the king, was on the way. Strange they have a king, but I suppose perhaps it works best for them, better to not judge an alien after all. 

“Hey sirs, we are moving into the palace. They ask you to be respectful and find your dressings strange for the occasion.” She told the group of men at her flanks and behind her. 

“Understood, ma'am. With me, people,” Jack told the squad as they finished looking at the strange surroundings. Never understood why people are so interested in new planets; after the third, it all gets the same. Jack thought as the wide doors opened before them. “Warm Embrace, this is the ground team; we are entering the palace.” He radioed to the warship above

“Understood, ground team, keep communications up. Update as needed.” One of the comm officers said over the radio to Jack. The group entered into what looked to be a grand hall. Along the walls were centuries-old paintings of what seemed to be nobles of the family that was ruling. 

“They certainly know how to paint.” Stevens remarked, speaking his first words for the entire mission. He wasn't wrong; the entire wall was covered with grand, sometimes meter-wide paintings either with history or people. 

“Hey Petra, what do we know of their history, anything of note?” Asked Patrick aloud.

“Not really anything at all, surprised your that interested. Most of the people I talk to seem to only be worried if they’ll attack us.” 

“It's always a concern. Personally, I don't really trust them that much.” Elliot interjected.

“Can it, Elliot. We may not be able to understand them, but they may understand us, so shut it before I make you.” Barked Jack as they continued down the hallway, passing by what looked to be a group of servers, giving them odd looks. 

“Aye sir.” Elliot said annoyed. Finally they were led to a what seemed to be a meeting room with large wooden doors, and the conversation between Petra and strange aliens continued. They all hated the grating visceral noises that the Eukripita made. Inhumane screaming is what it sounded like. How can someone deal with that in conversation? Jack thought while assessing the surrounding area. Only one way out of here, that's back the way we came. Looks like they also have a advanced alarm system as well. Plus a lot more guards that we’re not seeing. Nothing we can't fight our way out of. He keyed his radio to not let Petra hear and only tell the others. 

“Be ready for anything; our only way out is back the way we came. Keep that in mind. Not that it will go bad. But it's better to have the plan and not use it rather than not have it and need to use it.” 

“Understood, sir.” Sounded all the men on the channel. 

“Hello, Jack, was it?” Petra asked, staring at the man through the polerzied glass of his faceplate.
“Yes, what is it? Something is the matter.” Jack asked.

“They have a culture here that says to simplify it: I cannot bring you people into the meeting room, with or without weapons, and note it as a great distrust.” She said calmly.
“Are you sure they won't bring you any harm because I don't know how quickly I and my squad will be able to respond if anything goes wrong.” Jack announced to her.

“While I understand your concerns, we must understand that these aren't humans we’re dealing with. So we must accommodate them at least somewhat," she declared, 

“While I understand the sentiment, madam, we must understand that because they're non-humans, they may also just attack you seeing that you're now defenseless.” Jack said solemnly. 

“From our current dialogue it would seem that won't be happening and that I will be just as safe as if you were next to me. Along with that, it isn't as if they are asking you to leave the planet or building. Just not enter that room behind me.” Petra stated, moving away from Jack.

“Understood, madam, just be safe.” Jack said, turning away from Petra. She was quick to rejoin the Eurkripid court that was speaking with her before. The group then opened the door, and Jack got a flash of what was inside before it was shut. Inside were what seemed to be more nobles and royalty, all watching with those strange eyes of theirs, observing every move.  

“Sir, what exactly is going on with them, and why aren't we following.” Asked Patrick looked over his shoulder at the already closed doors. 

“We can't go in there now. Post up two by the door, two watching the hall. Stevens your in the centre.” Barked Jack as they all assumed the posts they were ordered to.

“I know you're worried about her, Pat. We all are, but she’ll be fine, I assure you. Even if they are dumb enough to attack, we can respond quickly enough; we’re trained for this, remember.” Sanford said, trying to comfort the unhappy Patrick. No idea why he thinks this is a good idea, leaving her to them. He has his reasons, I suppose. Patrick continued to think of all the ways this plan could go poorly as he passed glances over his shoulders at each of the other men. 

They had been standing for about half an hour, hearing bits and pieces of conversation. Petra’s part couldn't be heard by them, only the strange noises of the aliens. 

Then suddenly "AHHHHHH"—a piercing human scream could be heard through the doors of the room.
“Go, go, go!” Jack shouted, slamming his jackboot into the door, sending splinters flying. The door swung open, and nearly all the men opened fire at the sight. Petra was on the ground with a gaping wound upon her chest, no doubt caused by the large claws of the aliens. A top her moving the claw to her throat was what looked to be a noble or even the king, judging by his highly regal appearance. All around at the table were more of the noble aliens. Seeing Petra in danger, Jack fired. The three shots stitched a line across the creature's chest up to just below the claws. It fell dead; all the remaining nobles began running for the burst door, shouting in the grating tongue of theirs. 

“Patrick, get her stable; the rest of you cover the door until she’s stable.” He keyed the radio again for the pilot of the dropship and the comms team on The Warm Embrace, “We have a man down we need the pilot and medical team on standby now, do you read?” Jack asked over the radio.

Meanwhile, Patrick was working on the wounded Petra, packing her wounds with bandages and attempting to slow the profuse bleeding coming from her chest. Those claws have to be sharp enough to pierce our armor. He thought while drawing a morphine injector for her. 

“Stay calm and keep breathing.” He uttered as he injected her with the painkiller. “Sir, I'm going to need someone to help carry her on a stretcher once I have her stable!” He shouted over his shoulder, continuing to work.
“Understood, Sanford, help the doc!” Jack replied as they continued to stay posted on the door. He continued working; the bleeding had slowed, but so had her breathing, and no doubt had her lungs at least been damaged by the claws. He removed the stretcher from his backpack and began to splay it out while continuing to check the wounded Petra.
“Sanford, on my mark, we move her onto the stretcher, and then we get the hell out of here, understand?” Patrick asked as he heard the first gunshots echo in the hall. 

Down the hall a group of aliens were popping shots at the pinned marines who were attempting to return fire. Stevens was doing a good job keeping them suppressed by his heavy machine gun fire, but he could only do so much.
“Elliot, see if you figure out and take out whoever has the radio or is the leader with your rifle! We need to get free before we’re encircled!” Jack yelled as he saw Elliot without a word, drew the rifle, and leaned on the wall for support. Behind him, Sanford and Patrick were continuing to work on Petra, whose bleeding had nearly stopped. The side effect was her losing consciousness; it's better for her to not remember all of this hell we’re about to bring her through. Jack thought as he downed another alien. No doubt these were the first kills of the long-drawn-out war the Terrans had just been thrust into without preparation or warning. 

“Engines are ready, sir, but it looks like they have atmosphere fighters moving out from what the radar says. Best you get moving, sir.” The pilot uttered over the busying comm network. No doubt some other hell was going on above them in the CIC. 

“We’re good to move, sir, on your mark.” Patrick announced to Jack as another stream of bullets went out from Stevens gun.

“Stevens keep the right clear of those bastards. Elliot, is our left clear?” He asked as Elliot peered out to his flank. 

“Clear right now, sir.” Elliot said calmly.

“Move it! Elliot and Stevens cover the rear; I'll take point the rest in the middle!” Jack announced over the squad radio as he moved to the point position. Now there are only a hundred ways this can go bad, not a thousand. He thought as he heard the moving of the stretcher behind him. 

With Petra on the stretcher, Patrick and Sanford moved the stretcher, Patrick taking the rear and Sanford taking the front. The air was now thick and heavy with the smell of blood, gunpowder, and brass. That once serene and placid scene had been moved to a tempest of death and destruction.

The squad continued moving slowly, slowed greatly by the fear of moving Petra too fast and injuring her further. Elliot and Stevens had been doing an impressive job of keeping the aliens back. Stevens, with the machine gun, kept them pinned while Elliot took anyone stupid enough to pop up. But slowly ammo was bleeding down. 

“Red on ammo here, cap,” Elliot said as he downed another one, sickly blue blood and visera spraying onto the wall behind him. Damn, how many of these things are there? He thought as he threw a spent magazine onto the ground, quickly racking the bolt as he loaded another. Another stream of alien bullets pinged off the wall they were hidden behind. On both sides now were large groupings of bug-like aliens pinning them down. 

“Put the stretcher down; we aren't going to get through this if we don't have enough rifles!” Yelled Jack as he continued to fire down the front hall. They were thoroughly pinned down.

"Freedom begins between the ears"

-Edward Abbey

Prelude

----

have a little doodle

The stars still sparkled in the early morning sky when Datil set out on the quarter-mile walk to Newt's camp. Datil had wolen up, and attempted to get back to sleep, but was unsuccessful. After about two hours with no luck, she sat up In her bedding and lit a candle next to her bedpad.

She spent most of the remaining night working on some quilts by candlelight. They were little personal projects, and she spent a lot of time practicing her embroidery when she had the free time to do so. Little trees or animals were subjects of her embroidery- each patch of fabric given as careful attention as possible, she only had so much to use until her next resupply.

When she figured it was close enough to dawn she decided to set out. It was still relatively quiet, and still very dark. The only thing she could hear with her keen ears was the sound of the wind gently brushing against the tops of the conifers.

Datil soon caught a whiff of something being carried by the wind to her from the direction of Newt's camp. She sniffed at the air, it smelled pretty good whatever it was, it smelled somewhat like roasted nuts; but not exactly. The smell became stronger as she came into view of the camp, and Datil stopped for a moment, just to observe.

Newt hadn't noticed her yet. A canvas pup tent was set up a few feet from the fire ring a metal percolator hung from an improvised spit over the flames. The smell was coffee! It didn't smell much like the kind of Coffee that Mimbre drank. The two burros laid motionless on the ground next to the trees they were hitched to.

Newt sat on fallen log, huddled in a cream-colored woolen blanket with a thick brown wool scarf wrapped around the bottom half of his face, his hat pulled over his eyes somewhat making it look like he was asleep sitting there. She could see his breath in the firelight, and Datil thought about the fact that all the other humans she knew- except the loggers perhaps, wore other animals' furs for warmth. She was used to seeing the mountain men waltz into town with their big wolf or bear pelts, or hunters walk in dressed in bison robes; even the loggers wore thick Mackinaws to stave off the cold.

And here sat Newt, in front of his fire, a wool blanket over his shoulders. Datil never really factored in the cold, she had a dense undercoat that kept her warm in the freezing winds; the cold never bothered her. She began to wonder what exactly it was like to have no fur at all.

A sudden shuffling sound came from the back of the Newts camp. It was enough to startle the small human, and Datil could see at once that it was Kentucket jumping to his feet. Viceroy was startled awake too, and stood up with a loud snort. Kentucket brayed and backed himself up against the other burro, as though trying to get away from something.

Newt jumped up, approaching the two burros quickly with arms outstretched. “Woah, woah!” Newt took hold of Kentucket's halter, and the burro grunted and squealed. Viceroy nervously hopped in place, and tried to pull himself away from Kentucket, only managing to make it more difficult for the human to hold the other burro still while keeping himself on his feet.

Newt reigned in Kentucket, and the burro bucked his head a few times. “Whats got you up in a start?” Newt asked. Kentucket's eyes were wide, and he kept his head oriented in the same direction. Newt began scanning the area immediately surrounding himself, trying to see what may have startled him awake.

His eyes fell on Datil, and at once he gained an expression of confusion. It was as if Newt had never seen her before and, in fact, he looked almost fearful.

“Datil? Is that you over there?” Newt asked, some hesitance in his voice. Datil hadn't realized that he probably couldn't see her, and she began to feel some guilt and embarrassment.

She walked forward into the firelight, and Newt seemed to exhale his angst- even Kentucket whuffled in what seemed to be relief. The burro’s eyes didn't seem so big now, and his ears flapped idly.

“I apologize, Newt.” Datil said. “I should have called out much earlier.” Datil came to stand well within the light of Newt's campfire.

Newt stood up, adjusting the blanket back onto his shoulders. “oh, you're alright. I think your eyes must have frightened Kentucket.” He said. The burro next to him nuzzled the human's back through his blanket.

Her eyes?

“They glow in the dark.” Newt said. “Reflecting the firelight, I suppose. it must've unsettled him.” Hiverbeast eyes were reflective, Datil knew this but hardly ever thought about it. It came to her that Newt's eyes didn't reflect the light of his own fire! Every other creature she had ever seen had eyes that would reflect the light of a flame- she had never thought about humans not being the same.

Kentucket laid back down, and Newt walked back to his little log next to the fire. He rubbed his palms together and reached down for a stick to use for handling the percolator. He set the hot pot down next to him, and picked a tin cup out of the grass.

“It sure does get nippy here in the mornings, don't it.” Newt said. The tone of the question wasn't very chipper, though it sounded like he meant it to be. Datil sat down next to Newt and watched him pour his coffee.

“I had to sleep with my sourdough starter wrapped in my blankets with me, I risk killing it out here.”

Killing the starter? Datil had never really paid much attention to baking- hiverbeasts didn't eat baked goods often so she had no real reason to.

“It'll get colder here soon, once the snow starts falling.” Datil watched Newt take a sip of his coffee. He didn't respond immediately, instead opting to just stare at his campfire for a long moment.

“Yes, I know. I have a lot of blankets.” Newt stood, and turned his head to look at Datil. “Would you like a cup?”

Datil had never tried coffee, she knew that Mimbre drank it. It was a common drink among humans and Mimbre always set goods aside to trade for some when he could. This coffee smelled a little different to his usual fare though, Datil couldn't exactly put her claw on what was so different about it.

Newt walked into his tent, and spent only about a minute inside before he returned, an empty ceramic cup in hand.

The cup was remarkably small, but she had expected it to be. Newt poured the dark liquid into the cup, the firelight illuminating the large pillar of steam that arose from within, and he gingerly handed it to her.

“Careful.” He whispered, very quietly, seemingly to himself, but Datil could hear it anyway, her ear twitching slightly. She took the small ceramic mug in two claws, and held it up to her nose to sniff it.

“That’s a good roast! The beans come all the way from South America, at least from what i’ve been told.” Newt sipped his own coffee once more.

“South America…” Datil repeated, sniffing the cup she held gingerly in her claws. “Have you been there? What’s down there?”

“South America? I haven't. Farthest South i’ve been was Mexico.” Newt picked up a stick next to him and started to shift the coals at the base of his little teepee fire he had going. She at once noticed that there was a cast iron pot buried in the coals.

“The biscuits should be about done...” Newt lifted the lid off the deep pot with the same stick he used to brush the coals off, a hinged handle on top making such a task easy. It was a Dutch oven, and with the lid removed Datil could see the golden tops of baked dough, puffy looking pastries.

“Nuevo México and Nueva Vizcaya, specifically.” Newt slipped back into the previous topic of conversation as he used his same stick to gently push one of the pastries against the pan. “New Spain is wild country, there's not much there- other humans, here and there, Crotalins and Lepukins. It's hot and rugged, rocky country.” Newt sat the stick down, and when he revealed his other hand from underneath his blanket robe he had a handkerchief at ready.

“Desert country is beautiful, serene, almost abstract in the way it changes the color of the sky. It's glorious in ways I can't describe.” He handled one of the finished biscuits, and with a kerchief-covered hand, extended it outwardly for Datil to take.

“Oftentimes, I wish I were omnipotent, or had a set of eyes that could see beyond the horizons and all around me. Such a small creature as myself, full of appreciation I cannot readily give to what I cannot see.”

She hadn't even finished her coffee yet- but the smell of the savory little pastry at once assaulted her senses, and she plucked it out of his hand quickly.

“These smell delightful.” Datil held the little biscuit in her paw, and threw the whole thing into her maw. “They taste delightful too..” savory, fluffy. They were the best non-meat item she had ever eaten.

“I’m very glad you like them, I’ve made more than I'll eat, and Viceroy and Kentucket are on a diet.” Newt sat one on his lap for himself, and started picking out several that he could set aside for Datil.

“I've never been to a desert before, I’ve heard it's too hot, and dry. I'm not even sure I've ever met anyone who had personally been that far South.” Datil held out her paw as Newt extended several more biscuits her way, wrapped neatly in a handkerchief.

“I suspect it would be mighty warm for you, unless you shave that coat of yours.” Newt began to eat, and with his free hand poured himself another cup of coffee. He wordlessly shook the percolator in Datil's direction, offering more, and set it aside again when Datil replied with a shake of her head. The coffee didnt really impress her.

“I could never do such a thing,” Datil said, partially to herself. “It sounds so…desolate, empty.”

By this point, the fire had started to dwindle. Not in the least because of Newt shifting it around, but the early morning light had finally begun to enter the valley, giving everything a grayish-blue haze.

“I suppose it could seem that way to some, it's quiet, but people have been living there for centuries. I did find the lack of water to be discouraging, and I’m sure Viceroy and Kentucket felt similar. By and by I think the lushness of your country is very welcome, even if the cold takes a bit of getting used to.”

