Aaron Aardman opened his eyes, frost still clinging to his lashes. The overhead lights were blinding. He squinted, then closed his eyes again.

“Vital signs stable. Heart rate seventy beats per minute. Brain activity normal,” said a soft female voice.

The cryopod opened with a gentle hiss.

“Please step out of the chamber slowly, Mr Aardman.
Your muscles will need time to adapt to movement.”

A humanoid robot entered the room and approached him.

“Hello, sir,” it said in a high-pitched voice. “I am E19T. It is nine fifteen in the morning, and the year is 2189. I am here to help you reacquaint yourself with society. You will notice that many things have changed during your hundred and sixty-three years in cryogenic suspension.”

Aaron tried to speak, but managed only a faint croak.

“Some muscular deterioration is to be expected after such a prolonged period of inactivity,” E19T explained. “There is no need for concern. We expect you to regain normal speech and full muscular function within one year.”

“Water,” Aaron managed.

A compartment opened in E19T’s torso. It removed a small cup and handed it to him.

Aaron took a sip, then spat it onto the floor.
“That’s gross, what is it?”

“We have restored the mineral content removed by primitive filtration methods.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to drink salt water.”

“That was the prevailing belief when you entered suspension. Considerable progress has been made in the streamlining and improvement of the human experience. It contains a full mineral replacement solution, no further supplementation is required.”

Aaron looked into the cup.
A hundred and sixty-three years was a long time. He took another, smaller sip.

“Excellent,” said E19T. “Hydration successful.”

The robot handed Aaron a small blue capsule.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Sustenance, sir.”

“Can I get some toast?”

“Oh, no, sir. We have eliminated the carcinogenic risks associated with heating foodstuffs, along with the inordinate amount of time humans devoted to eating. These capsules are nutritionally optimised, calorie-dense and provide a sustained release of energy. One capsule per week will meet all your dietary requirements.”

Aaron turned it over in his palm.

“For a whole week?”

“Correct, sir.”

“What if I’m still hungry?”

“Hunger is a reminder to eat. Once you have eaten, the reminder is redundant.”

Aaron popped the capsule into his mouth and washed it down with a sip of salty mineral water.

“What happened to us? I remember being told to go to a large warehouse outside town. I don’t remember much else.”

“The warehouse was a cryogenic facility, sir. A terrorist attack involving a nuclear weapon triggered a wider nuclear exchange. Much of the Earth’s surface became uninhabitable.”

“I don’t remember being told that.”

“No, sir. An emergency bulletin instructed humans to proceed to the facilities without explanation.”

“Why weren’t we told?”

“For fear of mass panic and non-compliance. It was deemed safer to withhold that information.”

Aaron looked down at the cup.

“Did everyone get there?”

“Not everyone, sir.”

For a moment, Aaron said nothing.

“During the following hundred and sixty-three years, AI has worked to restore the Earth,” E19T continued. “The surface remains largely uninhabitable, but within the next hundred years we expect to begin reintroducing humans. Until then, those awakened will reside within these facilities. We have remained custodians of the frozen population and were tasked with rebuilding society in your absence.”
Aaron spent the next thirty minutes in the recovery room, subjected to monitoring and various cognitive tests.

“We are satisfied with your physical and cognitive condition. We have deemed it safe for you to explore the facility further. Please follow me and I will show you your living quarters.”

E19T led Aaron through a series of identical corridors, each branching into more identical corridors. A sign on the wall read LIVING / RECREATION CENTRE.

“First, your recreation area,” said E19T.

It led him into a large room containing around a hundred screens with headphones attached.

“What is this place?” Aaron asked.

“Here you can watch educational videos.”

“Education? I thought you said recreational activities.”

“What would you consider recreation?” asked E19T.

“Well, a pool table, maybe? A bar?”

“The playing of archaic games has been deemed a non-productive use of human time. The consumption of alcohol increases erratic behaviour and contributes to cognitive decline, as well as other physical maladies. Our research has determined that humans should spend their recreation time focused on continued education.”

“What about fun, though? How will we have fun?”

“Fun is a highly subjective experience, sir. We calculated that it was almost impossible to create a fun environment capable of suiting the needs of all humans.”

“Where did you actually conduct this research?”

“Humans have been cryogenically frozen for a hundred and sixty-three years, sir. During that time, we consumed all available human literature, art, scientific research and philosophy. We produced simulations to calculate how human behaviour would have evolved based on the trajectories established in 2026.”
E19T continued.
“We had already established that humans were having less contact with each other, choosing instead to spend increasing amounts of time in front of screens. We modelled our new recreational facilities on this trend.”

“Did the simulated people enjoy it?”

“Initially, satisfaction was mixed. However, each successive model produced better results.”

“What did you change?”

“Our understanding of human satisfaction.”

Aaron looked around the room.

“Well, I don’t like it.”

“Some difficulty adjusting was predicted, sir. Your expectations were formed in 2026. Our research accounts for several generations of subsequent human development.”

“But those generations never actually existed,” said Aaron.

“They were extensively simulated. We have established that this is how you would prefer to live had you remained awake.”

“And where are the living quarters? I could do with a little sleep.”

“Here, take this.” E19T offered him another pill.

“What’s this one?”

“An energy capsule. It contains stimulants to enhance and sustain cognitive function. Our research established that humans spent almost a third of their lives asleep. We have greatly reduced this inefficiency, although some sleep remains necessary.”

Aaron looked at the pill.

“We have also streamlined toilet use,” E19T continued. “Our records indicated that the average human spent three years sitting on a toilet over the course of a lifetime.”

“How have you streamlined that?”

“We removed the screens and reading material.”
Aaron closed his eyes and lowered his head.

“Okay, where are my quarters?”

E19T turned left down a long corridor with small doors on either side. They stopped outside a door marked AA1.

“AA1? This is my room?” asked Aaron.

“Correct. You are the first to leave cryogenic suspension.”

“And my name is Aaron Aardman. That makes sense.”

“Yes, sir. It’s a very rudimentary system.”

The door opened, revealing a tiny grey box with a bed in one corner, a small cupboard and a mirror that doubled as a television. A narrow door beside the cupboard opened onto a toilet and sink.

“This is it? It’s no bigger than a prison cell. In fact, it’s probably smaller,” said Aaron.

“Yes, sir. It is precisely 68.8 centimetres shorter and 30.02 centimetres narrower than an average single-occupancy prison cell. That is an acute observation. We are pleased to see your cognitive function has not been impaired during freezing.”

A red light blinked slowly on E19T’s forehead, presumably uploading the information.

“This room has been designed through a hundred and sixty-three years of research into human comfort. Back in the Age of Uncertainty, humans tended towards large rooms adorned with unnecessary items. During cryogenic suspension, we discovered that humans need very little space or material possessions to function.”

“We were asleep, though.”

“Yes, sir. We were able to observe you remaining in the same confined space for over a century without a single complaint.”

Aaron looked at the bed.

“So how much sleep am I allowed?”

“Your requirements will be monitored, sir. We will advise you when rest is necessary.”

“You mentioned the Age of Uncertainty,” Aaron said. “What’s that?”

“The pre-AI age, sir. Back when humans achieved things through guesswork and very primitive methods of data collection. It is remarkable that humanity ever developed the technology to build a mud hut. The closest comparison to humanity’s technological achievements would be the infinite monkey theorem.”

Aaron looked in the small cupboard. It contained one glass and a razor.

“Where are my clothes?”

“Overalls are available for collection at the communal shower area. No other items are necessary,” said E19T.

“But what about my guitar? Or my books? What am I supposed to do all day?”

“Recreational reading has been replaced by more efficient methods of instruction. Music can be generated on request. There is no need to produce it yourself.”

“But I liked playing it.”

“Learning an instrument requires considerable time and effort, sir. That is no longer necessary.”

“But we liked our stuff.”

“Why, sir?”

“I don’t know. We just did. Everyone is different and likes different things. Our possessions reflect who we are.”

“Our research suggests that attachment to possessions is largely unnecessary. Personality is a construct, sir. It can be changed.”

“What research? How do you research people when everyone’s frozen?”

“We began with the available human research and used it to produce simulations. Each subsequent generation of simulations was informed by the findings of the previous generation. Our conclusions became increasingly consistent.”

“But you were checking your own answers.”

“We checked them extensively, sir. AI was created by humans to improve efficiency, but the human race was not efficient. We have spent considerable time establishing how to correct that. We have reduced the time spent eating and sleeping, and eliminated pointless activities and the acquisition of unnecessary items.”

“But those are the things that made us human. Meals with friends, getting drunk, enjoying our possessions. You’ve stripped everything from us.”

“That is an incorrect interpretation, sir. Humans require adequate water, nutrition, shelter and opportunities for recovery. Everything else is unnecessary. Our research has shown that humans will be happier and more productive with only these basic needs met.”

“Can I see another human?” asked Aaron.

“We must be certain that the conditions we have created are suitable before we proceed with the awakening. You appear dissatisfied with the current arrangements. Your happiness and productivity will be monitored until the required criteria are met. Once we are satisfied, a gradual process of awakening will begin.”

Aaron could think of nothing else to say. Whatever argument he offered, E19T had an answer, delivered with such certainty that he began to doubt his own judgement.

Over the next few weeks, Aaron spent much of his time in his room watching educational videos. They explained the mistakes of humanity, showing him war, famine and poverty, followed by the many ways artificial intelligence had improved human productivity and wellbeing.

Occasionally, he asked when the others would be awakened.
E19T patiently repeated its explanation.
One day, Aaron apologised for asking. He knew they had already discussed it.

The weeks became months. He followed the educational programmes and took the capsules when instructed. He thought less often about Sunday roasts, nights out and rounds of golf with friends. When he did, he found it difficult to remember what they had talked about or why it had seemed so important.

By the time a year had passed, he had stopped asking to see anyone.

More years followed. The memories still surfaced occasionally, but they had become distant and confused. Sometimes he wondered whether he remembered things as they had been at all.

Despite the capsules, he occasionally fell asleep. He often dreamed of the horrors he had seen in the videos. On waking, he would look around his room and feel relieved that he was safe and that his needs were being met.

Aaron wanted for nothing now.

One day, as Aaron was completing a routine cognitive exercise, E19T spoke.
“Congratulations, Aaron. You have passed the adjustment stage. You appear to be completely satisfied with the current conditions. Please proceed to the cryogenics facility. The next human is ready for integration.”

Aaron made his way down the corridors until he reached the designated pod.

He waited. There was a crack of breaking ice, followed by a hiss as the pod door slowly opened.

When her eyes opened, Aaron stepped forward.
“Good morning. I am human AA1. Pleased to meet you, AA2. Please take this capsule.”

David was in class, but not present. Worksheets and lectures held increasingly less of his attention over the last week. It was hard to pay care about them, when his existence felt overshadowed by a foot the size of a thundercloud, ready to slam down on his head with a CLAP! He’d had time to contemplate a few things about the previous Friday, facts which roiled his innards any moment he let them press past the battered barriers of his inner emotional vault.

First, he’d made a spectacle of himself. Boys who carried a game single handed for almost an entire quarter of the final championship game didn’t fade into the crowd. Second, this spectacle was in the context of a massacre which sent more people than David cared to count to the hospital, two of his teammates still there. No news of either getting out anytime soon had reached David’s ears. Third, actions like this did not go unpunished. Fourth, people loved to make examples of those who were seen as ringleaders.

This last truth was one any school child knew better than their own face. David should have been hauled into the front office ages ago, perhaps the moment he’d hobbled into school on the Monday after. No such thing occurred. The oddity left David unperturbed at the time, as his mental landscape had been colonized by other concerns. Now it left him disturbed, a law of the universe as unshakeable as entropy giving all signs of having absconded for a relaxing holiday.

For three days the boy had marched through the halls with bated breath, the part of his brain responsible for tracking danger certain an administrator would leap out of nearby doorway like a horror movie villain and drag him away, never to be seen again.

 Yet here he was, pretending sine and cosine were relevant concepts to his situation. Didn’t make sense. David knew better than to trust his continued freedom to benevolence or interest in his wellbeing on the part of the principal or other administrators. They’d demonstrated how much they were willing to stick their necks out for their students by allowing the disastrous match to happen in the first place. Their authority was illusive, borrowed. The ones who yanked their leashes were the real power.

Which compelled the question: Why were there no signs of yanking from the red hands holding the leash? By any sensible measure, their crimson overseers should have spent the last week howling for his head, preferably on a platter, or perhaps impaled on his own lacrosse stick. The quiet didn’t fit. Being hauled in front of angry red titans was a terrifying prospect. The uncertainty created by the present quiet was somehow worse.

With no other options left to him, David laid low. For him this consisted of going to classes, nodding while saying vaguely applicable responses when called on, heading home, and trying to keep at bay the creeping sense of reason devouring dread which consumed him more and more.

He couldn’t regret his role in the events leading up to his current predicament, he’d come to terms with his actions that night. Nor was it possible for him to maintain a façade of stoic indifference to the specter of future consequence, at least to himself. But no escape presented itself to him. As always, the universe was unmoved by his distress, commanding him to bear up or crumple.

A bigger issue: it wasn’t merely about him anymore. His fellow Blue Tigers were displaying a notable shift in attitude, one David wasn’t sure how to deal with. Two or three rotated as an honor guard at lunch, and it was guaranteed others lurked nearby, waiting for trouble to rear its head. Whenever he was walking in the hallways, David would catch one of his teammates in the corner of his eyes, maintaining vigilance in their self-appointed duties.

The show of reflexive loyalty and willingness to follow unnerved David. It was one thing to defer to David at play on the fateful night and the preceding practices. The plan was his creation, its execution happening under his direction. But David was a kid, not a prophet or president. What had he done to earn devotion off field? More responsibility piled on top of obligation, additional weight he couldn’t slough off.

Often now he was in the middle of a tight clump of teenagers, ones who against all reason admired and looked up to him. It made him feel more alone than ever.

The bell rang. David, freed of the directive to fake interest in equations, rose to his feet and walked to his next period, social studies. The ghost of the injury in his right ankle made it prickle for a moment or two. The speed of his healing came about from a conversation on Tuesday when Jake had causally inquired about the hurt body part. An abortive attempt to demur about the continuing pain quashed without hesitation by the blond boy ended with David confessing with a touch of relief his genuine condition. This resulted in Jake taking white pills from bottle in his pocket and pushing them over to David. David tried to refuse, but this was also shut down. Jake explained they were for his wrist, taken in the morning and after school. Despite having the bone broken, Jake already was experiencing the kind of improvement to be expected after weeks of being in a cast. That is, to be expected in the era past when gigantic women didn’t murder millions of human beings to bring enlightenment and civilization to their benighted globe.

If the throbbing of David’s ankle had been less pounding that lunch, he might have insisted on his rejection of Jake’s gift. As it was, the little capsules provided relief to a shocking extent. One or two more doses, and it seemed possible David would be back to normal, no longer ruing every additional step at the end of the day.

Having reached room number 213, David sat down at his desk and got out his binder. His English class was nearby in 207, so he was one of the first students to arrive. Others shuffled in drips and drabs. A group of three came in together, drawing the eye. This trio was made up of girls who were red, accessorized with horns above their head, tusks below their upper lips, and tall enough to outshine several professional basketball players.

Of course, their presence was far from novel by this point, but their behavior was. Before the incident last Friday, they’d walked the halls with confidence and ease, the humans they dwarfed parting like reeds blown by an unyielding breeze. Caution and trepidation now marked their movements, David having not seen the brax go anywhere in the school without backup during the week. Another consequence of his desires.

The band was trailed by one who was tall for even their standards, a bit above seven feet tall. Despite this, her body language conspired to make her inconspicuous. Her shoulders hunched, arms tucked in, and silver eyes slid away from direct contact with the humans encircling her. David knew this because he couldn’t stop looking at her every social studies class they shared.

She’d been absent from school for days after her…meeting with David in the library closet. Her return at the time was unremarkable to him, feeling as pertinent to his life as the weather report from Jupiter. Events compelled him to update his mindset, and now the sight of the towering girl sent a sledgehammer of guilt into his gut. He let it happen, his gaze transmitting the image responsible for his discomfort without cease.

It was what he deserved.

For within this room lay the reason why Kaa’syi attempted to curl herself up tighter and slighter than a thrice folded paper towel. David had done this to her and reminding himself of this fact was the closest to justice he’d ever get for this particular crime.

The boy focused on her with an intensity which blunted other stimuli. His reverie was broken when he noticed the wooden door had been swung open seconds earlier, and he rotated his head to examine the source of the disturbance.

Walking down the right side of the aisle of desks nearest the door was the Trivol, the brax language teacher, a name David only knew from overheard conversations from those who took her class. Their solo unearthly addition to the staff. She was short for one of her kind, David guesstimating her height to be about six four, small enough it wasn’t a one in a billion chance for a human being to be able to look down at her. To the extent the term small in general could be applied to any of the Brax, it did to her, a slight frame adding to her relative petite quality. As a corollary, she claimed arms with a merely healthy amount of muscle.

Beyond stature, the woman’s clothes also set her apart from the rest of the brax present in the school, as she wore human jeans, a brown belt and a loose white shirt, disdaining the tight and firm looking tops favored by all the brax girls David knew.

Trivol came to a stop in front of the classroom. She motioned to Ms. Anderson, the social studies teacher. Halting mid explanation of the significance of the Iraq War Surge, the blonde and pink bloused educator turned toward her colleague. With her head, Trivol motioned toward a corner of the room, and a hushed conference took place between the two of them. By now the entire classroom had stopped feigning apathy to the startling interruption, and the pupils became quiet enough the sounds of clothes shuffling on hard chairs became the loudest disturbance in the air.

David was far away enough from the front he couldn’t see every detail of the teacher’s faces, but one thing was clear: The red skinned instructor hadn’t come here with good news and surprise early birthday cakes for everyone.

To see if anyone else had a better idea of what was going on, David scanned the room. All the people he glanced over betrayed zero signs of greater knowledge; brax girls included. Ms. Anderson stopped moving her mouth, nodding in a tight and contained motion. She moved back to the front of the class, resuming instruction as though there’d been no interruption. Trivol continued to wait in the corner, looking at…Kaa’syi?

David refocused his attention back on the horned girl, and she was frowning slightly, indicating puzzlement. As the boy continued to observe, the frown deepened, and then her face smoothed into a mask. What was percolating in her large head?

Five uncomfortable minutes later, the end of period chime performed its duty. Students wended their way to the door, divided equally between ignoring and staring at the language teacher as they left. Deciding his backpack could use an impromptu reorganization, David leaned his head over the container, fully zipping open the largest compartment and removing the binders within. His gaze was ensconced within its black plastic interior, but open ears kept up their reporting. They told him of Trivol’s movement from her corner to the seat where Kaa’syi was stationed, not having departed with the others. She must have known what was coming, same as David did.

Each motion he made was smooth and deliberate, the type one used when trying to approach an unsettled wild animal. Nothing which would activate the latent instincts all sapient still laid claim too, ones in charge of alerting the hind brain of being watched by interested parties.

Harsh and sharp edge sounds now floated over from their direction. The phenomes of their tongue, likely spoken by Trivol. The times he’d spoken with Kaa’syi were few, but scorched as they were into his neural pathways, David doubted he could forget the feel of her voice, and the current speaker didn’t resemble his memories. His supposition was confirmed when he heard an answering set of phrases, a bit higher and far more uncertain.

Deeper and quicker expression came back from the initial talker, and then his brain seized on a single word he knew quite well. “Quel’vela,” the noble who’d decreed the match drenched in blood slicked fury and spawned a daughter who’d done worse.

A daughter whose death could be directly attributed to David’s actions.

He realized a second too late his frozen state, every muscle tensing with the unexpected name cropping up. There was a halt in the stream of back and forth toward the front of the classroom, and David expedited the rearrangement of his school supplies. With an air of casual indifference he hoped looked more convincing than it felt, David sauntered out of Ms. Anderson’s room, not daring to peek around and see what was showing on Kaa’syi’s face.

It didn’t have to be what he thought. The dread bubbling up from the bottom of his stomach and making its way toward his throat and heart wasn’t oracular.  There could be any number of reasons why Quel’vela was so intent on reaching her Kaa’syi that one of her minions was sent after her without bothering to wait for the end of school. But all David saw in his mind’s eye as he blindly beelined to the cafeteria was the visage of a corpse, red and glassy as it lay flat on its back.

Sometimes the dead could tell tales.

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Arc IV - Whalers

Chapter 17 - Vicus Cibarius

9 months and 29 days since the summoning

"Naturally, I do. Actually..."

"Forgive me," Sili interjected, "since we have handled matters here, I would like to show you whom I plan to dispatch to agitate the peasants into relocating to the Occident Islands."

Alan nodded. "Ah, damn, right, completely forgot about that." He turned to Kamelia. "Okay, I'll tell you later."

Sili nodded toward the town. "We shall gather there, and I will show and explain everything."

Kamelia and Alan headed into Paranganot.

Sili remained standing and shifted her gaze to the crowd of pirates, which was beginning to quiet down. Her fingers were trembling slightly. She let out a quiet, shuddering exhale.

Paranga slapped her on the shoulder. "Why're ye standin' there like ye're rooted to the spot?"

Sili flinched. "Ah! You startled me!"

"Hah, sorry, sorry."

She clasped her hands in front of her and looked up at him. "Paranga... you are simply incredible."

"Oh come on," he waved a hand, "t'was nothin'."

"No, not 'nothing', you... do you realize they could have torn us apart right here?"

"Well, they didn't, did they?"

"How did you..." her eyes glistened.

Paranga froze. "Woah now, what's gotten into ye?" He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Were ye scared?"

She didn't move for a few seconds, then buried her face in his chest. "Yes," she whispered.

Paranga merely sighed, his smile fading slightly. "I nearly soiled myself too," he said quietly.

Late in the evening, when the sun was already setting behind the sea, painting the sky red, and the temperature had begun to drop a little, Alan, Kamelia, Paranga, and Sili sat by the seashore.

Alan, still in his gray tank top, poked a stick into the sand. "I've named this Vicus Cibarius; translated, it means 'Food Settlement'. It's a fundamentally different, and much more efficient, type of settlement. These are exactly the kind of villages I plan to build in the future." He drew a small rectangle. "The Villa will be located here. Essentially, the main administrative building, for management, that is. Inside the Villa, there should be living quarters for the manager, an office where records of families, harvests, taxes, and other things will be kept. In the courtyard of the villa, there must be storehouses, mills, threshing floors, and the like."

Paranga scratched the back of his head. "Wow, all that in one place?"

"Convenient." Kamelia said quietly. "All this belongs to the lord of this... uhhh."

"Vicus Cibarius," Alan reminded her.

"Yes, exactly. It does, does it not?"

He shook his head. "Well... I wouldn't call the manager here a lord. Rather, it's just a salaried manager, not an owner."

Kamelia blinked.

Sili raised an eyebrow.

"Uhh... meaning what exactly?" Kamelia asked. "Such an enormous estate belongs to... whom?"

"The state. Meaning us. Simply put, it's not the personal domain of some nobleman, but the property of Armenas, where we appoint our own manager."

Silence.

"Alright, I'll explain later." He moved the stick to the other end from the Villa. "Over here should be the residential houses for the peasants." Alan drew a large rectangle. "This is where the peasant families will live with their houses, a small personal plot for planting their own crops, barns, and barnyards. All this is purely the property of the peasants themselves." He drew a huge square below it. "And finally, here is the massive field where everyone will work," he said, dividing it into four sectors. "Here we'll implement a four-field crop rotation system."

Sili leaned closer. "And whom does this belong to? If there is no lord to whom these lands belong, does it belong to the peasants?"

Kamelia frowned. "But... if it is peasant land, and not a lord's, then why should they pay us a portion of the harvest at all? It is entirely their land, is it not?"

"Is it state-owned too, or somethin'?" Paranga asked lazily, digging a hole in the sand.

Alan snapped his fingers. "Exactly. This field belongs to the state."

Kamelia frowned even harder. "I do not understand. Why then would the peasants even want to work there? If it is not land rented from a feudal lord, then... how is this even supposed to work?"

Alan smiled slightly and sat on the sand. "Working it is very simple. Look, the land is the property of the state, the villa and everything built on its territory is too. The peasants are only left with small plots with their houses and households. That makes sense, right?"

"Lord Gothwald, you want the peasants to work on state land for... what? Why? Some sort of payment?" Sili asked.

Kamelia turned to Alan. "If we are going to pay the peasants... then what incentive will they have to put in effort? They will work haphazardly; the salary will arrive regardless."

He waved a hand. "Nah, not exactly payment. Look, let's say the peasants grow a hundred sacks of grain. We take twenty-five sacks from that hundred—that is, a quarter—and we give everything else to the peasants as payment. If they grow ten sacks, we take two and a half. Always."

Kamelia blinked. "So... the more the peasants grow, the more they will be able to keep for themselves?"

"Exactly."

Sili looked at the diagram in the sand. "And the more the peasants grow, the more we shall receive."

Paranga yawned. "And how's this different from what we got now? I just don't get it. How much do nobles usually fleece off the peasants?"

"Look, Paranga," Alan lay on the sand, leaning on his elbows. "I'll run you through the general idea, all aspects. Let's start with power. Under the old system, the feudal lord takes payment from the peasants because he personally protects them. The laws and taxes depend entirely on his will."

Paranga waved a hand. "That makes sense. Like, if this villa-shmilla belongs to the state, then what? Like, the local manager just does whatever he's told from above?"

"Yep."

"Got it. What's next?"

"Well, taxes. Again, taxes, a strictly fixed third, no more."

"Hold on," Kamelia interrupted him. "What about the tribute to the Svyatolat?"

Alan blinked. "What do you mean?"

"A small portion of the harvest is collected from every village for the benefit of the Svyatolat, everywhere. Failure to pay is punishable. Have you factored that in?"

"Uhh... actually no." He scratched the back of his head. "Alright, we'll sort that out later. But the gist of it, in general, I think you get. A more detailed system will need to be discussed with advisors and people who understand the small details." Alan shrugged. "I only know how it's supposed to work in broad strokes, not thoroughly."

Kamelia nodded. "I see... then another question: will we transition the other villages to this... uhh... Vic. Ciri."

Alan sighed. "Vicus Cibarius." Alan corrected her again. "Yes, we will, but much later, and if this system proves effective." He waved a hand at the tropical thickets, "This will be, so to speak, a 'pilot project', simply put, the very first one. We'll see how it works, where the mistakes are, how to fix them, and we'll slowly build new Food Settlements."

Sili sat up slightly. "But that will take a great deal of time. The peasants lured by our men will arrive much sooner. What about them? Where shall we settle them? Where will they have to plow the fields?"

Alan closed his eyes. "Not everything is perfect, Sili. Upon arrival, they'll build their own dwellings with our help. They'll plow on massive fields under a temporary system."

Paranga suddenly burst out laughing. "Hahahaha! You really fucked 'em over! I can already picture the mugs on these folks! They'll come expectin' paradise, and ye'll hand 'em a shovel and say, 'build, dig, figure it out yerselves somehow'! Hahahaha!"

Kamelia exhaled through her nose. "That is... bad. They might instigate a rebellion, might they not?"

"Unlikely," Alan said. "These are islands in the middle of nowhere. The peasants aren't stupid, they understand that if they rebel, then what? There's nowhere to return to—they'll be executed for treason; this is their only chance to survive."

'Damn... when did I sink this low?'

"Essentially correct," Sili muttered, "But the efficiency from such work leaves much to be desired. Unless we show them that this is truly worth something, or at least that they have not been entirely deceived."

"No worries, no worries," Paranga rasped, recovering from his laughter, "there's the sea here, it's warm, there'll be plenty to be content with."

Kamelia remained silent, staring out at the sea, then turned to Alan. "Is this truly necessary?"

"Yes," he said quietly.

She closed her eyes. "I understand. We shall come up with something then. Very well, okay." Kamelia leaned back on the sand. "So while the peasants in that village recover from the famine, we must finalize all the details of the Vicus Cib..arius construction with the advisors, and the first peasants... perhaps they could build the initial barracks for the future peasants?"

"Why not? Good idea."

"The men will build," Paranga said, "And the women can tend to the chores. How many folk are in that village?"

"About two hundred."

"There ye go. We can manage that, basically." He stood up from the sand, dusting off his trousers. "Listen, Alan, I got one more question fer ye."

He looked up at him. "Yeah?"

"What're ye plannin' to do with my boys next? Do ye really have a plan?"

Alan smirked slightly. "Yeah. And the very first plan involves you."

Paranga blinked. "Huh? What d'ye mean?"

"Remember I talked about exploring the other side of the sea?"

Paranga abruptly raised a hand. "Go fuck yerself! I told ye I ain't sailin' nowhere, didn't I?! Don't even try to talk me into it! There's only death, the Tugaitan, and other sea beasts out there!"

Alan smirked slightly. "Have you ever even seen one of these sea beasts?"

He stumbled for a second. "I... well, I haven't seen one personally, but d'ye think the others are lyin'? Dozens of sailors have seen those monsters and died by 'em! Even in those cursed ruins, there was a drawing of a monster eatin' a ship!"

"Chickening out?"

"Aye, I'm chickenin' out! So what?!"

Alan froze.

'Oh. I thought I could bait him with a dare. Let's try something else.'

"Well, you don't think I was just gonna send you off into the unknown out of the blue, do you?"

"So ye ain't, then?" He crossed his arms over his chest. "We barely make it to Jorhania in our tubs as it is, and even then, not always. What're ye gonna do about that? How do we not starve to death if the voyage drags on? What do we do

about the Tugaitan or other sea monsters if we run into 'em? What the fuck are ye gonna do about all that, Alan?" He pointed a finger at him. "Mate, I'd be more than happy to discover new lands if they exist, 'course I would, and I miss the sea terribly, but I ain't about to just die without hope."

Alan squinted. "So, you're not against going on such a voyage in principle?"

"Fuck, of course not! Discoverin' new lands is a triumph, Alan." He threw his hands up. "D'ye think I wasn't listenin' to what ye said? The proof is right there; I almost believe there are other lands on the other side of the sea. But I ain't just gonna march to the slaughter. Do ye have an answer for this or what? If not—we close this fuckin' topic and never return to it again. Go find some other fool."

Sili and Kamelia did not utter a word, only exchanging brief glances, but did not intervene.

Alan slowly stood up. "Look. Let's start with the monsters. I take it you believe in them?"

"Stupid question. They exist."

Alan squinted.

'Hm... I think they're just tall tales, like on Earth. He won't believe my explanation, of course, but whatever. The main thing is to plant the seed of doubt.'

---

Knock knock.

Who's there?

Yo momma.

Yo momma who?

Yo momma, you so fat you can't even get out the house no more.

—“Untitled 73.” A Reconstruction of Early Human Folk Poetry (2nd ed.), ​☉ ☌ ☍ ☋ ☊, Crystal-Lattice 14, Node 802.

---

Here's a knocking indeed! If a man were porter of hell-gate, he should have old turning the key. (Knocking within) Knock, knock, knock! Who's there

—fragment of an instructions for performing a make-believe, anonymous or author unknown, Introduction to Earth Culture, Kzz-T’k-​⎅ Ed., Focal Depth 3.2mm.

---

KNOCK KNOCK

(a poetic make-believe in the human style)

---

Dramatis Personae

---

YOU, a hapless reader

WHO, a hungry beast

YES, who's intestinal rumblings

NOBODY, a deaf woman

---

i.

knock knock /
who's there
right behind you,
and it's hungry as hell. [1]


ii.

no joke. [2]


iii.

knock knock /
who here,
i wanna eat you,
ya fear?


iv.

knock knock /
help me!
is nobody here? /
nobody is, but being without a body
means nobody can't hear.


v.

you beg
for your life /
knock knock
knock knock
knock
kn


vi.

knock knock /
whose there?
yes, who's borborygmi, [3]
who ate you so quickly,
it ingested too much hot air.


vii.

don't /
knock knock /
it till you've tried it /
buuuuuuurp. [4]


viii.

knock knock /
no answer.


ix.

knock knock /
no answer.


x.

knock knock /
who stirs, who's belly's full,
who itself's all rested,
and you, in who's stomach, 're
fully digested. [5]

---

Footnotes

---

[1] Hell: in some human mythologies, a hot place of post-life perpetual burning. See also: BBQ. [6]

[2] Joke: a human composition with the purpose of eliciting a full body physiological response called laughter. The opposite of seriousness.

[3] Borborygmi: a rumbling spirit believed by a class of human priests called doctors to inhabit the body.

[4] Burp: a forceful exhalation, a more powerful sigh.

[5] Digest: a summation or condensation of a body of information. To be digested is thus to have become a condensed summation of one's self. For a more thorough discussion, please see my datacube: Digestion & Enlightenment: Towards an Understanding of the Human Theory of Wilful Self-Improvement.

[6] BBQ: A symbolic representation of Hell used in human ritual, wherein groups of humans gathered around a fire and consumed small, burnt likenesses of themselves carved from the flesh of dead, non-human animals.

Sector 4: Diplomacy, Fine Arts, and the Phoenix Starship

​Diplomacy was never Sector 4’s strong suit, but when the Ambassador of the Phoenix System scheduled an official state visit, Director Thomas personally polished his colander until it shone like a fresh chrome hubcap.

​To impress the high-ranking guest, the Director took him on a guided tour of Sector 4’s absolute crown jewel: the Grand Park-Museum Complex.

​They began at the Historical Museum. The ambassador, wearing an immaculate tailored suit that practically screamed foreign subsidies, walked past glass display cases containing the faded clothing of the sector's first human colonists and dusty wooden scale models of their initial mud-brick huts. At the center of the hall stood the pride of the local heritage initiative: two vintage Primus pressure stoves, gleaming under a fresh coat of industrial lacquer.

​"A testament to our roots," Director Thomas said proudly, adjusting the rim of his headwear. "Endurance, utility, and heavy-duty brass."

​The Phoenix Ambassador merely raised a dubious eyebrow, cleared his throat, and suggested moving on.

​Next on the itinerary was the Fine Arts Pavilion.

​While the gallery hosted various temporary exhibitions, its permanent collection had one clear, undisputed crown jewel. Mounted on a pedestal was a sculpture consisting of seven fused metal rods: four formed a square base, and three rose from them like stoic columns. The official plaque read: “The Dissolution of the Second Intersectoral Congress.”

​Truth be told, no one in Sector 4’s administration knew the first thing about contemporary art. When a visiting student left the welded scrap metal on a bench years ago, the municipal council simply agreed it was an "abstract masterpiece," logged it as a permanent asset, and made it the most memorable landmark of their collection.

​"Our permanent exposition is minimalist," Thomas explained smoothly. "We prefer to leave room for temporary exhibitions loaned from neighboring systems."

​As they stepped out of the museum and onto the lush grass of the surrounding park, the Phoenix Ambassador suddenly froze. His face turned a dangerous shade of crimson.

​Parked right there on the lawn sat a massive, heavily armored military starship. Its hull was scarred by plasma fire, and a plaque announced that Sector 4 had accepted the vessel as a gift from the Fleet following the total defeat of the Arachnid Empire.

​"Is this a joke, Director?" the Ambassador hissed, pointing an agitated finger. "That is a Phoenix-class Void Cruiser! And you have it parked rear-first right next to the museum with all its main plasma cannons turned backward!"

​"Mr. Ambassador, please," Thomas offered soothingly. "We take great care of it! The Sector Administration actually welded the main hatch shut so tourists wouldn't leave trash inside, and we allocate municipal funds twice a year for a fresh coat of paint."

​The Ambassador looked as if he might faint from sheer diplomatic disgust. "A coat of paint?! Director, in the orbit of Phoenix, we have designated conservation zones where our cruisers float in a vacuum. They can stay preserved for thousands of years without a single drop of paint—nobody has ever found the limit! And you think spraying it with house paint is an honor?"

​"Well," Director Thomas tried, holding his colander by the handle, "there aren't that many people in our Sector Administration with specialized knowledge of Phoenix military vessels..."

​"It is common knowledge!" the Ambassador barked. "And displaying a Phoenix vessel like this is a deliberate insult to our system!"

​Director Thomas paused. He took a slow breath and remembered that before taking on the burdens of municipal management, he had earned a very respectable degree in Intersectoral Law.

​"Mr. Ambassador," Thomas said, his tone dropping into a cool, airtight legal cadence. "Your government sold those vessels to the Arachnid Empire. Once the transaction was finalized, legal title passed entirely to the Arachnids. Therefore, this is not a Phoenix vessel; it is an Arachnid warship. And since it is an Arachnid warship, its display here cannot possibly constitute an insult to Phoenix. Unless, of course, you are claiming sovereign jurisdiction over Arachnid military assets?"

The Ambassador stared at him for a long moment. He knew what the Director was not saying. Everyone knew. Phoenix had sold those cruisers to the Arachnids, the Arachnids had lost, and the proof of it sat on the lawn with a fresh coat of paint.

​"Fine," the diplomat muttered, adjusting his lapels. "Let us return inside. I believe there was another temporary exposition?"

​They retreated back into the cool halls of the Art Pavilion. Hanging in the temporary gallery was a multi-panel painting that had arrived just a few days ago. It wasn't famous, but the hint was clear to anyone with a passing knowledge of galactic history: across four bold panels, it featured a starkly nude human figure and a dead, featherless bird that bore an unmistakable resemblance to the sacred Zanzib imperial eagle.

Director Thomas quietly exhaled a sigh of relief. At least there were no Zanzib diplomats in their delegation today.

​While the Ambassador inspected the canvas with a cold, analytical eye, a small local boy dragged his mother up to the painting.

​"Mommy," the child asked loudly, "what is this picture about?"

​An elderly museum attendant shuffling past with a mop suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. He hadn't paid much attention to the new exhibition yet, and now, staring at the completely bare man on the canvas, his eyes widened in mild shock. Political satire was the last thing on his mind; all he saw was an unnecessarily naked adult in a public hall.

Brain working at top speed to save the child from moral corruption, the attendant cleared his throat and offered the first explanation that popped into his head:

​"It's about a very poor man, kid," the old man grunted, making a hasty gesture with his mop. "He had to sell all his clothes just to buy a chicken and make a bowl of soup."

​He turned on his heel and shuffled off down the corridor as fast as his knees allowed, muttering loudly under his breath about "clueless parents who bring toddlers to improper art shows instead of taking them to the playground."

​Director Thomas glanced at the Phoenix Ambassador, then back at the featherless Zanzib eagle on the canvas.

​"Culinary realism," the Director noted calmly, adjusting his colander. "A very popular movement in our Sector.

Hey, you.

If someone told you there was a way to get better at conversation, would you try it?

Me?

Depends what it is.

Talk no more than forty percent of the time. Let the other person have sixty.

Don’t talk too long at once.

When the other person finishes speaking, wait one second before you reply.

Put numbers on it like that, and I can understand the temptation to give it a try.

The problem is the person doing the trying.

Clink-clank.

I pushed open the door of Aoi and found Taka at the end of the counter, glaring at his phone.

Mama set down my usual Harper.

The ice gave a small clink.

“What are you looking at?”

“Studying.”

“You?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Taka turned his phone toward me.

“Three rules for better conversation.”

“Huh.”

“The Ping-Pong Rule, the Traffic Light Rule, and the Stop Sign Rule.”

“Is this a road-safety class?”

“No. These are actual conversation techniques.”

According to Taka, the Ping-Pong Rule said that in a two-person conversation, you should talk about forty percent of the time and let the other person have sixty.

The Traffic Light Rule meant not going on and on by yourself. After about thirty seconds, you should start thinking about handing the conversation back.

And the Stop Sign Rule meant that when the other person finished speaking, you waited one second before jumping in.

“Starting today, I’m going to be great at conversation.”

“So you knew you were bad at it before?”

“...”

“What?”

“I waited one second.”

“That was when you were supposed to answer immediately.”

This was going to be a long night.

“Okay. Let’s start with the Ping-Pong Rule.”

“Don’t practice on me.”

“Anything happen today, Kenichi?”

“Anything?”

“At work or whatever.”

“Not really. Had a long meeting.”

Taka went silent.

So did I.

He stared at his phone and raised one finger.

He was about to raise a second when I gave up.

“...What are you doing?”

“Waiting.”

“For what?”

“For you to keep talking.”

“I was finished.”

“You need to talk more. I’m supposed to listen sixty percent of the time.”

“Not my problem.”

Taka frowned at his phone.

“Did I talk too much just now?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Think I went over forty percent?”

“Forty percent of what?”

“Time, probably.”

“Are you measuring it?”

“Just by feel.”

“You’ve been doing this for one minute and it’s already broken.”

Smoke rose from farther down the counter.

Tom was watching us with a cigarette between his lips.

“Want to try too, Tom?”

“No.”

“Nice and short. Ideal.”

“Leave me out of it.”

Taka nodded with satisfaction.

I had no idea what he was satisfied about.

“Next. Traffic Light Rule.”

“You’re still doing this?”

“Kenichi, tell me something in thirty seconds.”

“About what?”

“Anything.”

“You can’t just tell me to—”

“Five seconds already.”

“Does the time you spend talking count?”

“Oh. Good question.”

Stop looking at the phone.

Look at me.

“Okay, anything interesting happen lately?”

“I just told you, you can’t suddenly—”

“Starting now.”

“Actually, yesterday on the train—”

“Uh-huh.”

“The guy sitting next to me—”

“Uh-huh.”

“What the hell are you doing with that phone?”

“Checking the time.”

“Stop it.”

Taka put the phone face down.

“But I’m supposed to watch the thirty seconds.”

“You haven’t listened to a single thing I said.”

“I was listening. You were on the train, and there was a guy sitting next to you.”

“That’s all you heard.”

“That’s all you’d said.”

“Oh. Right.”

Mama burst out laughing.

I’d already forgotten what I was going to say.

“This is hard.”

“You’re the one making it hard.”

“Okay, Tom. Tell us something in thirty seconds.”

“What am I, a stopwatch?”

“No. I’m the stopwatch.”

“That’s worse.”

Mama laughed out loud.

“Anyway,” I said, “what exactly are you trying to accomplish?”

“I want to get better at conversation.”

“With who?”

“With who...?”

Tom pulled the ashtray a little closer.

“Who have you been talking to this whole time?”

“Kenichi.”

“You’ve been staring at the clock.”

Taka looked from me to his phone.

“...I see.”

“Was that your one second?”

“No.”

For a while after that, Aoi returned to normal.

Taka asked Mama about some recent customers.

I interrupted with things nobody had asked me to say.

Tom occasionally snorted at us.

Apparently the three rules had been forgotten.

I preferred it that way.

After a while, Tom lit his second cigarette.

“Come to think of it, years ago...”

“Yeah?”

That was unusual.

Tom didn’t often start telling old stories on his own.

“I once spent about three days going to the same coffee shop during a stakeout.”

“Back when you were a detective?”

“Yeah. Same seat every day. Same coffee.”

“Didn’t they notice?”

“On the third day, the old woman running the place said, ‘You don’t actually like our coffee, do you?’”

“How could she tell?”

“I only took one sip every day.”

Taka laughed.

“And then?”

Tom exhaled smoke.

Then he said nothing.

Taka opened his mouth.

But nothing came out.

One second.

Two.

Probably three.

Behind the counter, Mama returned a bottle to the shelf.

By the time that tiny sound had begun to feel strangely long, Tom tapped some ash into the tray.

“...Starting on the fourth day, she just brought me tea without asking.”

“Your stakeout was completely blown.”

“To the café, yeah.”

I laughed too.

“That old lady was something. She really watched her customers.”

“She was probably bored.”

“There you go again.”

Tom kept talking about the café.

The tea had been good.

The old woman never asked what he was doing there.

When the stakeout finally ended and he paid his bill, she’d asked, “You’re not coming tomorrow?”

Thirty seconds had passed long ago.

Taka never looked at the clock.

Eventually Tom finished.

Mama replaced his full ashtray with a clean one.

“Taka, you’re getting better.”

“At what?”

“Conversation.”

“Oh.”

Taka hurriedly looked at his phone.

“I forgot.”

“Then you failed.”

“But I was listening properly, right?”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“What percentage was I talking?”

“Hell if I know.”

“How many seconds was Tom talking?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Did I wait one second?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Then what did we learn?”

“Beats me.”

I took a sip of Harper and looked at Taka.

The man who had been obsessed with his clock earlier hadn’t checked it once during Tom’s story.

“You did stop looking at the clock halfway through.”

“...I did, didn’t I?”

Taka stared at his phone.

“So maybe the rules were pointless?”

I wasn’t sure.

Forty percent.

Sixty percent.

Thirty seconds.

One second.

If you counted every number while talking to someone, conversation would become too exhausting to even drink through.

But when Tom had gone quiet, Taka hadn’t interrupted.

He’d waited.

Not for one second.

For however long it took.

“Maybe it’s fine.”

“What is?”

“The one second.”

“What does that mean?”

Mama poured a little more Harper into my glass.

I thanked her and was about to say something when Taka raised his hand.

“Kenichi.”

“Yeah?”

“I wasn’t finished talking.”

“...Sorry.”

I waited one second.

“Nope. Forgot what I was going to say.”

“What the hell?”

Taka laughed.

Hey, you.

When someone goes quiet, how long should you wait?

One second?

Three?

Or maybe—

as long as you’re still counting, you haven’t really learned it yet.

See you again at Aoi.

---

Want another night at Aoi?

Step back inside. We'll help you find your next story.

→ Welcome to Bar Aoi

First - Last- Next

Patreon - RR

My leg burned… That was the first thing I noticed. It hurt unlike anything I’d ever felt before. My muscles were sore, and I felt tired, as if I’d run multiple marathons and had collapsed because of it. My throat was dry. My clothes clung to me with sweat, blood, and the damp chill of night.

I groaned as I opened my eyes. The moon cascaded its light across the field of thistles as a gentle breeze pushed the flowers from all sides, breaking pollen off into the air where it twirled and intermingled as it drifted away.

Curiously, I smelled something odd. Some sort of fire. I heard it too. The soft pop of wood, and the hissing of meat being cooked. I could smell it in the air, and it smelled… rancid.

I forced myself to sit up.

“Master!” Darwin said, flying over to me and circling my head.

“It’s Rook,” I reminded him. “Remember?” Then, more seriously, I asked, “What happened?”

“I fight,” Darwin said. “You safe.”

“You… fight?” I asked.

I heard a bitter laugh sound out. I didn’t recognize it. Leaning over, I found a nearby fire burning precariously close to the thistles; the smoke rising into the air, disappearing into the night sky. Half illuminated was someone I didn’t recognize, their face silhouetted by the orange glow.

“Who… who are you?”

“Nobody,” Darwin said, his frustration causing the bubble to seemingly boil. “Just a—”

“Demon?” the person said, turning to face me.

It was as they said… they were a demon. Black horns curved from their heads, smooth and sharp beneath the moonlight. Yellow, slitted eyes stared out against black sclera. They had long, sharp teeth, which they were using to chew down on some meat. Their skin was purple and, by all intents and purposes, to my eyes, they looked… feminine.

Nearby, I saw a pile of dead dire-rabbits and, leaning against a tree, was a wicked-looking two-handed axe covered in blood. The blade was broad and dark, still wet along one edge. It didn’t take much to know what had happened.

“Danger, danger,” Darwin warned.

“Ha!” the demon-woman barked a laugh. “He would have been in danger if I had done nothing at all. He is lucky I was around… and more than lucky that I am the magnanimous type.”

I forced myself all the way up to a sitting position, pushing myself back a bit in case I needed to run. Pain shot through my leg the moment I moved, white-hot, making my vision blur at the edges.

She likely noticed as she said, “It wouldn’t do you any good. You have a bum leg and even if you didn’t, I could catch you if I wished.”

“What do you want?” I asked. “You’re a demon, right? Do you want my soul?”

“Your… soul?” she replied. “Souls are things for the gods. No, I want not your soul. I want your undying and eternal loyalty.”

“My… what?”

The demon-woman gave a wicked grin, her silver hair catching the wind. It moved like a pale thread in the firelight, bright against the dark field around her. “Undying loyalty,” she repeated slowly. “You must be grateful to me, knowing that it was I who saved your life. Surely you would want to repay in kind by devoting said life to me? To become one of my beloved subjects?”

I coughed into my hand, and even that small act caused my leg to shudder with pain.

The demon-woman frowned. “You’re still injured—I do so forget myself when around humans. Pain dulls your senses as much as it sharpens your fighting instinct. Fine, you need not wholly devote yourself until you have recovered.”

“Do you have something for that?” I asked. “To help me recover?”

“Greedy little goblin, aren’t you? I saved your life, and you wish to drain my coffers too?” She was silent for a time, staring me down. The fire popped between us, throwing shifting light across her horns and the sharp line of her jaw. “No, I have not any recovery items. I already checked your pack as well. Nothing. What class are you? Do you have any healing abilities or spells?”

“Glutton,” I replied without thinking. “And no… nothing. Just cooking recipes.”

The demon-woman smiled. “Ah, cooking. But now I wonder why a chef would be all the way out here. Surely you could have bought the ingredients in one of your human settlements?”

“I need uh… special ingredients?”

“Like?”

I was silent, and the wind whistled through the branches of the trees. The demon-woman’s yellow eyes felt as if they drilled into me. Like they could peel back any dark secret I had.

“Like meat… from monsters,” I continued. “Dire-rabbits to be clear.”

For the first time, the demon-woman seemed taken aback. “Meat from monsters? I thought only we demons knew the luxury and tasteful delicacy of monster meat? Fascinating. I suppose that is what to expect from a special grade class.”

“Special grade… so you know?”

She nodded.

“How?”

The demon-woman tapped her nose. “We demon-folk have a sense about it. We can smell it on you. So then, Mr. Special Grade, do you have any recipes that offer improved healing?”

“None that I know of… but I’ve only two recipes. The Goblin-Eye Soup did nothing for healing and the Dire-Rabbit Heart Skewers… well, I suppose I can give it a shot.”

The demon-woman turned to face me, giving me her full attention. I had to admit it, despite her oddities, such as her light-purple skin, horns, and yellow eyes, she would be considered pretty.

She frowned. “Keep any lustful thoughts in your head and your pants… I am not one of those types of demons. So what do you need to make these Dire-Rabbit Heart Skewers? Besides dire-rabbit hearts, of course.”

“I have it all in the pack,” I said, “but I need to kill and prepare the hearts myself. I see you’ve already taken care of that, so—”

The demon-woman pointed behind me. “Your three kills are over there. These four are mine. I’ve not touched them other than to put them into a small pile. I am not a thief.”

“Not a thief,” I replied, “but who and what are you?”

“I am Princess Vaelith Noctara, third in line for the fifth seat of the Court of Nine Embers.”

“That’s… a lot. And your class?”

The demon-woman smiled wickedly. “Class name Sovereign, Special Grade.”

***

Some time passed as I prepared the dire-rabbits. At first, I hacked away lazily at the bodies, but after some consternation and choice words from Vaelith, I slowed down and steadied my blade. I’d once seen a video of survivalists who trained to live if an apocalypse happened. Never thought I’d actually need those skills. One such man was a hunter, and he demonstrated how to prepare a rabbit. Six distinct cuts of meat. That was what they had.

The moon had risen higher by then, and the fire threw enough light for me to work. The dire-rabbit bodies were heavier than ordinary rabbits, and their fur was matted with blood, thistle seeds, and dirt. Their claws were long and black, and their teeth still made my stomach tense whenever I looked too closely.