“Well, I reckon I get alot of use out of this dense coat.” Datil ran a couple claws through the dense amber fur on her chest, partially to tease the small human, though he didn’t seem to immediately notice. “It's not common to see humans around here without furs of their own, taken from bears and the like. Where did you get your blankets and your coat? Back east? Whats it like back that way?”

“Pfft.” Newt waved an arm dismissively in a manner quite uncharacteristic of him, his eyes set on what remained of the fire. “Nothing too interesting back that way, at least for me. Factories springing up in the cities and the rest is just farms.”

“Factories…” Datils ears twitched. “What do they look like? The factories?”

“Bastions of hell and misery.” Newt didn't look up at Datil, if he did, he would have seen a more alarmed expression on her face, at least, as much as he could make out given her animalistic features. “All they do is eat your hope and billow it out as smoke, so that it can block out the sun and hang low over the broken bodies of the men who work in them”

“It seems you don’t like them very much…” Datil finished her last biscuit and set the coffee cup down next to her. Newt looked up at her once more, and his expression read as being fairly annoyed, not at her, obviously, but the whole conversation had worked him up considerably.

“No, I don't” Newt's expression evened out fairly quickly. “Of course, I would say I’m in the minority. Cities have never been my habitat of choice I suppose.”

Newt stood. His eyes turning up to look at the sky once completely dark, now filling itself with brilliant amber light as the sun began to peek over the mountain behind them.

“This is where you feel more at home I suppose.” Datil's comment caught his attention, and he looked to see her with her knees pulled to her chest, studying him with curious eyes. “You aren't like the other humans I've met, you're…strange.”

Newt's expression turned to that of equal parts confusion and silly amusement. “Well, that wouldn't be the first time I’ve heard that. Among other humans I’m also an odd one.”

Datil's ears drew back. She hadn't intended for the remark to sound unkind, though Newt didn't seem particularly offended. He was smiling at her again.

“I don't mean it in a bad way-” Datil began to pick over the words in her head. “I mean, you're different. All the other ones that I see show up are…unkempt. They seem wild and…brutal, in a way that you aren't. Hunters, trappers, all of them wearing furs and carrying guns. Riding horses.”

She shifted in place, releasing her knees and settling into a more comfortable position

“You paint; I’ve never seen a human who paints. I knew they did, but I never saw it.”

Newt remained quiet, listening

“You’re not greasy, and you don't smell like whiskey.”

Newt stood, silent for a moment, he opened up his blanket on his shoulders, the meager heat of the morning finally starting to show. He glanced over at his Burros, mostly in contemplation. Viceroy started to dig at the dirt with one hoof.

“I'm very happy that I don't fit that mold. Seldom Seen is a pleasant little place, I wouldn't want to be the one to cause a ruckus.”

“Oh, you haven't! Most everyone seems quite fond of you!” At that, Newt looked back at her once more and smiled.

“Im glad for it!” He finally removed his blanket, folding it neatly before pulling off his scarf. Beneath it he wore his familiar green woolen coat.

“I suppose I should get these two un-hitched and get ready to head into town, I don't want to keep Mimbre waiting.” Newt walked past Datil, who followed him with her eyes as he made his way to where his two burros were tied.

“whereabouts are you going to tie these two? I don't suppose they'll be walking into Mimbre's shop with you.” Datil's reply evoked a light chuckle from Newt, who was currently undoing the hitching line between the two trees just behind her.

“No, I don’t think that would do, they get claustrophobic. I’m going to tie them up next to the shop, I’m sure the kids wouldn't mind keeping them company for me.”

“I’m sure they wouldn't!” Datil responded, finally deciding to stand up herself.

Splashing…Datil's ear twitched, and her focus was suddenly shifting to the direction of the river. It sounded like something crossing- Newt didn't hear it, he was busy dealing with the burros, he hadn't seen Datil's new found alertness.

She listened. It sounded like an animal crossing the river, but so close to camp? She then heard a snort. It was a horse. Datil's legs began taking her toward the river, walking around Newt's tent, he finally looked back and noticed her.

“Whats the matter?” He asked, the leads of the two burros in his hands. She didn't immediately answer, and Newt began to follow, Viceroy and Kentucket walking leisurely after him.

Breaking through the trees she saw him, atop the massive black body of a draft horse, Captain Halbrook. It's amazing she hadn’t smelled him earlier, he was a hard one to miss. His ragged Dagawolf coat draped his square shoulders and made him look larger than he already was, under his coat he wore buckskin and rough leather.

His eyes immediately met hers, through the thin strands of jet black hair, his beard obscured his mouth, so she could only faintly make out his lack of any discernable expression. She heard an audible grunt from him, one of acknowledgement, perhaps. His rifle rested over his saddle horn as it always did, and his horse's gait did not slow.

Newt came out from behind Datil shortly after, stepping into sight of the enormous man, Newt's two burros immediately became visibly anxious.

The rider stopped upon reaching the shore. He looked at the both of them, but focused his attention on Newt.

“...hm…qu’est-ce que c’est?.” the large man's voice came quiet, hoarse. His large draft horse stood, pawing at the ground with nary a sound. The two burros huddled close behind both Newt and Datil now, their eyes wide, but still quiet.

“Hello there!” Newt raised a hand in friendly greeting. He wore the same cordial, approachable smile offered most everyone else.

The man didn't return the wave, his sunken dark eyes narrowed slightly.

“Yankee…”

Halbrook's gaze drifted to the two small burros, partially obscured to the best of their own abilities.

“With donkeys…”

“I would assume you're Captain Halbrook?” Newt chimed in, catching the man's attention once more. “I’ve heard of you-”

“What's your name…” Halbrook leaned downward, the first time his body had shifted since he arrived, Napoleon the draft horse did nothing to acknowledge the shift, just stood, and blew a hot gust of air out of his nostrils that came out as clouds of what looked like smoke in the cool morning.

“Newt!” the smaller human chirped back.

“Newt! You can call me Newt-”

Halbrooks eyes opened, much wider than before, a look of bewilderment. He raised himself back up on the back of the massive horse.

“Newt?”

He repeated the name, they all three stood silent, Datil was nervously picking at her chest fluff, and Newt nodded in response to Halbrook's repetition of his name.

“Yes, that-”

Newt was cut off by a booming guffaw, Halbrook's head thrown back as he bellowed with laughter; It was enough to frighten the burros, who backed themselves up and brayed along with him, chaos! Even Napoleon stomped a hoof at the sudden start, but not much else.

“Newt!? Petit Newt!” Halbrook leaned down once more to look at a very surprised Newt. “It fits! You are a Newt! Petit Lèzard!”

He continued his entourage of obscene laughter. Detail became keenly aware of how awkward the situation was, even Newt stood in place with an uncomfortable straight posture that implied he was at a loss for what to do in this situation.

Halbrook laughed until he had tears in his eyes, and he wiped his face with a massive hand. The large human looked down once more at Newt, a smile showing yellow teeth through his black beard.

“Been hard not to get stepped on by the Bêtes de l'hiver, ey? I'll try to keep Napoleon from stepping on you too!” Halbrook tugged the reins and leaned back, kicking the side of his horse. Napoleon snorted, and began to trot away with the laughing human on his back.

As he passed, the two burros circled Newt and Datil, keeping the two of them between them and the giant of a horse. Viceroy pressed his nose against Datil's leg, and Kentucket leaned himself against her knees.

Only once the rider was out of sight down the trail leading toward Seldom Seen did the two of them seem to calm down, Viceroy whuffling and leaning into Datil's paw as she scratched the back of his ear.

“Hm. Well, he's a jolly fellow.” Newt finally said, looking back up at Datil.

“Newts aren't lizards, but he seems pretty proud of himself.” Newt cracked a smile at her. Datil let a sigh escape her, she felt like she had been holding her breath the entire time. In all honesty, she figured this was probably a good sign, at least Halbrook didn't seem to despise Newt… though, she didn't know enough about the man to really know what he was thinking.

“Everything alright?” Newt's expression turned to one of mild amusement. “You trying to figure out if I actually look like a lizard?”

Datil hadn't really realized she had just been staring at Newt for a couple of seconds. She blinked once, twice.

“No, not at all.” She said. “I uh, apologize. Just thinking…”

Newt hummed to himself. “Well, I had heard that he was a tough character from Mimbre, he sounds friendly enough, though!”

Newt gathered the two burros' leads and started down the trail. They followed easily, Kentucket nuzzling against his back while Viceroy stepped up beside him, turning his head to look down the path where the mountain man had disappeared.

“He's um…he's unique.” Datil responded. “I don't think he'll cause you any trouble- he mostly stops in to trade, and I think you being so close to town will dissuade any impulsive thoughts.”

Newt waved a hand in the air. “Ah, I'm not too worried about him.” Newt brought the two burros beside him as he walked. "A lot of old trappers are like him, very coarse and rough around the edges, hard bunch of men with little civil manners, that's why they're out here, I can relate to them somewhat.”

Datil stuck up her nose, she looked down at Newt with a sideways glance. “You would hardly be described as having no civil manners, Newt.” Datil's confidence aroused a surprised glance up from Newt, the human tipping his head upward a small bit to see her from beneath the brim of his hat.

“Perhaps when compared to the other humans you know,” Newt responded. “I get the feeling that I'm an anomaly here, most of the men who stop here likely share a lot more in common with ‘le capitaine’ than me.” He gestured with two of his fingers down the path, the halter reins still tucked securely under his thumb.

The two burros behind him followed at a mind boggling slow pace, forcing Datil to slow her stride to keep pace with the human leading them.

“I would say I probably have more in common with him than I do with other humans, at least those you find moping around towns and cities back east. I have a freakish nature to them-”

Datil pondered his response for a moment. ‘Freakish’ wasn't a word that she would use for someone like Newt, especially when such a label was apparently applied to him by other humans. Hiverbeasts were “freakish” to humans, or so she had thought.

“What is a “freakish nature” to humans?” Datil asked him, her head pointed down and her eyes fixed on him.

“I've never understood it, we hear stories that humans tell about us every time a newcomer arrives, or any time one of us goes out to trade at Fort Weston.” Newt hadn't taken his attention off her. His eyes remained steady on hers, making him one of only two humans she'd encountered who seemed entirely comfortable holding her gaze.

“We are ‘freakish’ by human standards, I think, and I don't believe it's very fair. Why, I don't believe a human has ever been harmed by a Hiverbeast. Yes, we're bigger, we have teeth and claws, but it's not like that's abnormal for any other creature that lives out here.”

“Yes, Datil, and humans are frightened of those creatures too.”

Datil's ears tipped slightly backward. She felt slightly foolish, of course they were. She thought of Halbrook and his Dagawolf pelt.

Newt looked forward once again, his eyes exploring the dim morning scenery as they walked. “The fact that Hiverbeasts are sapient and more similar to us than—say, a bear—doesn't necessarily change that first impression.”

Datil looked down at one of her paws. Her claws were dark against the earth as she walked, each one considerably larger than any of Newt's fingernails. She curled her fingers inward without really thinking about it.

Newt didn't seem to notice. He was still walking comfortably beside her, the burros plodding along behind him.

“Humans are very opinionated creatures,” he continued. “I've found that everywhere I've lived. I've been subject to the ideas and the expectations of the people who live there.”

Datil's attention returned to him. Newt had his eyes forward now, one hand loosely holding the halter reins while the other swung freely at his side.

It seemed strange hearing him speak this way. She had spent so much time thinking about what humans thought of someone like herself that she hadn't given much thought to what they might make of Newt.

“I'll admit that humans are probably frightened of Hiverbeasts because of their physical characteristics, but that's not the whole reason. Hell—humans are frightened of themselves!”

One of Datil's ears turned toward him.

“Even a town as small as Seldom Seen would be suspicious of outsiders if the populace was primarily human.”

Datil watched him for another moment.

It occurred to her that for all his talk about teeth and claws, Newt hadn't put so much as another foot between them. He walked close enough that she could have reached down and touched the crown of his hat without taking a step.

She had frightened him once, she remembered. That morning at his camp, when Kentucket had caught sight of her eyes in the darkness. For those few moments before she stepped into the firelight, Newt had looked at her with the same uncertainty as the burro had.

But then, he recognized her.

Datil looked ahead before Newt could catch her staring again.

“I reckon Halbrook is just here to trade…” Datil changed the subject.

Next--->

Series starts here: Ch 1-23 of Warp Riders Book 1 - Deep Space Boogie

Books 1 & 2 are up on Royal Road in their entirety if you don't want to wait for chapters. Follow for updates on book 3 currently releasing on RR.

[Chapter]() 56

It had been startling, the sudden appearance of an enraged beast of an alien who had apparently dropped whatever he was doing and rushed home to find who had dared violate his personal space. And judging by his entry, the level of his anger was abundantly clear.

Fortunately for Varsu, being stone-skinned meant he absorbed the impact fairly well. Unfortunately, he was a scientist, not a fighter, and when Bestrus fell upon him raining down a hail of fists, his response was to push him away and scramble to escape rather than engage. Unfortunately, he did so right out the now-open doorway.

Bestrus pounced, ripping his tactical gear from his body by the sheer force transferred when he lifted Varsu off the ground by it. But this wasn’t a scavenging run. This was a battle. Punishment of one foolish enough to trespass inside his home.

“Captain! Around his neck!” Hellatz called out.

She immediately saw what he was referring to. Hanging around the beast’s neck, suspended in a crude wire bezel was the crystal. She’d missed the glow initially as the massive creature’s furry chest had largely obscured it in the initial attack. But now it was clear to see. The crystal, still large, did not seem quite so big when worn by what looked a hell of a lot like a filthy Yeti.

“Varsu! The crystal!” she called out.

Varsu, however, was too busy covering up and defending himself to switch to the offensive. Bestrus was wailing on him with his enormous fists. Fortunately for Varsu, in his rage at the trespass in his home, the attacker hadn’t thought to grab any of the weapons the growing throng of wild ones had brought in their rush to see what was going on.

Amazingly, there was a pause in any violence beyond the fight their leader was engaged in. The other intruders were a secondary concern for the moment as they gathered to watch Bestrus do his worst. And his worst was impressive.

Had Varsu not been so sturdy a being, he would surely have perished long ago from the sheer force of the blows. But in terms of size and strength, the two were actually fairly evenly matched.

The problem was the scientist’s non-violent nature. Yes, Varsu was big and scary, but when it came down to it, he was not a fighter. In fact, this entire time he had been purely on the defensive. The increasing pile of gear being torn from his body as the fight wore on was testament to that. And the bloodthirsty crowd was loving it.

“Varsu can’t—” Hellatz said, but before he could even finish his sentence Jorgat and Mahdus charged into the fray.

It was a risky move, but the massive alien was quite focused on his current target. And besides, they had fought together many times, and with synchronized precision the two were quickly pummeling Bestrus from both sides, finally relieving their besieged friend from the non-stop assault.

“While he’s distracted! Get the crystal!” Sadira shouted.

Mahdus and Jorgat both turned and looked at her with a puzzled look.

Sadira knew that look. She’d made it not long ago. “Oh no.”

A moment later Mahdus and Jorgat were violently swept aside by a meaty, fur-covered hand. Worse, the gathering horde did not seem to take kindly to the intrusion on their entertainment, and it looked like it was about to get ugly. They were very outnumbered, and more were arriving. From the rear, Hellatz was already pulling the pulse rifle into position, possible ricochets be damned.

“Shit, their comms went out,” Sadira called out. “The crystal!” she shouted again, pantomiming with her hands at her neck, making a pulling motion. “Get the crystal! Around his neck!”

Jorgat was already engaging two attacking wild ones, but Mahdus seemed to understand. She turned to Varsu and called to him in her own tongue—which the wild ones apparently didn’t speak—and launched an attack on the towering, hairy beast. She moved quickly, striking from all sides but doing no real damage.

Bestrus, however, was rapidly becoming more and more enraged by the constant attack despite the assailant’s lack of sufficient force to do any serious harm. So much so that his attention strayed from his original target. And, Sadira quickly learned, that was precisely their plan.

Varsu leapt to his feet as soon as the alien leader shifted tack and immediately charged back into the fray. Bestrus spun, only partially off-guard, and he welcomed the attack with a sharp-toothed grin, reveling in the joy of raw violence. All three of them tumbled to the ground in a heap.

Varsu used his thick arms to protect his commander as best he could, shielding her from the impact. Had he failed to do so, his and Bestrus’s combined weight would have undoubtedly caused significant damage to the smaller woman.

It was the flurry of activity that had finally reached out and sparked energy in those around them as more wild ones moved in to fight the other attackers. Sadira and Jorgat were doing what they could, but there was simply no way they could hold them all off.