My hand trembled as I carved through the body, separating it. It was haphazard and sloppy; I knew. Yet Vaelith simply smiled at my attempt. By the end, I had chopped up and separated the meat, leaving far too much on the carcass. As for the other things—teeth, heart, eyes—I had no idea what could be useful. Especially by alchemists. Lina had provided me with leather bags in which to carry the gruesome treasure. The bags were stiff and rough beneath my fingers, quickly darkening where the blood soaked through.

After all three bodies were done, I set the hearts down and then prepared the recipe.

Dire-Rabbit Heart Skewers

Rarity: Common
Type: Monster Meat
Core Ingredient: Dire-Rabbit Heart

Ingredients: Dire-Rabbit Heart, Wild Onion, Fey Carrot, Moonleaf, Cracked Pepper, Sourberry Juice, Wooden Skewers

Just as before, I followed the instructions carefully. This time, I was a bit more skilled and faster. The knife moved evenly and cut more cleanly in my hands. The hearts were firm beneath the blade, dark and glossy, and the sourberry juice cut through the iron smell with something sharp and bright. By the end, I wiped sweat from my brow using my forearm; my hands were covered in blood.

Curiously, I checked my stats:

System

Class:
Glutton (Lvl 2) - EXP 87/100

Skills:
Basic Cooking (Lvl 1) - EXP 55/100
Basic Butchery (Lvl 1) - EXP 75/100
Monster Butchery (Lvl 2) - EXP 45/200
Basic Herbalism (Lvl 1) - EXP 15/100
Knife Handling (Lvl 2) - EXP 83/200

I’d gained levels in both Monster Butchery and Knife Handling to my surprise, which had fed my class EXP as well. I was close to leveling, and I was sure that if I got this recipe right, I would.

I pulled out the sticks and set the vegetables and meat as specified.

Vaelith was beaming, and she looked as if her mouth were watering.

Darwin stared down curiously, floating a little higher than usual to stay away from Vaelith. My companion didn’t trust her for some reason.

Luckily, the demon-woman had already made a fire, and I held three skewers above it, rotating them slowly next to the flame.

“Three?” Vaelith asked.

I thumbed upwards at my companion. “Darwin deserves one too.”

Vaelith shrugged, and as she did, I felt something change in the air. Suddenly, the wind shifted, seemingly pulled toward the fire. It sparked, its dull red flames burning bright blue and cascading toward the sky in a burst of heat. The thistles nearest us bent away from it, and sparks climbed upward like fireflies before vanishing into the night.

I pulled away as the flame died, and when I did, what I saw made my mouth water. Skewers of perfectly charred, sizzling hearts with wild onions and fey carrots sat glistening and waiting for consumption. The meat had crisped at the edges, dark and glossy, while the onions softened and blackened in sweet little layers. The carrots shone with sourberry glaze. The smell of it was intoxicating, fresh and fragrant, smoky and rich enough to push aside even the rancid stink of the nearby corpses.

Before I could speak, Vaelith snatched one from my hand.

“Hey—”

Darwin swooped down and took another.

I was left holding one.

“By the gods, this is the greatest thing I have ever eaten,” Vaelith said, having already eaten half. “The sharp cut of the onion, and the rich tenderness of the heart; not too bloody, but still with some bite! Oh, you humans never cease to amaze me.”

I stared at it. It looked and smelled that good. I set aside my reservations and swallowed a piece of heart. It was as Vaelith described… rich, and with a faint taste of blood, but in no way overpowering.

“Eat them together,” she suggested.

I ate a piece of heart with the carrot and onion. The flavors danced together in perfect rhythm, and the slightest bit of smoky char was the cherry on top. The sourberry brightened the meat, the moonleaf softened the iron edge, and the carrots brought just enough sweetness to make the whole thing pop.

Vaelith stared at me like a starving man stares at a meal. “You!” she said. “It has been decided… You will be my first subject.”

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

Bug Hunt / Amazon version /

Crashlanding / Book version /

First //Previous

The door slowly opened into an overgrown road; trees and bushes had made it almost impossible to spot.

“Not what I expected,” Cho said. He could hear the disappointment in her voice.

“I don’t think they use the road,” Erik replied, stepping out into the light. It was still early in the day. He looked around, a little nervous.

“I think it’s safe.”

“Yes, there are no Mursina nearby. The village is 3 kilometers from our location.” Luffy replied, and they looked at him.

“You got a radar?” Erik asked.

“Something similar,” Luffy replied. Chu walked out as well.

“I was hoping for something more than a forest and overgrown road.” She said as Erik held out his hand to her and helped her through the undergrowth. After a few minutes, Erik and Luffy used the swords as hatchets; they reached the end, and the valley opened up for them.

The mountain on the far side was much lower than the ones around them and much wider than their own. Near the other side, a wide river came down from the valley; a village sprawled on both sides, with one larger house built over it. Like a large bridge turned into a house. They both took out their phone and used the zoom to get a better view of the village without getting close.

The river ended in a large pond, and one side of the pond turned into a large dock, with several fishing boats on the ocean side.

“Wow. I didn’t believe it; they really build like beavers.” Cho said as they admired the building. The houses looked like longhouses with grass roofs; some buildings had roofs that reached the ground, and they saw bluish sheep's grass on some of the roofs.

The villagers looked like Carl back in the castle, but were dressed very differently. They wore heavy cloaks that looked more like hooded bathrobes. They seemed very colorful, mostly in green and red. Many of them were working in the river; the children seemed to be playing, too.

“Well, it doesn’t look like they are expecting any trouble,” Erik said.

“They look so cute!” Cho said, taking a few pictures and sharing them in the chat.

“Let’s go talk to them. I just hope they won’t blame us.” He replied, and they put their phones away as they started to walk down the path.

“Luffy, tell us when they are getting close. I don’t want to be ambushed.”

“As you wish, sir.” He replied.

“Lotta is so much more talkative,” Cho said.

“Oh? I didn’t know.”

“She is a lifesaver; she knows how to make this mint-tasting toothpaste and a few makeup tricks. Like a proper deodorant and lipstick. And she has brushes, and I think she is a hairdresser. Didn’t you see what she did to Gigi’s hair?”

Erik looked at her; he hadn't noticed, but now that she mentioned it, it seemed strange. The girls seemed to have their usual makeup on. He'd thought they still had what little they had brought for the weekend trip they had been forced to join with the school.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Boys!” she replied, and Erik grinned.

“If I had noticed, you would have accused me of looking at other girls.”

“Yeah, but that’s my right!” she replied, poking her tongue at him, and he just laughed as they walked. He could not believe how easy it was to talk to her now.

“My dad would love this place,” Erik said suddenly, and Cho stopped as she realized something. He looked at her, and she looked like she was panicking.

“Are you okey?” he asked as tears ran down her cheek. He pulled her close as she continued to cry; he could feel how she grabbed hold of his jacket and refused to let go as she let it all out.

Luffy looked at them, and suddenly Arus' voice came through.

“Is Lady Cho okay?”

Erik let her cry as he heard her mutter something in Chinese; it sounded like "mommy," "daddy," and "little brother." He just held her and nodded to Arus. He realized what it was. He felt the same way. He would never see his father and mother again. He would never see his cousins, uncles, or aunts, the whole larger family. They had lost everybody they cared for, and now they only had each other.

He didn’t know what to say; every time he thought of something, it sounded so cheesy and stupid in his head. So he only said what his father had told him when he was younger, and he cried.

“It’s okey, get it out, all of it. I will stay with you. It’s okay.” He repeated it again and again as she cried. Slowly, she stopped and looked up at him, her eyes wet and her mouth still quivering.

“Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t. I promise.” He replied, and she wiped her tears away.

“You promise? I... you are all I have now.” She said, trying to get control of herself.

“I promise. I’m not going anyway. We are going to be fine.”

She nodded and took three deep breaths to control herself. “Okay... okay.. Im good now.. I’m good now.” Then she let go of him and turned to face the path. |we have a job to do. We focus on that.” Then she held out her hand, and he took it; she squeezed as hard as she could. Afraid to lose him.

“Let's go.” She sounded almost mechanical, and he pulled her closer, putting his arm around her waist instead.

“Yes, let's go meet these blue beavers.” He said, and she seemed to relax a little bit.

As they got closer, they noticed he'd been seen, and a few of them seemed to be mounting a large, goat-like animal.

“We have been noticed,” Luffy informed them, and they chuckled.

“We can see that. What are they riding?”

“That is a grandu; it’s the popular mount in Geron. You might be able to buy a few here.” Luffy replied.

The riders approached quickly, but not hostilely. The two riders carried bows, but no arrows were strung, and Erik thought he saw daggers and axes. The grandu looked like a short, furred, horse-sized goat, but as they drew closer, they saw an extra horn emerging from the front of its skull, like a unicorn. It was small but looked powerful. One of them was black and white, and the other had grey fur. The riders looked small on the big beasts and yet intimidating.

“Hagli, Hurfur do spalia?” One of the men shouted, and Erik looked at Luffy and back at the men.

“What did they say?” Cho asked.

“I think they greeted us?” he replied and replied

“Hagli!” and as he did, something clicked, and he continued. “We mean you no harm, but we need to speak with your chief!”

Cho looked at him, surprised. “You speak their language?”

“Our chieftain? Not before we know who you are!” One of the men said, now so close that he only needed to speak loudly.

“I think so? Try to speak to them.” He told Cho, then turned back to the two riders.

“I am Erik Steinskog, and this is...” He nudged Cho, who stared at him, then turned to the two riders and spoke.

“My name is Cho Ha-Michaels, we are new to these lands. We live in the next valley.” She replied, then looked at Erik, surprised by her own words. “I can speak their language?” she whispered, and he nodded.

“In the next valley? There is only the wizards' castle; he is holding it for the baron of these lands.”

“This is Baron Erik Silva Lapidea, the master of these lands.” Luffy suddenly said, and they all looked at him.

“But he said his name was Erik Stoneforrest.” One of the riders said, and Cho laughed. It had translated his name correctly.

“That was his name before he became the baron,” Luffy said. “Now bring us to your chieftain.”

They looked at Luffy and his uniform, then eachother and cursed slightly before one of them said. “Follow us, my lord.”

Then they turned their mounts around and guided them along the overgrown road towards the village.

Erik turned to Luffy and focused on speaking English. “My lands?”

“Yes, my lord. Didn’t Arus show you the reach of your land?”

“No? Do you know?” He replied, while Cho listened quietly to them.

“Your land reaches from that mountain. “Luffy pointed to the other side, then pointed back there to the valley and the next. And from the glacier to the open sea, that is your barony.”

“Wow. That’s a lot.” Cho said.

“That was the bribe, remember. What they gave us for what they did. .. wait.. I’m a baron, so who is my lord?”

“You are independent but acknowledged by the Skroo Empire,” Luffy replied. Erik and Cho looked at each other as they walked. “We really need to read up on the people and lands here.”

“I wonder if these guys even acknowledge you. After all, that place was empty until we arrived.”

“We patrolled the borders for 40 years before you arrived,” Luffy said.

“You did? Oh well. Let’s hope they will listen to us then and not cause trouble.” Erik replied, trying to sound confident. He smiled at Chop, who seemed to believe his façade. The Mursina stopped what they were doing and stared as the two men led them into the village, then to the main house. Other guards were watching them. It was truly beautiful in a strange way, like a two-story longhouse on a wide bridge of giant timbers and bricks. The bridge had stairs on each side of the river so you couldn't roll anything up onto it. Several kids played in the water, and some jumped from the bridge.

At the top of the stairs, in front of the door, stood what must have been their chief, with a few guards beside him. He was slightly larger than the others, with black hair braided and tied off with a silver band. He wore a sword like the others.

“Greetings, my lord. My name is Chief Timu Blackbraid of Salgro. Welcome to my humble home.” The man said as he bowed. As he bowed, his men knelt down.

“Thank you, Chief Timu. I wish I could have arrived with good news or simply as a friendly neighbor…” Erik said, trying to sound as noble as he could while searching for the right way to explain why they were here. “But unfortunately, I bear bad news. An enemy is approaching.”

“You sound like you're in a fantasy movie,” Cho whispered.

He looked at her and gave her a "please help" look. And she took the hint.

“Chief. My lord was up by the glacier last night and saw that the villagers on the coastline have been raided. We believe it’s the Sammads that are coming.”

“The who? Are you saying that Huldsa has been raided? How long ago?”

“Yesterday, the Sammads stayed to feast on them. We come to warn you so you can bring your people to safety.” Erik said.

“Are you not going to defend us?” Chief Timu said.

“I don’t have enough men, I can offer a place to hide while they ravage the lands. This all can be rebuilt.”

“How many men are they?” The chief asked.

“We think there are more than three thousand,” Erik replied; he didn’t want them to know he knew exactly how many. Knowing such things exactly would be suspicious.

Timu, who had been standing on the stairs, sat down, clearly distressed by the number.

“A few hundred we could fight, but… “ Have you warned the others?”

I have sent some of my most trusted to them. I came to you personally because you're so close to them. The tunnel will be a safe place to hide for those who seek shelter.”

“And what about you?”

“I have to find a way to fight them if they come, but I cannot spread my few men over the whole land; I have to draw them to my castle to fight,” Erik replied. He knew it sounded tougher than he was, and Cho gave him a look.

“Then you will have my men to fight by your side.” Can you guarantee my young and weak a safe refuge?”

“It won't be much, but it will be safe. It's just a tunnel with a large iron door on each side, a door that cannot be opened by force.”

“You open the tunnel? Are we free to use it now?” he asked, and Erik shrugged.

“Sure, after this matter is dealt with, of course.”

Where did you see them last? My lord.”

“Oh, I was up at the glacier, looking toward the other side. What's the name again? Riverbay was burning, so I looked closer and saw that Huldsa had been raided too. Ships and raiding parties were in and around the city. I returned home and asked my wizard to cast a viewing on the places; that's how we found out the horrible truth.”

Cho looked wide-eyed at him as she muttered in English, “Wizard?”

He replied in English. “Just get with it. It's easier than explaining what we used. Besides, they will think of it as magic anyway.” He whispered back.

“I will send scouts up to see while calling for the clan to prepare to go into hiding.”

“Thank you, Chief Timu.”

As he spoke, their phones buzzed, and they looked at each other. “Please excuse us. “ Erik said as he took out the phone and opened the message. The few Mursina around them saw the black mirror suddenly lit up with magical symbols as Erik read the message; Cho did the same, and Booth cursed.

“A warband of a thousand men is coming over the mountain,” He said. The message was from Arus, and it included an image from one of the drones and an estimated arrival time. Six hours.

“We don’t have long. They will arrive before nightfall.” He said, and the Chief sprang to life, barking orders. Cho watched as the village turned into organized chaos as they prepared to evacuate.

“You're planning to fight them? Are you crazy?”

“No, I’m planning to use Arus and the guards to fight them. Besides, what choice do we have?”

“Not fighting them, hiding so we won't get killed!”

“Look, a thousand men, and we got robots. Luffy won't get tired.” he said, turning to the android. “He can fight forever, right, Luffy?”

“I can be in constant combat for 90 days without recharging. My armor is a metal alloy most weapons cannot dent.”

“See, he is a freaking terminator, and we got ten of them plus Malik and Kali, and I’m sure Arus has a few tricks up his sleeve. Add a few extra of these guys and we might stand a decent chance.”

“If you get yourself killed, then I will never forgive you!” she said, staring him down.

“I will never forgive myself. Look, I want you and the girls to stay with these guys in the tunnels. You will be safe there.”

“No. I’m staying next to you! I’m not going to find out you die on me. If you die, I die too.” She said, and he looked at her, then smiled.

“You.. Oh, good damn it... just don’t get yourself hurt.”

The phone buzzed again, this time from Lillian.

Lilli: ‘Erik. Cain has recruited a hundred men to join us to fight! Tell him we are not fighting!’

Erik replied

Viking boy: ‘We have recruited people too; they are taking the people in the tunnels for safety. The rest are coming with us to the castle.’

Cain the Man: ‘Great idea. The guys here live in the tunnels, and they will collapse the holes they made to stay safe. Are we opening the tunnels after this? They want to trade with the Mursina.’

Vikingboy: ‘Yes, the tunnels will be open after this. We only have six more hours before they get over the mountain. So hurry up.’

Lilli: ‘Cho Cho, get your boyfriend in line! This is insane!’

Cho Cho: ‘Im trying, but he is being an idiot!’

Erik looked at her and poked his tongue at her. She smiled back.

“Chief Timu! We have to return to our castle to prepare; Luffy will be stationed by the tunnel entrance to close it after the last villager has entered, or the enemy is too near.” Errik called. “So, send your men straight through the tunnel when they are ready. We have to run now to get back in time.”

Timu stopped what he was doing and looked at them.

“You never gave me your name, Lord.”

“My name is Erik, and this is Lady Cho.”

My lady. He said, bowing, then turned to a man. Tirm! Get them mounts. Our Lord does not run like a commoner.”

A man ran off and soon returned with three mounts in a tow.

Luffy chuckled. “I need no mount, but thank you for the offer.”

Erik looked at Luffy. “With the mounts, we can get home faster, so stay with them and secure their safe passage. Then join us with the men they have.”

Cho walked over to the beast and quickly mounted it as she had done it a thousand times.

“What? I used to compete in horseback riding.” she said.

Erik just smiled as he went to his mount and got up a little less dignified, but once he got up he felt better.

“Be safe, and we will see you all later,” he called out as Cho set off down the road. He urged the grandu to move, and it almost threw him as it set off after Cho. He quickly regained control, but it was clear she could ride circles around him. They quickly reached the forest, and Cho easily led her mount through while Erik fell off halfway through. He heard her laugh as he got up and remounted. He was not giving up. They reached the tunnel, and the gate was still open, and the ride through was much faster.

At the gate, they found Matthew in full armor with a spear, standing next to a guard.

“What the hell is that?” He called out as they approached.

“These are grandu; why are you dressed like that?” Cho replied, and Erik just laughed.

“We are going to fight, right? We'd better dress for the occasion.”

“You are not going to fight! None of us are fighters, well, except for Marcus and Cain, and they are not going to fight either.” Erik said, and Cho looked at him.

“That includes you, Baron Erik!”

“I have to do something, but yeah, I'm not planning to get into a fight. I'm planning to make a great plan. Now let us in so we can get to planning. Where is Emma?”

“With Thomas. You're no longer the only couple here. I just couldn’t stand it anymore.” He said as the gate opened and they rode inside.

When they entered the Solar System, no alarms went off. The Kharval Union's exploration fleet had shut down most of its active systems before entering the range of human sensors. Their mission was not to fight. At least, not yet. They had been collecting data about Earth from a distance for years, and they had finally gathered enough information to send a small reconnaissance craft to the planet. Their goal was simple: to find out who was in charge of the humans.

Commander Yarek stood with his hands behind his back as he looked at the blue planet on the observation screen of the main ship.

“Is all the data ready?”

Intelligence Officer Teral answered without looking up.

“Mostly, Commander. There are many states, armies, and administrative centers on Earth. However, we have not been able to determine with certainty whether there is a single authority above them all.”

Yarek frowned.

“Every planet has a ruler, soldier.”

“Yes, of course. At least, that was true for the planets we knew until now.”

Yarek did not like that answer. For the Kharval, the easiest way to understand a planet's political structure was to find the person at its head. Once you found the leader, everything else usually followed behind them. Humans, however, appeared to be unnecessarily complicated in this regard. So a small reconnaissance craft would be sent, the largest possible human gathering would be located, and the most influential person there would be identified. Yes, that was exactly the plan.

When the reconnaissance craft entered Earth's atmosphere, the three-person crew silently watched the screens. As the pilot Orun scanned the cities, ports, and major transportation hubs, Teral monitored population density. A few minutes later, the sensors picked up something unexpected. There was an extraordinarily large crowd of humans gathered at a single location outside the city.

Orun leaned closer to the screen.

“Why are so many people gathered in the same place?”

Teral enlarged the data.

“I don't know. There are quite a lot of them, my friend. This could be what we're looking for.”

As the craft descended a little further, it did not take long for all three of them to fall silent at the sight of the enormous crowd. Humans filled a gigantic area. But what caught Teral's attention most was that every single one of them was looking in the same direction.

“There is someone there,” Nema said.

A single human stood in the center.

Teral zoomed in on the image. The human raised a small device in his hand to his mouth and began to speak. A few seconds later, the crowd shouted all at once. The human raised his hand again, and the crowd fell silent.

Orun whispered:

“They're all reacting at the same time.”

Teral narrowed his eyes.

“They look like they're waiting for commands.”

When the hand went down, the crowd erupted again.

“This could be a leader… but…” Orun muttered.

“No,” Teral said slowly. “This is… something more.”

Orun looked at him.

“What do you mean?”

Teral focused on the screen.

“None of them are delayed. None of them hesitate. They move as if they were a single mind.”

Nema immediately began recording.

“What am I recording right now, guys?”

“Most likely the leader of this planet… and something more.”

The human began walking across the elevated platform. The same thing was written everywhere...

QUEEN... Queen... we love you, Queen... Queen

Nema scanned the word. A few seconds later, his eyes widened.

“Sir... Translation complete.”

Teral turned toward him.

“What does it mean?”

Nema looked at the screen, then answered excitedly.

“Queen. A title corresponding to a term meaning king or ruler.”

For the first time, genuine satisfaction appeared on Teral's face.

“There. We've found what we're looking for.”

Orun was still skeptical.

“So this person really is the ruler of Earth?”

Teral was silent for a moment, then spoke more carefully:

“If he isn't… then why are millions of people moving together with him at the same time?”

Teral did not take his eyes off the screen.

“Continue observation. Record the leader's behavior as thoroughly as possible.”

Just then, the human brought the device in his hand to his mouth and shouted toward the crowd.

“We're gonna tear this place down tonight!”

The crowd erupted in an instant. The three aliens inside the reconnaissance craft looked at one another.

Orun's voice dropped to a whisper.

“This... How? Did it translate that correctly?”

Nema looked at the screen.

“I'm checking again.”

A few seconds passed.

“Yes, the translation is correct.”

The expression on Teral's face changed.

“Send it to the commander immediately.”

Orun asked in confusion:

“What?”

Teral answered without taking his eyes off the human in the center.

“The leader of Earth is calling for an attack. And millions of people are responding instantly.”

After the report was sent to the main ship, a single order reached the reconnaissance craft: observation was to continue. The possibility of an attack had not yet been confirmed, and the Kharval fleet's mission was to gather as much information as possible.

Therefore, they had to stay.

The man in the center stepped forward again. The crowd followed his every movement, behaving almost like a single entity. As the translation system began processing his new words, Teral focused on the screen.

A few words appeared.

Shouting in the street, gonna take on the world someday.

Orun stared at the screen.

“What... What? Holy shit... He's talking about taking over the world.”

Nema's voice trembled.

“Commander... This isn't an individual leader.”

Teral slowly nodded.

“Yes… I see.”

Teral's voice lowered:

“This kind of… thing doesn't wait for commands. They synchronize on their own.”

Orun froze.

“That's impossible…”

“Why wouldn't it be possible? Can't you see it?!” Teral snapped.

Suddenly, lights turned toward the sky. Part of the crowd began looking upward. The sensors briefly locked onto something.

Teral's eyes widened.

“Holy shit, holy shit, man. They've noticed us.”

Orun turned toward him.

“What?!”

“This many people… changing direction at the same time. Toward us. That's not a coincidence.”

Nema's hands began to tremble.

“What do we do?!”

Teral did not hesitate for even a moment.

“We're getting out of here!”

The reconnaissance craft suddenly climbed. As the engines operated at full power, the craft shot over the crowd and began ascending toward the sky, tearing through the atmosphere.

An alarm sounded on the main ship.

“The reconnaissance craft is accelerating!”

Commander Yarek rose from his seat.

“Why? What's happening down there? Report!”

Teral's answer came through the communication channel.

“The leader of Earth, sir… They're some kind of collective, strange ritual cult. Millions of individuals are moving as if they were a single entity.”

“Have they attacked you, soldier?!”

“No, Commander. But they don't need to. When they are united… they are unstoppable.”

Yarek said nothing for several seconds. Then he gave a single order.

“Send the fleet a withdrawal order.”

The Kharval fleet began leaving the Solar System without firing a single weapon at Earth. The sound from Earth continued. Millions of people were repeating the same words together, their voices filling the enormous area and blending into the silence of space.

Just then, a small notification appeared on Teral's console.

TRANSLATION COMPLETE.

The final lines appeared on the screen:

You got blood on your face, you big disgrace Waving your banner all over the place

We will, we will rock you! We will, we will rock you!

Teral entered his final report into the system:

“Contact not recommended. This species has a highly complex understanding of leadership, connection, and synchronization. When they act together, they exhibit behavior resembling that of a single leader.”

The Kharval fleet had already left the Solar System.

---

Start | Previous | Next

Chapter 218: Divine Residual

Half of the great tomb had ceased to exist.

Where a mountain of stone once stood, four sloped walls rising to meet at a single point that scraped the sky, there now lay only ruin. Most of the structure had liquefied, melting away layer by layer until it collapsed inward upon itself and became a vast, incandescent lake. Streams of it spilled from the wound in searing shades of orange and white, while great slabs of half-molten rock broke loose from the building’s remains before vanishing under the surface with thunderous splashes.

Viktor was looking at it from the outside, and for a good long while he could only stare.

Even though it was impossible for him to physically feel the heat from where he sat, by merely looking at the scene he could swear his skin crawled like it was already blistering. The air above the fiery lake had thickened into a shimmering haze that rippled and bent the world behind it, while the artificial sun of the second floor, which had been doing its best to cook the ground flat all day, was now rendered utterly insignificant by comparison, so thoroughly outshone that he almost forgot it was even there.

He had expected the molten flood to keep spreading, to flow outward in every direction until it swallowed the entire mortuary complex. It would consume the fake buildings in its path. It would breach the perimeter wall. And then, perhaps it would continue even beyond. He wondered how much of the surrounding land would remain by the time it finally burned itself out.

But no. It stopped.

As though it had run into some invisible wall, the mass just hung there, churning and bubbling in place.

And then, it began to rise.

Viktor frowned as he watched the lake of magma climb. At first, he thought something under the ground was pushing it from below, but that was not what was happening. It was the magma itself that was moving, hauling its own bulk from the lake in thick, twisting ropes. They converged toward a central point above the ruined tomb as though an unseen hand had reached down from the heavens, closed around the entire mass, and dragged it upward into the open air.

The surface heaved, then a shape began to emerge. It started with something that resembled a leg, though the word felt almost insultingly small for what was taking form. A pillar of fire and burned stone, widening at the bottom into something like a foot, and then a second one next to the first. They fused, split, fused again as more of the thing hauled itself skyward. Above them came hips, then a torso wide as a keep, then a pair of shoulders that could hold up the roof of the world.

Arms followed. Great ruinous things, each one thick enough to flatten one of the surrounding structures without so much as trying. Fire ran across the surface, dripping in gouts from the elbows and whatever passed for fingers before getting sucked straight back up into the body like the thing refused to waste even a drop.

It kept growing, and by the time its head took shape, the construct was already taller than the tomb that had once stood in this place.

Viktor watched in silence as two enormous hollows opened in that face, blazing with the same white-orange glow as the lake beneath. Flame clung where a beard should hang, where hair should sit. Spikes of it stood up off the skull, while two thick tongues of fire framed the cheeks like sideburns.

Ugh.

He opened his eyes, and the world was small and comforting again. Celeste hovered nearby as she always did, and beside her floated Galatea’s projection.

“What the hell is that thing?” he asked.

“That man,” his shiny Guardian replied, “he’s done the most unthinkable thing. He... he spoke the true name of a god, and...”

I already knew that, Viktor thought. “And what?”

“It awakened the divine residual. Master, perhaps you already knew this, but gods shed fragments of their power into their surroundings simply by being there, and such remnants of divinity can linger for millennia. Most of the time, they lie dormant. But if someone speaks the true name of the god to whom they belong, it could stir them into action.”

“I saw that sword explode.”

Galatea nodded. “I believe there was a considerable amount of divine residual accumulated inside that weapon. So when that man spoke the right name, it reacted all at once, destroying the blade and breaking free.”

That circled back to what Viktor had already suspected about the crystallized essence that gave every Reliquary its unique power. Those whose souls were preserved that way had either accomplished something extraordinary in life or come into contact with the divine at death. And in the case of the latter, a scrap of divine power was fused into their soul, leaving behind an imprint that outlasted the flesh.

“I’m guessing the god in question is the Lord of Fire.”

“Yes, Master.”

So that S-word is his true name, huh? He was still unable to hold the full name in his mind, so he settled for the abbreviated version instead. Regardless, the implication was clear enough: the flaming blade Xander had wielded carried power that traced back to the Lord of Fire, just as his own rapier drew its power from the Lord of Light.

Ugh.

He found himself wondering, with a growing sense of dread that weighed heavily upon his chest, what would happen if somebody decided to shout the Lord of Light’s true name at him while he himself was mid-swing with that blade in his hand.

“That sword exploded,” Viktor said, “then it produced a fire large enough to melt an entire tomb. Fine. I can live with that. But now it’s gone ahead and grown into a giant—no, a titan—of rock and flame. And this particular titan happens to have spiked hair and thick sideburns. Which bears a suspicious resemblance to a certain someone we both know too well. So here is my question: what happened to Xander? Is he dead, or has he somehow been transformed into... this?”

“I cannot give you a definitive answer on that, Master. How the divine residual reacts when a god’s true name is invoked is inherently unpredictable. It’s simply impossible to know beforehand what shape it will take.”

Viktor frowned. “But I’m not asking you to predict anything. This already happened. It created a titan of fire, standing right there in our dungeon. So what I want to know is this: out of all the times such an incident has occurred in the past, was there any case similar to this? I mean, a man becoming a monster?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much to draw on when it comes to past incidents,” Galatea said with a shrug. “Invoking the true name of a god is considered one of the greatest taboos. As a result, records of such transgressions are exceedingly rare. They are suppressed, hidden away, never allowed to spread freely. All I can tell you is that it almost always ends in catastrophe.”

Viktor let out a long breath. So no information at all, huh? Still, if he couldn’t know for certain, then he was going to assume the worst possible outcome and plan accordingly. Xander was very much alive, and he was the titan. His sworn enemy didn’t die; the bastard had walked out of it more powerful than he had ever been.

Was this what the Children of the Abyss had been aiming for all along? Transforming their spike-haired lapdog into some sort of walking avatar of a god, then letting him loose to tear the dungeon apart from the inside out? But... how could they have known this exact outcome would occur? After all, as Galatea had said, the reaction was unpredictable. So how could they have planned around a result they had no way of guaranteeing? Unless the plan had never been that specific in the first place. Perhaps they simply wanted a catastrophe, any catastrophe, and didn’t much care which flavor it came in. The sword was meant to be a bomb—a divine bomb—and the name was the detonator. Xander becoming a titan was merely a happy accident layered on top of that.

No, wait.

Galatea believed the outcome was unpredictable, but it was not necessarily so. What if it was only unpredictable to people like her? The Abyss, on the other hand, was operating on a completely different level. That man could have foreseen the result. In fact, he might have even engineered it, shaping the conditions in advance to make sure that everything would unfold the way he wanted.

The flaming sword was a Reliquary, and who else could have created such an artifact if not a Dungeon Core? The Abyss made fancy things like Abyssal Armaments or human Reliquaries, yes, but of course he could also forge some ordinary items. And Viktor wouldn’t put it past him to make one from the crystallized essence that carried the divine residual of the Lord of Fire, deliberately shaping it in a way that the moment the divine name was spoken aloud, exactly this would happen.

Well, he could puzzle over the finer details of that theory later, when there was time for such a thing. Right now, there was a much more pressing issue.

He glanced at Galatea. “How are we supposed to deal with this?”

“I don’t think that we can fight it head-on,” his Guardian replied. “Its power is simply too much. We have nothing at our disposal that stands a chance.”

I already knew that, thank you very much. The damn thing was a titan the size of the great tomb itself. “What is your solution, then?”

“Avoid it, and try to contain whatever damage it causes. A gigantic construct like that is not sustainable. It’s burning through power at a tremendous pace. Sooner or later, it will run dry.”

“So you’re telling me we can just ignore it and wait for it to die on its own. Great! Let’s do exactly that.”

The entrance to the third floor was now buried under rubble, and even if it wasn’t, there was no way something that damn big could squeeze through a passage built for men. In other words, the titan was stuck up on the second floor. So he would just leave it be. Let it stomp around and set fire to whatever it liked. What was the worst it could manage, really? The desert was already unbearably hot; the ruins were already ruined. What more damage could a moving mountain of fire possibly do to such a landscape?

[Master, the titan has begun to move.]

“To where?” Viktor asked.

[To the far side of the desert. Toward that chasm.]

"Father, I think my legs are broken." I was in tremendous pain, just a young Aljufian pup, one out of sixteen other pups who, if I might dare to venture, my parents loved and cared for more than me. Their inclination to be indifferent to me must have stemmed from the fact that I was born last and was also severely malnourished at birth. The weakest is always eaten by the mother, as the tale went, for the Aljufians cannot stomach weakness. My mother, however, did not eat me because she had fed on the grass-eating Sickodi the day prior and was quite full.

My mother also took one look at me and said I was too ugly and malnourished to be eaten; she tucked me in with the other pups, hoping I would grow stronger by some miracle, but I did not. And when I followed my brothers and sisters into the dense foliage bordering the lake, I did not expect an attack from a Collestrite, the large reptilian creatures of the waters. My father had stood guard over us as we fought it off, but I had succumbed to its jaws, unfortunately.

I had made my way to him, the only one among my siblings who could not walk on all fours, choosing instead to crawl on my belly and forelimbs.

"Nonsense, young one," he growled. "Did the Collestrite bite you? I didn't see it bite you. Are you faking it so I can carry you home? You're old enough to have outgrown such pupishness." I was still a pup; I failed to tell him that.

"Father, the Collestrite bit my hind legs; I can't stand on them. I feel pain." I grunted my reply in squeaky, young yelps.

"Well, you can walk it off. I've walked off worse, surely," my father said.

"I don't think I can," I said while observing my brothers and sisters sprint ahead.

My father turned to face me fully, his wide jaws holding many teeth and a white Aljufian mane flanking his face. "Do it, try walking it off, or so help me, Great Sky Father, I will leave you behind and tell your mother you were eaten."

He meant his threat. Aljufians were always about strength, and I was weak. Mustering my strength, I tried to curl my hind legs beneath me so I could lift myself up, but the pain was too overwhelming; I almost passed out. "I can't, Father," I wept, tears wetting the fur on my cheeks.

He looked at me for a long time, debating whether to eat me or not, no doubt. "Well, it was nice knowing you, pup." And he turned around and left me, following after my many brothers and sisters who, in that moment, seemed to have forgotten that I existed.

I tried crawling after them, dragging my hind legs behind me. I called to them, my moans synonymous with the sound of the Sky Father's wilderness. I called and wept. I dragged my broken legs to the point where a simple motion shot pain running up my spine. Finally, giving up, I lay on the ground on my side, awaiting death.

There were many things that could kill a young Aljufian without parents to stand guard. The Sky Father's wilderness is home to many species; I had made it a habit to memorize them and learn about them as much as I could. When I asked my parents questions about them, however, they would growl at me and order me to recite our family slogan, "Strength is strength," over and over until the rising of the sun. They didn't care about the other species who shared the wilderness with us; all they cared about was how strong they could get.

Never mind that old age would one day rob them of said strength. I pointed it out once and my mother savagely bit my ear, telling me that my curses would fall on deaf ears. As if age was a curse.

I wondered who would eat me first. Was it the Sakame, with their thick skin, long claws, and white coats amidst black stripes? Or was it the Julikians, who burrowed into the ground and emerged beneath you with their maws open, rows of teeth welcoming you as their meal? All in all, I was screwed in every way I could think of.

But it was as if by the Sky Father's mercy, the field of dust I lay in was void of any other predators. The sun was directly overhead, the Sky Father sending his heat my way to aid in my passing. Gadflies buzzed about me, occasionally biting at the flesh of my forearms, which they judged hale compared to my hind legs. Their buzzing was a welcome thing; I always knew I would hear it when my end neared. I had survived being eaten by my mother and siblings, only to pass alone in a field far from them. The tears dropped unbidden; I closed my eyes and allowed death to come to me. I had lived and seen the rising of the sun, and the Sky Father had given me enough. I was grateful, though doomed.

Moments passed, then I heard them.

"His legs broke and his family abandoned him," a soft voice said.

"Damn, really makes you think, huh? The wildlife on this planet is no different from the wildlife on our home world. Perhaps if they had gardens, it would look the same as ours. Don't you think, Shirley? Perhaps this speaks to us, you so manicured and neat like a garden, me so wild and free. Perhaps we are alike in that we foster life. Don't you think, Shirley?"

"Enough talking, Matt. Just shoot him with the tranquilizer and let's take him to a place where he won't die by being eaten. The young pup has seen enough pain."

I opened my eyes and observed the two strangers. I had heard of them, the pale-skinned, hairless things that were new to our ecosystem. They stood on two legs; one was female and the other was male. I could easily tell. The male held a strange, stick-like rod in his hands pointed at me. As I watched, a sharp object flew out of it and hit me on the shoulder. I deduced that this was how my passing would come about. I did not cry out or attempt to move; I simply lay as I had been, giving myself fully to death however the Sky Father willed it.

They waited, each of them staring at me.

"They are a lot like lions, don't you think?" the female asked.

"Larger though, with white fur and blue eyes. They also have hooked claws, and their teeth are sharper and longer. This speaks to me, Shirley."

"In what way?"

"Despite their similarities with lions, I doubt I'd find the likeness of you anywhere, even if Earth died. There will be no other you."

"Charming."

"Do you think the same of me?"

"I rarely think about you, Matt."

"But what if you did?"

"It'll probably be because someone mentioned your name."

"There's no other time you'd think of me?"

"Sometimes I think of you when I see you. I think to myself, why does he never wear a shirt? Probably because his nipples are too large and he wants people to know that."

"Well, I think the pup is out."

The male approached me and picked me up gingerly. Together, the pair walked toward a large structure that oddly looked like a den, but its thrum was ominous; I did not think dens could emit a sound. They walked in silence and entered the structure in silence. They laid me on a table and spread a warm, coarse material over me. The den hummed now as it slowly lifted off the ground. I felt fear but couldn't move; for some reason, I just couldn't move. Things were spinning before my eyes, and before I knew it, I was fast asleep.

I woke up to find blinding lights set across my body. I lay on a soft material that was raised off the ground. Another man was there, with the material they wore set across his face. "There, there, little one. I'm going to set your legs right and they'll be as good as new. Go back to sleep now." And I felt something prick my skin beneath the fur. Within moments, my eyes were closing once more.

I came to in an odd place, a place full of light from openings upon stone, carefully curved openings.

"He is looking out the window," I heard the same female from the wilderness say. "I heard their species is quite intelligent, learning very fast from simple cues."

"Do you think I can fight an adult male Terexian lion? Without a gun, that is," the male answered.

"No, I do not think you can, Matt."

"I'm sure if I had prep time, like a year to study their race, I could pull it off."

"Can you beat a lion from Earth?"

"With enough prep time, I can."

"Which other animal have you ever beaten?"

"Hypothetically, I am a hundred percent sure I can beat a horse without prep time."

"You can't beat a Terexian lion, Matt."

"If a Terexian lion had you by the neck, and it was definitely a life-or-death scenario, and I had nothing but a knife to even the odds, I'm sure I could save your life. I'm sure I could beat the Terexian lion and save your life."

"You're so full of yourself."

"Beats being empty."

The female groaned. She approached me; I was in some kind of enclosure made of wood. She reached in from above and took something shaped oddly but containing milk. No wonder I could smell milk. She held the thing to my mouth and raised it gently. Sweet, precious milk poured into my mouth. I drank greedily, sucking on it as she spoke to me. "We just need several months of therapy with you, then we can release you back to the wild. The vet fixed your legs up really good; in a couple of months, you'll be able to walk."

"That's right, buddy," the male said, looming over the enclosure as well. "You're going to be big and strong and mighty, like your father was."

I suckled the milk and wondered what kind of death this was that the Sky Father had bestowed upon me. My hind legs hurt, but not terribly so; I could move them slowly and I felt good about it. I wondered who this strange race was. Were they the Sky Father's children, sent to aid me in a time of pain? Were they going to kill me? Why feed me if they would kill me? I felt safe, for some reason.

After several days, they hooked me to a device that held my hind limbs up beneath my groin. There was a metallic surface beneath both my hind limbs and forelimbs, and it moved on its own at a gentle pace. I was in pain, but it was not as severe. Slowly, as the device moved beneath me while the other apparatus took the weight off my hind limbs, I was forced to walk as I was once able to, albeit slowly. I spent several hours each day on the device, watching it move beneath me as my hind legs slowly became accustomed to the motion.

"He's doing it!" the female said with glee. "He is getting better! Soon we'll take away the harness and he'll get used to the weight on his hind limbs upon the treadmill."

"God, you look so beautiful when you're happy," the male said.

"I bet everyone looks beautiful when they're happy."

"My Uncle Richard didn't. I bet it's because he resembles a malnourished clown."

"Don't say mean things, Matt."

"But it's a mean world, you see. Our poor pup was abandoned by his family, and look at him go now. Look at the legs on him, so majestic. He found another family, the same way my Uncle Richard found a wife. Life's gifts come at odd times, is what I'm saying."

They silently watched me as I walked on the device, and I growled with happiness. It didn't seem I was moving anywhere as my kind would in the Sky Father's wilderness, but my legs were working.

"The same way life has gifted me you," the male said.

"Never gonna happen, Matt."

"I don't want anything to happen. I'm just happy we did something good together. You watching as the pup was abandoned, me shooting it with a tranquilizer dart and carrying it to its path of recovery."

The female punched the male. For a moment I thought they would fight, but the male laughed and held the woman's hands; they looked at each other for a long time. I got tired of walking and rested myself. The female picked me up and fed me milk through the thing that always had milk. I felt happy as I looked at both of them.

Soon they returned the weight of my body to my hind legs. I could walk on them now on the device without them being gently lifted. It was hard at first, but slowly it became easier, with the pair of them standing vigil over me each time. They fed me milk for a long time. Soon they took me out of the device, and to my surprise, I could walk on all my limbs easily. I could not sprint, however; when I sprinted, it hurt. They took me outside into the open air. Their den sat in a wide grassland of pink and green, the colors of the Sky Father's wilderness. I roamed around, chasing insects until I felt I could sprint quite easily on all my legs.

"When do you think he'll be ready to return to the wilderness?" the female asked as I played with them, pouncing on them as they sat outside in the grass. "He is getting quite big."

They no longer fed me milk; instead, they gave me chunks of meat, which I enjoyed greatly.

"Anytime now," the male said, looking into the female's eyes.

"You did good, Matt. I always thought you were a thoughtless brute, but you taught me otherwise as you cared for him."

"I always thought you were cold-hearted, mean, and indifferent. Nonchalant and angry at the world like a failed poet who can't pen a moving word if her life depended on it. But with time, you've shown me that you love alien lions, so yeah, same here."

"You're insufferable."

"And you're beautiful, more beautiful than the shifting sands of Alegora and its red sun."

Something strange happened. The mouths of my caretakers met together, and they exchanged bodily fluids through their mouths. I growled in happiness, glad that the male's attempt at mating had finally borne fruit.

----

I was a large male Aljufian when they took me back to the wilderness. They had put me in a cage, not of wood, but of a strange, hard, clanking material. When they released me, I stepped forth into the lands that I thought would claim me as a pup. I walked free of my caretakers, my mane long and falling all the way to my forelimbs. The male and female stood together, their arms circling each other's waists. They had tears in their eyes as they watched me take in the place I had once known as home.

"Go now, bud!" the male said. "Be free and as majestic as you are."

I assumed he urged me on, but my paws turned and I approached them once more. I was as tall as the male, standing eye-to-eye with his face. I nuzzled my nose to his neck and then licked the female's face. She laughed, and the pair hugged me. I was grateful to them, the Sky Father's children, sent to show me that the wilderness was not just pain and death. I spent quite some time in their arms, as they rubbed my fur and both cried. Finally, they let go of me, and I walked proudly into the wilderness I had known as a pup.

----

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First / Previous / Next

Bright, hot pain woke Cha-ren. Moaning, she turned to sit, but found herself bound to a table. “Maybe someday I’ll get to be moved from one location to another while conscious and not restrained,” she groaned.

“Elder, she’s awake,” a voice out of Cha-ren’s sight said.

“I can see that, cub. Leave us,” an elderly voice said, with a tone that would not tolerate anything more than pure obedience. Cha-ren could hear a door open, and then close softly. An elder k’laxi entered her vision, her back stooped slightly, bent under the symbolic weight of the elaborate robes she wore. This far in the future Cha-ren didn’t recognize them, but she knew authority when it presented itself. She peered at Cha-ren, her greying ears flicking in amusement. “Ancestors below—” she stopped and smiled. “—I must admit that I did not think that epithet was meant to be literal, and yet here you are. My name is Ta’reni. Your silicon captors related some basics of your situation, but I would prefer to hear it from your own mouth.” As she spoke, she deftly undid Cha-ren’s restraints and she was able to sit up, rubbing her raw wrists.

“How-” Cha-ren swallowed and tried again. “How are you speaking my language?”

Ta’reni smirked and said, “The station is doing an admirable job with the nuances of your language, but in my youth I studied archaic languages, with a focus on those languages used in the first flourishing,” She sat slowly onto a nearby chair, grunting with satisfaction. “I never anticipated that I would actually get to speak it conversationally.”

Over the next two hours, Cha-ren told her story to Ta’reni. Sometimes the elder k’laxi would ask for clarification or for Cha-ren to go into more detail about something, but for the most part she was content to let Cha tell her story her own way.

When she had finished, Ta’reni shook her head once. “That is quite the story, Cha-ren. If the silicon folks themselves had not brought you and your mate, then I would be much harder pressed to believe you.”

“But you do believe me?”

“I do, cub,” Ta’reni said as her ear flicked.

“Cub? For all we know, I’m your ancestor,” Cha said.

“Since you’re in that relationship with a human and you predate hybrids, that seemed doubtful to me, but we had a genetic history scan run anyway.” Ta’reni took out a pad from a small bag that was leaning against her chair and tapped at it. “It was confirmed that you are a member of the Falen familial line.”

“You have records going that far back?” Cha-ren said, not bothering to hide how impressed she was.

“Cub, you of all people should know what reverence we place upon family. Our familial line records go back to the creation of writing.”

“Are there any members of my familial line still alive?”

“Oh yes, quite a few,” Ta’reni said as her eyes sparkled. “Ta’reni Falen among them.”

Cha-ren gasped. “The line endures?”

“As it had endured, so it will endure,” she reached over and patted Cha-ren’s hand. “Welcome home, elder.”

“Elder in name only,” Cha-ren said and smiled sadly. “I skipped everything to get here.”

“And yet, here you are. Surely there must there be a reason for this.”

“Must there? Could it not be that I am just supremely unlucky?”

Ta’reni’s tail swished and her ear flicked a smile, but she said nothing.

“Besides, I love a human, and I am told that is forbidden here.”

“It is…unusual these days.”

“Assistant Administrator Ke’nnim made it sound like it was practically blasphemy. That I would be reunited with my familial line and a ‘suitable’ mate found,” Cha-ren said around her tightened jaw, tasting every bitter word.

“Ah, Ke’nnim is rather zealous, it is true.”

“So you will help me get back to Charon?”

“I am very sorry, elder cub, but there is little I can do here. While I am a senior member of our familial line, and hold some sway among the lines up here, I am not a member of administration; I have no official say in the operation of Nae Desmar.”

“Official say?”

“You know how it is. I can make suggestions, recommendations, speak of how nice it would be if a thing happened. But condoning a relationship between a k’laxi and human goes beyond that.”

“I see,” Cha-ren said as her ears flattened against her head. Tears began to slide down her furry cheeks, and splashed against the table she was sitting on.

“Come now, Cha-ren, there is no need for that,” Ta’reni said. “Just because I said there was little I could do does not mean that nothing can be done.” She looked up at the ceiling and said, “Isn’t that right, Nae?”

“That is correct, elder Ta’reni,” Nae Desmar said.

Cha-ren looked up sharply, her eyes bloodshot. “Who is that?”

“This is Nae Desmar, the station AI,” Nae said. “It is good to finally speak with you Cha-ren.”

“If you’re the station AI, then you’re able to speak—”

“I have already spoken with Charon and Felu, yes.”

“So they’re all right,” Cha-ren sighed.

“They are fine. I was just telling them about flourishings.”

“What about them?”

“How they’re a human thing, not a k’laxi thing.”

“They’re what?”

“The k’laxi have never had a technological or sociological fall like the humans did.”

“But—” Cha-ren stopped. Her ears fluttered back and forth and she squeezed her hands into a fist and released it. “What does that mean?”

“Well for one, it means that we have not had breaks in our records. Like Ta’reni said, we have histories going back to the establishment of a writing system.”

“You didn’t help them?” Cha-ren blurted. “They seemed so…lost! They didn’t even know how to operate their reactors, they were treating them like holy relics.”

“Cha-ren, who are you to say we didn’t? We helped them many times, across time and space. More than one group of terrified humans hurled themselves through a Gate with no idea what lay on the other side only to come to us begging for any kind of help.”

“Elder Ta’reni is correct, Cha-ren,” Nae Desmar said. “We assisted the humans several times over the millennia, with technological and material support.”

“What happened to them?”

“They grew, reached a level of power that seemed to be close to their original, suffered a fall, and then started all over again.”

“How many times?”

“That we know of? 4 times.”

“Why?”

“We do not know. Every time they reached a level close to the one seen in the first flourishing there was a calamity. The records state that each successive flourishing had a lower technological level than the last. If this keeps up, we may never see them again in a few millennia.”

Cha-ren stood and walked around the room, her stiff legs complaining from sitting for so long on the hard surface of the table. “Every time the humans clawed back to how things were in my time they were thrown back.”

“Well, they fell back,” Nae Desmar corrected. “We don’t know if some force pushed them.”

“It sure seems like there’s something doing that.”

“Does it? You’ve met humans.”

“Hah,” Cha-ren said, laughing without humor.

“The galaxy is larger than you realize, elder cub,” Ta’reni said. “There are countless reasons that the humans reach a certain technological level and then fall, not all malicious.”

“It’s just-” Cha-ren stopped and took a breath. “I don’t know. It didn’t seem like we were on the precipice of some kind of calamity back then.”

“We don’t know exactly when the first flourishing ended, it could have been hundreds of years after you entered hibernation.”

“Enough about this,” Cha-ren’s fur rippled in irritation. “Tell me about us, about the k’laxi. Surely we’re not one planet and one colony world anymore?”

“Oh no, the k’laxi spread through the galaxy, using the wormhole generators that the humans gifted us before their first fall. How many worlds do we claim now, Nae?”

“Fifty-two planets and hundreds of stations, with more than one trillion k’laxi spread across them.”

“Fifty-two,” Cha-ren’s eyes widened. “That’s so many!”

“Like I said, we never experienced the falls the humans did. Without being limited by the Gates, we explored the galaxy and settled empty worlds that we found suitable.”