Mahdus scrambled from the pile, a thin trickle of blood running down her forehead. She was banged up, but more or less okay. More importantly than that, she was cradling something against her body, hiding its glow as she retreated behind Hellatz.

“Jorgat!” Sadira shouted. She knew he would not understand her words, but his name would cut through the din of battle.

He allowed himself the briefest of glances her way and saw her motioning him to retreat. He didn’t know what exactly had happened behind him, but his was not to ask why, only to listen to the leaders, and those were Mahdus and Sadira. He delivered the strongest parting blows he could on his opponents, then tossed a frag grenade deep into the group behind them, pulling the safety pin and “cooking” the grenade a few seconds before throwing it, just as he’d been shown, to ensure it detonated right as it landed.

The explosion killed several attackers outright and wounded many more. But that wasn’t the only thing it did. It also shocked the aliens who had never seen such a device into a momentary pause of utter confusion. That brief respite was what he and the others needed to break free. Even Bestrus was taken aback by the startling force of the explosion.

“Make for the secondary exit route!” Sadira shouted, tossing a grenade at their adversaries. “Don’t use the back way. It’s too tight!”

The explosion a second later punctuated her urgency.

Mahdus didn’t understand her words, but despite the language gap it was abundantly clear what was going on. They had what they needed and were getting the hell out of Dodge, ASAFP.

She called out to Jorgat. He nodded and immediately raced ahead to clear the way. There was no way he wanted to be caught in a bottleneck, so he avoided their approach path straightaway. He had thoroughly studied the entire site’s layout and their route before they started their mission and felt he knew the backup pathway well enough. Or at least, he hoped he did.

Their flight would have them passing through a few wide-open areas, which they’d normally have avoided at all costs so as not to be noticed by the locals. Given the dire circumstances, that was no longer a concern. And in choosing that route it would also take them on a much more direct path out of the danger zone at the heart of the wild ones’ camp.

They would have to circle back around later to retrieve Moose. There was no way they would be bringing this angry horde to his position. Sadira hoped his comms would hold out long enough so she could notify him of the change of plans as soon as they got clear of the immediate threat.

To that end, Varsu was already racing away from Bestrus and the other wild ones. He had wanted no part of the fight to begin with, and now was his chance to end that engagement. He joined the others as they ran, with Hellatz taking up the rear, covering the others as they made a hasty retreat.

Hellatz watched as the confused wild ones came to their senses and began reorganizing, processing what had just happened. Someone had dared confront them in their own camp, and that would not do. The horde began to howl and bellow, calling in more of their comrades to join the hunt. A throng of Pestri and other violent, armed aliens set their gaze upon him and charged.

The Chithiid pilot had a strange look in his eye. One he hadn’t sported since the Great War. He was pissed off. Pissed off and feeling more than a little bit bloodthirsty.

“All right. I am done playing nice,” he growled, swinging the pulse rifle up to his shoulder.

Sadira heard the commotion and looked back just in time to see him taking aim. “Hel, don’t!”

But her warning was too late.

The Chithiid let off a volley, his pulse fire tearing through several of the attackers effortlessly. Unfortunately, just as they’d feared, a shot hit something that deflected it down into the hull. That piece of metal was definitely not going to give, and the shot pinballed high above, only to be deflected down again a short distance away. Someone cried out, but as the impact had been well within the wild ones’ camp, Hellatz wasn’t too concerned.

What did matter was the pursuers had paused a moment to assess the new threat. The respite wouldn’t last long, he knew, but at least it gave them time to run. And run they would. Like the wind.

[Chapter]() 57

“They’re coming for us!” Hellatz called out over his comms as the team raced through the wild ones’ encampment.

“Yes, we know!” Sadira replied as she drove her cybernetic fist into the jaw of the stocky green creature who had attempted to block her way.

They were racing along as fast as they could through the winding paths and clearings while a rising tide of roaring aliens swelled to a crest behind them. At the front of the small group, doing all they could to speed their escape, Sadira and Jorgat were laying waste to any who stepped in front of them, using both their own weapons as well as spears and clubs snatched up from their most recently dispatched opponents.

It was akin to the ancient archer’s practice of returning fire with an enemy’s own arrows, pulling them from the ground to launch back while not depleting their own supply. And so it was with this violent encounter, but with weapons of a different sort being used and dropped as they became embedded in a fallen enemy’s body.

Clubs were multi-use items, if the studs and spikes were not barbed, but the spears would be too much work to pull free from the fallen as they ran. Time was far more important. They had managed to give themselves the slightest of leads on their pursuers, and they could not afford to slow for even an instant.

A great number of startled adversaries fell in short order in the face of the rushing intruders. Not for lack of weapons or willingness to fight, but because they were simply not expecting to encounter an enemy rushing upon them in their own home. No one ever attacked the wild ones. It simply was not done. And it was that element of surprise alone that allowed Sadira’s team to continue forward at speed.

Had they been met with ready opponents, even if they had been able to defeat them relatively quickly, any knock-down fight would serve no purpose but to slow their progress. And that would allow Bestrus and his pursuing comrades to catch up with them and bolster their ranks. And once that happened, they wouldn’t stand a chance.

“They’re getting closer, Captain!” Hellatz called from behind.

He couldn’t see them yet, but the aliens on their tail were on their home turf, and they knew the shortcuts among the towering boulders and debris like only a local could, while the intruders were forced to follow the only route they knew. Sadira just hoped the directness of their path would get them to the slightly safer maze of trails outside the wild ones’ camp before Bestrus caught up with them.

“Clearing coming up, Hel,” she commed back to him. “Head on a swivel. We should be passing through a smaller one, then a larger one. This could get hairy.”

“As if it wasn’t already,” he replied.

She was still unable to transmit anything to Mahdus or her people. Whatever the cause of their comms failure, the lack of translation was not slowing their roll. This was something that required no flowery language. They were running for their lives, as simple as that, and the people in the front were clearing the way.

Mahdus and Varsu were in the middle of the group, keeping their prize safe while they ran. If they’d gone through all of this only to have the crystal taken again it would be an enormous blow to their cause, and that simply would not do. Not to mention they wouldn’t have another chance to sneak into the wild ones’ camp. Not after this.

Abruptly, the path spat them out into an open space. It wasn’t enormous, no more than fifteen meters across, narrowing at either end where the fallen stone had angled into a funnel of sorts. The perimeter was dense with debris, collected and layered into shanty homes. And it was from those that startled locals were quickly emerging. And these, it seemed, had received some sort of warning, for they were armed and alert.

Engaging would be their downfall, Sadira immediately realized. They had to get through before the enemy had a chance to make their move. She nudged Jorgat and nodded ahead, then took off even faster. Her alien teammate saw what she was planning and called out to Mahdus and Varsu as he increased his speed as well.

It would be an energy drain, but a little sprint would put the open space to their back. There was a much larger clearing coming up, if he recalled correctly, and they needed to make it through that one before any warning could set those residents in motion.

Shouts and cries of anger rose as the group flew past. Hellatz looked up just in time to see a trio of Pestri scrambling across the rocks, trying to catch up and drop down onto their prey. He ran faster, pulling a frag grenade from his pouch as he did. Pulse fire was a no-no, but they were almost to the narrow bit leading to their target at the far end of the open space. A grenade would be perfect.

Sadira charged into the winding pathway, the others close on her heels.

“Fire in the hole!” Hellatz called over comms as he pulled the pin, though only Sadira would understand the words.

It didn’t matter. With what they were facing, he didn’t think the others would slow even one step when things went boom. He held the grenade a second longer than he would have preferred, but the enemy was still above. He couldn’t afford to let the grenade fall to the ground. At the last moment Hellatz threw it high behind him just as he ducked into the escape path.

The explosion threw shrapnel into the Pestri, killing one outright and horribly wounding the other two. All three were blown from the rock face. A small bit of flying metal struck Hellatz as well. He winced but kept running, checking the wound seeping blood on his side. Fortunately, despite the pain, it was only superficial.

They charged on, swerving left, then right, then left again until it was a straight shot for about ten seconds to the large clearing that would be their most challenging obstacle yet. It was a good thirty meters across, and likely to contain a fair number of wild ones. But if they managed to reach it before the wild ones were informed exactly what was happening, they could still stand a chance. The enemy’s lack of comms units just might be the final thing that saved them.

The team burst out into the fire-lit space at a full run. The trailhead they wanted was not the obvious one ahead. It was located just off to the right side. That one would put them on the path without booby traps. The one that would get them heading back to their ship.

“Captain, we’ve got a problem!” Hellatz called out.

“Yeah, I see ’em,” Sadira said, abruptly coming to a halt as a dozen filthy aliens scampered down from above, sealing off the trail behind them.

Up ahead the other routes were likewise blocked as more of Bestrus’s people clamored from their positions atop the boulders and spaceship debris. They were blocked in. And there were at least fifty angry alien fighters surrounding them, with more arriving by the second.

“This is not good,” Sadira said, scanning the area as best she could.

Light was brighter from the fires, but it was still a relatively dimly lit area, and she couldn’t be sure what exactly was around them. They had pulse rifles, but this was a roughly circular clearing, and a shot in here could easily pinball right back at them.

The chittering locals parted at one of the side trails, and Bestrus, his chest heaving from the pursuit, strode into the clearing, his best warriors following close behind. He was big. Big and angry. But the run had given him time to think, and this time, he was taking a moment before rushing these surprisingly resilient little beings.

He looked all around, gauging the advantage he now possessed. There were five intruders. Five well-armed, but nevertheless hopelessly outnumbered intruders. And this time they had nowhere to run. This would be fun.

Bestrus smiled and began approaching them, his yellowed canine fangs bared with raw menace. Fanning out on either side were dozens of his people. All of them ready to leap at a moment’s notice, just waiting for his command.

“Captain?” Hellatz called out.

“Can you get a clear shot without risking a ricochet?”

“I don’t think so. But at this point, does it matter?”

She hated to admit it, but he was right. This was their last stand, and if they were to fall, even if it was to their own deflected weapons fire, at least they would take out as many of these bastards as possible.

“Light ’em up,” she said, then swung her own rifle into position and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

She tried again but to no avail. All of her team tried to fire, but their rifles would not function. Apparently, this place, the center of wild one society, was also the most powerful energy suck within the craft that had swallowed them up. It made sense, she thought as she mused their pending demise. Deeper down the whale ship’s gullet the vessel would drain more powerfully than at the mouth.

They were limited in options now, she realized as she reached for her knife, and it seemed they would have to meet their Maker in a far less impressive way.

[Chapter]() 58

“Well, shit,” Sadira growled, slinging the rifle behind her back and waving her knife in one hand while grabbing a grenade in the other.

She and the others shared a look. All knew what was about to happen.

“At least we’ll be buying the others a little respite,” Hellatz said as he pulled a pair of grenades with two of his hands while holding a spear and a knife in the others.

“Moose, I don’t know if you can hear this,” Sadira transmitted. “But we’re in a bad way here. I’m afraid you’re going to have to find a way back to the ship on your own. You should have a window of opportunity, though. I think the bad guys are going to be staying local for a little bit.”

She swallowed hard. They’d been through a lot together. Her Number One had been at her side for years, not only a shipmate, but a dear friend. And now he would be on his own.

“It’s been an honor serving with you, my friend. Never give up trying to get out of here. I hope you manage to get home.”

The horde was barely holding back. Only Bestrus’s presence kept them from an all-out charge, but it looked like that had finally become an inevitability.

So, this is how it ends, Sadira mused, strangely calm in the face of her demise.

A shift in the air blew across her face. It wouldn’t have been noteworthy but for the fact that there was no wind inside this vast craft. A second later a blistering volley of railgun fire sprayed out into the wild one ranks, their bodies exploding from the supersonic rounds tearing through them.

Some of the sabots ricocheted off of the deck, but their velocity was well over that of conventional projectiles and they simply carried on right into the stone, wreckage, and ore all around them, burrowing in deep and causing massive damage to whatever was near.

The team looked up to the beautiful sight of a sleek little attack ship wobbling in the air above them, merrily lighting up the wild ones with its non-pulse weaponry. The primitive alien tribe had grown up around wrecked ships but never functional ones. Seeing something like this right overhead raining down death upon them was akin to meeting God and finding out he was very pissed at you. The clearing emptied as fast as the wild ones could move.

“You guys might want to get out of there. I don’t know how long the shock is going to last,” Moose called down over the ship’s external speakers, confident the fleeing aliens didn’t understand him. And even if they did, they were all running as fast as their legs would carry them, so it really didn’t matter much.

“Moose? What the hell?” Sadira asked over her comms. “Can you hear me?”

“He can hear you. I’ve got your signal on boost,” the chipper voice of their AI attack ship replied.

“Ace? I thought you were—”

“Scrambled? Yeah, I was in a tough spot, but Holly fixed me up. And hey, you want to talk about mental issues? If you thought my fragmenting was bad, how must it be to split into two different minds, am I right?”

“Ace, please,” Moose said.

“Oh, right. Sorry. Go ahead.”

“Sadi, power is wonky as hell and we’ve only got a limited amount of flight time. Ace probably won’t be able to lift off if he lands again. We can cover you for now, but you need to get moving.”

The captain and her team were already running, jumping over the ruined remains of dozens of shattered alien corpses. “Don’t need to tell us twice,” she replied as they ducked into the trailhead that would lead them home.

“We’ll cover your back as long as we can,” Moose said. “I think we gave those bastards a little something to think about. Should slow their roll a bit.” He switched to their wireless comms. “Don’t want them tracking when we talk,” he continued. “Your bone-conduction patch still working okay?”

“Yeah, I can hear you,” she replied. “What the hell happened? And how on Earth are you aboard Ace?”

Moose’s chuckle over the comms was one of the most welcome sounds Sadira had heard in days. “Yeah, about that. Seems that when Ace was booting back up he was tied in to the comms systems.”

“They deactivated my drive and weapons systems,” the AI ship griped.

“You did open fire inside the landing bay,” Sadira chided.

“Well, yeah. But that was an accident.”

“Your point being?” she replied, but with a bit of amusement in her voice. It was good having the quirky little ship back online, even if he was flying at a bit of a handicap.

“Anyway, Ace picked up your transmissions, and he saw the pin marking where I was hiding, so he came and dropped a retrieval cable and hauled me in. Goon threw a power pack aboard before he left, and I’ve got my leg charging as we speak.”

“Finally, a little bit of good news.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think we can do a hover and cable retrieval around here. The hostiles won’t stay quiet for long, so I think you guys had best be running.”

“We are running,” she said.

“Run faster, Cap. I mean it, we can’t provide cover much longer.”

“Believe me, we’ve got no incentive to sightsee. You hang back by their camp and cover us as long as you can. That’s all we can ask. Once we get far enough away you can head back to the ship and finish your repairs.”

“Will do,” Ace said, then circled back a bit to make sure no one was on their tail.

Sadira turned to the others and motioned for them to follow. They’d need to move fast if they were to take advantage of this respite. Eventually, the wild ones would come hunting once more, and they needed to be as far from this place as possible when they did.

Not so far behind the fleeing intruders, the dead were being counted and the wounded either bandaged or put out of their misery. The attack on the wild ones’ home had been both startling in its unexpectedness as well as its effective meting out of violence. Bestrus looked over the corpses and severed limbs scattered by the flying machine and couldn’t help but be impressed. It was a magnificent weapon. And it was one he intended to make his own.

He walked back to his quarters, leaving the minions to clean up the mess and make proper use of the remains. He had something else he wished to see. His door lay on the ground where he had kicked it from its mounting, but no one had dared set foot inside his domicile, as it should be.

There was a bit of a mess from the brawl, but the fight had quickly spilled outside, sparing his home. The stone-skinned bastard had been a terrible fighter, but he had managed to avoid any serious damage, unlike the others of his kind Bestrus and his hunting team had killed in earlier times. Interesting that one should join up with these odd new intruders.

Something caught his eye. Or more appropriately, the lack of something. They had stolen the fascinating glowing crystal from around his neck, but he had assumed that to be a theft of opportunity. Who wouldn’t want such a thing for themselves, after all? The device that still had power illuminating its screen was gone as well, but little else seemed to be missing.

They had come for the two new pieces he had added to his collection, taken from the recently captured prisoner who had been freed not long ago. A pattern was clear. These incidents were connected, and all paths led back to the newcomers.

Bestrus stepped outside and looked at the remains of the gear he had torn from the stone-skinned man during their fight. New materials, he noted, and strong at that. Not worn and stained like everything else in this place. That meant true newcomers. It had been a while, but the thought of a proper hunt made him smile almost as much as that of revenge did.

He gathered up all of the bits and went back inside to learn about his foe. Bestrus then sat on his throne and began digging through the new items. The harness straps could be useful, but the mechanical screen device was smashed to bits. A pouch held a few bits of food, which he would keep for himself, naturally. He was about to put it aside when he noted a small metal tube tucked away in the pouch as well. He’d almost missed it buried beneath the other items.