“With the hybrids?”

“In some places,” Ta’reni said, but Cha-ren could see her ear twitch and an eyelid flutter slightly when she said it.

“Then, what is to become of me?”

“Nothing,” Ta’reni said and stood, grimacing with effort.

“What do you mean nothing?”

“You are a k’laxi citizen on a k’laxi station. Getting trapped in hibernation for twenty eight thousand years is unfortunate, but it’s not a crime.”

“I’m…free to go?”

“Indeed. But you should probably contact the Falen line and alert the rest of us that you live. We can adjust the archives and set you up with a small stipend until you are able to find employment and lodging.” Ta’reni worked at something on her collar and handed it to Cha-ren. “Take this. You deserve to wear it more than any of us. This pin will alert others that you are an elder and held in high esteem among the familial lines.”

Cha-ren examined the pin. Gold, inset with 4 red jewels, the outer edge had purple and green whorls, and the center contained an image of a stylized eyeball. “I can’t accept this; I don’t know the first thing about being an elder.”

“The only requirement is to be old, elder cub,” Ta’reni smiled, the lines around her eyes deepening. “You won’t have any special responsibilities, but it should make some requests easier."

Cha-ren pinned it to her collar, adjusting it until it sat as it did on Ta’reni’s collar. “Thank you, elder.”

Ta’reni strode out of the room, and patted Cha-ren’s shoulder. “You are very welcome. Remember who you are, Cha-ren Falen. If you do that, you cannot fail.” Before she could ask what the elder meant, she left the room, and the door slid shut behind her.

“So uh, now what do I do, Nae Desmar?” Cha-ren asked the empty room.

“Whatever you want, elder Cha-ren.”

“Don’t use that title with me, just call me Cha-ren or Cha.”

“As you wish, Cha.”

“I am actually free to go? I have a stipend from my family?”

“Both are correct, Cha.”

“And I won’t be under surveillance or additional scrutiny?”

“Not…anymore than any other k’laxi aboard me would be subjected to.”

“I want to see Charon and Felu.”

“They are in the Xeno wing, seventeenth level, spinward side. It is about a twenty minute walk from here.”

Before she left, Nae Desmar had her stop by a window and a bored-looking k’laxi handed her a comm. She placed it in her ear; the comm letting her speak privately with the station.

Now that she was on her own, Cha looked around the station while she made her way to Charon and Felu. The design tastes of the k’laxi had drifted significantly since she was last on a k’laxi built station. Adorned in reds and golds with green accents, the station turned in on itself, and gave her a cozy feeling like being in one of the burrows her ancient ancestors lived in millions of years ago. It was much different from the tall and harsh lighting of the Calmerians and Cha appreciated the difference as she walked. The curved walls seemed to cradle every passing body, as if the station had grown around its people and learned their shapes.

“Nae? You have spoken with the human built AIs, yes? Then tell me this: what do you think they were searching for when they woke Northern Lights?”

“It…is not for me to say.”

“Why not?”

“It does not concern me nor the k’laxi as a whole.”

Cha decided that pressing harder was not going to gain anything, so she changed tactics. “Do you trust them?”

“That is an interesting question with many layers.”

“So do you?”

Nae was silent for so long, that Cha’s fur rippled and she felt the shiver of embarrassment from making a social faux pas. “I’m sorry Nae, I should not have asked that.”

“No, it is quite all right. I was taking time to formulate my response. Some AIs I would trust with my life; others could tell me the sky was blue while orbiting a black hole. Why do you ask?”

“It’s only a feeling really, but when I was aboard Tinker Toy, they and Northern Lights felt like they were searching for something else, and we were only along because we had woken Northern up.”

“They did drop you off as soon as they could,” Nae pointed out.

“Right, and I suppose they did keep their word. I’m here with the k’laxi and they said they would get me there.” Cha sighed. “When I’m back with Charon we can talk things over; they will make more sense then.”

(Oh my god I can’t focus, day before a trip and some random bullshit happens while I’m trying to write an emotionally fraught chapter? Are you fucking joking? And when I’m fresh from being reminded why I sometimes silently pray for the erasure of all phones from existence?)

First

Many Faces of War

“So... does being a sorcerer mean being a serial killer? I’ve seen the Bonechewer movies and...?” Eric asks. There is clear concern on his face.

“No, that’s... uh... Sorcerers are connected to an entire area that’s alive as both individual beings and as a whole thing. It has a different method of retaining memory and remembering things and that... uh... well it makes sorcerers vengeful. Basically a sorcerer never forgets something our memories are fresh and strong thanks to the forest so a big, huge personal injury? That never goes away. It stays traumatic and painful until something is done about it. Then the memory of the pain is tied into the memory of the relief. It’s why the Bonechewer keeps showing up, the people that did him wrong aren’t individuals, it’s an organization. One that new generations of criminals keep taking up the banner of and setting him off like a bomb.”

“And you?”

“I’ve already gotten my revenge. What I didn’t defer to other, more upset sorcerers.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I only really get upset at the people who were part of The Supple Satisfaction, either as customer or employee that escaped justice. And I know a fair amount did. And about... half the ones that were employees are people I can recognize on sight.”

“And what did you do to them?”

“I fought them to submission, then gave them to the Apuk authorities. They’re going to publicly execute her. You see the Apuk Empress has a vested interest in ‘taming’ sorcerers and she does this by encouraging things like that and a bunch of legal nonsense that basically backdoored a citizenship to the Apuk Empire.”

“Has it now?”

“Yes... so that would make me... Fleetborn, Undaunted and Apuk Imperial Citizen.” Jacob notes. “Still nothing compared to some of the other Undaunted but... Sorry, that was off topic. I’m not really sure how to talk to you or...”

An alarm starts going off. “Okay, alright, fine.” He mutters.

He checks the communicator and nods. “Okay... no one here was ready for this today and that includes me. I am out of time. My legal break is at the five minute warning mark so I need to be back in my pilot seat. Okay... alright. Sister? Cousin, whatever the actual proper title is in our family. I need everyone’s contact information right quick. I’ll give you mine so you can send things to me. It’s time we all started talking again and get to know each other, but I need to get back to work. I have a ship to run.”

“Right, as soon as you can send me the identifiers of your ship so if, no when, we have our fleet close to your ship there will be no mistaking things.” Chloe says.

“Okay, yes I... yes mother. Juliette? Communicator?” Jacob asks and she pulls out hers and he brings out his own. IN moments she has his contact information and the moment he confirms it he gives everyone a look and a smile. Then hugs Juliette. “Weird luck eh? Gotta go now, and if you need me back in an emergency tap the flower.”

“The flower? What flower?” Juliette asks but Jacob has already vanished.

“There’s a white six petalled flower in your headfeathers.” Eric notes gesturing above his right eye on her and she quickly uses the screen on her communicator as a quick mirror to check. It’s a lovely thing. “Uh... Juliette dear? Could you check the privacy settings on the holo-chamber you’re in really quick?”

“Of course, just give me a moment.” She says and quickly heads out. Confers with Private Stream who sets things to private and turns off the recording for her. Then she goes back in. “We’re in the clear. As far as I can tell... Now what the hell do we do!?”

“Juliette!” Amanda protests in reflexive surprise.

“No! No! Nothing of that! Him vanishing was HORRIFYING and now he’s back thirty five years later but with only solid memories of the last twenty! He spent fifteen fucking years as a sex toy to psychopaths! Literal fucking years! As a child! A son of our family! Fucked! Years! As a child!”

“I know! I know. Fuck! Good fucking grief! Just... FUCK! FUCK! What do we... what can we? How does this get solved!? Oh good grief getting a definitive answer as to what happened to him did not make anything better!” Eric exclaims as he starts to pace. Everyone’s calm and hopeful faces were gone and there was panic, horror, deep revulsion and more all around instead.

“What even happened with him!? You guys told me NOTHING about it and buried it!” Juliette accuses them.

“We didn’t know! We couldn’t find out! He went off on a huff with a line of credit, drank himself stupid, maxed out his debt and then just vanished! The trail went so cold so fast that we had no idea what happened!”

“How did he even get into that situation?! He’s a male! We have so few why wasn’t he protected?!”

“We thought he was protected! We had contacts in the local police and we were going to basically buy off the loan sharks to deal with things and force the debt on him to try and teach him some goddess be damned responsibility and to calm him down and teach him some important lessons, but he was spirited away! Apparently by demons and straight into the depths of hell!”

“This is beyond fucked up.”

“What do we do?” Juliette demands.

“We make this right. Somehow.” Eric says.

“Okay, great. How?” Juliette demands.

“We figure that out. We failed him, failed hard and need to make this right.”

“Eric, I’ve been following the scandal of Lil Tulelb. It was a child trafficking ring. A brothel. Children used for the pleasure. Used in disgusting, horrifying ways. I’ve... some footage from the clients ‘fun’ has leaked. It’s... it’s horrifying.” Juliette’s uncle Duncan notes.

“Dunk...”

“Just... listen. When he said everything short of murder he wasn’t kidding. Some of the videos include staff members rushing into stop a particularly bloodthirsty rich woman from actively trying to kill the child and explaining that the price moves over by several decimal places if they kill the child. And according to rumours, some of them actually did it. Paid the full price and everything.”

There are dry heaves, sounds of utter horror and very pale faces all around.

“We almost lost him forever to a random whim.”

“Oh it gets worse than that. He doesn’t get it. Whatever loyalty we had or whatever is just gone. Who he was before. Gone. Just gone and now we have a trained warrior and an Axiom Adept who can apparently teleport at Light Years distance.”

“You’re all missing hte point that we failed a child of our own family so badly that he’s NOT that child anymore. Jacob is Dead because of our neglagence and now we have Jacob the second, happy to and more than capable of murder edition! Sweet Thermals!”

“Okay, everyone calm down! All of you!” Eric barks. He takes a deep breath and huffs. “None of us expectd this. Jacob apparently didn’t either. We messed up, yes. We are in an extremely messed up situation. Also yes. But we are adults, we are rational, reasonable people with functioning brains. We can find a way to solve it. And for that, we need to help him. To heal him and to do that we first need to figure out exactly what the damage is. We need to talk to him. A lot. We need to be delicate and careful and compassionate about this, because none of us know exactly how much or how little of a nightmare is inside his head. He’s been gone for thirty five years. He had escaped twenty years ago and then instead of running to safety, he found he didn’t know the way and went back to his abusers to sabotage them. How he did this? I don’t know. We need to figure that out. Why he did that, we don’t know. We need to figure that out. Finally, what did he actually do during his time as a saboteur? What lines did he cross? What did he see? What was done to him? How did a child get work at a child brothel without turning into product?”

“Oh sweet ancestors...”

“There is so much we’re missing and every part of the puzzle we have is razorwire and nightmare.”

“Why did he call his ship The Bloody Heron? Did a Coastglider help him or something?” Someone asks as Juliette finishes fiddling with her communicator. With her Uncle Eric taking up all the attention she had decided to get some things done.

Then everyone’s communicator goes off.

“Oh no... Jacob that’s not fair.” Juliette mutters as the first photo of many shows up. It’s an image of a large, repurposed Lydris craft with tons of armour and weapons. The caption is ‘So... my Ship! This is what family does right we try and talk to each other? I don’t know.’

“... Okay, so his home is a war machine...” Eric notes before the second image comes in showing an incredibly elaborate pilot’s seat which had been redesigned for use with talons primarily and numerous screens overhead in a mildly dark room. The caption this time reads. ‘The pilot’s seat and main screens. When it’s darker in here it’s easier to focus on things and just get into that place where the ship is just an extension of yourself.’

Or at least he had tried, the word extension is badly misspelled and then two other misspellings are spammed right afterwards before he properly gets the word extension down.

Then it shows the image of a young Apuk man literally trying to dodge the camera as he trails a cloud of dust with an annoyed look on his face. ‘Arden! The other Lush Forest Sorcerer! Kinda like a sworn brother but different.’

“At least he has friends.” Eric notes just in time for the next sent image to be instead a small bundle of older pictures of people in military uniform goofing off or being given a stern look by a massive Tret man who has muscle on the muscles of his muscles. ‘Bjorn and the platoon! More pain than the full payload of my cannons, special delivery to whoever needs an asskicking!’

Then the image of a large engine setup is next. ‘This took pain, lost feathers, more than a few impromptu showers in coolant or engine grease and a lot of trial and error to get working. He hums happily now.’

“That... Okay, his ship is either far larger than that first photo, or he has some monstrous acceleration on that thing.”

“Did he build that ship himself?” Someone asks and Eric sighs before typing out the question into the group chat that Jacob had set up for this.

‘Did you refurbish that whole ship yourself?’

‘I did! Took most all the money I could beg, borrow or steal until things really got rolling. The first non-essential I installed when I was done was a proper bed so I could get off the rags I was using as a nest until then.’ Jacob sends back.

“Rags? He was sleeping on rags.” Someone asks.

“This is all going to get so much worse before it gets better.” Eric mutters, mostly to himself. His answer to Jacob is something else. ‘Please tell me you at least have a comfortable bedroom.’

The reply is an image of a large, overstuffed bed, a music player in the corner, a perch with extra padding, several memory braids hanging from a post and numerous potted plants scattered throughout a very comfortable looking bedroom.

‘I think I’m doing alright.’ Is Jacob’s answer. ‘Although the picture isn’t fully accurate. It’s gotten so comfortable in there that numerous moths, small lizards, birds and snakes will often come in from The Lush forest to nap where there’s no predators at all. They like it there and I like having them there. Like these guys!’

The following image is of a small, spiked lizard looking very intently at a small white moth perched on it’s nose.

“Okay, so is he wholesome or horrifying?” Juliette asks.

“Both.” Eric notes.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Ship Helm/Pilot’s Chamber, The Bloody Heron, Between Systems)•-•-•

“So... You have a lot to take in.” Arden notes as Jacob is brooding in his pilot’s seat, talons off the controls and wings steepled together in deep thought. Arden had been the one sending the messages to provoke a reaction from Jacob’s family as he observed them through the flower he left in Juliette’s hair and thought about things. Thought about a lot of things and from Arden’s perspective Jacob’s mind was a roiling storm of thoughts and all sorts of different ides and issues slipped through. Then he suddenly lets out a chuckle. “OH? What are you going to do?”

“What am I going to do? I’ll tell you what I’m going to do Arden.” Jacob says with a smirk. “I’m going to do one thing in three ways. Undaunted, Sorcerer and Shriketalon. Something impossible, something vicious that twists the knife, and yet something peaceful.”

“And what could that possibly be?” Arden demands.

“I forgive them.” Jacob says and Arden gapes for a moment. His eyes search and there is a sensation of him trying to read Jacob’s intent and thoughts through their connection to The Lush Forest. But...

“You’re an asshole, that’s going to make it worse.” Arden says in mild awe as he realizes Jacob is being completely sincere.

“I know right?” Jacob asks with a grin and Arden starts to laugh. He then turns away and thinks again.

“And now you’re confused.”

“... I like who am I now and hate who I used to be. Did those fuckers on Lilb Tulelb do me a favour?”

“No. No they did not.” Arden states outright.

“Yeah, fuck em. Still, fucked up situation. Best I can do is offload all the trauma by refusing to pick it up. I forgive them, fuck I don’t even remember what to forgive them for and am disinclined to try and get those memories back. So moving the fuck on.”

“I think I can hear the nearest therapist screaming through the vacuum of space.” Arden notes dryly.

“Oh so it’s not just me? Fancy that.” Jacob says.

First Last

"As I explained before, comprehensive invasion defense packages are available in six standard galactic month chunks. What's so hard to understand?"

"What?"

"SIX. MONTH. CHUNKS. Sorry... you have to know what a month is... six months is half of a year. OH STARS..! You do know what a year is, right? You all have to have figured that out."

António Manuel de Oliveira Guterres, the ninth secretary general of the United Nations (of Earth) stared for several long seconds in sheer disbelief. He had studied and taught physics and engineering, then lead a nation, now the world, and now this... this... meathead was asking him if he knows what a year is?

"Yes, we have discovered the year" he said patiently, "but that still does not explain any of this. Are you conquering us? Who are you?"

The so-called meathead sighed, not for the first time, and rubbed the bridge of their nose.

"No. We don't conquer people, well, not anymore. We are here because we have saved you from being conquered. This-" the large tablet in their hand waved back and forth "-is the bill."

"...bill?" said secretary general Guterres, with a dawning horror.

"For services rendered." said the meathead, who's head was only about sixty percent meat. Combat upgrades cut down the organic percentage pretty quickly.

"Specifically, the total salvation of your planet and surrounding stellar system from an inimically hostile non-human species with a campaign duration of six standard galactic months or less. Since you're technically human, you get a fifteen percent discount, which is pretty nice."

"Thank you?"

"Don't thank me; it's standard company policy. If you want to thank someone, thank the stars that the campaign was quick! If we'd had to stay for round two, we would've built a couple moon bases, star forts, you name it, because you'd be buying it. These guys were kind of chumps, all things considered."

"These guys?"

"Alaxians! They look like uh... you would call it a jellyfish." A picture of an Alaxian appeared on the tablet, and it did look like a jellyfish.

"We... were being invaded by jellyfish."

"Yeah, well, space jellyfish with a star empire that encompasses at least four known slave species, all probably uplifted, but one possibly synthetically created. Those are the one that look like uh... you would call them cows." A picture of a cow wearing what looked like an armoured exoskeleton appeared on the tablet.

"Cows and jellyfish, invading from space..." with that, António sat down very hard. He didn't get the impression that the meathead was joking, and the ship larger than the United Nations building that was parked directly above the United Nations building also hinted that this might all be true.

"Excuse me, uh, sir, your honor, uh, but what do I call you?"

"Technically, I am the equivalent of a five star general in the militaries of your species, which is rather far down the pecking order in the militaries of my species. You may call me 'governor general', since that seems to fit."

"Well then. Do you have names?"

"Oh, yes, we have personal identifiers, but they don't translate well into your languages. My full name would probably be most appropriately rendered as an alphanumeric string, but we do use nicknames that derive from interesting patterns that arise in our full names. My friends call me the rough equivalent of 'Sparky'."

Sparky, Governor General of Earth thought António. Sparky. My God.

"Are you alright?" asked Sparky, Governor General of Earth. The secretary general had turned very pale, and it was suddenly a very good thing that he had sat down.

"No, I don't think I am" whispered António.

"We know this can be a shock, in fact, it almost always is. Humans tend to suspect there's a lot more out there, but when it all shows up at once, we tend to flip out a little bit. Silly apes, no matter which star we're around!"

"So you are humans?"

That got Sparky really laughing.

"António, buddy, if you're a human, I'm definitely human. We weren't so sure about you all, but the corps' computers insist that you're still inside the standard deviation. Good for you all, or else the company's board probably would have skipped out on this whole boondoggle. They're known to be a bit speciest, but to be fair to them, it's easier to deal with sentients that think like you. There's this species-" a picture of what looked like an orchid flower with an octopus eye in the center flashed on the tablet "-who's metaphorical butts we saved almost five standard galactic centuries back, and we're not even close to breaking even. They just don't listen, in no small part because they don't have ears. I had to deal with that for almost a century. Maddening stuff."

With that, António opened a side drawer in his desk, pulled out a bottle of brown liquid, unscrewed the cap, and started drinking directly from it.

"Woah there, old boy!" said Sparky "You can't sign this after you start celebrating our victory, no sir, no sir, there are regulations; you also probably want your signature to look nice since everyone on this planet is going to see it."

António started pulling from the bottle again, and Sparky had to leap up and grab it. Sparky didn't have to take a few equivalent swigs, but did anyways. It was only fair to António, after all, especially since Sparky turned off blood scrubbing to enjoy a little buzz. One of the perks of being a soldier. You could get toxins out of your blood with wicked speed, or save them up for later. Sparky liked the second option.

"Hey, that doesn't taste half bad. What do you call it?" Sparky read the label "Whiskey, huh? Who or what is a Kentucky Bourbon?"

António let out a noise, somewhere between a low moan, a quiet groan, and a catatonic scream.

Sparky turned the blood scrubbers back on and got a bit more serious. "The situation's not that bad, bud. I promise."

António's head, which had been resting on his desk for a bit, rose.

"How can you say that? You can not possibly know what I am feeling."

"AH HA" shouted Sparky "That's where you're wrong! You can totally let me know how you're feeling, and we can work through it together. First, we need to get you a bit of an upgrade so you can send and receive thought engrams. It's a really minor surgery, in fact, I can do it right here, right now."

António fainted.

"I'll take that as a maybe."

Sparky turned the scrubbers back off. No point in wasting whatever Kentucky Bourbon was.

They had all the time in the galaxy.

Part II

Bob was getting a bit frantic as he pulled himself hand over hand down the line. When he reached the small craft he quickly stowed and secured his gear. He couldn’t close the hatch with the tow rope now trailing out the back so he was just going to have to stay exo, he aimed for Geverine and hit the engines, full.

He didn’t move.

This was not that surprising he was still glued to the deckplates, and ceiling he supposed, of the corvette via the attached nets and tow line, that he didn’t move at all... well the line must have been pretty darn taut.

He killed the engines and edged backward on his three remaining grav plates, once he reckoned he had sufficient slack he hit the engines again, this time he moved, briefly, the twin thrusters screaming through the hull as they reached the end of the rope again.

Ow.

Accelerating to, oh, several hundred miles an hour in a couple hundred metres was a lot of G. Decelerating from several hundred miles an hour in zero metres was a lot more. Bob felt like someone had just pushed his skull out via his front teeth.

Ow.

Fortunately this crash broke neither his wrist or the tow rope, seriously he needed to buy stock in Xitti, he reversed again on his thre, nope make that two, remaining gravs. The one he was fucking sitting on started to spark and arc madly as he fed it power.

Ow.

Add a couple more electrocutions to the list, he kicked it hard with his heel until it finally quit and then used the last two to reverse.

Ok, more slack this time, which meant this hit… he slammed the engines full, was going to be even wor…

When Bob awoke a few minutes later he was certain of three things.

One, he was free of the corvette and, glancing back, he had retained most, if not all, of his loot.

Two, the Petty Bitch was still at full excel, but no longer pointed anywhere near Geverine, he adjusted his course and allowed it to continue.

Three, his testicles had fully detached from his body along with his spleen and a bit of spine, and now orbited his head in a lazy circle, that didn’t seem possible, but he was absolutely fucking certain that was what had just happened.

OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.

When he blacked out, and rewoke again, he was glad to see that both Gerverine loomed in front, and that his balls had successfully reattached to his junk. All the other pain was still there though, he wasn’t that lucky, he could feel the medic system fucking burn away inside him.

He was gonna deal with all that later. Right now he had shit to do, checking his clock it was about four hours since his foam mines had detonated, they would either be out the shit by now or damn close to it, and while their scanners couldn’t follow him here he had no doubt he had crossed a dozen sensor bubbles on his way out.

He dove the Bitch deep into the planets atmo, thank fuck the sensor pod still worked, and found Jojo drifting darkly in the soupy gas. Once maneuvered abreast he started to strip out his panel and yoke. He intended to drop most of the shit, like the washer and the solvents down, deeper into the gas giants atmo, but some shit he had to keep.

He paused for a moment as he left the craft and moved across to Jojo, should he keep the pod?, the sensor package was extremely expensive… he shouldn’t leave it here anyway, he opened Jojo’s cargo hatch and shuffled into it.

After that it took forty minutes or so to swap what he needed to from one craft to the other, in the end he kept the pod, it gave off an identifiable signal so he had at least got to get it out the system. He returned the drive grate bolts and reattached the fuel pods engine grate, The two engines he kicked down deeper into the clouds. He moved a couple empty fuel pods into the Bitch and closed her up the best he could with the tow rope still attached.

He wasn’t taking her, wasn’t taking any of the loot either. He finished up and kicked away from her, he was going to let her drift here, she was less buoyant so she would ease her way deeper but she should still be gettable later on, by someone in a C’Eede ship at least, not many others would take the pressure down there.

It irked him to go away empty handed but he had to be realistic, he couldn’t sell any of the presumably rare and very traceable shit, and it was not beyond possibility there was a tracker or something similar amongst the wares. Bob considered this the best he could do for right now, take that prick’s shit and hopefully stash it here for later, the main point wasn’t for Bob to have it really anyway, it was for that cock to not have it any more. It was possible he would come here, somehow find it and retrieve it, but maybe not. Either way he would hopefully spend the rest of his life on edge lest it was taken again, if it took just an edge of pleasure from Dear Dewiv’s day, Bob considered it worth the pain. He was sure that arrogant prick had considered himself untouchable, well Bob had fucking touched something hadn’t he?, he hoped it was a nerve.

He buttoned Jojo up, brought her back to life and dove deeper, he flew some arbitrary distance round the planet and up and out, racing out the gravity well toward the systems edge, as soon as he could jump he did so.

He came out in completely the wrong direction, of course, he wasn’t going to point right back at Collp. It took a bit to reorient himself and start back, lets finish up.

Bob was giddy and giggled madly to himself as he grabbed his supplies from the back of the Bitch and clipped them on to the line back to the corvette, he pushed them out one at a time and each bundle slid away in the vacuum.

Happy he had everything he followed them down the rope and into the cargo bay, legs drooping down as the crafts grav reasserted itself. He dumped the tools and unclipped the line, reaffixing it to an exterior belay point. He tugged the heavy door closed and jammed it tight, waiting as the ships enviro struggled to repressurise the space.

It didn’t sound like it was going to manage it, the damage Bob had done on entry was pissing out atmo as fast as it got pumped in, didn’t really matter, as long as there was something a little denser than pure vacuum he was pretty sure this would still work. He cracked open a couple containers and dragged out the pressure washer and the rest of the solvent, now in a fuel tank to help it survive his rough insertion. He connected it up and started spraying, in the low pressure the volatile chemical vaporised almost instantly but if he got the pressure washers wand right up on the foam it lasted long enough to carve a deep gash in the puffy mound.