With a firm twist the cap came off. He peered inside then shook it, dislodging the contents. A small rolled-up piece of strong vellum slid out into his hand. He’d seen such things in the past, but only in tiny, faded fragments. But this was new. Intact. It would hold much value should he ever wish to use it for trade.

With unexpected delicacy for a man his size, he unrolled it to see just what exactly this new prize was. To his surprise, the lines and markings seemed to almost make sense. Bestrus cocked his head and pondered for a moment. The shift in position made things suddenly fall into place. He turned the page the other way up and realized he did recognize this image. Or, at least, a version of it.

This was a map. A map of his encampment. Surprisingly detailed, including booby traps, he noted. But more than that, there were things outside of his home turf that were marked as well. And one of them was far, far away, and it was marked differently.

That was where the attackers had come from. A new ship in his realm. And they had left him a map right to it.

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"That’s all the sample collecting I’ll be doing," K’resshk announced, wiping his hands with an antiseptic towelette and packing his things. "Have fun with… cleaning up."

Sonja watched him shudder as he left the maker space, leaving just her and Dominick to get rid of the last bits of… mush.

"So, um…" She used a chisel to scrape a chunk with hair and skin still attached to it into her bucket, being careful not to over-extend her shoulder. Magic squid juice could only do so much for a bullet wound.

"…Yeah?" There was a splat from behind her as he tossed the contents of his own bucket into the kiln.

"Are we gonna talk about the whole, y’know… you shooting me thing?" They hadn’t really talked since their ill-fated interrogation, and it was driving her as crazy as she’d driven Elqatra.

"S-sure," he said, his voice cracking. "We can talk about that. What did you want to, uh…" He trailed off.

"I—I don’t know. It just… feels like something we should talk about?"

"Yeah. Definitely." He laughed shakily. "I’m, uh… sorry? For shooting you?"

Sonja nodded slowly, and tried to consider how to react to that—or how to feel at all. It was a nice sentiment, and she didn’t think she was angry about that whole… mess… especially since she’d ran at him with a helmet on… but there was still something gnawing at her.

"Hey, Dominick," she began, finally turning to face him. "Did you… really not know that it wasn’t me?"

He looked at the growing pile of mush forlornly, his lip quivering ever so slightly, as if he was grieving the Sonja that had been.

"Physical signs, maybe," he whispered. "You—she—was cold to the touch. Struggled to drink water. Couldn’t cry or sweat. I just figured you were sick. And she looked the same, so I—"

"You know that’s not what I meant." She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, cognizant of the translator earpiece nestled within it—of AEON, and his penchant for… imitating her. "Behavioral signs. You know, since you’re a behavioral scientist?" She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her words, though it wasn’t directed at Dominick so much as it was at herself, for being so… so easily copied. So shallow.

He took a deep breath and paused to think. To figure out how to sugarcoat his words, probably.

"I think all of us were believing what we wanted to believe," he murmured. "And I… I wanted to believe that you were okay, even though Hassan knew you weren’t. He tried to tell me, but I didn’t listen."

"And that’s why you guys are fighting now? Because of me? I’m flattered," she joked, though her heart wasn’t in and she knew he could tell. It was more disconcerting than anything.

He awarded her a laugh, no doubt out of pity. "Yeah, I guess so. They messed with us big time—gaslighting Commander Liu and convincing Hassan that the whole galaxy was out to get him, starting a fight between Eza and Uuliska, and another one between—" He cut himself off. "Between… other assorted individuals."

"Between you and Aktet, you mean?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Shit. Was it that obvious? Has he been, like, glaring at me?"

"What? No! Who else would you have cut yourself off to avoid talking about? K’resshk?" She wrinkled her nose. "What were you even fighting over?"

He paused for a suspicious amount of time.

Then cleared his throat.

Then shuffled around awkwardly.

"Oh, my god, would you spit it out already?" She groaned. "You do know who you’re talking to, right? There’s nothing you can say that’s going to surprise—"

"You," he blurted out.

"…Yeah? There’s nothing you can say that’s going to surprise me. Good job on filling in the blank? Now can you please tell me—"

"We were fighting over you. A-about you, I mean, not… you know."

Now it was her turn to pause. An ominous dripping came from the corner of the room—some splotch of clone goo that they hadn’t yet found, probably.

"What… what the hell do you mean you were fighting about me? About whether or not I was acting weird?" That was too normal to be the reason, but what else would they—

"He said I pander to you too much."

Oh. Her heart sank. "I… I didn’t know…"

The other agent chose not to rescue her from the ensuing awkward silence, and the dripping continued.

Sonja would have been lying if she’d said that she’d never been self-conscious about the relationship her and Dominick had. She was closer to him than she was to anyone else in her life, past or present. But her doubts about the ways other people saw their bond continued to gnaw at her, and she’d worried on a few occasions that she was too possessive—not to mention her doubts that he felt the same way she did. What if he’d just been going along with it the whole time for the sake of his job? What if he felt trapped? They’d never talked about that before. She was always too afraid of the truth.

Better late than never.

"Dominick," she began, her voice wavering. "I know… I know I can be clingy. So if you ever feel like you have to agree with me, or like I’m holding you back… you know you can tell me, right? And if you’ve just been going through the motions to not hurt my feelings or whatever, I won’t be mad. I just—"

"Hey, hey, it’s okay," he said in a soothing tone, closing the gap between them and using his sleeve to wipe a tear off of her cheek that she hadn’t noticed falling. "That’s not what I meant, and I doubt that’s what Aktet meant, either. You’re not ‘holding me back.’ We just…" He sighed. "The jet lag was getting to all of us. I’m sure with time we’ll all make up."

His doubt was obvious from the distant look in his eyes. Elqatra had really done a number on them. Sonja had really done a number on them. She couldn’t help but feel responsible, somehow, but…

Wait. She sniffled, trying to clear her sinuses. If ‘I’ started all of this, then maybe I can fix it? If I just remind them what I’m actually like when I’m not being impersonated…

She puffed her chest up and nodded.

"I’ll be back," she said resolutely. "Unless you finish cleaning up without me, I mean."

"What? What are you—"

"Keep an eye on Wojtek, too!" She dashed to the other side of the room, scooped him up just before he could pounce on a quivering mass of clone tissue, and dumped him into Dominick’s arms before speeding out the door.

___

"Thanks again, man," Omar told Jitter as they left the sound booth they’d spent the past half an hour in.

"No problem! I hope your, uh… daughter? Your daughter? I hope her first molt goes well." The technician patted him on the back and waved goodbye.

He watched the man depart, then scrolled through the extensive notes he’d taken during their conversation regarding the development of juvenile Kth’sk. There was… a lot.

I just hope I can send it all to Francois before the poor kid starts going through alien puberty.

Assuming Francois would even do anything with the information, with how frosty she—

"Hi!"

He jumped at the cheery voice that came up from behind him, and the delicate tap on his shoulder. It was Krishnan, her arms clasped behind her back and her smile ear-to-ear.

"Krishnan. Did you, uh… need something?" He slid his phone into his pocket and tried to suppress the wave of annoyance that overtook him when he laid eyes upon her. It wasn’t her fault that he’d spent days on end being psychologically tortured by someone who looked and spoke exactly like her, and yet…

It’s a little hard to separate the two.

"Nah, I just wanted to catch up," she said casually. "It’s been a while!"

"It’s been… three-ish days." He was starting to feel suspicious. Had the fake Sonja somehow merged with her during their interrogation? Was this all a set-up?

"Which is basically a week," she said dismissively, "and that’s, like, almost a month, you know? How’ve you been?"

"Are—are you okay?" He was more confused than anything at this point. As a general rule, he assumed that the agent was never entirely genuine with him—that seemed to be a side of her reserved for Lombardi—but the vibe here was off. Not in a malicious way, just… off.

"I believe," AEON said suddenly, his voice muffled by the pocket of her hoodie (where had she even gotten that?), "that Agent Krishnan is attempting to ease tensions within your group by overwriting your memories of the ‘fake’ Agent Krishnan."

"AEON!" She groaned. "That’s, like, the creepiest, most evil robot way you could’ve phrased that. I’m trying to undo the damage Elqatra did. Sorry if I was coming off too strong."

Omar nodded slowly and looked past her. "Did Lombardi put you up to this?" It seemed awfully mature for Krishnan. Though maybe that was his frustrations with her impostor talking.

"No, I left before he could stop me. He is sorry, though. He didn’t say that, but he had that look in his eyes that screams ‘I’m sorry for even existing,’ you know? The sad puppy dog ones?"

He had to crack a smile at that. "He always has that look, Krishnan. The first time I saw him after he woke up from his coma, he looked sorry for having been in one in the first place. He’s as bad at putting on a tough exterior as I am once you get to know him."

She laughed, but there was a wistful look in her eyes.

"…Krishnan?"

"Hm? Oh. I just… wanted to say thanks. For knowing that something was wrong with ‘me,’" she said, using finger quotes. "Dominick… he was too scared to admit to himself that anything was up, and I appreciate that, but it’s… comforting, I guess, knowing that someone could tell. A-anyways, I should get going. It’s late, and there’re more people I wanna catch up with."

"Yeah. Of course." He watched quietly as she waved, then raced down the hallway as he reminisced about other fond memories he’d shared with the crew.

"Oh, and if you’re gonna shower, don’t throw out the toothpaste gum once you’re done with it or Tress’ll be pissed! Just put it back in the sanitizer!" she called out over her shoulder.

The toothpaste gum?

___

DEAR HUMANS, read the hastily-scrawled sign hanging above the dental grit that Aktet was about to use. DO NOT THROW THIS OUT, OR I WILL PERSONALLY MAKE YOU PAY FOR A REPLACEMENT. SIGNED, TRESS. It was, ironically, written in Galactic Standard.

He finished his nighttime ablutions and refrained from disposing of the dental grit just to feel something.

"Heyyy," drawled a familiar voice as he left the bathroom. "What’s up?"

Sonja was leaning on the doorframe, looking to be in suspiciously high spirits.

"Agent Krishnan." He nodded respectfully. "I was just preparing to rest. Are you feeling alright, after…?" He gestured to her injury.

"Oh, that?" She laughed and patted her shoulder. "Totally fine! Tress slapped a high-tech waterproof bandage on it after slathering it with squid ju—with an enzyme salve. Also, Dominick was either firing a warning shot, or we really need to hit the range back at headquarters. You, um, should come with us sometime!"

"To the ‘range?’" He could only assume it related to the operation of firearms, but surely she wasn’t suggesting that—

"Yeah, where we make sure we can… safely use our guns? Just in case anything happens and you have to, you know…" She mimicked pulling a trigger. "I—I think they’d let you in. Even though you’re not part of the agency. It could be, um, a date! I wouldn’t even have to go!"

A date. The concept of courtship seemed so far removed from everything they were dealing with that he almost laughed at the prospect.

"I appreciate the thought, but wielding the electrolaser rifle on Drekth was more than enough for me, and I’m not certain that this ‘range’ you speak of would be appropriate for a… a…"

"A date?" She grinned.

"Yes. That." He grimaced, both excited by the idea and appalled by how excited he was. He may have been the one who started the conflict, but he would not be the one to initiate a reconciliation.

"Well, maybe you could go to, like… a… a baseball… game…?" She twirled a strand of black hair that still had a faint sheen of purple to it.

He gasped. "S-Sonja! Just because he and I are in the middle of a disagreement does not mean I want to see him very nearly die again! The last time he partook in an equivalent sport, he—"

"No, no, not to play in it. To watch it!" She sighed. "Also, I’m pretty sure it’s WAY safer on Earth. There’s no way he would’ve made it to adulthood after playing it as a kid if it was anything like alien baseball. He’s, like… him."

Aktet shrugged. "Didn’t he participate in a rather intensive sport during his education? ‘Pole dancing’ or something like that? Pole vaulting, maybe?"

Her face… contorted, and she laughed. "Y-yeah! You should go ask him to demonstrate pole dancing for you sometime. He’d appreciate it! You could go ask him right now, actually!"

"I suppose our bickering did start over a relatively silly matter," he murmured. "I’ll… go speak with him, and ask him about this ‘pole dancing.’"

He looked at her as she grinned ear-to-ear. She had a warmth about her that he hadn’t realized he’d so desperately missed until she’d returned.

"It’s good to have you back, Sonja. I mean it." With a shy smile, he ducked away and headed towards the site of their interrogation.

___

Uuliska was half-asleep when Aktet stormed into their shared room, his ears a brighter shade of red than the dwarf star his home planet orbited.

"I want the clone version of Agent Krishnan back," he growled. "The real one is a lying, treacherous primitive who deserves nothing less than the eternal torment she has wrought upon me." He flopped down on an unoccupied mattress snout-first.

Dominick walked in a few moments later, sat down in the corner of the room, hugged his knees to his chest, and hid his similarly bright-red face.

"Disgusting," K’resshk muttered from his own corner. "I was hoping the rift between the two of them would have put an end to all of… that."

It was then that Commander Liu walked in, having returned from the bathroom, and—

"By the stars," Uuliska gasped. "Your head!"

Herself, K’resshk and Aktet all reacted to the new deformity with shock and horror. The solid lump which normally crowned her head had melted and fallen around her face like an Istiil’s tentacles, or perhaps like Sonja’s ‘hair.’

The woman ran her hands over the space which her cranial mass formerly occupied and frowned.

"Is it tangled? I didn’t have any gel to slick it back."

"Looks fine to me," the captain said absentmindedly. "Except for the huge spider crawling through it."

"Hassan. There aren’t even any spiders on this—never mind." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Will one of you please tell me what’s wrong with my head?"

"Your… your bulbous growth," K’resshk gurgled, acid rushing to his esophagus. "It’s changed. And the keratinous halo framing your features—how could that possibly have grown in a matter of minutes?"

"Yeah, that’s super weird," Eza deadpanned. "Maybe it’s a new symptom of Myselosis."

She very obviously knew something, but Uuliska was not going to be the one to ask her for clarification.

The commander stood there for a moment, her eyes narrowed, then groaned. "My bun? Are you asking why my hair isn’t in an updo?" She took a small elastic circle off of her wrist and deftly shaped her new growths into a—

"Oh," Aktet whispered. "I… don’t like that. I don’t like that it does that."

The woman just stared at him blankly, then winced as she sat down on an empty bed. The fact that she was coherent after being exposed to the sap of a Drekthian graltak bush, let alone an entire syringe of it, was miraculous. From the way Eza had described her own inoculation growing up…

Eza… She watched her lover out of the corner of her eye. How was it possible to feel such intense adoration and frustration at the same time?

All I wanted was a few moments to cherish the dream of a more peaceful existence for the both of us. Was that so selfish?

Their life hadn’t been perfect before all of this, but it was hard to be reminded of the comforts and luxuries they once shared and not yearn for the past—back when they would sneak away from formal dinners and enjoy one another’s company in her personal chambers, wrapped in silken kelp-fiber sheets underneath the frescoes that adorned her ceiling, and back when they would embrace one another in the warm, sparkling waters of her private bathhouse, its lagoon-glass mosaics shimmering in the early morning light. The scent of the perfumed bath oils they’d use still haunted her dreams.

I need to moisten my membrane. She stood up slowly and left the room, her head hung low. She’d only made use of the custom soaking tub the Vahiya had included in her suite two times, and now she was back to showers. Maybe if they managed to convince the board members to stand down, they’d be allowed to stay just one more night?

"Oh, Uuliska!" Sonja ran up to her right as she stepped into the hallway. "I was looking for… Uuliska? You okay?"

I’m fine, she tried to say, but the words caught in her throat. Her whole body felt dry and sticky, and she couldn’t bring herself to maintain her façade any longer.

"No," she rasped, a sickly pale hue tinting her normal coloration. "No, I am not."

The young human intuited what was the matter and ushered her to the bathroom, waited for her to absorb the warm water, provided her with drinking water as soon as she exited, and led her to an empty room to decompress in what felt like the blink of an eye.

After a brief struggle to find an empty room, that is.

"Oh, god, ew!" Sonja slammed the door she’d just opened shut, and a shrill Kth’sk cry of surprise followed by the angry growling of a Jikaal came from behind it.

"The fuck is wrong with you?!" yelled the latter of the two voices—Tress, if Uuliska recalled correctly.

"I’m sorry! I—I didn’t know you’d be in the sound booth making—augh, never mind!" She groaned, grabbed Uuliska’s hand, and moved on to the next empty room, this one a closet full of unused cases of fabricator supplies.

"That was awful." She looked about as distressed as her partner had when he’d entered with Aktet, and though they were in air and not water, Uuliska could still feel the sudden heat radiating off of her face from across the small space.

"I believe that an example of… ah, what’s the human word… karma?"

"I just… I didn’t know they could open their mouths that wide," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut.

"The Kth’sk, or the—"

"Both. Both of them." She sighed and blinked a few times, then glanced at Uuliska, an unspoken question forming on her lips.