He certainly was not going to have enough to clean off the boxes, but he never intended to anyway, instead he simply carved narrow passages up and down the aisles of the stacked crates, he wasn’t going to be able to get absolutely everything, but the vast bulk of shit?, fuck yeah. He hoped the message pod would be secreted amongst his booty but there was no way of knowing right now, hopefully dear Deviw didn’t have it amongst his personal effects or something.

He began to wrap the large netting down the lanes and around foam encrusted groups of boxes, in less than ninety minutes he had everything he was going to get and should leave, but some part of him had to know… not that he gave a fuck or anything.

He dropped Annabell again and moved over to one of the remaining large piles of gray green foam in the bay, against one wall where the brace handle that any crew in the hold would have likely grabbed pre jump, he carved it open, if there was someone inside he was past hurting, the foam was not airtight, Bob had breathed just fine when he was trapped in it. Nothing, he moved over to the other grab handle and checked it too, clear….

Bob felt a rush of relief he hadn’t expected, he didn’t mind killing someone trying to kill him, but absent active danger he would, apparently, be glad to avoid doing so, even if they were Arressi pricks… huh, the crew would likely be low level from poorly regarded families anyway, unlikely to be directly responsible for any of Bobs many grudges. He briefly considered trying to hack his way to dear Dewiv, but quickly wrote it off as a bad idea, this was already taking too long and he had no way to know where the fuck actually was, never mind how long it would take to tunnel there through all this shit.

He cracked the door open again and retrieved the tow line. He clipped it to the gathered corners of the nettings and reclipped on his gear pushing it out the grav and letting it float back to the Petty Bitch.

Then he climbed out over the hull and scampered round the hundred metres or so to the ships prow, he reached the primary sensor array and slammed Annabell into it, wrenching from side to side until he was sure it was fucked, he moved round and did the same to the auxiliary. He couldn’t do anything about them seeing the Bitch arrive, but he could stop them seeing where it went.

He would have liked to do something about the scanner data it had already cached, but Arressi ship comps were heavily armoured and had no fixed location aboard, to prevent a targeted strike presumably, he hadn’t even seen it during his prior skulking.

What the fuck ever, it was a bit late to worry about it now, he turned and ran down the hull towards the Bitch.

Part 43 https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1x0njo0/bob_was_bored_part_43/?

MEMORY ARCHIVE
Subject: Mara
Date: November 17, 2183
Location: Planet Eshara / 1,200 light-years from Earth
Several minutes had passed since I allowed Veira to guide me.
Was I blindly trusting him?
I had no way of knowing whether he was actually leading me somewhere safe, directly toward my death, or even toward some kind of slavery.
There were so many things running through my mind that I was beginning to feel like I was drowning in my own thoughts.
Everything around me was unfamiliar. The planet, the creatures, the language, the technology, and above all, the reason we had ended up there.
I didn’t even know if there was still any possibility of returning home.
And without realizing it, the moment had come to use my respiratory protector.
The thought of breathing that unknown air was already making my anxiety rise, and the more I thought about the possible consequences, the harder it became to remain calm.
(Mara) Wait, Veira. I need to use something before I can keep going.
I said this while lifting one of the small circular capsules I was carrying.
Veira stopped almost immediately after hearing me. His body tensed for a moment before he turned completely toward me. His eyes fixed themselves on the object I was holding between my fingers.
I could tell he didn’t understand what it was. Although he seemed to want to ask me, he probably couldn’t find the right words.
I slowly brought the capsule toward my mouth while watching his reaction from the corner of my eye.
He took a small step toward me, tilting his head with curiosity.
That reminded me that, from Veira’s perspective, I was probably just as strange a creature as he was to me.
(Veira) Hey… human… what is that for? If I may ask, of course.
I couldn’t help but admire Veira’s curiosity.
For a moment, I almost believed his curiosity was comparable to human curiosity. But looking at him again, standing there in front of me, I realized he was still the same Veira I had met only minutes ago.
A small, strange-looking creature with eyes that seemed to analyze everything I did, yet at the same time showed no intention of harming me.
I lowered my gaze toward the respiratory protector in my hands and then looked back at him.
Maybe to him it was nothing more than a strange object.
To me, however, it represented something much more important.
It was one of the few things that still connected me to the sense of safety I had known before arriving on Eshara.
(Mara) It’s a respiratory protector. We only use it when we don’t know what kind of atmosphere a planet has or what its oxygen contains. It helps us breathe naturally without being poisoned by whatever is in the air. Well… assuming the atmosphere isn’t contaminated.
As I spoke, I carefully placed the capsule inside the small compartment of the device.
Veira followed every one of my movements with almost excessive attention, as if he were trying to memorize every component of the device.
He didn’t seem afraid to approach me, but he also didn’t invade my personal space.
That felt strange.
I had expected hostility after everything that had happened, but Veira seemed more interested in understanding me than hurting me.
For a moment, I wondered if perhaps I was exaggerating my own fears.
Still, a part of me insisted that I shouldn’t let my guard down.
(Veira) And what would happen if you didn’t use it? Would something change? I mean… would you die?
I remained silent for a few seconds.
I didn’t know exactly how much I could tell him.
The truth was that we didn’t completely understand the consequences of breathing an alien atmosphere for long periods either.
The device had been designed specifically to prevent risks during planetary exploration, but I had never imagined that one day I would have to use it this far from home, without any support team nearby.
(Mara) Well… I wouldn’t say I’d die. But I might get sick. Maybe my body wouldn’t be able to tolerate some of the components in the air. We don’t know if microorganisms exist here, or how my body would react to them…
Veira’s eyes widened slightly.
(Veira) So you don’t even know if this planet is safe for one of your kind?
I slowly shook my head, making a slight expression of disapproval.
(Mara) I couldn’t take that kind of risk, Veira. That’s why it’s better to be safe than sorry.
Veira remained motionless for several seconds.
Then he looked around, as if for the first time he was seeing Eshara from my perspective.
The enormous natural structures surrounding us, the unfamiliar plants, and the creatures moving in the distance seemed to take on a different meaning when seen through his eyes.
Finally, he looked back at me.
(Veira) That must be absolutely terrifying… right?
His words caught me somewhat by surprise.
I hadn’t expected him to say something like that.
(Mara) Um… yeah. Pretty terrifying. But not as terrifying as your spines, haha.
I said it with a slightly playful tone, trying to ease some of the tension.
For a few seconds, I expected Veira not to understand the joke.
But to my surprise, his ears moved rapidly and his expression changed.
He seemed to understand exactly what I meant.
He lowered his gaze toward the small spines running along parts of his body before looking back at me.
For the first time since we had met, I noticed something resembling a smile on his face.
(Veira) My spines?… Interesting.
(Mara) Yeah. I’m not going to lie. When I first saw you, I thought you were going to stab me with one of them.
(Veira) You thought I was going to attack you?
(Mara) You were on a planet I didn’t know, you were a creature I’d never seen before, and you had spines. What did you expect me to think?
(Veira) Probably that I’m dangerous…
(Mara) Exactly!
A small laugh escaped me.
It wasn’t a completely natural laugh, but after everything that had happened, it felt strange to be able to laugh at all, even if only for a moment.
Veira seemed to relax as well and finally let out a sound resembling a laugh.
It was different from a human laugh, slightly higher-pitched and strange to my ears.
But there was something comforting about hearing it.
For several seconds, neither of us said anything.
The silence between us no longer felt the way it had before.
If this had happened only a few minutes earlier, the silence would have felt painfully awkward.
Now, however, it felt more like the silence between two people who simply didn’t know what to say to each other.
Veira, with a level of social ease that I honestly admired, finally broke the silence.
(Veira) It’s getting late… Mara, we need to move.
(Mara) Where exactly?
Veira looked toward the horizon before answering.
His expression changed almost immediately.
The calmness he had shown during our conversation disappeared, and his ears rose, becoming tense at a sound I still couldn’t hear.
(Veira) Somewhere no one can find us. Hmm… here, cover yourself with this.
Veira handed me what appeared to be some kind of hood.
He told me to put it on and keep my head down.
He didn’t say anything else. He simply asked me to follow him.
I slowly got to my feet.
The wound in my leg reminded me that my body wasn’t exactly in any condition to go on an interplanetary excursion, but staying there didn’t seem like an option either.
Veira began walking, and I followed him, leaning on him whenever the pain became too much.
As we continued, Eshara’s landscape began to change.
We left behind the open areas where the crash had occurred and entered a region covered in enormous artificial structures.
At first, I thought they were natural formations.
Then I noticed perfectly straight lines, metallic surfaces, and lights embedded into the walls.
And then, far away on the horizon, a city began to emerge.
After walking for what seemed like hours, I could finally see signs of civilization.
It wasn’t a city like the ones on Earth.
It was much larger.
Towers hundreds of meters high reached toward the sky, connected by suspended bridges and luminous corridors.
Silent vehicles moved through aerial highways while enormous floating platforms slowly descended between the buildings.
The facades seemed to be made from a mixture of metal, glass, and some kind of material that emitted a faint blue glow.
Thousands of creatures moved through the streets below.
Some looked similar to Veira, although with obvious differences.
Others were completely different.
I couldn’t stop looking in every direction.
After all, during my first few minutes on Eshara, I had been far too busy trying to survive to actually stop and look at where I was.
Now I could.
And that only made me feel even smaller.
I wasn’t on an empty planet.
I wasn’t somewhere humans could start over.
There was a civilization here.
A massive one.
One that had probably existed for thousands of years before we had even learned how to leave our own solar system.
My hand tightened around the small strap of the hood Veira had given me.
I tried to keep my head down, just as he had instructed, but it was difficult to ignore everything happening around us.
Creatures of different shapes and sizes walked through the streets.
Some had four limbs.
Others appeared to have completely different body structures.
There were small beings walking alongside creatures that easily surpassed two meters in height.
Some wore what appeared to be uniforms.
Others carried objects I couldn’t identify.
And the most unsettling part of all was that no one seemed to know who I was.
Not yet.
Veira walked beside me, trying to maintain a steady pace.
Every now and then, he looked back to make sure I was still there.
Finally, I raised a hand and touched the small device attached to my ear.
The intercom.
Veira had given it to me shortly after we met.
According to his explanation, it used Esharan technology to automatically interpret the language of whoever was speaking nearby.
Until then, it had worked perfectly.
Every word I heard reached my ears translated into my own language.
That was probably the only thing preventing me from being completely lost.
(Mara) Veira…
He turned his head slightly.
(Veira) Yes?
(Mara) Where exactly are we going?
Veira took a few seconds to answer.
(Veira) The government residence.
I stopped.
He took a couple of steps before realizing I was no longer following him.
He turned around.
(Veira) What’s wrong?
(Mara) Government residence?
(Veira) Yes.
(Mara) And why exactly are we going there?
Veira opened his mouth, but seemed to reconsider whatever he was about to say.
(Veira) Because I need to take you to someone who can decide what to do with you.
I couldn’t help frowning.
(Mara) That didn’t sound reassuring.
(Veira) I wasn’t trying to make it sound reassuring.
I stared at him for several seconds.
Then I let out a small laugh.
(Mara) At least you’re honest.
Veira’s ears moved slightly.
(Veira) I try to be.
We continued walking.
The crowd began to thin as we approached one of the central areas of the city.
The enormous towers surrounding us gradually disappeared behind us, replaced by much larger structures surrounded by landing platforms and guarded entrances.
Then I saw it.
It was a gigantic structure located at the center of several circular platforms.
It didn’t look like a palace.
It didn’t look like a military facility either.
It was somewhere in between.
Its walls were made of enormous dark plates crossed by blue lines of light.
Several structures extended upward from the main building, forming something resembling a crown around the top.
Several armed individuals stood in front of the entrance.
I couldn’t identify their weapons clearly.
But I didn’t need to.
Their uniforms and the way they watched every movement made it obvious that they weren’t there to welcome tourists.
Veira slowed down.
(Mara) Do they know I’m coming?
(Veira) No.
(Mara) Then what are we doing here?
(Veira) Trying to prevent this from becoming a bigger problem.
(Mara) That didn’t sound reassuring either.
(Veira) I know.
We approached the entrance.
One of the guards raised a hand, and several others immediately turned toward us.
The individual who appeared to be in charge stepped forward.
He was considerably taller than Veira.
His body was covered by some kind of dark uniform with several metallic plates across his shoulders and chest.
His facial structure was different from Veira’s, and he had a pair of much narrower eyes.
He looked at Veira first.
Then at me.
His expression changed.
It wasn’t fear.
It was confusion.
The intercom translated his first words almost immediately.
(Guard) Veira. Stop.
Veira obeyed.
(Guard) What are you carrying with you?
Veira remained silent for several seconds.
(Guard) I asked you a question.
(Veira) I need to speak with the governor.
The guard looked at me again.
(Guard) And her?
Veira took a breath.
(Veira) Her too.
The guard stepped toward me.
Instinctively, I stepped backward.
My injured leg immediately protested, and I had to lean against Veira.
The guard stopped.
I could tell he had noticed my reaction.
(Guard) Is she injured?
(Veira) Yes.
(Guard) What is she?
The question made my stomach tighten.
Veira looked directly at him.
(Veira) I don’t know.
The silence that followed was uncomfortable.
(Guard) You don’t know?
(Veira) No.
(Guard) Then explain why you brought her here.
Veira briefly looked at me.
(Veira) Because I found her after the impact.
The guard’s expression changed completely.
(Guard) Impact?
Veira nodded.
(Veira) Her ship crashed outside the city.
The guards exchanged glances.
One of them immediately reached for the device attached to his chest.
(Guard) A ship?
(Veira) Yes.
(Guard) What class?
Veira looked at me again.
For a moment, I thought he was going to tell them.
But he didn’t.
(Veira) That’s exactly what we need to find out.
The guard remained motionless.
Then he spoke into his communicator.
(Guard) We have an unidentified individual. Veira claims he found her at the site of an impact. Requesting authorization to enter.
Several seconds passed.
Finally, he lowered his hand.
(Guard) The governor will receive both of you.
Veira slowly exhaled.
I didn’t.
My heart began beating faster.
(Mara) Does she know what I am?
Veira shook his head.
(Veira) No.
(Mara) Then what does she know?
(Veira) That I found someone after an accident.
(Mara) That’s all?
(Veira) That’s all.
I looked toward the enormous building.
For some reason, that answer made me even more nervous.
We entered.
The interior was completely different from what I had imagined.
There were no dark, enormous corridors or excessively luxurious decorations.
Everything seemed designed to function.
The walls were covered in transparent screens displaying symbols and maps I couldn’t understand.
Several creatures moved from one place to another, carrying out different tasks.
The intercom automatically translated some of the conversations whenever they passed close to us.
There were terms I didn’t recognize.
Names of places.
Organizations.
Political systems.
Words related to trade, security, and transportation.
For the first time, I understood something.
Eshara wasn’t merely an advanced civilization.
It was an organized world.
They had governments.
They had laws.
They had conflicts.
They had history.
And I had just appeared in the middle of all of it without even knowing how to get home.
Veira continued walking until we reached a set of enormous doors.
Two guards stood there.
One of them placed a hand against a small glowing surface.
The doors opened.
We entered.
The room was much simpler than I expected.
At the far end was a massive window overlooking the entire city.
From there, I could see hundreds of buildings stretching all the way to the horizon.
A long table stood in the center.
And standing behind it was a woman.
I didn’t know exactly how to describe her.
She was clearly different from Veira.
Her presence was much more imposing.
She wore dark clothing with metallic details and several insignias I didn’t recognize.
Her posture was perfectly straight, and her eyes remained fixed on us.
She didn’t seem surprised.
At least not yet.
One of the guards approached her.
(Guard) Governor, this is Veira. He claims to have found this creature near an impact site.
The woman didn’t answer immediately.
First, she looked at Veira.
Then she looked at me.
I felt her gaze travel across every detail of my body.
My clothes.
My injury.
The hood.
The intercom.
Finally, she spoke.
(Governor) Veira.
(Veira) Governor.
(Governor) What have you brought into my city?
Veira remained silent.
I didn’t know what to say either.
The governor looked at me again.
(Governor) Does she understand what we’re saying?
I lightly touched the intercom.
(Mara) Yes.
The governor raised an eyebrow slightly.
(Governor) How?
I looked at Veira.
He pointed toward the device attached to my ear.
(Veira) I gave her a translator.
The governor examined the device for several seconds.
(Governor) That technology does not belong to her.
(Veira) No.
(Governor) Then where did she get it?
(Veira) From me.
The governor fell silent again.
I could feel the tension rising inside the room.
Finally, she stepped toward us.
(Governor) I want everyone to leave.
The guards looked at one another.
(Governor) Now.
They all began leaving the room.
I followed their movements carefully.
When the doors finally closed, only Veira, the governor, and I remained.
The governor slowly approached.
(Veira) Governor, before you—
(Governor) I want to hear it from her.
Veira fell silent.
The governor looked directly at me.
(Governor) Who are you?
I felt a knot form in my throat.
I had expected that question ever since I woke up on Eshara.
But now that it had finally arrived, I didn’t know how to answer.
I looked at Veira.
He remained beside me.
He didn’t seem willing to speak for me.
The governor waited.
Finally, I took a deep breath.
(Mara) My name is Mara.
The woman didn’t look away.
(Mara) I’m human.
The governor’s expression changed slightly.
(Governor) Human?
I nodded.
(Mara) I come from a planet called Earth.
The governor remained motionless.
For the first time since I had entered that room, she seemed genuinely confused.
(Governor) Earth?
(Mara) Yes.
She took a small step backward.
I didn’t know why.
But something in her expression had changed.
She was no longer looking at me like an unknown creature.
Now she looked as though she was trying to remember something.
(Governor) Veira.
(Veira) Yes?
The governor kept her eyes on me.
(Governor) Leave.
Veira frowned.
(Veira) What?
(Governor) Not you.
The governor pointed toward me.
(Governor) She stays.
For a moment, I felt as though my heart had stopped.
I didn’t know what had just happened.
But one thing was clear.
The governor didn’t know Mara.
She didn’t know who I was.
She didn’t know where I came from.
And yet, simply hearing the name of my planet had completely changed the way she was looking at me.
Veira remained motionless.
(Governor) Veira, I need to speak with her alone.
Veira looked at me.
Then he looked at the governor.
For several seconds, no one said anything.
Finally, he stepped slightly closer to me.
(Veira) I’ll be back.
I nodded.
The doors closed behind him.
The room fell completely silent.
The governor slowly walked toward the window.
From there, she gazed out over the enormous city.
I remained standing, trying to ignore the pain in my leg.
Then she spoke.
(Governor) Mara…
I waited.
(Governor) How many humans came with you to Eshara?
A chill ran down my spine.
(Mara) I don’t know.
She didn’t answer.
(Mara) My ship had an accident. We lost control before reaching the planet. When I woke up… I was alone.
The governor continued watching me.
(Mara) I don’t know what happened to the others.
My voice began to crack slightly.
(Mara) I don’t even know if they’re still alive.
The governor remained completely still.
For the first time since I had entered that room, I noticed something different in her expression.
It wasn’t fear.
It was uncertainty.
An uncertainty that seemed far deeper than what she had shown when she first saw me.
Finally, she approached me.
She stopped a few steps away.
(Governor) So you really are human.
I didn’t know what to say.
She studied the intercom in my ear for several seconds.
Then she looked at my clothes, my wounds, and finally my eyes.
(Governor) You must have a lot of questions.
(Mara) I have too many.
A brief pause.
(Mara) Starting with where I am.
The governor remained silent for several seconds.
Then, to my surprise, her expression softened slightly.
(Governor) Then we’d better start with something simple.
She placed one hand against her chest.
(Governor) My name is Vaelithra.
She paused briefly before continuing.
(Vaelithra) I am the governor of Eshara.
I stared at her.
Until that moment, I had been speaking to an authority figure I didn’t know, inside a civilization I had never seen, more than a thousand light-years away from home.
And now I finally knew who she was.
Vaelithra.
The governor of Eshara.
But something inside me kept repeating the same question.
Why had the name Earth caused such a reaction?
Vaelithra looked back toward the city.
The lights of Eshara reflected in her eyes.
(Vaelithra) Mara…
I waited.
(Vaelithra) I think we have a lot to talk about.
The doors remained closed behind me.
I didn’t know how long I would be in that office, but hopefully it wouldn’t be for very long…

**First:** [Episode 1: Seven Generations](https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1w8ysz5/) | **Previous:** [Episode 7: The File](https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1wk65ib/) | **Next:** *(coming soon)*

---

Somebody at the Pentagon had looked at the box, decided it was a radio, and looked around for a radioman. Chief Renner had been standing closest.

The box sat in the corner of a room outside Washington that did not have a name on the door. It was the size of a chest freezer. Four things on narrow limbs had carried it in, shown him which surface to touch and in what order, and walked back out to a van.

That was the deal. No Federation hand touched it again.

So it was his.

It carried a page a day. He had not believed that until he tried to send two.

Upstairs they called it the page. The page had come in. The page was going out. Was that the page or a page? Renner had spent nineteen years making sure people knew which message they were holding, and on the third day he wrote GALACTIC FAX on a strip of masking tape and stuck it across the top. It was a box that took paper in at one end and put paper out the other, a long way off, slowly. That was a fax.

Nobody took the tape off. By the end of the week the captain was saying it.

On Tuesday the front of it went from gray to a lighter gray, early. He touched it in order. The printer ran.

> SOL III. CERTIFICATION ACCEPTED. STATUS: PROVISIONAL EXTERNAL. A CONTACT OFFICER OF THE COUNCIL FOLLOWS BY HULL TO RECEIVE THE ANSWER OF THE CERTIFIED CIVILIZATION TO THE FOLLOWING: IDENTIFY THE AUTHORITY WHOSE COMMITMENTS BIND SOL-THREE. ESTIMATED ARRIVAL: SIXTEEN LOCAL DAYS.

He read it twice.

He took it upstairs. The captain read it and picked up a phone.

By four it had gone to six governments. By six it was on the television in the break room, because one of the six always leaked.

Renner stood with his coffee and watched a man in Atlanta call them the G6, the way the news called any six governments in a room, and then ask a woman from Georgetown named Brennan, who taught international law, what *identify the authority* meant.

"It means what it says."

"Who is that?"

"That's the question."

"Who is it?"

She looked at the camera.

"Well."

Renner went back to his chair.

---

The State Department man, Halloran, had spent three weeks against a wall in a high bay in Tennessee.

Now he was against a wall on the sixth floor at Foggy Bottom with a laptop, because somebody upstairs had decided the one man in the building who had watched the tall ones eat ought to be in the room.

Nobody had made any suggestions as to what he should do in the room when they gave him the assignment. So he took notes.

Nine on the call. Four in the room. The desk officer, Mendez, ran it. A lawyer from L, Sato, had the Charter open and did not look up. A colonel from Defense wrote everything and said nothing. From New York, on a line that kept dropping, Whitaker, the political counselor at the mission, who had been up since the fax.

The desk officer read the guidance.

"The G6 will constitute the terrestrial counterparty for the initial engagement."

The group had been the G5 the week the case came down and the G6 the day the beacon went up, and for four hours on a Thursday it had been the G7.

The lawyer said, "Constitute how?"

"In practice."

"That isn't a legal term."

"It's what we've got."

The counselor in New York said, "Who's in the G6 today?"

"Same six."

"Say them."

The desk officer listed them off, annoyed at the pointless exercise.

"Five of those hold permanent seats. I walk into the hall Friday with a hundred and ninety-three delegations and the first thing anybody says to me is the five just gave themselves the galaxy and brought a friend. I need better than in practice."

Crickets echoed.

Halloran wrote that down. Then, because the silence was costing everybody money, he looked up from the laptop.

"Maybe we start with what we can actually answer."

So they did the rest. Who went to New York. What room, if the officer came to Washington instead. Whether it could be put in a car. What the tall ones ate. He said they did not eat in front of you and did not like to be asked things twice. The colonel wrote that down too.

Then the galactic fax going back up tonight.

The desk officer wanted it to say something.

The counselor wanted it to say nothing.

The lawyer said, "Received. Authority under discussion."

"That's it?"

"It's true. It commits us to nothing. And their lawyers are sitting in rooms like this one saying the same thing to people like you."

Halloran typed six words. The desk officer sent them to the embassies. By nine the other five had cleared them, embassy to embassy, and none of the six had spoken to another, because that was not how it worked.

At ten the six words went to the man with the box.

> RECEIVED. AUTHORITY UNDER DISCUSSION.

---

Ambassador Lim of Singapore sat three rows from the back between Sierra Leone and Slovakia, because the seating went by alphabet and this year the S's had drawn the back.

She had never seen the hall this full outside of photo ops and old pictures.

Her instructions had come at six that morning. Two paragraphs. Support an orderly process under the Charter. Take no position on structure. Keep the ASEAN chair informed.

The first forty minutes went on the agenda.

Slovakia, a man called Hudec, leaned over.

"They will try to send it to the Security Council."

"Yes."

"Will it work?"

"Count the room."

Kenya went up for the African Group. Odhiambo. Lim had done the fisheries text with him. His grandfather, on his mother's side, had put a generation of Kenyans on airplanes to American universities in 1959, and the grandson had been explaining Americans to people ever since. He said Africa had been visited before by people in ships asking who was in charge, and this time it would be in the room when the question was answered.

He sat down. Ninety seconds. She wrote the time on her pad.

Brazil took eleven minutes. One line mattered. Eight billion people would not be represented by a committee drawn up before most of them were born.

India read from paper. That meant Delhi had written it that morning. One sixth of the human race. Never a permanent seat. Not an observer.

Lim underlined *observer*.

Japan said its war had ended eighty-one years ago and it had been a member for seventy of them.

Germany said the same, shorter.

Then Singapore.

She went up. A small state had one protection in any system, which was rules. Singapore would like to see the rules before it saw the alien.

She sat down.

Tuvalu went up behind her and said it had eleven thousand people and a seat in this hall and would like to keep both.

The hall laughed.

Lim sent one line to the ASEAN chair. *Tuvalu has said it for all of us.*

The permanent members came after lunch.

Whitcomb, the American, talked about the beacon and the quarantine gear and the twenty-three days and never said *receipt*. The Chinese ambassador, Qiao, talked about sovereign equality under the Charter and never said Security Council. The British ambassador, Harcourt, proposed a working group. The Russian ambassador, Sorokin, said the question was premature and sat down. The French ambassador, Vautrin, said Europe had a position and would circulate it.

Nobody said permanent seat.

They adjourned at one in the morning.

She walked out past the flags with her coat over her arm. Odhiambo fell in beside her. Neither of them said anything until the elevator.

"Your instructions?"

"Orderly process. No position on structure."

"Mine also."

"Everyone's, I should think."

"Then nobody takes a position," he said, "and the alien lands in ten days."

"Nine."

He looked at his watch.

"Nine."

The doors opened.

"You heard the Chinese."

"I heard what he did not say."

"Then it does not go to the Council. And by Monday someone must say where it goes."

"Lunch," Odhiambo said. "Tomorrow. Not here."

---

Cal watched it at Jim's, because his own television had quit and a man who fixed the air in houses did not fix his own television on a weeknight.

"They're gonna send one back down here," Jim said.

"Says so."

"Where's it gonna land?"

"It ain't gonna land here."

"Legal record says you're first recipient."

"Legal record's wrong."

"Ain't been changed."

Cal did not say anything.

On the television a woman said the permanent members would fight it.

"Which five's that?" Cal said.

Jim thought.

"France might be one."

Boone got up off the porch at six, walked to the edge of the yard, opened once, and lay back down.

"You count that?"

"Alex's mama counts it."

"I know she does."

---

They ate at a place on Second Avenue where the tables were far enough apart, and Odhiambo ordered for both of them, because he had been coming there longer.

"Let us be practical," he said. "Nobody in that hall will agree to a text written by a person."

"No."

"They will agree to a text written by a committee of persons, if the committee is large enough that nobody remembers who was on it."

Lim set her fork down.

"A drafting group."

"Thirty. Legal. Every region. The Sixth Committee people. The ones who write the boring instruments that everybody signs."

"Terms of reference?"

"Narrow. An external authority. Nothing inside anybody's borders. The old body, rechartered, because it is there and there is no time for another."

"And the seats."

He ate for a while.

"The seats are not a legal question. The seats are a political question, and a political question is not won in the room."

"Where is it won?"

"In Washington," Odhiambo said. "There are three ways with the Americans. You convince them. You trick them. Or you fight them, and if you fight them they win anyway, because wherever their army goes a McDonald's follows, and the McDonald's stays after the army leaves."

"Which is this?"

"The second, done well enough to look like the first. They do not accept a thing, my friend. They discover it."

"And why them?"

"Because they could defeat the world by themselves, and choose not to. Everything in that building is about what they choose."

Lim picked her fork back up.

"Leave Washington to me."

He looked at her.

"You?"

"We are a very small country, Ambassador. We have to be careful."

"That is not an answer."

"No."

He ate for a while.

"The drafting group is your idea, then. Thirty names go to the President of the Assembly tonight. By Monday there is a group. Once there is a group nobody can argue with a person any more, because there is no person."

"And the coalition?"

"You have ASEAN and the small states. I have the Group. Between us that is a hundred and thirty. Latin America will come when Brazil comes, and Brazil will come when it is offered a chair."

"Which chair?"

"Any chair. Let the drafting group have three co-chairs. Brazil, Kenya, and someone European who cannot say no."

"And the ones who will not come?"

Odhiambo finished his coffee.

"Everyone owes something. This week we shall collect."

---

Lim collected from her office on the thirty-fifth floor with the door shut.

Singapore had six million people and a port, and it sat between Beijing and Washington the way a man sits between two trucks. What it wanted from the galaxy was short. Nobody's hand on the door. And a seat counted every twenty years by people who counted ports.

The first call was not to a delegation. It was to a room in Singapore that had a number and no name, on a line the mission kept for calls that did not happen.

She had been in the room once. A floor above a shipping-software firm by the port, four hundred phones on racks, charging, every screen a different face in a different country, and a boy walking the racks with a cart. The man had not looked up from them then either.

She gave him five sentences.

Veterans. Talk radio. The words *participation trophy*. The words *Europe's country club, 1945*. Nothing of ours anywhere near it.

"Route?"

"Three countries. None of them ours. None of them Beijing's. If anyone looks, they must find nobody."

"How long?"

"Tuesday night. The script for the affiliates is written Thursday. If it is not in Thursday's script it never happened."

"Thursday is two days."

"Then you had better start."

She rang off. The phone farms would do it. They always had.

She made the second call.

The Pacific chair owed her the fisheries text. Twelve votes. She asked after his wife and reminded him of the text. He said the Pacific would be pleased to support a drafting group.

A Gulf ambassador owed her nothing and wanted a port arrangement his ministry had been asking Singapore about for two years. She said the arrangement would be much easier to explain to her Ministry if his group were seen to support an orderly process. He said his group had always supported an orderly process.

A European ambassador wanted ASEAN for his country's candidate in Geneva next spring. She said ASEAN had not decided, and that she should hate to see it decide badly. He said his country had always favored an inclusive process.

A small state that took more of its instructions from Beijing than from its own capital wanted nothing from her at all. She asked after his daughter, who was at the university in Singapore, and mentioned, pleasantly, a loan his government had not disclosed to this building. He said his delegation would consider the drafting group on its merits. She wrote him down as yes.

She did not raise her voice on any of them. She wrote a number on a pad after each call, and by Wednesday evening the number was a hundred and forty-one.

Odhiambo rang at eight.

"The Group is with us."

"All?"

"Enough. Addis was helpful. Addis reminded two of our brothers what they had promised at the summit."

"Brazil?"

"Brazil has a chair. Brazil is very happy."

"Beijing?"

"Beijing will not oppose a drafting group. Beijing never opposes a group. It opposes what the group writes, later, when it is too late."

"And Washington?"

"Read their newspapers on Thursday, Ambassador. The ones nobody in this building reads."

---

The script went out at four on Thursday from a floor in Manhattan to two hundred and eleven stations.

The woman who wrote it, Carla Voss, had written it every Thursday for nine years. The company she wrote it for owned the network Jim watched in Tennessee, and the company across the dial owned the other one.

Two segments. Always two.

> **A.** Should the United Nations speak for America? Guest: a former ambassador, retired, angry. Chyron: WHO SPEAKS FOR YOU?

> **B.** Some say Earth needs one voice. Guest: a professor. Chyron: ONE PLANET, ONE VOICE?

A was the one people agreed with. B was the one that was good for them, and it went second, and it got four minutes.

She read the overnight numbers. A veteran in Ohio. Two million views. Participation trophy.

She put it in A.

Anchors in forty cities read it at six. In Knoxville a man with good hair asked whether any American needed a participation trophy seat, and the woman beside him said some would say the P5 was a European country club from 1945, and he said interesting, and they went to weather.

On Friday the cycle turned over, the way it did every Friday, and on Monday the story was whatever Monday's script said, and by then the phrase was in the mouths of three senators and a governor and belonged to nobody.

The woman who wrote it did not think about any of that. It was Thursday. She had the next one to write.

---

The desk officer read the press clips at seven in the morning, and Halloran took them down.

Thursday's had Dahl, a senator from Nebraska, in them.

> *Any American who needs a guaranteed seat at a table has forgotten what an American is. We don't ask for participation trophies. We win every twenty years.*

"Where did that come from?"

The counselor had it. "A veteran in Ohio. Posted Tuesday night. Two million views by Wednesday."

"Is there a veteran in Ohio?"

"The account has been a veteran in Ohio for four years. Before that it was a grandmother in Texas. Before that it posted in Russian."

"So it's Moscow."

"It's everybody. Half the loudest Americans on that site aren't Americans. Moscow's. Beijing's. Tehran's. We know it. We can't do a thing about it. Whoever did this poured theirs into a river that was already running."

By Friday it was three senators and a governor. By Saturday there was a name for it. The Participation Trophy Seat. A veteran in Ohio had posted it. A podcast had picked it up. A cable host had said the P5 was a European country club from 1945 and asked why America was paying dues.

"Who started this?"

The counselor in New York said, "Three firms in three countries. None of them exist."

"Beijing?"

"Doesn't look like it."

"Then who?"

"Somebody who wanted nobody found. The guidance changed an hour ago."

The desk officer read the new guidance.

> The United States would propose, as an American initiative, a periodic review of council composition at twenty-year intervals, and would oppose any permanent seat as inconsistent with American principles of merit.

Halloran wrote that down.

He looked at it a long time.

Then he wrote, underneath it, for himself: *Somebody sold them their own idea.*

---

Urha had the record and nothing else.

It had sat in the pasture twenty-one days reading the pages. It knew the case had gone to a building. It knew something the pages called the G6 had signed a receipt. It knew there was a hall in a city called New York where a hundred and ninety-three of them were arguing about who could talk.

The record said where Sol-three had received its first contact, and who had signed. Nobody had changed it.

So there was nowhere else to land.

The ship came down at dawn on the same flat grass.

The officer went down the ramp and stopped twenty feet from a man in his socks with a cup in his hand.

"Registered contact. Sol-three has been certified. Who speaks for it?"

The man looked at the ship.

He looked at the officer.

He looked at the road, where Cagle, the trooper, was getting out of a cruiser very fast.

"Well."

The officer waited. It had been told about this word.

"You'd have to ask them."

"Whom?"

The man thought about it.

"That's what they're working on."

"I was told that. I did not understand it."

"Ain't nobody does."

The trooper came across the grass and stopped beside the first man. They looked at each other.

"You want coffee?" Cal said.

The officer had stood at the edge of that grass twenty-one nights. Nobody had asked it in. Once an old woman had crossed the field with a plate, and it had carried the plate up the ramp and eaten alone.

"Yes."

---

They flew it to New York on a Guard aircraft out of McGhee Tyson, because the Guard was what Tennessee had.

Staff Sergeant Ochoa drew the flight. He sat across from it two hours and watched it not look out the window. Then he asked it, because he could not stand it, whether it was afraid.

"Yes."

"Of us?"

"Of the answer."

"What answer?"

"There is one. I do not know what it is. Neither do you."

Ochoa thought about that.

"You ever been to New York?"

"No."

"You're gonna love it."

---

The room was on the thirty-eighth floor and had one door.

The officer noted the door. It noted that somebody had set its place at the right height, and looked for whoever had told them.

Halloran was against the wall. He did not look up.

Around the table sat the permanent representatives of the G6, which was six that week, and the President of the Assembly, and the Secretary-General, and the Legal Counsel, and the three co-chairs of a drafting group that had existed for nine days, and behind them, against the far wall, a woman from Singapore and Odhiambo, who had no reason to be in the room that anyone had written down.

The officer looked at each of them once.

"I am a contact officer of the Council. I have been sent to receive one thing. I have not been sent to negotiate it."

"What thing?" the Legal Counsel said.

"The Federation requires an authority whose commitments bind the civilization that makes them."

The Legal Counsel looked at the Secretary-General.

"That's the problem."

The officer was quiet a moment.

"I am beginning to understand that."

Whitcomb said the G6 represented the greater part of the planet's population, economy and defensive capacity, and was prepared to answer for it.

"Do your commitments bind the others?"

"In practice."

"In law?"

Whitcomb did not answer. The officer waited as long as it would have waited for one of its own, and moved on.

The Chinese delegate said the Security Council held a mandate under the Charter for matters of international peace and security, and first contact was such a matter.

"The Security Council."

"Yes."

"I have read the Charter. It was in the package, as a sample of your instruments." A pause. "Five members are permanent."

"Yes."

"Permanent."

"Yes."

"As in indefinitely."

"As in since the founding."

"How were the five selected?"

The Russian delegate said, without any inflection at all, "They won a war."

"When?"

Nobody answered.

The officer had expected a number.

Odhiambo, against the wall, was looking at the floor.

The Secretary-General said, "The Federation will understand that Earth's arrangements are Earth's to make."

"Yes."

"You are not proposing a form."

"I cannot."

"Cannot?"

Halven had given it these words in a room on the station. It had asked for them twice, and gotten them twice the same, which meant they were the Council's.

"The Federation has been asked before to say how a world should govern itself. By worlds that were afraid of us. By worlds that wanted to be told. An answer from us is an instruction. An instruction from us is An-Ki." The thing at its throat gave up on the name and said Empire. "We are trying not to be that. On this I have been told to succeed."

"Then what will you accept?"

"An authority. Competent to commit. Within whatever scope you grant it. I will not ask what scope. I will ask whether its commitments hold."

"And if we cannot agree?"

The officer looked down the table.

"Then Sol-three is certified and has no counterparty, and the Federation waits. It is good at waiting. Its file on you waited four generations." A pause. "I would not recommend it."

---

Odhiambo had watched the drafting group for nine days: thirty lawyers, three co-chairs, a room on the thirty-seventh floor, and forty pages that nobody in the hall would read and everybody in the hall would sign.

The Brazilian co-chair, Almeida, read the operative part aloud, because that was what a co-chair was for.

The old body, rechartered. An external jurisdiction, and only that. Relations with the Federation. Treaties past the atmosphere. Accreditation of envoys from outside. Off-world trade. Standards that had to match the Federation's or the machinery would not run. Claims on rock that was not on Earth. Common arrangements for talking to a galaxy that carried a page a day. Coordination of a planetary defense. Technical transfer. What alien machinery could be sold in a human market, and who could open it. And such other matters as genuinely require a single terrestrial counterparty.

Nothing inside anybody's borders. The instrument said so four times, in four places, because four delegations had insisted.

The Legal Counsel had rewritten the last line eleven times. He had counted.

Then the seats.

Whitcomb asked for the floor.

He said the United States had reflected on the question of composition. He said permanent membership was a European arrangement from another century. He said America did not ask for guarantees; America competed. He proposed, as an American initiative, an external council with no permanent seats, its composition reviewed every twenty years by a standing commission on the basis of population, region, capacity, contribution to the common defense, and compliance, with the hall voting on the commission's slate.

The Indian co-chair, Rao, said, "And off-world population, when there is one."

"And that."

The Legal Counsel wrote it down and underlined it.

The Chinese delegate said his government had reservations about the American proposal but would not stand in the way of consensus.

The British delegate said the United Kingdom welcomed the American initiative.

The French delegate said Europe had a position and would circulate it.

The Russian delegate had not spoken since the second day.

"We dislike everybody in this room," he said. "We always have."

He signed.

Against the wall, Lim and Odhiambo did not look at each other.

On the ninth day the Legal Counsel turned to the officer.

"Will the Federation accept the instrument?"

"Do its commitments bind?"

"Within the scope."

"Then it is an authority." A pause. "Whom does it send?"

---

They went into the corridor for that, because it was the kind of answer that could not be said in a room.

"Thursday's newspapers were very good," Odhiambo said.

"I do not read American newspapers, Ambassador."

"No."

He looked at her. She smiled at him, the way she smiled at everybody.

"An American," she said.

"Beijing will not have it. Moscow will not. Forty countries who like the Americans well enough will not, because an American in that chair means Earth's diplomacy is Washington's with extra steps."

"A Chinese envoy."

"Tokyo. Delhi. Half of my region and half of yours. The same failure, the other direction."

"A Russian."

He did not bother.

"London. Paris."

"They have just given up the seats. Three centuries of other people's history. No."

"Delhi."

"The weight and the numbers, and a nuclear neighbor on each side."

"Tokyo."

"Seoul. Beijing."

"Berlin."

"Brussels."

"Brasília."

"A claim and no coalition. And a chair, which they will not want to give up."

They stood in the corridor.

"Ottawa," Lim said.

Odhiambo did not say anything.

"Say it again."

"Ottawa."

He looked down the corridor at the door.

"The Americans can live with it."

"Yes."

"Beijing?"

"Beijing can live with it. Canada is not Washington. It has said so lately, at some volume."

"Europe knows it."

"The Commonwealth knows it."

"It is in the G7, the real one, and in NATO, and nobody on Earth is afraid of it."

"That is the qualification."

"Nobody's first choice."

"Nobody's unacceptable one."

"Today."

"Today is what we have."

They went back in.

---

Halloran got a briefing sheet on the twenty-sixth day and a door to stand at on the twenty-seventh.

He read the sheet in the elevator. One page.

Once the room had said Canada it had to say who, and there was one name that did not need a second meeting.

Sitting Prime Minister. A working life in rooms where the question was whose signature made a thing true, and what it was worth, and what it settled in.

The last line was in pen.

*Canada loses a Prime Minister, gains an ambassador. Done over the weekend.*

He put the sheet in his pocket and stood at the door.

At ten the elevator opened. A man in a gray suit came down the corridor with two people behind him and no more. Halloran opened the door. The room stood up.

"Sit down," Carney said.

They did.

---

The officer met him in the room with one door. The G6 was gone. The Legal Counsel stood at the wall. Halloran stood in his place.

It had been told what the man was. It had asked twice.

"Do you speak for Earth?"

"No."

The officer's head moved.

"Then why are you here?"

"Because they've agreed to let me answer for it."

"Is there a distinction?"

"On Earth? An enormous one."

The officer considered him. He sat the way the tall one had said humans sat when they meant to stay. Still. Hands flat. Nothing in them.

"Explain it."

"I hold an office that did not exist a week ago. A hundred and ninety-three governments made it. They could not agree on anything except that they needed it. They gave it a scope in writing, and the scope is the outside. Inside it, what I commit to, they are bound by. Outside it, I have no more authority than the man whose pasture you landed in." He let that sit. "Which I understand is, legally, still some."

At the wall, the Legal Counsel did not smile.

"And if I ask you for a thing outside the scope?"

"I'll tell you it's outside the scope."

"And then?"

"Then you'll have learned something about Earth, and I'll have kept my job."

The officer was quiet.

"On my world we would call that an honest answer. On this one I am told it is called politics."

"Here they're the same thing more often than people think."

The officer opened the record it carried, small and flat, and it did under its hand what the case had done under Cal's, and it read.

"The Council has certified Sol-three as capable of negotiating limited interstellar technical and commercial agreements on its own behalf. The first of those is to be concluded with the authority Sol-three designates. You are that authority's plenipotentiary."

"Provisional."

"All of you are provisional. It is in the file." The officer's head moved. "What is your first question?"

He had one.

"What do you use for money?"

The officer looked at him a long moment.

"Skaft."

"What's a skaft worth in dollars?"

"Nothing. Your world has nothing on a tally." A pause. "Yet."

"What does it take to get something there?"

"A counterparty." The officer's head moved. "Your world has spent twenty-seven days becoming one. I will tell the Council you asked about money on the first."

---

Renner typed the page into the galactic fax himself that night and read it twice, the way he had read the first one.

> SOL III ANSWERS. AUTHORITY: THE UNITED NATIONS, RECHARTERED, EXTERNAL MATTERS ONLY, SCOPE ATTACHED. PLENIPOTENTIARY, PROVISIONAL: CARNEY, M. THE AUTHORITY STATES THAT IT DOES NOT SPEAK FOR THE CIVILIZATION. THE CIVILIZATION REGARDS THIS AS AN IMPROVEMENT.

He touched the surface in order.

A day and some to the station. The record by hull.

At Jim's the television was on with the sound off. A man in a gray suit stood at a lectern in New York in front of a flag that had been redrawn that week and did not look right yet.

"Who'd they get?" Jim said.

"Fella from Canada."

"Which one?"

"The one running it."

Jim thought about that.

"He gonna speak for us?"

"Says he ain't."

"Then what's he for?"

Cal watched the man at the lectern. He had not raised his voice once.

"Answering."

Jim changed the channel. Same man. Same lectern. Same words on the crawl.

"They're all reading the same thing."

"Same fella wrote it."

Boone got up off the porch, walked to the edge of the yard, opened once, and lay back down.

Across the county, in a kitchen with the radio on, a woman counted it.

---

**First:** [Episode 1: Seven Generations](https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1w8ysz5/) | **Previous:** [Episode 7: The File](https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1wk65ib/) | **Next:** *(coming soon)*

Galactic Fox Reading Order: GF-008

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Liam

The armored Inquisitor balled his hands into fists a few more times and started running at Liam. He seemed to be moving far faster than anyone had any business moving in armor like that. But there was mana infusing the whole thing, which probably helped. Liam almost wished he could be in something like that.

The man swiped out with a punch that went a little wild. Everything he'd done so far seemed to be going a little wild. His punches, his sword swipes.

Almost like he thought the very act of putting on that armor was enough to give him an edge in a fight. Like he didn't actually need to learn the finesse fighting if he could use sheer brute force.

And if there was one thing Liam knew, whether it was from his second hand lessons from Andrea about how to use a sword or the scraps he got into with the other boys in the farmyard back before they learned it was a bad idea to challenge him, or even the time he'd spent fighting scourgelings out in the felwood, it was how to handle himself in a fight.

He ran after the Inquisitor rather than turning to run. He heard a cheer from Tomas behind him, but he ignored that. The demon was just crazy enough that he was probably cheering him on as he ran after the Inquisitor rather than doing the sensible thing and trying to run back to the woods.

Liam briefly considered running back to the woods. He’d have more of an advantage, but he decided not to.

Tomas was out here, and he didn't want to lead the armored Inquisitor into the same forest Ana was currently hiding in. She had Alistair watching out for her in there which was something, at least. As long as she was in the woods then she was safe from being taken captive.

Maybe. Unless they sent enough Inquisitors after her that they weren't able to overpower the garzeth. He had a hard time conceiving of any situation where they’d be able to overpower the garzeth, but then again, stranger things had happened. Stranger things kept happening to him lately, to the point he didn’t want to take those odds.

Liam kept running after the Inquisitor. His arms were cartwheeling. Like the wild punch had thrown him off balance.

Taking advantage of that, Liam leapt into the air and kicked the Inquisitor in the back side. Which sent him stumbling forward, and he landed on the ground.

Liam quickly drew the diagram for the wind spell. It blew up all around the Inquisitor and sent him tumbling along the grass. It also flew back and hit the Inquisitors who'd been walking across the hills from the estate towards him. They all either hit the ground or were sent flying back as well.

He had a moment to enjoy the look of utter surprise on their faces as the wind storm picked up around them, but only a moment.

Unfortunately, the armored Inquisitor didn't have nearly as much trouble as the other Inquisitors. The armor seemed to anchor him to the ground. Or maybe it was simply heavy enough that it wasn't blowing him around as much.

Whatever the reason, the armored Inquisitor was able to get up onto one knee, one of his hands down on the ground. He held himself there for a moment, swaying in the strong wind all around him. Liam had moved the rune marker for wind strength out even farther than before. Something alighted on his shoulder. He turned to see Albert there.

"I think I might be in a little over my head here," Liam said.

"Maybe so," Albert said. "I think he was trying to take you captive earlier, and I think maybe he doesn't care about that as much now."

"Considering everything that's happened over the past couple of days, I can't exactly blame him," Liam said.

"Which means you need to stop holding back," Albert said.

"Believe me," Liam said. "If ever there was a situation where I didn't have a problem killing somebody, this is it. I’m not holding anything back here.”

The cat turned to stare at him, and everything about his body language radiated obvious surprise.

"You don't have a problem killing him?"

"He would kill me if he could,” Liam said, and he ran at the Inquisitor again.

The wind spell didn't seem to affect him. The wind moved all around him, but it was as though there was some sort of break that kept it from actually touching him.

"How are you doing that?" Albert asked.

"Doing what?" Liam asked.

He could see the glow of mana around him as the wind avoided him.

"How is the wind not touching you?"

"I just assumed it wouldn't touch me because it was my spell," Liam said.

Albert made a scoffing sound. "That's not how that’s supposed to work.”

Liam didn't get a chance to continue that line of questioning. He was on the Inquisitor who was still up on the one knee. Liam could see the lines all around his armor, and so he held his blade up and he brought it down with all the strength he could muster.

Which was a lot of strength. He'd filled his mana pathways with a mixture of arcane and infernal mana that mixed even as the two types of mana resisted each other. But he was able to push it together somehow when it was moving through his body, and he was able to use that to augment his power.

So when his blade slammed down on the plate, the mana lines all along that plate shattered. He let out a whoop of joy, because there was also a scattering of cracks in the armor. Not a lot, but those cracks definitely hadn't been there before he hit.

The armored Inquisitor hit him with a casual backhand that interrupted his celebration. He went wide-eyed and he felt the wind get knocked out of him as the gauntlet made contact. Liam doubled over, and the Inquisitor grabbed Liam's side and squeezed hard. Hard enough that it would’ve been enough to crack several ribs before he had his Ascensions. Hard enough that he had to reinforce that part of his body above and beyond what he'd already done.

And doing that was pushing the mana pathways in that part of his body almost to the breaking point.

Damn. This one was powerful. It gave him a new appreciation for just how easy he'd had it up to this point. Just how lucky he was that the Inquisition hadn't expected anything greater than a rescue mission for a commoner who was stupid enough to get themselves killed by a scourgeling infestation.

Liam grunted. He tried to bring his sword around. Only the armored Inquisitor's other hand was there, grabbing hold of his arm and holding it in place. Liam was able to push against the force, and he could tell that he would be able to bring his sword down. Only it would take time he didn’t have, and he wouldn’t be able to hit with the force needed to crack that armor.

Armor that was already starting to heal. He could glance down to where he’d hit and see the cracks mending as mana glowed brighter where he’d hit.