"…Are you about to ask how Eza and I—"

"I wasn’t going to, since it felt rude, but… do the tusks get in the way?"

The look on her face was dead serious.

By the stars. If there was a single X factor that united humanity, their unerring curiosity about different ways of life was a strong candidate. Perhaps that was a consequence of how many different ways of life they exhibited in the first place.

Disbelief aside, Uuliska pondered the inquiry for a moment, then shrugged. "I can’t say I’ve ever noticed it before. They’re rather offset from the center of her…"

"Right, right. I wonder why a bunch of different species use their mouths to—no, never mind! I brought you in here because I wanted to check up on you, not because I wanted to talk sociology." She smiled. "So, um… how are you doing?"

Uuliska took a long sip of water and studied Sonja’s expression. That was another facet of humanity that both fascinated and frustrated her—none of them had consistent body language. There were some similarities, for sure—smiling, nodding, shrugging—but what of the way Sonja tilted her head from side to side at certain statements while Dominick only nodded or shook his, or Commander Liu’s smirks versus the captain’s wide grins?

"I’m… fine," she said, after her moment of contemplation. "Compared to earlier, at least. Eza and I haven’t spoken since a disagreement we had after you, um, left, and it’s been weighing on me."

The agent hummed in understanding. "Seems like everyone’s been on edge these past few days. That’s why I was looking for you before, actually. I wanted to see if I could help. I figured if the fake me messed you all up, the real me could help… make things better, I guess? It sounds so silly when I say it out loud. I’m probably just pissing everyone off."

"Well, you certainly ‘pissed off’ Dominick and Aktet, though I have a feeling that was your plan all along, was it not?" Though it was a much more Jikaali tactic than what she used to employ, uniting two bickering individuals through a common struggle was very effective.

"Maaaaybe," she said with a giggle. "I’m not doing that to you, by the way. That’d be, like, super uncool. I just wanted to reassure you that whatever disagreement you had, if you just talk to her about it, I’m sure she’ll understand. Unless she tried to kill you or something. She—she didn’t, right?" Her eyes widened.

"No, of course not! We just… expressed different reactions when Curator Galima offered to commemorate our relationship with a work of art. I—I know she was simply manipulating us, but it reminded me of better times, before all of this strife. When I looked at Eza to… share the moment with her, I suppose… she brushed me off." Uuliska tried to suppress the moody tones emerging throughout her form. "She attempted to talk to me after, too. To apologize, most likely, and I refused to open my door. It all sounds so trivial now, but I can’t begin to fathom how I would discuss it with Eza."

"Maybe you don’t have to discuss it," Sonja said softly. "You two know each other better than anyone else here. You could probably just walk up to her and—well, not smile, but, uh, glow—and she’d understand."

Oh. "I had not thought of it that way." Breaking down communication and emotions so explicitly had been a struggle since she lost her telepathy. Some days, it felt pointless to even try and connect with those around her. But the way Sonja described it, and the way…

"A-actually," she said hesitantly, "do you think, ah… Clef, was it? Would be willing to—well, not discuss, but communicate about how they employ music? Something about it…"

Sonja’s eyes lit up. "Oh, definitely! Clef loves talking to people in their own way. Very friendly. I mean, maybe don’t go up to Eza and serenade her, but—"

"Of course, of course!" She stood up and smoothed out her robes. "Those were two separate lines of thought, the first of which I should go and follow up on. Thank you, Agent Krishnan. And make sure not to overwhelm yourself with counseling us all. It is an easy tendency to develop, but a hard one to let go of. I would know."

"This is the last time I’ll go around therapizing. Pinky promise." She held out her smallest digit, then winced. "You, uh… never mind. I don’t think you can make a pinky promise with the webbing between your fingers. I—I’ll see you around!" She shot up and opened the door for Uuliska, ushered her out, and then—

"Agent Krishnan." Commander Liu was waiting on the other end of it, her arms crossed. "I was looking for you. We need to have a talk about what kind of ‘help’ you promised these people."

Uuliska ran. She ran far, and she ran fast, until she was safely cuddled up next to her girlfriend, who seemed pleasantly surprised at the sudden close contact.

…It would be wise, perhaps, were she to refrain from mentioning her intended use of the woman as a meat shield against any ensuing conflict.

First / Previous / Next / Tumblr

(Sorry for the delay, the confusion of finishing dealing with the scam that nearly got me made me get up early so I am running on almost no sleep.)

First

Home at War

“You’re fucking insane.” The scientist says as they try and scan the knife only for the scanner to be bricked in the process. “Not only have you made contact with Death Incarnate, but you’ve made a knife. A knife. A fucking piece of sharp metal when the opposing force appears to made primarily of fire.”

“I understand you’re freaking out, but we’re still in a military setting. You have ten minutes to get it out of your system, then I need you professional again.” Harold says holding up his communicator, snarling as it fails to work because it too has been bricked and he runs Axiom through a sequence. The Communicator turns back on and starts repairing it’s corrupted files from the date centres deep in the ship itself. It takes nearly a full minute for him to put the ten minute timer on as the scientist fumes at him. “Okay, go.”

The scientist quickly shows off a mastery of numerous languages and terminology that Harold can only barely understand at the best of times, let alone while he still has his heart racing like a jackhammer after being partially eaten alive by the still extremely present Hargath.

“What is a Galgarana?” Harold asks as one word sticks out near the end of the rant.

“... Don’t repeat that word sir.” The Tret scientist tells him.

“What is it?”

“... Not something for someone under a century of age to know.”

“Really? You do realize you’re just making me more curious.”

“Don’t.” The Scientist says and Harold sighs. “Sir, you need to conceal that weapon.”

“I don’t think it can actually damage anything but a Haffara Thar.”

“That’s wonderful sir. It’s still killing the cameras and I shudder to think about-”

“Synths. Right. Sorry. Head’s still pounding a bit.” He says before bringing up his communicator. “RAM, this is Commodore Jameson. I require a sheath. Trytite and lead layering underneath reinforced kevlar. I’ll send an image of a blade with identical dimensions over first. It needs to block all scanning technology because the weapon itself is a hazard to electronics. Any scan that gets through is going to brick the device.”

“Copy that sir, awaiting images.” They say and Harold sighs before turning around. Setting the blade to the side in the now darkened part of the lab and brings out one of the trytite knives that were going to be experimented on next. Identical to the first. They both resemble more kitchen knives than a proper weapon.

He takes an image of the blue blade then the Scientist hands him a measuring tape that he got from... somewhere. He then uses it to give the images of the knife accurate dimensions as he turns it to show it’s length, width and height clearly. He sends all the pictures and receives a text stating that this will be easy and so long as he doesn’t teleport he will have the sheath by the time he reaches The RAM. Which is when Harold orders it be brought to him because he has an item that is a hazard to all electronic sensors and will not damage his ship as he tries to protect it.

The resulting dismay at Ode Madness being present make shim chuckle a bit even as he makes a point to move for and conceal the altered knife behind his back.

“All scanners off! I have an Ode based item on me and they play merry hell on standard equipment!” He calls out to the approaching repair crew. “Unless you’re willing to part with the equipment, possibly permanently you’ll turn it off!”

“... Okay I’m just take a break then because my EVERYTHING is ode sensitive.” One of them says and there are a few more that mutter things about implants. But a very curious looking trinity of Gohbs arrive.

“Our scanners are off. What’s it look like commodore? Is it safe to even see?”

“I suspect to non-synth or otherwise organic people that it would be very safe.” Harold says crouching down to their level and presenting the knife.

“What did you do to it?”

“I’m not entirely sure. I channelled Ode into it, focusing on my contempt for the Haffara Thar and my general disgust at what they do to others, my mind was downright forced to wander into the pity and compassion I hold for those who have had their lives torn apart by the mindless monsters.”

“Hunh, that’s very interesting. Can I touch it sir?” The bravest of the three mechanics asks.

“You may, but be careful. Ode is still poorly understood at best. Also a Hollow Daughter plucked it from my grasp, tested it and then returned it.”

“Really? Did she say anything?”

“No, nothing.”

“... Seven hundred years ago my homeworld was in the grips of a mega-corporation. Every person was born into an ever increasing debt. The training and education to be able to work added to it. Shelter and food added to it. The rent of the tools to work added to it. And every little mistake, real or imagined, added to it. To say nothing of accidents. And no craft or off world communication was permitted to a debt holder, we were prisoners and slaves from the moment of our birth.” The Mechanic says as he takes the knife and looks at it closely. “Then, one day, the demands ceased. The debts vanished and no one could find the board of directors or the shareholders, or the accountants or bankers. Until their serving staff reported what was left. Dry, desiccated husks.”

“So we searched high and low for the odd one out. For the one corpse that did not fit the pattern of rich and cruel.” He continues and Harold says nothing even as the Gohb turns the knife over and over, watching the black smoke dance and the silver shine of the weapon glittering in his dark eyes. “It was my birth mother. She paid with her life and soul to wipe my debt and set me free. To set everyone free. Nearly everyone is afraid of the Hollow Daughters, but not me. Not my family. I get to do something more than dance in a thong because she gave me, gave us all, everything she had to give. The one thing that they couldn’t take from her. She gave.”

“So what does that knife mean to you?”

“... If an angel of death approves of this blade, then I can’t imagine a more righteous weapon.” He says as he turns the knife over one last time. Then presses his thumb against the edge and moves it against it. “And it refuses to cut me. It doesn’t even hurt. Which is physically impossible, I can tell the edge is sharp enough to easily part my skin. With the force I’m using this thing should be scraping the bones of my thumb. But I don’t even feel discomfort.”

He stares at the weapon and his Axiom presence is churning, shifting. Longing, old despair, hope, joy and a sheer yearning all waver out from him. Then his fingers close around the weapon as he gets control of his emotions again. Then smiles. He holds the knife up to Harold.

“They say that what’s coming for us looks like a demon from mythology. A being of fire, smoke and fury. If you’re facing a demon, then a holy blade is a perfect weapon. And short of a Primal showing up, I can’t imagine anything more holy than a knife like this.” He says and Harold nods.

“... Studying that thing is going to be a pain. We’re going to need analogue recording materials. And even then, the Ode damage might transfer.” Another Gohb notes then he pulls out a camera and there is a flash of light from the device. Then a stench as a slightly charred picture tries to print itself out and the Gohb opens up the machine as his eyebrows go up.

“Well how does that make any sense?” The Mechanic asks.

“I don’t know. There’s a lot we don’t know. So... I need you boys to rig up an area that is scan proof where we will study this knife when it’s not in use. We’ll use basic observations and measurements. Written accounts, drawings. We will use as much separation as we need to to actually gather the information we can get out of this thing.” Harold says.

“Uh sir? Sir, I was sent from The RAM with this for you?” A Metak says zipping into the room. He holds out a very large sheath. It’s pouch style with a cap on it to completely encase the knife without fail. He slides it in and nods as he covers it up entirely. Then he pulls out his communicator and takes a picture. The device is unharmed. He does it a few more times and has a little video of it.

Not even a flicker.

“Thank goodness. Transporting this thing otherwise would be a right pain. Okay people! Synths and augmented are free to enter the area! The threat is contained!”

“So I guess we’ll get started on that lab module.”

“To be honest we should have had something like it to begin with. We know there are cognito-hazards, but a memetic one that transfers through perception isn’t off the table. So we need containment areas.”

“What are you going to do with the knife?”

“It stays in it’s sheath. I am possibly one of the best users of the knife should there be need of it and the situation remains fluid and dangerous. So I will be carrying it under the trytite paneling in my uniform for extra scanner protection.”

“You know as much as Mach here thinks that knife is a holy relic the Synthetic Ascension is going to see that thing as the most unholy thing to ever exist.”

“One faith’s divinity is another faith’s demon.” Harold remarks calmly. “Until there’s some form of Ode resistant machinery then there’s likely to be a great deal of caution at the very least from the Synth citizens of the galaxy.”

“Now, all of you get to things. I need to see if anything has happened to update the... fuck.” Harold notes as he checks his communicator and sees there was a message he missed. Which had taken place in the short time when the device was dead and it’s from the Admiral.

“Okay, all of you excuse me please.” He says as he starts to head out of the RAD and brings up his communicator. The image of Admiral Cistern quickly greets him. “Sir, my apologies for the delay. My attempt to create an Ode based weapon to face the Haffara Thar threat has borne fruit, but it has yet to be properly tested. Unfortunately Ode is rather harsh on standard Axiom based systems and my communicator was in a heavily damaged state when your message came through.”

“That’s fine. Lieutenant Orchid informed me of the difficulty and has already received my orders which I will repeat for you now. Under the urgings of our Haffria allies you are to attempt the destruction of the Haffara Thar threat to ensure it cannot contact a third party and spread it’s infection further. There are several aspects of the Extermination Fleets en-route to your location and will be joining with The Ambush Fleet, however they are still several days away at minimum and you will have to improvise to the best of your ability to detain or destroy the threat.”

“Understood sir.”

“Good. Now, in what manner has your weapon crafting born fruit?”

“I cannot show you over the communicator sir as the weapon has a horrifically deleterious effect on Axiom and analogue based technology.”

“Analogue based as well?”

“Well chemical sir, a Polaroid style camera was destroyed trying to take a picture of the knife I have imbued. However it attracted the attention and seeming approval of a Hollow Daughter and any attempt to scan it bricks the scanner. I have it in a highly contained sheath under my armour at the moment. As I cannot send you an image I will describe the weapon. It is a single bladed knife not unlike what one could find in a standard kitchen, twenty two centimetres in length and five in height. Previously made of trytite the metal has taken a silvery sheen and now shines incessantly while also dragging an endless cloud of black smoke that quickly fades but is endlessly replaced. The knife has proven incapable of cutting a normal person despite physics and exudes no signal in the Axiom. Furthermore the smoke does not have a physical presence. If one were to close their eyes and grab the knife they would only notice something was off when it would refuse to cut a person despite it’s obvious sharpness.”

“Very interesting. But... while I am pleased that you have some degree of result for your attempts to create an Ode weapon... range is rather the issue at the moment. Unless you intend to knife fight with what appears to be a literal demon.”

“Sir, with all due respect. At what point have I ever seemed even slightly hesitant to knife fight a demon?”

“Never, which is why I want you to speak with Lieutenant Orchid who is under orders to argue against fighting it up front. If you do engage that creature with a knife you will only do so because it is the best available option and not because you’re starving for violence.”

“Very well then sir, I will consult with my Lieutenant to the best of my abilities sir.”

First Last

Part One

Part Two

The Road Continues

Chapter 3

An unofficial, noncommercial continuation of Harry Turtledove’s “The Road Not Taken”

After returning to the Sepulveda VA facility, which Togram had learned was part of an enormous military hospital complex, things began to change rather quickly.

The atmosphere seemed more relaxed than it had been before. Togram and the other Roxolani were now permitted to move freely throughout the areas of the facility assigned to them. They could visit one another, gather in the common rooms, and spend their time much as they pleased. There were still guards, of course, and they were still forbidden to leave the building, but the restrictions that had governed their movements during the first weeks of captivity had gradually been relaxed.

For the first time since their disastrous arrival on Earth, Togram had been able to spend considerable time among his surviving warriors.

Then, one morning, he was summoned once again to the conference room.

There, Hilda Chester and several other human officials informed him that arrangements were being made to relocate him and all the surviving Roxolani to another facility.

Hilda explained that the hospital had never been intended as a permanent place of confinement. Many of the Roxolani had been wounded during the brief but devastating battle that followed their landing, and the humans had needed somewhere they could provide medical treatment while maintaining adequate security. The hospital had been hastily adapted for that purpose.

Now, however, the great majority of the wounded had recovered, and the humans believed it was time to move them somewhere more suitable.

More suitable, Togram thought.

He had heard enough human expressions by now to know that their words did not always mean quite what they appeared to mean.

A prison, he decided. They're finally going to put us in a proper prison.

The days that followed were filled with anticipation, much of it accompanied by considerable trepidation.

Togram had taken advantage of his newfound freedom to speak with as many of his surviving crewmen as possible. Their reactions to captivity on Earth varied enormously.

Some still seemed incapable of accepting that the humans were merely another race of intelligent beings. To them, Earth was nothing less than a world inhabited by gods, beings who could summon light with a touch, speak across impossible distances, travel faster than the swiftest horse without the aid of contragravity, and wield weapons of unimaginable destructive power.

Others, like Togram himself, had become fascinated by the astonishing technology surrounding them. They eagerly discussed the things they had seen and the explanations their captors had offered. Some had even begun learning the human language, although few had progressed nearly as far as Togram and Ransisc.

And a surprising number had grown quite comfortable with their circumstances.

They were well fed. Their wounds had been treated with a skill that bordered on the miraculous. Their quarters were clean, warm, and free of vermin. They had access to entertainments unlike anything they had known on their homeworld. For warriors accustomed to the cramped, uncomfortable conditions aboard a Roxolani spacecraft, life in the hospital was hardly unpleasant.

Indeed, a few openly expressed their reluctance to leave.

But others were deeply suspicious.

Rumors circulated that the humans intended to separate them for interrogation, subject them to experiments, or perhaps use them to test the terrible weapons that had so easily destroyed their invasion force.

The possibility of medical experimentation seemed to frighten some of the crewmen particularly badly.

Togram did his best to reassure them.

"If they intended to experiment upon us medically," he pointed out during one particularly anxious discussion, "why would they take us away from a hospital? Surely this would be the most convenient place to do such things."

That argument seemed to satisfy several of his warriors.

Togram wished he found it equally reassuring.

He had come to believe that the humans were not deliberately cruel, at least not those with whom he had dealt. They had treated their prisoners with a degree of consideration that he would scarcely have expected from his own people under similar circumstances.

But he had also learned that human civilization was extraordinarily complicated. There were different governments, different military organizations, and countless groups whose interests did not always agree. The kindness of Hilda Chester and the other humans he had come to know was no guarantee that those who controlled their ultimate fate would be equally benevolent.

As the day of their departure approached, Togram found himself increasingly convinced that the explanation was much simpler than any of the rumors.

The humans had finished treating their wounds. They no longer needed to keep them in a hospital.

And now they were going to transfer their prisoners to a prison.

He could think of no other reasonable explanation.

One Roxolan whom Togram had been unable to locate among the survivors was Warmaster Slevon.

He had asked the humans about him repeatedly, but his inquiries had produced nothing. The humans had no understanding of Roxolan military insignia or the distinctions of rank conveyed by their uniforms. Nor had the Roxolani worn anything resembling the identification tags that human soldiers apparently carried. To the humans who had collected the dead, one Roxolan officer must have looked very much like another.

Most of the bodies had been buried long before Togram regained consciousness.

He could only assume that the warmaster had died in the fighting. Perhaps one of those hideous exploding cannon shells had found him aboard the Indomitable. Togram remembered the ship shuddering beneath the impacts, the explosions tearing into its superstructure, the terrible realization that the humans' weapons could destroy a vessel that had crossed the distances between stars.

Then had come the blow that knocked him unconscious.

He had awakened in a human hospital. Slevon, apparently, had not awakened at all.

There was, however, something else Togram had only recently learned.

The humans had been keeping another group of Roxolani in a separate section of the medical facility. These were the less seriously wounded, along with those who had escaped the battle without injury. For reasons Togram did not entirely understand, they had been housed apart from the wounded soldiers with whom he had become familiar.

Until now, he had not even known they were there.

The prospect of finally meeting them excited him. Perhaps among them were officers he knew, soldiers from his own company whom he had long since given up for dead, or steerers and crewmen from the other ships. He had begun to hope that the coming transfer would reunite him with comrades he had not seen since the invasion.

But it was Hilda Chester who gave him the news that would overshadow everything else.

There were 489 surviving Roxolani.

At first, Togram thought he had misunderstood her.

"Four hundred and eighty-nine?" he repeated.

"Yes, Togram. That's the total number we have."

"From all the ships?"

Hilda hesitated, and he saw the answer in her face before she spoke.

"From all the ships."

He stared at her.

More than ten thousand Roxolani had entered this star system. One hundred and twenty-five ships, carrying soldiers, officers, steerers, pilots, and crews. A battle fleet large enough to subdue worlds, commanded by experienced officers and equipped with the weapons that had brought so many other races under Roxolan rule.

And now there were 489.

He tried to make the numbers mean something. Four hundred and eighty-nine was not even enough to fill the complements of seven ships. It was scarcely more than a handful of companies. It was less than one Roxolan in twenty.

"How?" he asked at last. "How could so many have died?"

Hilda's expression became grave.

She explained what the humans had learned in the aftermath of the fighting. Once their aircraft had discovered how to approach the Roxolan vessels from directions their steerers and pilots could not readily observe, the battle had become terribly one-sided. The humans had attacked from behind and below, exploiting blind spots that Roxolan tactics had never been designed to protect.

Nearly two-thirds of the troop ships had been destroyed before they ever reached the ground.

Togram felt his ears flatten against his head.

Thousands of soldiers had died without firing a shot. They had crossed the unimaginable gulf between stars, endured the darkness and stench of their ships for sixteen days, and looked forward to setting foot upon another world. They had expected conquest, glory, plunder, perhaps the chance to return home with wealth enough to improve their families' standing for generations.

Instead, they had died in the sky above a world whose inhabitants they had dismissed as primitives.

And those who had reached the surface had fared little better.

Togram remembered the opening volley at UCLA, the confident expectation that the humans would break and flee, and the dreadful noise that followed. He remembered his men falling so quickly that they could scarcely reload their muskets. He remembered Ilingua's horrified cry.

He wondered whether Ilingua was among the 489.

For a long while he said nothing.

He had expected to feel anger. Indeed, he almost wished that he could. Anger was familiar to a soldier. Anger gave a man something to hold on to, someone to blame, some promise of vengeance that might make defeat bearable.

But no matter how hard he tried, the anger would not come.

What he felt instead was sadness.

It was a deep, hollow sadness unlike anything he had experienced in all his years of campaigning. He thought of the soldiers who would never return to Roxolan, of mates and offspring who would wait for ships that would never appear, of families who might never learn what had happened to those they loved.

And he could not bring himself to hate the humans responsible.

They had defended their world.

That was all.

Togram was a soldier. He understood such things. Had a fleet of alien vessels appeared above Roxolan, descended upon its cities, and opened fire upon its inhabitants, he would have fought with everything at his disposal. He would have expected every soldier under his command to do the same.

The humans had merely done what he himself would have done.

And there was something else, something that troubled him even more deeply.

Had the situation been reversed, had the Roxolani defeated a human invasion of their homeworld, what would have become of the survivors?

He knew the answer.

Those not killed outright would have been stripped of their possessions, chained, and sold. The strong would have gone to the fields, the mines, or the construction gangs. The weak and wounded would have been of little value to anyone. Few masters would have wasted good food or expensive medicines upon prisoners who could not work.

Certainly no Roxolan commander would have ordered an entire hospital converted for the comfort of defeated enemies.

Yet that was precisely what the humans had done.

They had tended his wounds. They had fed him, clothed him, and given him a comfortable place to sleep. They had allowed him to speak with his comrades, answered his questions, and even invited him to witness the testing of their extraordinary machines.

They had treated him with a consideration that his own people seldom extended even to conquered nobles.

Togram looked at Hilda Chester, who was watching him with quiet concern.

He thought again of the 489 survivors, of the thousands who had died, and of the terrible weapons that had made such destruction possible.

He ought to have hated these people.

By every tradition of his profession, by every lesson he had learned in a lifetime of conquest, he ought to have hated them.

But he could not.

And somehow, that troubled him almost as much as the defeat itself.

Finally, the day of departure arrived.

The Roxolani had been informed the previous evening that they were to gather whatever personal possessions they wished to take with them. It had not been a particularly demanding assignment.

Most had arrived on Earth with little more than their uniforms, weapons, and the few necessities a soldier might carry into battle. Their weapons, of course, had been confiscated immediately after their capture, and much of what remained had been lost in the destruction of their ships.

The humans had recovered a few personal belongings from the wreckage. There were small ornaments, pieces of jewelry, a handful of keepsakes, and other objects whose significance would have been utterly incomprehensible to anyone who had not grown up on Roxolan.

One particularly remarkable discovery had been a painting of the Roxolan homeworld. Somehow, despite the terrible punishment the Indomitable had endured, the painting had survived almost undamaged. The humans had cleaned it and hung it in the large communal room they called the day room, where the surviving Roxolani could gather during their waking hours.

Togram had spent many hours looking at it.

It was not an especially fine painting. Indeed, he suspected that whoever had commissioned it had paid rather more than the artist's talents warranted. But it showed the familiar landscapes of home, the distant mountains, the broad plains, and the peculiar golden cast of the afternoon sky.

He had never imagined that an ordinary painting could become so precious.

He wondered whether the humans intended to send it along with them.

Apart from such pitiful remnants of their former lives, the Roxolani had little to pack. Most of their possessions now consisted of things the humans themselves had provided: clothing, blankets, grooming implements, and assorted conveniences whose purposes had required explanation when they were first introduced.

Togram slept scarcely at all that night.

He lay on the comfortable bed, staring into the darkness, turning over in his mind everything he knew about their destination. The humans had repeatedly assured him that the move was for the benefit of the Roxolani. They would have more room, more freedom of movement, and better opportunities to associate with one another.

He wanted to believe them.

But he had been a soldier too long to accept comforting explanations without considering what might lie behind them.

Early the next morning, the familiar notes of a bugle sounded somewhere beyond the walls of the medical facility.

Togram had heard that same call nearly every morning since his recovery. He had learned that it signaled the beginning of the human military day, although he remained uncertain whether the custom was universal among humans or peculiar to their soldiers.

The Roxolani had their own bugle calls, of course. But the human instrument produced a sharper, brighter sound than those to which he was accustomed.

He found himself wondering, not for the first time, how two races that had developed on worlds separated by unimaginable distances could have arrived independently at so many similar customs.

By the time the door was unlocked, Togram was already standing beside it, dressed and ready.

Behind him waited the other Roxolani scheduled for departure, among them Ransisc, whose injuries had healed sufficiently that he no longer required assistance to walk.

During the intervening weeks, the senior steerer had become the closest thing Togram possessed to a true friend on this strange world. They had known one another aboard the Indomitable, certainly, but captivity had brought them together in ways that military service never had.

Ransisc had a habit of looking at even the most disturbing developments with a detached curiosity that Togram sometimes found infuriating and sometimes desperately needed.

Now the steerer stood beside him, carrying a small bundle of belongings.

"Well," Ransisc remarked, "at least this time we know where we're going before we set out."

"We know what the humans call it," Togram replied. "That isn't quite the same thing."

Ransisc gave a soft snort.

"No, I suppose it isn't."

The doors opened.

The Roxolani filed out of the building and onto a long, covered walkway. Armed human soldiers accompanied them on either side, just as armed soldiers had accompanied nearly every movement they had made since their capture.

Togram had grown accustomed to the guards, although he had never entirely stopped resenting their presence.

He understood their purpose. He even understood their necessity. But there was something humiliating about being escorted everywhere by soldiers whose weapons could kill him before he had taken three steps.

The walkway led to a broad paved area where a row of enormous ground vehicles stood waiting.

There were ten of them, painted in shades of blue and green. They were longer than the limousine in which he and Ransisc had traveled to the airfield at Palmdale, though plainly intended for a very different purpose.

Each had large windows along its sides, an elevated passenger compartment, and rows of seats visible through the glass.

Togram recognized them as another variety of the wheeled machines the humans used so casually. He had seen similar vehicles during the journey to Palmdale, carrying large numbers of people along the astonishing roads that crisscrossed this part of the continent.

He had not expected to find himself riding in one.

Human attendants directed the Roxolani toward the open doors. The first passengers climbed aboard, some pausing in uncertainty at the unfamiliar steps, others moving forward with the resignation of soldiers who had learned that hesitation seldom improved an unpleasant assignment.

Once inside, they began settling into the seats.

The seats, Togram noticed, were evidently designed for the humans' taller, narrower bodies. Their backs rose too high, and their proportions were ill-suited to the broad, stocky frames of the Roxolani. Some passengers shifted about trying to find a comfortable position, while others simply accepted the inconvenience.

The humans were counting carefully.

Thirty-two Roxolani were permitted aboard each vehicle, two to a seat. Once that number had been reached, the attendant at the door directed the next passengers toward another bus.

Togram watched the procedure with increasing interest.

Ten vehicles. Thirty-two passengers apiece.

Three hundred and twenty.

He looked again at the line of buses, then turned toward Hilda Chester, who had come to see them off.

He had been genuinely disappointed to learn that she would not be accompanying them.

Of all the humans he had encountered, Hilda was the one he knew best. She had been there when he first awakened, frightened and injured, in a room filled with inexplicable devices. She had patiently taught him the rudiments of her language, answered his questions, and helped him make sense of a civilization that seemed to violate everything he had believed possible.

Now, just as he was beginning to understand his surroundings, she was sending him somewhere else.

"Hilda," he said, "there is something I don't understand."

She turned toward him.

"What is it, Togram?"

"You told me there were four hundred and eighty-nine of us still alive."

"That's right."

"But there are only ten vehicles, and your soldiers are putting thirty-two of us aboard each one. That's only three hundred and twenty."

Hilda blinked, then gave a small, embarrassed smile.

"Oh! I suppose I forgot to tell you."

Togram's ears twitched.

"Tell me what?"

"The others are already at Fort Irwin."

He stared at her.

"Already there?"

"Yes. The ones who weren't seriously injured, and those who didn't need much medical treatment. We transferred them a few days ago. There wasn't any reason to keep them in the hospital once the new accommodations were ready."

Togram glanced toward the buses again.

Nearly a third of the surviving Roxolani had already been removed from the medical facility without his knowledge.

He was not certain whether to feel relieved or alarmed.

"They're well?" he asked.

"As far as I know, they're doing fine. They're getting settled in and becoming familiar with the place."

She smiled reassuringly.

"And you'll be pleased to hear that several of them have started learning English. Some are making very good progress. We're hoping they'll be able to help the rest of you adjust."

Togram considered that.

Other Roxolani learning English. Other survivors from ships whose crews he had never met, perhaps even officers who had commanded troops during the invasion.

He would finally have an opportunity to speak with them.

That, at least, was welcome news.

But another part of Hilda's explanation troubled him.

Fort Irwin.

He turned the name over in his mind.

A fort.

The humans were moving them to a fort.

He knew what forts were. Every soldier knew what forts were. They were places built to control territory, house troops, resist attack, and confine enemies when necessary.

The humans could describe their destination in whatever comforting language they pleased.

A fort was a military installation.

And a military installation used to hold captured enemies was a prison.

His suspicions, already strong, hardened into certainty.

Hilda seemed unaware of the direction his thoughts had taken.

"Oh, and there's one other thing," she said.

Something in her voice made him look up.

"I checked for you, Togram. I asked the people at Fort Irwin about Warmaster Slevon."

For an instant, hope stirred in him.

"And?"

Hilda's expression softened.

"I'm sorry. None of the Roxolani already there has reported seeing him. We've checked the information we have, and there's nothing to indicate that he survived."

She hesitated before continuing.

"I don't believe he made it through the battle."

Togram stood very still.

He had expected that answer. Indeed, he had been expecting it for weeks.

But expectation did little to soften the finality of hearing it spoken aloud.

Warmaster Slevon had commanded the Indomitable. He had represented the authority of the Roxolan crown, the military traditions of their people, and the certainty that the fleet would add another world to the kingdom's possessions.

Now the warmaster was almost certainly dead, his body perhaps lying beneath the soil of a planet he had intended to conquer.

Togram lowered his head.

"I understand," he said quietly.

Hilda touched his arm.

"I'm sorry, Togram."

He looked at her hand, then up into her face.

There had been a time when he would have considered such a gesture from a member of a conquered race presumptuous beyond belief.

Now he found himself grateful for it.

"Thank you, Hilda," he said.

A human soldier called from beside the nearest bus. The last of the passengers had boarded, and the attendants were waiting for Togram and Ransisc.

Togram glanced toward the vehicles, then back at the woman who had been his teacher, his interrogator, and, in a fashion he would once have thought impossible, his friend.

He wanted to ask whether he would ever see her again.

Instead, he merely inclined his head.

"Goodbye, Hilda Chester."

"Goodbye, Togram. Take care of yourself."

He turned and walked toward the waiting bus, Ransisc falling into step beside him.

Behind them, the doors of the medical facility stood open.

Ahead lay Fort Irwin, the surviving remnants of an army, and whatever future the humans had decided to permit them.

Togram climbed the steps without looking back.

Hey, you.

Have you ever heard that someone failed and felt just a little bit glad?

Not serves you right.

Not because you hated them.

The opposite, actually. You wanted them to succeed. If they were in trouble, you’d want to help.

And yet—

the moment you heard they’d failed, some small part of you was pleased.

What do you make of that?

A little bell chimed as I opened the heavy door to Aoi.

Taka and Tom were sitting side by side at the counter. Mama set down a glass of I.W. Harper without asking.

“You know,” I said.

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t like myself very much today.”

Taka looked over.

“That’s unusual.”

“What is?”

“You noticed.”

“I’m leaving.”

Tom gave a low laugh.

“So what did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“Then what did you think?”

Straight for the unpleasant part.

Former cop.

I took a sip of Harper.

“There’s this guy I used to work with. Kind of like a junior colleague.”

For a while, young engineers kept getting sent my way.

I wasn’t an instructor. Wasn’t HR. If they asked something, I answered. If trouble came up, we worked through it together. If they screwed up, we looked at what had gone wrong.

That was all.

Somewhere along the way, people started calling it the Tanaka School.

I hated that name.

It wasn’t a school, and I wasn’t a teacher.

We were people working together.

“So one of your graduates?”

“It wasn’t a school.”

“Right, right.”

“Anyway, he got his first project to run on his own.”

It was a small one.

Still, he had to make the plan himself, talk to the client, keep the team moving. If something went wrong, he had to be the first one to make the call.

And he screwed up.

He missed something. Work stopped, and the client needed an explanation.

Not a disaster.

But for him, it was plenty bad enough.

“When I heard about it...”

I looked at the ice in my glass.

“I was a little glad.”

Taka frowned.

“That’s pretty awful.”

“I know.”

“Didn’t you like the guy?”

“Other way around. I was fond of him.”

“Then why?”

“That’s what bothered me. I didn’t know.”

I’d never wanted him to fail.

When I heard he’d been trusted with a project of his own, I’d been genuinely happy for him.

And yet, the moment I heard he’d screwed up, something inside me smiled.

Yeah. Thought so.

That was what it felt like.

“So what did you do?” Tom asked.

“I went over. It was nearby.”

When I got there, he was exactly as I’d expected—staring at a screen while talking to someone on the phone.

I glanced at the documents beside him. Took me about a minute to get the shape of the problem.

“Ah, this one’s—”

I was about to step in when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

“Tanaka. Got a minute?”

Makoto Echizenya. Forty-two.

He was a section manager now. I’d heard he’d taken the exam for department manager.

We’d worked together several times years ago. We’d been through some brutal projects together.

Which apparently made him another graduate of the so-called Tanaka School.

He led me a short distance away, glanced back at the guy struggling with the problem, and said,

“He’s right in the middle of it. Don’t stick your hand in.”

“What? He’s in trouble.”

“Yeah.”

“So we help him.”

“Why?”

He’d always had a talent for saying things that pissed me off.

“He’s one of us. He’s struggling.”

Echizenya almost smiled.

“You’re still saying that?”

“Saying what?”

“He’s thinking it through himself. Leave him alone.”

“He’ll screw up.”

“He already did.”

“It could get worse.”

“If it does, I’ll stop him. Me. Not you.”

Then Echizenya put his hands back in his pockets and returned to the floor.

“See?”

I finished the story and looked at Tom.

“If someone you work with is in trouble, you help. That’s normal.”

Tom didn’t answer.

He raised his glass, took a sip, and set it back on the counter.

“Did he ask you to help?”

“...No.”

“Did he ask Echizenya?”

“How would I know?”

“Did he look like he wanted someone to rescue him?”

“He looked like he was in trouble.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Tom looked straight at me.

“So who was having trouble?”

I said nothing.

“Him? Or you, because you couldn’t stand there and watch someone struggle?”

My throat felt dry.

I said nothing and took another drink.

“Helping people can feel pretty good,” Tom said.

He turned his glass slightly, and the ice shifted inside.

“You know you’re useful.”

I had nothing to say to that.

The moment I heard the guy had failed, something inside me had smiled.

Now I knew what that ugly little feeling had been.

Yeah. Thought so. He still needs me.

That was all I’d wanted to believe.

“So?” Taka said.

“So what?”

“What happened to him?”

“...He figured it out himself.”

Since I hadn’t stepped in, he’d taken the long way around.

He apologized to the client, found the cause himself, and cleaned up the mess himself.

“Then that’s good, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Weren’t you happy?”

“...I was.”

“Which made you happier?”

“What do you mean?”

“Hearing that he failed, or hearing that he fixed it himself?”

I tilted my glass.

Only ice remained.

“That Echizenya guy,” Taka said. “Did he work for you?”

“No. We just worked together years ago.”

“So now he’s training people himself.”

“Looks like it.”

“Huh. Sounds like he graduated just fine.”

“I never enrolled him in anything.”

Mama smiled.

The round piece of ice in my glass had grown a little smaller.

I’d never thought I was raising those guys.

We worked together. I told them what I knew. When neither of us knew, we thought it through together.

Eventually, there were more things they could do on their own.

Then they went somewhere else.

That was it.

I wasn’t a teacher.

They weren’t students.

They were people I worked beside.

“Kenichi.”

“What?”

“Are you lonely?”

Taka asked it without smiling.

“What are you talking about?”

“They don’t need you anymore.”

“Come on.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Yeah.”

Probably.

“Then why were you glad when he failed?”

I glared at him.

“You’re talking a lot tonight.”

“Did I hit something?”

“I’m starting to dislike you.”

“There you go looking for reasons again.”

Tom burst out laughing. Mama’s shoulders shook behind the counter.

I swallowed the last drops of Harper and stood.

“Check, please.”

The night air was a little cold when I opened the door.

Teaching someone something is strange.

When they learn to do something they couldn’t do before, you’re happy.

When they can do it on their own, you’re even happier.

At least, that’s how it’s supposed to work.

Then one day they really can do it without you, and it feels as if a small hole has opened under your feet.

I wasn’t glad he’d failed because I wanted him to fail.

Some petty part of me had simply thought, Here we go. My turn again.

But the fact that my turn never came made me far prouder.

He failed. He struggled. He worked through the mess the hard way.

And he stood back up by himself.

If he could do that, he didn’t need a teacher anymore.

Well.

Not that I’d ever thought of myself as one.

Hey, you.

There’s probably someone around you who makes you want to lend a hand.

If they fall for the first time when they’re out there on their own—

can you keep your hands to yourself?

And when you watch them stand back up without you,

can you smile and say,

Guess you don’t need me anymore.

See you again at Aoi.

---

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→ Welcome to Bar Aoi

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.

🖼 Cover

🔰 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?"

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.”

*****
Prev -------- Next

*****

Please forgive what might seem like an out-of-place or inappropriate remark; it is, however, important to me. Given the automated filters currently in place on Reddit, including the CQS (Contributor Quality Score), downvoting a post is not merely a way to express that you dislike the content; it effectively strips an author of their ability to post, as these filters are highly stringent and can easily lead to an author being banned. By all means, leave a comment and tell me you don’t like what I’ve written, that would be helpful and help me improve. But downvoting a new author, especially when the account is new, only serves to get the writer banned for content that isn't actually inappropriate for the subreddit, but simply something you happen to dislike.

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.

<<First <Previous [Next>]

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!

I'm serializing my sci-fi novel on Royal Road — new chapters every Sunday. This is Chapter 1. Read / follow / review here: https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/197633/the-sevenfold-ascend

[AUDIO FEED: GLOBAL EMERGENCY BROADCAST NETWORK — 06:42 UTC, FEBRUARY 29, 2029] "If you are just tuning in, please remain indoors. Agricultural collapse is now total across the sub-Saharan breadbaskets, and water rationing in the Western Megalopolis zones has entered its nineteenth month. In the Pacific, naval skirmishes over depleted fisheries continue to escalate, while international health agencies confirm that the new wave of resistant respiratory pathogens has overwhelmed municipal quarantine lines. Down here, civilization is holding on by a frayed, desperate thread..." [STATIC SURGE — FREQUENCY OVERRIDE TO LUNAR COMM-NET]

The world was running on fumes long before the drills ever hit the vault.

Down on Earth, humanity was trapped in a grinding, exhausting apocalypse of finite borders and infinite debt. Traditional geopolitical leverage—fueled by money, oil, national borders, and nuclear stockpiles—dictated every waking moment of human survival. Nations built their policies on absolute scarcity, hoarding dwindling resources while billions of people lived under the constant, heavy shadow of economic collapse, spreading famine, and unchecked municipal diseases.

To escape the chokehold of terrestrial decline, humanity looked upward. Governments and corporate syndicates poured trillions of dollars into deep-space ventures. The United States and Russia had reluctantly pooled their dwindling resources, currently four years into an arduous eight-year journey toward Uranus. Meanwhile, China had staked its survival on an aggressive, high-stakes lunar excavation operation.

The Silence of Mare Tranquillitatis

The Mare Tranquillitatis was supposed to be a dead, silent graveyard of basalt. But on this fateful day, Commander Li Qiang and sixteen other crew members of the Chinese national space mission, Tiangong-4, exited their landing module, their heavy boots pressing into the ancient lunar dust.

"I can't believe after five years we're finally doing this," Li Qiang remarked to his second-in-command, Liu Ning, as they surveyed the stark horizon where the lunar curve met the absolute void of deep space, suspended beneath the brilliant blue-and-white marble of Earth.

For six months, the crew had been pushing titanium drill rigs deep into the moon's crust, hunting desperately for helium-3 and rare earth minerals to feed the energy-starved economies back home. Li adjusted the oxygen mixture in his pressurized helmet, listening to the steady, rhythmic sound of his own breathing.

The Impossible Anomaly

The fragile routine of the mission shattered when senior engineer Lin crackled through the comms channel from fifty meters away, standing in the shadow of the primary excavation rig.

"Commander, the deep-core seismic scanners are malfunctioning again," Lin's voice carried a sharp edge of tension. "The density readouts under the bedrock are... impossible. The computer says the space beneath us is a perfect geometric vacuum. A sphere, three kilometers wide."

Dismissing it initially as equipment drift, Li stepped through the low-gravity dust. But Lin insisted the readings were absolute. The heavy diamond-tipped drill, spinning with enough force to shatter solid granite, had struck a hard ceiling and stopped dead. Not because the rock was dense, but because the drill bit's rotational energy had been entirely absorbed, leaving zero friction and zero heat.

A cold dread pooled in Li's stomach as he checked his wrist-mounted tactical pad. Ordering the crew to clear the rig, they prepared to breach the anomaly manually using localized acoustic pulse cannons.

The Obsidian Vault

The moment the low-frequency sonic waves slammed into the bedrock, the drilling devices instantly lost power, dying in a fraction of a second. As the dislodged debris cleared, it exposed an object composed of a completely matte-black, unreflective material that greedily swallowed the light from their flashlights.

Then, the lunar crust did not merely break; it dissolved.

The ancient basalt layer vanished into a fine mist of floating, ambient lights. The excavation platform tilted violently, sliding downward into an immense, subterranean chamber. Catching himself on his emergency tether, Li swung into the abyss and switched on his shoulder-mounted floodlights.

What he saw defied every law of physics and human understanding:

The Chamber: A flawless, hyper-futuristic vault constructed of an obsidian-like, non-reflective material spanning three kilometers wide.

The Spire: At the absolute center sat a monumental crystal spire pulsing with a soft, rhythmic emerald hum.

The Cache: Suspended entirely free of gravity around the spire were billions of tiny individual bands, drifting like a silent school of neon-green fish vibrating in perfect harmony.

The Awakening

As the floodlights washed over the crystal spire, the hum grew exponentially louder—not through their audio comms, but directly inside their minds.

"It's not a stockpile," Lin murmured over the comms, an overwhelming, instinctual wave gripping her chest as the first ring broke away from the school and floated directly toward her visor. "It's a delivery."

In that exact fraction of a second, the crystal spire fractured. A blinding, emerald shockwave tore upward through the lunar crust. Instead of vaporizing the crew, the green light washed through their bodies like a warm wave, neutralizing the freezing vacuum of space. On her wrist, a glowing green ring snapped securely into place around her spacesuit glove.

Before the lunar crew could comprehend what was happening, the remaining eight billion rings shot upward, piercing straight through the solid rock of the moon like ghosts. They formed a massive, roaring pillar of emerald light that stabbed across the dark void of space, locking directly onto the blue-and-white planet hanging in the distance.

Chapter 2 is already live on Royal Road, Chapter 3 "The First Dojo" drops Sunday Oct 18. Thanks for reading — feedback welcome.

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

And all that remained was darkness, stillness, and nothingness.

I could still hear my last breath echoing all around me.

It wasn't the kind of sound that would have filled a room or even a void like the one I was floating in. I remembered it being no louder than a little peep. Small, insignificant, maybe even a little pathetic. Much like how I was when I was still alive. But that didn't matter anymore. Nothing did. My life was over, after all.

So, this is what death feels like?

But there was still one problem. Where was the afterlife? Was that really all a lie?

As much as I wanted to believe that thought, I just couldn't. People placed too much importance on it for way too long of a time for it to have just been a hoax. But then again, it was never really a proven thing, just a widespread belief among the religious.

Was I supposed to just stay here? Floating around forever?

Funnily enough, I got my answer. But it was not from who I would have expected.

a pair of fish?

Yes.

From seemingly out of nowhere, far off in the distance ahead of me, appeared two fish. Their white skin shone a speck of bright light that I felt was much needed in this empty pocket of darkness. One of the fish had islands of red scattered over its scales like little patches, while the other had islands of black patched in the same way.

It seemed like they were playing some type of game to me, maybe tag, as they were swimming around in a constant circle, chasing after each other's tails. Sat in the middle of their little circle was a flat disk, if I could call it that. I couldn't see much of it from where I was.

Is that where I’m supposed to go?

As much as I wanted to just float my way over there, there was something about the sight in front of me that made me hesitate. I wanted to flap my arms forward and go closer, but just as I would get ready to do so, all of the momentum would vanish, leaving only a small tremor at the tips of my fingers.

Come on, Liliana, just go. I said to myself. All you have to do is go there and you can spend the rest of eternity doing... who knows what!

It's not like I had any other choice. My life on Earth was already over, and I would never be able to go back to it. Not that I would have wanted to either way. Some people believed in reincarnation, that after at the end of one life, another would begin. I personally found the idea of it nice, but it was never something I had a lot of faith in.

With my mind made up, I finally moved forward. All I did was move an inch, barely, and then... the fish looked at me. Both of them stopped their swimming and turned their heads to me. Our eyes made contact, and the quiet hold their gazes had on me felt like it lasted an eternity.

I was half expecting them to start speaking, either to welcome me into the gates of... whatever that disc-looking place of theirs was called, or to banish me away and send me to a shadow realm. But nothing happened. They just went back to swimming. Repeating their circle over and over again, still ignoring the larger, almost endless space around us.

Should I say something? No, that doesn't sound like a good idea.

Instead, I slipped in between them and went closer to the disc-looking place that they were guarding. The closer I got, the brighter their light flashed until I had to close my eyes. I felt myself getting warmer, almost burning even.

Strange

So I could still feel things even after my death. I didn’t know what to make of that yet, but I was sure that once I got through the light, I would.

***

When the stinging in my eyes wore off, I found myself unable to move my body, save for my fingers. As I twiddled them around, I quickly felt a familiar sensation rubbing against my hands.

Soil?

After that, it didn't take too long for me to fill in the gaps.

I’m buried underground!

Just like that, a pool of questions flooded my mind.

Did I survive?

Did those fish bring me back to life?

Did they really bury me without a casket?!

But in order to get those answers, I first had to dig myself back up. Unlike earlier when I had been floating with the fish, this time, I really felt the lack of oxygen in my lungs. My chest was burning! Without another thought, I moved my fingers again and started tearing through the soil, then pulling the rest of my body up as I went.

They say that when a person dies, they’re buried six feet underground. I didn’t know how deep that actually was, but people made it sound like it was far down in the deepest depths of the Earth. So, imagine my surprise when I stretched my arms out again and actually reached ground level. I still couldn't open my eyes, so it was up to my nose and mouth to look out for signs of freedom, like fresh air finding its way into my lungs after passing through all the mud in my mouth.

The first thing I did after poking my head out from the ground was spit out all the dirt that clung to my teeth. I also had to scrape my tongue with my nails just to remove it all.

The next thing I did was a quick physical check. Despite the fact that I was now absolutely filthy, I hadn't changed at all. Even after everything that happened, I was still the same small and hideous creature that I was before.

Great!

After that, a new problem arose because it only took a two second scan of my surroundings to figure out that something was completely wrong.

The air smelled like fresh candy, the kind that tickled your taste buds after every bite, or in my case, smell. Soon, I was giggling to myself for no reason at all. However, that alone was not enough to distract me.

There was not a single block of concrete where I stood. Instead, a forest of mighty oaks surrounded me, their trunks so thick that they looked more like houses or even oddly shaped skyscrapers. Branches so massive that some of them even passed over each other or even intersected, like a messy group of friends holding hands together. I saw people walking on these branches, with steps so slow and casual that it seemed like the thought of falling never once occurred to them, or that it was impossible for the tree to buckle under the weight of a whole person.

Their leaves were all browning, though I guess it would be fairer to say that they were a mix of yellow and red. Not quite brown yet.

Is this really what heaven looks like?

I had been expecting a large kingdom made of clouds. Tall angels walking around and casually displaying beauty far beyond even the highest of human standards.

But… was I really dead?

“Are you alright, dear?"

A lady’s voice swept away my thoughts, and by reflex, I turned to face her. She was tall, or at least taller than I was, and... absolutely gorgeous, wearing a black corset wrapped around her plain blouse, with some rather tight black pants and a short pair of fluffy brown boots. Her skin was like mine, dark as the trees around us and the wood within them.

“Yes, I’m alright.” I replied, clearing my throat while I was still studying her. I did say that she looked like me, but there was one thing about her that wasn’t quite normal. “Your… hair?”

It was made of flowers. More specifically, a collection of yellow flower petals with orange tips brought together at the top of her head, making for an absolutely bizarre, yet strikingly beautiful style of hair, if I could even call it that.

“Oh, this?” she said, pulling a strand of them to her cheek, “Beautiful, right? Though I see yours is quite… different.”

I reached for my own hair. The plain black coily bush at the top of my head, “Are you sure it is?”

She tilted her head to the side and gave me a confused look, “Where are you from, dear?”

Instead of answering her question, I raised one of my own, "Are you an angel?”

“No,” she replied with a dry chuckle.

“Am I in heaven? Or like… any other afterlife?”

There were so many, and yet I ended up going to the one I had never heard of before.

“After… life?” she scrunched her face up even more, "No. We're in Anorra.”

I blinked, “Anorra?”

“Yes, child,” she sighed. “You must be from somewhere really far away, huh? Are you lost?”

She was looking at me as if I was the crazy one. “But… but…” My head swam through everything that had just happened to me. All I had were questions. “What is Anorra?”

Now, we both stared at each other with confused looks.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” I repeated.

I don't think she believed me. She kept staring at me with her eyes narrowed, giving me a very drawn out, "Okay," before adding, "Well, do take care of yourself, then. If you need any help, I'll be up ahead." She gave me two pats on the shoulder and then left.

As her figure left my line of sight, I was left alone while my head throbbed thanks to my ever-growing confusion.

***

As I ventured further into Anorra, it became clearer to me that this place was very different from the way my home, Earth, looked. Just like the lady from before, all of the people around me walked around with flowers on their heads. Even some of the animals I had stepped past were unlike anything that I had ever seen. Not even on TV.

I am so lost.

I would have laughed had my mind not been scrambled like a newly opened box of puzzles. Almost everybody I walked past gave me weird looks, side eyes, glances. My cheeks were burning only a couple of steps in, rosy as the flowers themselves.

But apart from that, everybody seemed so happy. There was chatter around all the trees, and even people who just walked past each other would give these warm greetings with smiles on their faces. Some of them even waved at me. I waved back of course, though my spine did tingle every time I did.

Just as I was building up the courage to ask for directions and a bit of help, I felt something just run out of my nose without any warning. A fluid so cold it made my bones quake. I wiped it away, looked at it, and then screamed.

My fingers, the ones that I had wiped with, were pitch black. They looked like they were stained with oil. I wiped my nose again, even rougher this time. When I pulled back, my entire forearm bore that same stain.

Why?!

But that wasn't all, because right after that, my head started spinning. All the trees from before doubled in number and started circling around each other like the fish I had seen before. I couldn’t even take a step forward.

And now?

I had to lean against one of the trees to keep my balance. That strange fluid continued to leak out of my nose. No longer able to hold my balance, I took a seat underneath the branches. All I remembered after that was me closing my eyes for only a second, but when I opened them again, I was not under the tree.

Full Story(Ongoing) 20+ chapters! https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/193570/100-tears-of-joy-an-isekai-progression-fantasy

Chapter 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/s/DYxi1UDbPP

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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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[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.

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

"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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... Greenbloom Castle, holding cells adjacent to the Great Judgment Hall; some hours after the "trial" of the humanoid guilty of kidnapping Maya, King Iylon’s childhood friend ...

Maya and the alien Azaheiou have been detained and locked in one of the holding cells located just before the entrance to the Great Judgment Hall. They have to wait a long time before King Iylon, accompanied by two guards, enters the cell.

"You, you gray asshole, are you the owner of that fucking enormous silver dish hovering above my head?" the king asks the alien.

"It’s called a spaceship, and yes, it is my personal mobile unit";

"Get the dish the hell out of my sight: immediately. If I understand correctly, your only task was to deliver this woman. Now that you’ve done that, you can go" the King replies sternly.

Hesitantly, Azaheiou replies: "Yes, that was indeed my task; however, I am concerned about this woman's fate";

"This woman's fate is none of your fucking business. Guards: escort him to the door and make sure he, and that giant dish of his, get the hell out of here before everything around us freezes over"; then, turning to Maya, the King commands: "You’re coming with me now".

Maya follows the King with a terrified gaze; she isn't worried so much as saddened. She remembered Prince Iyler as a touchy, arrogant, and somewhat dim-witted child, but not a cruel one. The man standing before her possesses all those same flaws, yet harbors an extraordinary malice.

"So that's it? After sixteen years apart, the first thing you want to do is kill me?" Maya asks.

"First, we have to settle a score that’s been pending since the day you vanished; then, yes, I’ll kill you. You shouldn't have dared to kick me in the balls";

"We were just kids" Maya murmurs in disbelief.

"I don't give a fuck. To you, I was the prince. And you kicked the prince in the balls".

A hysterical laugh escapes Maya as a thin trail of tears marks her face; she says: "I was seven when the aliens abducted me. You were the only friend I had, the only child I ever spent time with. For sixteen years, locked in that lab, imagining you asking me to marry you, imagining us living happily and in love... that was the only thing that kept me from going mad. You were everything I longed to see again. I didn't expect..." Maya is cut off by the King: "Cut the bullshit. We're here".

Maya recognizes the structure before her: the royal stables. After opening the heavy gate, Maya follows the King until they reach an enclosure where an enormous, pitch-black horse is busy eating hay. Maya cannot see the horse’s head, as she and the King have stopped behind the animal, just a few centimeters from its tail. Taking the woman’s arms, he turns a large bolt, freeing her hands from the shackles that had been binding them; then, turning toward the horse, he says: "Beautifulgaze, you useless, fucking horse, look who’s back!".

The horse slowly moves its neck, tilting only half of its head; the animal suffers from a strabismus so severe that it possesses only lateral vision, leaving it unable to look straight ahead. Upon recognizing Maya, the horse becomes frantic, stamping its hind hooves and lashing its tail like a whip: the joy the animal feels at seeing the woman again is simply irrepressible. Maya is just as unrestrained; shouting with happiness, she leaps into the enclosure and throws her arms around the horse’s neck, sobbing so intensely and painfully that she can barely catch her breath. With its exceptionally long tongue, Beautifulgaze licks the woman’s face, as if she were the most important thing in its life.

"You damned whore! Do you realize you kicked me in the balls over this half-crippled, half-witted horse?" the King screams;

"He was just a colt! And you’d taken him to the slaughterhouse, calling him a useless, fucking animal!" she snaps back, never loosening her grip on the creature’s neck.

"I went and got him back from the slaughterhouse that very same day! The same evening you vanished, right after kicking me in the balls! I thought you never wanted to see me again because of this shitty animal!" the king bellows.

"I was on my way to the Queen to ask for help to save Beautifulgaze, but on the way, I was taken by aliens who..." Maya couldn't finish her sentence; she was left speechless, watching the cruel, violent, murderous King Iylon sobbing, huge tears streaming from his eyes.

The King: "I thought you’d abandoned me because we argued about this fucking horse. I haven’t spoken for years... damn it. You can’t even imagine how much you’ve hurt me, you fucked whore! I don’t give a flying fuck about the circumstances: you made me suffer like an animal, and now I’m going to punish you with death for it";

"Earlier, on the way here, I thought you hadn’t changed, that you were still the same idiot you were as a kid. But no, I was wrong: you’re an even bigger idiot now than you were back then. I WAS KIDNAPPED BY ALIENS, YOU MORON!".

(King Iyler and the woman who, that very same day, would become Queen Maya, lived long and happy lives. They had one daughter, Lady Miriam; and even Beautifulgaze lived an unusually long life; author’s note)

... Waterrock Castle, Great Hall of Judgment; even the last citizen has concluded their audience with the King ...

As the young peasant who had been granted an audience with King George exits the Great Judgment Hall, Queen Andrea rises from her throne with slow, deliberate movements and walks toward the exit. Nervous, King George follows her, intent on making her pay for years of betrayal with an exemplary, a lethally exemplary, punishment.

The King trails the Queen as she makes her way slowly to the monumental garden, where the tombs of past kings lie sheltered by towering trees as ancient as the realm itself. Queen Andrea stops before the tomb of her first husband, the late King Aron Yellowcorn. With her head bowed and hands clasped, she appears lost in silent prayer. King George approaches until he is mere inches away; furious as he is, he finds himself unable to harm a woman praying at the grave of her late husband.

Slowly, Queen Andrea unclasps her hands and uses her left hand to take hold of King George’s; though his expression remains impassive, his heart begins to pound with intense, rapid beats.

"Aron, I have waited many years for the man hidden within the King to finally emerge. Today, that has come to pass, and I feel ready to be a devoted wife. Together with him, with your brother George, let us renew our plea that you, from the heavens above, might bless this union" she says.

Still moving with great deliberation, Queen Andrea turns toward George, cups his face in her hands, and kisses him gently on the lips. Once more, a jolt courses through King George’s entire body, further calming his spirit, a sensation that helps him cast aside all memory of pain, torment, and betrayal, as her light touch comes to rest between his legs. As an unrelenting erection takes hold, Queen Andrea leans her head against her husband’s chest.

He cannot see the woman’s grotesque expression of disbelief and amusement, nor can he hear her chuckling to herself: "Thank goodness I went to drama school, otherwise, I’d be in deep shit right now!".

(King George and Queen Andrea will live long and happily, and will have three children (of whom, in all likelihood, only one is truly King George’s), author’s note)

...United Galaxies Federal Orbital Station, Interception Room...

Zorgott and Emmoll watch the screens displaying images transmitted by spy satellites. Both pairs of Kings and Queens have reconciled; no one has died, contrary to the predictions made by the two Galactic Ministers.

"I am truly impressed: I never imagined that Earth women possessed such effective powers of coercion. They have completely defeated all our studies and all our predictions on every front. What marvelous beings!" remarks Emmoll, clearly fascinated.

"Indeed, we underestimated the extraordinary aptitude for conquest and possession displayed by Earth women. In any case, it is clear that we have both lost our bet—er, I mean, our prediction. Let this serve as a lesson for our future operations on Earth: human beings are annoyingly unpredictable".

END

Every morning across the country, many men wake up to an internal scream from deep within the back of their minds as a piercing alarm tells them abruptly to leave their dreams.

Robert is no different as he sits up in bed and sees he has once again beaten the sun to start the day.

‘Maybe one time long into the future I may see light as I wake again, but even then I fear it may be nothing more than an assault on my senses... at work I see it through the windows and for a moment it almost looks inviting, but never so much I should down tools in favor of a warming experience. There is no use in such things, the clouds will always return and my time will start up again as it always does,’ Robert thinks to himself while looking at his broken one-room bedsit.

The big walk-in wardrobe ahead of him is clinging on for life with practically twisted hinges, as the doors naturally lean to the floor. A sink sits to his left that has a giant cracked-off section in the top. Robert does not know where the missing part is; he rented it like that and felt desperate every time he thought of the viewing, yet took the place anyway and still hands £450 over every month.

After some procrastination, Robert finds the strength to swing his feet out of bed and get dressed for work. Walking over to his crooked wardrobe, he opens the doors to a nasty creak. ‘It’s mildly better than the alarm,’ he thinks before pulling out a plain black top and some black utility trousers, then chucks them onto his messy bed.

He picks the wardrobe doors up and attempts to shut them before giving up and sitting back onto the bed. He feels the TV remote under his feet, so he picks it up and puts the news on. A reporter wearing a pristine blue suit and pink tie combo appears as the studio spreads across the screen behind him, revealing a bird's-eye view backdrop of the city.

Big concrete apartment complexes reach into the sky, the panels practically green from moss and fungus towards the top. Smoke bellows from chimney stacks as huge fans set in the roof try to push it ever upward. The streets light up in all colors from the neon vendors in the lower grounds. Robert knows them well, always hassling him to buy this and that.

Charming cockroaches, why should they be so bright while all the others become dim? This city has been built upside down and only the ones building it know,’ his mind interjects as his eyes widen to the morning’s entertainment and the news reporter starts to speak.

Good morning, wonderful people. Today I am going to bring you the latest updates..." He turns and points his finger into a different camera. "Five workers died last night after a colleague snapped in an iron casting factory and pushed four co-workers into a crucible and then himself. The company’s spokesperson has said, luckily they did not taint the product and we were still able to use all the molten iron. The remains were fished out and sent as a collective bundle to the families for burying. They have been charged accordingly for the employee's actions."

The reporter then turns to a camera on the opposite side of the room with a slight delay before his face appears central to the screen again.

"The automotive district has had a £40 billion investment from the government this week as a last-ditch bailout. A government official spoke about it this morning."

The TV cuts to a woman wearing a fine silk dress with flowers printed all over it. The podium she stands behind has a silver spoon emblem on the front, and the backdrop is the stairs in a luxury summer home. She speaks in a cold, unapologetic tone:

"Do you need to feed your kids more than you need to drive them somewhere? Well, we think you should put them on a fucking diet and go buy a car!!! The industry is dying, people, and it hurts to see already wealthy men suffer losses because you pricks can’t suck it up and dig deep... We will give all your taxes to the automotive district if we have to. The cost of living is no excuse to let the economy fail."

The TV cuts back to the reporter as he adjusts his tie. "Brave and inspiring words there, we really all should pitch in more..."

The TV goes black, and Robert picks up his keys and heads out for work.

anyway. Robert still thinks it is getting worse, and he has had the air filters changed on his car three times in the last month. They are essential for sitting in traffic, though his thoughts turn to a time he saw a car in front of him with a young couple choking inside. He got out to help, but it was too late, and by the time he got to the passenger side door he was looking in at people blue in color with bloodshot eyes, grasping one another.

‘They did it on purpose... I don’t blame them. What life is this? We are all disposable here, so why not dispose of one’s self,’ he thinks as the car in front moves forward and he drives on, arriving a short time later at his favorite café for a morning ritual of coffee.

framed windows and a paneled main door that has almost rotted through from the bottom up. There are posters up for promotions all over the windows saying things like, “The best replication protein around, you will never believe it’s not beef!!” and “Our coffee beans come straight from the sunny mountains so you can have a fresh morning.”

Robert opens the door to see a line. ‘Damn traffic, I will be late for work, but it shouldn’t take too long,’ he thinks while counting the people in front before his eyes wander to see his favorite server is at the counter, which only encourages him to push the boundaries of his external security.

The smell of grease lingers in the air, periodically cut with burnt coffee beans. Robert tries to focus on the server's eyes, but she keeps moving around, and he struggles to tune out the sound of people’s chatter and crockery scraping against porcelain. His eyes dart to the walls, seeing a clinical white with yellow streaks stained down them. His heart starts to beat faster, and he begins to sweat uncontrollably.

A man in front of him starts to rub his ears and look around, eventually turning to Robert and saying, "Can you hear that? It’s like a grinding noise." He looks at Robert as he replies, "No, I don’t hear anything..."

The man looks at him. "Are you ok? You look a bit hot, mate."

Robert thinks for a moment: ‘No, I feel like a fire has been lit in me, my heart is desperately trying to leave me for a cooler place to live.’ But to the man he replies, "I am good, just annoyed about this traffic." He then raises his arm and shakes his fist awkwardly.

The man looks at him for a moment, still playing with his ear. He leans down to be level with Robert’s chest and hears the grinding getting louder until he can feel the vibration against his ear as gears crunch inside Robert’s ribcage. The man looks up at him: "That noise... it's coming from you."

Robert’s head tilts back as he looks up at the styrofoam panel ceiling. His mouth opens, and sparks of light start to spit out until a continuous beam projects out and starts to play a video.

A baby lies in his mother's arms. She makes funny faces at him while he laughs back. The mother says, "You are so perfect, my beautiful boy." Then the video morphs to the baby now dressed in a school uniform. The mother can be heard weeping behind the camera, and the boy looks sad with lines down his cheeks from crying.

A dad enters the frame, kneels down to the boy's eye line, and says, "We all have to do the things we don’t want to, but that’s what makes us strong." The boy wipes his face and walks out of the door.

The door opens again, and now the boy has grown up. He stands on a production line building the same thing over and over. He no longer looks sad, but numb. Then the video cuts out and the beam starts to flicker before turning off.

Robert closes his mouth and lowers his head slowly, tears running down his cheeks. He looks the man in the eyes and says in a calm tone, "I don’t remember the day they put the light in me... but the controls always felt so natural."

The man raises his arm and puts it on Robert’s shoulder, replying in a comforting tone, "We all have to see it at some point." He then lowers his arm and turns back to face the front of the line.

Robert stands behind him and looks at the clock above the counter, thinking to himself: ‘I have enough time.’

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

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.

First / Previous / Next

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.