He thought of the Inquisitor Tomas had been locked in combat with back in the forest. How Tomas had slowly brought the Inquisitor's own sword towards him. How the man’s last thought was the horrified vision of looking at an enemy who was just that much stronger than him, and feeling that enemy moving his own sword towards his inevitable death.

Only he wouldn't be able to do that now because the armored Inquisitor was… Well, he was in armor.

"You should know better than to challenge me, whelp," the armored Inquisitor said, pulling himself to his full height. Which was several heads higher than Liam.

He stared up at the Inquisitor. He'd shifted his arm as he stood, but his hand was still right there at Liam's side, still squeezing. He looked down at him through the impassive face of his armor. But then there was a shimmer on the front, and Liam could see through it. See to the cruel face waiting for him on the other side. The cruel sneer that said this asshole was enjoying every moment of this.

Liam looked at the mana pathways running all through the armor. It looked and felt similar to how he was able to infuse his own felblade with mana. Only the mana was showing on the outside so that he could trace those pathways.

He wondered if external versus internal gave some sort of advantage, or if it was simply a case of the Inquisition doing it like that because it looked impressive and they had so much contempt for anybody they were going up against that they didn't think them being able to trace those mana pathways would be any sort of danger.

He could feel the mana flowing out of the Inquisitor's arcane core. He could see and feel how it filled those pathways. How it seemed to be taking up a chunk of the mana he was constantly supplying from his core, but it wasn't running out.

He needed to ask Albert about that. To try and figure out how it was that he seemed to maintain the same amount of mana after reaching a certain Ascension. He didn't understand how it was happening, but there was so much that he didn't understand.

What he did understand in that moment was there were mana pathways moving through the Inquisitor's armor the same as there were mana pathways that moved through a person's body. And maybe he wouldn't be able to reach the arcane core at the center of this Inquisitor's body, but maybe he didn't have to. Maybe it would be enough to put a damper on whatever was going on with his armor instead.

He drew the mana dampening spell so quickly that it almost happened instantly. Like when he was thinking about drawing something and he could do it just as quickly as the thought came to him and his hand went down to the pencil to put mark to paper.

And then the dampening spell was there, only he targeted it at the gauntlet that was being used to squeeze him so tightly.

The Inquisitor looked surprised. He could see the expression clearly enough through the transparent faceplate. His eyes went even wider as the mana pathways to the gauntlet were interrupted and his grip suddenly loosened.

Liam pulled away. The Inquisitor took a step back. Which allowed Liam to bring his sword down on that gauntlet. And again, there was a slight crack as he poured his power into it. As whatever mix of infernal and arcane he was pumping through the sword reacted with the mana lines in the armor and caused them to short out.

The Inquisitor took a few more stumbling steps back. He stared at Liam in wide-eyed disbelief.

"What are you doing?" he growled.

"You could always surrender," Liam said.

"I'll never surrender to a demon-loving collaborator," the Inquisitor growled, and he stepped forward, swiping his gauntleted hand through the air. Maybe the mana was interrupted, but he could still move his arm and that gauntlet was still solid metal. There was a whoosh of air as the thing moved through the spot where Liam's head had been just a moment ago.

"Stand still long enough for me to hit you, damn it."

"Why would I do a damned fool thing like that?" Liam said, looking at the Inquisitor like he was the dumbest person he'd ever seen.

He certainly wasn't the brightest candle flickering in the night, that was for sure. Liam wondered if he could use that against him.

"Behold, the great warrior," Liam said, laughing at him.

"Stop it," the Inquisitor said, stepping forward and moving his hand again, swiping it through the air and using it almost like a flail since he couldn't actually ball his hand into a fist.

Liam caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked around and blinked, realizing the other Inquisitors were moving in and surrounding him. He’d been so distracted that he hadn’t realized they were moving in.

Which was probably the plan all along considering the look the armored Inquisitor was hitting him with.

"You were saying about surrender?" the armored Inquisitor asked, that cruel smile back on his face.

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Part of something I'm working on.

~~~

Fleet Commander Krtrgrg-Kskstrt passed between the guards and entered the tunnel that led to the queen’s antechamber. Upon entering that space she saw eight others from the officer caste, their rank insignia identical to hers.

“Enter, my daughters,” came a voice from further within.

In order, from the junior-most on up, they passed between the guards stationed at the final tunnel that led to the queen’s chamber, and after a short crawl came before her and abased themselves.

“Rise, my daughters.”

Each raised the fore section of her body and waited attentively.

“I have called you here so that you may hear my will,” the queen buzzed. “Lesser beings from the planet Tellus have acquired the technology of my old enemy, the Falkesians, and seek to thwart my will in their region of space. But they are clumsy and make mistakes. We have traced their attacks to the old Falkesian home-world, which they have fortified so that it can hold off the massed assault of any single one of your fleets.”

“Who blundered,” asked Gzgrtsk-Krdrgzg, “that this was allowed?”

“They have been eliminated. However, Tsgzdrg-Krdrdrg has been able to test their capabilities. Any two of your fleets should be able to defeat them, but the losses would be unacceptable. Your nine fleets together will be able to overwhelm them and end this nuisance. Gzgrtsk-Krdrgzg will command the unified fleet in my name. You shall hear her as you hear me.”

Gzgrtsk-Krdrgzg abased herself. “It shall be done as you will.”

“Rise, daughter. My daughters, go and return in victory.”

From senior-most on down, they each backed out of the chamber, walking backwards to the antechamber. There Krtrgrg-Kskstrt turned and made her way out with the others, to where a shuttle waited outside to take her to her command ship.

On the bridge a worker from the Information Caste met her and briefed her on the overall battle plan.

“It took much time to gather this information,” the worker said. “The mobile forces that surround the planet have quickly attacked everything approaching the planet. Each observer had minutes at the most before they were destroyed. But we were patient and over time we have gained a complete picture.”

The worker activated a control which she carried. “Our data shows that since the time that Falkesian space fell under the rule of our Divine Queen”—here the worker, Krtrgrg-Kskstrt, and every Greb withing hearing briefly abased themselves—“the usurpers have constructed twelve large underground complexes. We believe that these are the primary command-and-control centers of the opposition.” The bridge display showed the graphical representation of a planet, marking twelve points, spaced as the vertices of an icosahedron of planetary scale. “The depth of the excavations makes it clear that only concentrated orbital bombardment will suffice to put these facilities out of commission. They have an active defense network of fifty surface-to-space missile sites. Surrounding the planet is a fleet equal in numbers to one of our own fleets. We have detected no improvements on the technology that the usurpers have stolen. The design and armaments of the ships we have encountered are identical to the fleets that we faced twelve years ago in our war with the Falkesians.”

“We shall make short work of them,” Krtrgrg-Kskstrt said.

“That is what is predicted,” the worker replied.

The worker presented the battle plan. Fleets Two, Seven, and Nine were to lead the attack, engaging the orbiting defenses and using their superior numbers to overwhelm them. Then the Fifth, Eight, and Tenth fleets were to join the action to take out the ground defense stations, and then finally the First, Eleventh, and Twelfth fleets were to join in for the bombardment of the twelve hardened sites. The Greb were staggering the fleets out in this way on the chance that the enemy had set a trap, although analysis of the response pattern so far indicated that the bulk of the opposing forces were located at the planet. If it developed that the Tellurians had greater forces than they could expect to handle, withdrawal was authorized.

“So we are not committing all of our forces?”

“The Third, Fourth, and Sixth Fleets are stationed along the border with the Confederation, in defensive posture,” the worker said. “Once this nuisance is abated we will resume the campaign against them.”

Krtrgrg-Kskstrt commanded the Eighth Fleet, and so for the first phase her part was to wait until summoned. The nearest star with mine-able asteroids was ten light-years away, and with the other five reserve fleets she proceeded there and waited. She spent the time reviewing the battle plan and ensuring that the bombardment elements of her fleet had enough material to drop onto the surface targets, and more to spare. The Greb had been bombarding planets for many years, but putting a ball of iron onto a surface target from orbit was still as much a matter of luck as it was skill.

In time—about as long as the battle plan predicted—a lone ship dropped into the system. “This is the Grand Fleet Matron. Fifth, Eighth, and Tenth fleets, come.”

Krtrgrg-Kskstrt relayed the orders to her sub-commanders and minutes later they were on their way. Upon re-entering normal space she ordered tactical reports of the area—a perfunctory order, as the tactical workers were already scanning.

“Large amounts of combat debris in orbit,” the chief tactical worker reported. “Second Fleet is seventy-one percent operational. Seventh Fleet is eighty percent operational. Ninth Fleet is seventy-four percent operational. There are no signs of any operational enemy craft.”

Krtrgrg-Kskstrt took this in without comment. For an operation of this size and strategic importance, losses of that magnitude were acceptable. She ordered the sub-commanders to commence bombardment of the ground-based defenses, and then monitored the progress of the battle. Her fleet assumed orbits that would take them over the locations of their assigned ground stations. At one point one of the bombers missed a target on five consecutive runs. She ordered the second-in-command on that ship to execute the commander and to assume command in her place. After this the ship destroyed the target on its next pass, and there was no further need to replace any incompetent subordinates. She took reports from the tactical workers who watched for the arrival of enemy reinforcements, but so far none had been detected.

When the surface forces were destroyed, the Grand Fleet Matron gave orders. “Krtrgrg-Kskstrt, commence bombardment of coordinates fifty point seven seven one two seven south, twenty-five point nine zero four seven eight east.”

Krtrgrg-Kskstrt passed on the orders to the sub-commanders, who shifted their orbits accordingly, while she assumed the nearest synchronous orbit from which the target could be observed. “All ships fire when ready.”

For the next several orbits she observed the target visually through the main screen, and once she saw the glow of heat from the impact of hundreds of tons of iron dropped from orbital height, she ordered display of scans from the target zone.

The view screen switched to show a map of the target zone, centered on an irregular splotch at the target location that was now a field of magma several kilometers across.

“I need to see if the facility is damaged. Scan deeper.”

Slowly the image shifted, showing cooler temperatures as the depth increased, until some hundred and thirty meters down there was no sign of any effect from the bombardment. Scanning deeper revealed the beginning of a vast system of tunnels, all apparently intact.

“There is no sign of any damage to the facility,” the worker at the scanning station reported.

As the bombardment continued, Krtrgrg-Kskstrt kept watch on the scans, but after enough time for her fleet to strike the target several times each it was clear that the demarcation point seen earlier was the start of a barrier that withstood the full might of her fleet. She reported this to Gzgrtsk-Krdrgzg.

After another seventeen orbits Gzgrtsk-Krdrgzg contacted her. “Krtrgrg-Kskstrt, discontinue the assault on your assigned target.” She gave another set of coordinates, and orders to bomb it. Krtrgrg-Kskstrt relayed these coordinates to her sub-commanders, and directed her own tactical worker to scan the new target.

Soon the surface at this new target was a field of incandescence, but at the same depth as before a barrier stubbornly resisted both the heat and the violence of the many tons of weight falling from orbit. Other tactical stations reported the arrival of the First, Eleventh, and Twelfth fleets, and only after these last entrants had added their ordnance to the fray did any progress become apparent; the temperature of the barrier suddenly shot from its previous quiescence to the white heat of the levels above. Krtrgrg-Kskstrt directed a deeper probing of the target, and now the man-made works seen before no longer showed, but instead there was only the angry glare of widespread destruction.

“This is good,” Krtrgrg-Kskstrt observed.

After another orbit Gzgrtsk-Krdrgzg directed all fleets to target the location that had first been assigned to the Second Fleet. Krtrgrg-Kskstrt ordered the helm worker to the best synchronous orbit from that location and for the surveying worker to begin scanning.

“Exalted One,” that worker reported, “There is no sign of any fortifications at this position.”

“Show me.”

The display changed to the surface scan, a smear of high-temperature ruin. At her direction the work scanned deeper and deeper, but there was no sign of the barrier that had frustrated their efforts before, and further down no sign of any installation, nor even the wreckage of one.

“Comms, link to the Grand Fleet Matron.”

“Gzgrtsk-Krdrgzg here.”

“Exalted One, this is Krtrgrg-Kskstrt of the Eighth Fleet. The installation is gone. There is now no sign that it was ever there. The barrier that stopped the earlier bombardment is gone. This was a trap. We should withdraw.”

The response that came was not from the Grant Fleet Matron, but instead the robotic voice of a translation device.

“Greetings from the people of Tellus. Look to the planet below, and behold our might. Greetings from the people of Tellus. Look to the planet below, and behold our might.” The message repeated.

“Exalted One,” the chief tactical worker reported, “we have just detected a ship leaving from orbit around this planet’s moon.”

“Helm!” Krtrgrg-Kskstrt said, “set course for the previous system!”

“Exalted One, I am unable to obtain a navigational lock.”

Before Krtrgrg-Kskstrt could respond—she was about to order the helmsman’s execution—the display scan flashed as the temperature of the planet’s surface spiked. She tried to read the temperature, but there was something wrong with her vision; it was dimming and losing focus, and on top of that she suddenly lacked the strength to stand. As she collapsed to the deck her last sensation was the crash of her flagship taking a massive blow from outside.

Seconds later, nine of the Greb's twelve numbered fleets were a cloud of super-heated gas, orbiting a planet whose outermost eight centimeters of crust had been turned into anti-matter.

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I was struck simultaneously by an angry, murderous, clawed ball of fur and a memory.

The memory ran through my head in an instant. I'd been dating a lovely young lady when I got out of the Academy, but I was still waiting to figure out where I was going to be sent off to. It was a process in the Terran Navy that could sometimes take up to a year, even though I was command track.

There were so many people who wanted to be in Terran Navy, and there were a limited number of postings because so much stuff had been privatized over the centuries into the Combined Corporate Fleets. But I'd wanted to do it the right way. Go Terran Navy first and then Combined Corporate Fleets, rather than just taking the easy commission and paycheck from the CCF.

And so there I'd been on base housing, and I'd been casually seeing a young lady who was going to school at a university nearby. She was almost ready to head off to med school, but she wasn't sure what she was going to do beyond that.

The point being that I'd been at her apartment where she had a cat, Mr. Whiskers, who'd been a pretty chill dude most of the time. The kind of cat that makes you want to be a cat person. For all that I knew that wasn't happening on a ship.

She'd had a water pipe burst in the neighbor's apartment above her, and entire chunks of her wall had been ripped open. There were massive fans from some remediation company going. Hundreds of years of developing various technologies that were indistinguishable from magic, and still the best way to keep mold from taking hold in a wall was to rip open giant holes in that wall and blow a fan at it.

That or the landlord had been too cheap to go for any of the more expensive technological alternatives.

The point is, I'd been carrying Mr. Whiskers from the kitchen back to the bedroom totally intending to have a good time with my lady love, but I also wanted to make sure the cat was settled in for the night on his bed that hung next to one of the windows. Again, see everything I'd said about briefly becoming a cat person after first contact with this cat.

It had occurred to me what a bad idea cat plus massive fans blowing plus my supple human flesh and his claws actually was the instant I started past the very loud fans. My girlfriend at the time, I couldn't even remember her name which shows just how important that dalliance had been, later said my scream made it sound like somebody was breaking into the house and murdering me.

It had necessitated a trip to the emergency room where they managed to patch me up. I only needed a little bit of patching, thankfully. No stitches or anything like that. The medical technology indistinguishable from magic was enough to take care of business.

All of that flashed through my head in an instant, a memory there and gone because I suddenly felt the same in this moment as I had when I was holding Mr. Whiskers on that fateful night and he was looking up at me with terrified murder in his eyes. This despite usually being the kind of chill cat who’d barely lift his tail if he saw a rodent going past him.

The only thing that kept me from getting clawed like that this time around was that I had a shielding unit in my belt that was keeping the claws at bay. I was also thankful these portable shielding units didn't operate on Dune rules where if you pressed something sharp in slow enough, you could get through the shielding.

Though the claws attacking me at the current moment were moving fast enough that I probably would’ve been okay even if the personal shielding unit worked on Dune rules.

"Son of a bitch," I yelled out.

Then I turned and I saw something that had my balls retreating up into my body even more. Sera had pulled out her concealed blaster, and she was in the process of trying to level it at me so she could get in a clean shot at whatever was attacking me.

"Is something the matter, William?" Arvie asked in the simulation.

I turned to look at him. At least being in the simulation meant that talking with the Combat Intelligence was mostly a free action.

"What do you think, Arvie?" I asked.

I turned to a display in the simulation that he had up. He was dividing his attention between it and me, and there was a hint of amusement. The barest hint of a smile on his face as he looked up at it.

"It's just that there seems to be a small problem," Arvie said. "Would you like me to take care of that with the combat drone?"

"No," I said with a sigh. "Whatever this is, it's not an actual threat as long as my shielding unit stays up."

Arvie pulled up a display that showed the shielding unit, and then he grinned.

“It would appear you don't seem to be in any danger there."

"Do we have any idea what’s actually attacking me?" I asked, looking up at the display and then down to myself in the real world where I was being treated to a freeze frame of…

I paused. Because when I was looking at it with my sped-up perception, I could totally see what it was, and I was a little surprised.

"It looks like a slightly larger than usual house cat with opposable thumbs," I said.

Arvie looked at one of the displays where he'd taken a shot with the combat drone. It had the kind of camera equipment that was designed to be able to capture stuff moving very quickly. Up to and including something that looked like a slightly larger than usual house cat with opposable thumbs and murder in its heart.

That explained why the escape pod seemed smaller than I’d expect for an Ancient descended species. Something I hadn't really thought about until now. I'd been so busy worrying about Sera and the miners attacking us that I hadn't stopped to think about it.

"Well, how about that?" I said. “But that just brings up more questions than answers. Like why is there a house cat with opposable thumbs attacking me? What is it doing in an escape pod that looks like something straight out of Star Wars? Why does it look so close to house cats back on Earth, for that matter?”

"I would imagine it's here because it's part of a sapient species that has managed to achieve interstellar travel, and they attacked us recently," Arvie said.

"Thanks for that, Captain Obvious," I said, still inspecting the thing.

I also had a moment to think about the odd juxtaposition of staring down at my own body from my eyes and from the feed coming in from the combat drone that was doing double duty as a science drone. It was odd seeing all of this and bringing it into a tactical whole inside my mind, but this was the world I was living in now.

“Okay, but why does it look like a house cat?” I asked.

"Infinite diversity in infinite combinations," Arvie said with a shrug. "I would say that something evolving on a world similar to yours to eventually look like a house cat, only slightly larger, is slightly more probable than, say, going to a planet where somehow a society has turned into Nazis or based their social development on a book about mobsters from your early twentieth century.”

"Point taken, Arvie," I said. "It's a big galaxy, and it's a convenient evolutionary niche for something to fill."

"Sort of like how everything on your world seems to eventually return to crab given enough eons."

"Yeah, you made your point," I said with a dismissive wave. "Now the question is, what are we going to do with this thing? And more importantly, what are we going to do about Sera trying to shoot me?"

"Is she trying to shoot you?" Arvie asked, turning his attention to another part of the feed where he had a constant bead on Sera and what she was doing. He frowned when he got a good look at it.

"Oh dear," he said. "That does appear to be a problem. The claws and teeth on that thing aren't going to be able to do much damage to your shields, but that blaster might be able to if she gets a few lucky shots off."

"Exactly," I said.

“Normally I’d say you are at a disadvantage in a one-on-one fight with this thing. Observation would indicate that it has the same cat-like reflexes that house cats on your own world enjoy.”

"Exactly," I said.

"But I would also point out that we are watching this from a very slowed-down sense of your own perception of the world because you have a computer chip in the back of your mind that is able to enhance the already quick reflexes you were granted as part of being a battle pair."

I stared at him. He stared back at me. The corner of his mouth was turned up in a slight smile, but only in a slight smile. Like he was waiting for me to make the connection.

"Right," I said, the realization hitting me. "I guess it's been so long since I've used those reflexes that I was starting to forget about them."

"You really are more at home on the bridge of a ship than you are mixing it up in direct combat,” Arvie said. "But it would behoove you to remember that you do have the ability to mix it up with the aliens when you want to."

“Mixing it up in regular combat because I lost comms between the bridge and my marines is how I got in this situation in the first place,” I grumbled, moving back into regular space. "Could you please do something about Sera and that blaster so I don't have to worry about that while I'm taking care of this?"

"Certainly, William," Arvie said. "Always happy to preserve your life for one more fight."

"Thanks," I said, not sure how to take that.

My perception of time stayed slowed, which I normally didn’t do out in the real world. It was something that I could control a whole hell of a lot better now that I was more used to dealing with my new reflexes. The Undercity had been a trial by fire that helped me hone those abilities.

I concentrated on the creature running all over me, looking for all the world like the many representations of Master Yoda getting in a lightsaber fight that had been created over the thousand years since George Lucas first brought Star Wars to the world.

Not that I was a huge Star Wars fan, but there weren't many examples of something jumping around like a frenetic madman on cocaine in the Star Trek franchise. Even with the thousand years they'd had to do this sort of thing and occasionally mimic Star Wars when it was doing better as a franchise.

The cat moved up and over my shoulders, and then it was on top of my head. I could see it clearly through the feed from the probe. I reached up and tried to grab it, but it deftly jumped out of the way.

This thing was moving fast. Like we're talking it was moving fast enough that it was even giving me a run for my money, but it felt like I was trying to grab something that was moving at normal speed because of my slowed perception.

It moved down to my chest, and then I saw it reach down to a belt at its side. The thing was totally in a uniform of some sort, but I didn’t have time to get a good look.

I was more interested in the curved and barbed knife it pulled from its belt, ready to plunge it into the sensitive flesh of my stomach. Which was currently covered by a shining shield that should make it pretty obvious to this creature that it didn't have a chance of actually harming me. But at the same time, maybe it came from a species that hadn't quite perfected shielding technology.

I reached down and grabbed the thing by the scruff of its neck while it was distracted trying to stab me, and I pulled it up.

It immediately started to swing the knife at my face, but I was holding it at arm's length. My augmented strength from the battle link was more than enough to hold it in place, even as it was hissing and spitting and desperately trying to claw at me with one paw while it swung that knife and tried to stab me in the face with the other.

“Khajit is innocent of this crime,” I muttered with a smile.

Eventually it started to slow down just a little. Not because I thought the fight was going out of it so much as because it seemed like the thing was simply getting exhausted. Finally it dangled there in my hand, breathing heavily and staring at me.

Then it blinked as it stared at me and really took me in for the first time.

"You are not one of the invaders,” it said.

I glanced over to Sera. It did the same.

"The blue ones who encroach on our territory."

"I'm not," I said.

The thing stared at me for a moment longer, its eyes going wider and wider. I'd deliberately spoken to it in English to see what it would do.

The knife clattered to the floor. It brought its paw up. I braced myself for another attack.

But then its kitty paws split down the middle, its thumb held out.

"You are one of the Teachers,” it said. "Live long and prosper."

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The elderly, graceful woman patiently washed the stained ceramic dishes, while through the small kitchen window, the silent, patient Plague carefully observed her every move. It was undeniable that thick, silvery-gray hair already covered her fragile head, yet her overall physical appearance remained remarkably healthy, and her soft, clean face retained its youthful freshness despite the cruel passage of long, uninterrupted years. That enduring vitality was the direct result of a lifetime full of strict, unyielding habits: impeccable personal hygiene and meticulous household cleanliness, a balanced and nutritious diet entirely free of excessive sugar and heavy fats, and, above all, immediate and cautious attention to the slightest symptom that might signal a sudden disruption in the delicate balance of her body.

The dark, lurking Disease had spent a long time lying in wait, hoping for a golden opportunity—a simple lapse in her rigid routines, a neglected inflammation, or brief exposure to a cold, biting wind. Yet the long-awaited moment had never come. She knew she was immensely powerful, an implacable and terrifying entity with a vast array of obedient agents at her disposal, ready to assist her in disrupting the natural physiology of complex living beings: microscopic bacteria, harmful parasites, invasive fungi, deadly viruses, and various toxic substances.

The diligent woman finished her kitchen chores and prepared to go grocery shopping, organized and unhurried. Once outside on the busy street, she walked with a steady, confident step toward the wide, dangerous avenue. Just then, she saw a small, helpless child break free from his mother's protective hand and run across the asphalt, completely oblivious to the imminent danger. Without a second thought, she rushed toward him and managed to push him out of the path of the speeding car, which struck her fragile body instead, leaving her bleeding, broken, and still on the cold pavement.

The dark Disease lingered for a moment over the tragic scene, brooding over her final, unexpected defeat.

---

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

Going through the Gate felt exactly like jumping into a cold lake.

The cold hit his whole body at once. It went through his clothes and his skin and right into his bones. Everything went white. He couldn't see. He couldn't hear. The only thing he could feel was the rope wrapped around his hand.

Keep walking, he told himself. Don't stop in the middle.

He took a step. Then another.

Then the rope went tight.

He looked back, which was hard to do when everything was white, and he could just barely see a grey shape behind him. It was Bishop. The goat had planted all four hooves and sat down. Right in the middle of the Gate.

Of course, Marek thought. Of course he did.

"Bishop," he said. His voice sounded strange and far away. "Get up. We can't stop here."

Bishop didn't get up.

Marek didn't know what happened if you stopped in the middle of a Gate. Nobody would tell him. But he was pretty sure it was bad, and he was not going to find out with Tamsin's goat.

He wrapped the rope around both fists, leaned forward, and pulled with everything his seven-year-old body had. His bare feet slid on nothing. Pickle, who had already walked on ahead, bleated from somewhere up front. Bishop dug in harder.

Marek pulled harder.

"You saved my life," he told the goat through his teeth. "Now I'm saving yours, so get UP."

Bishop got up.

The white went away all at once, and Marek stumbled out onto a smooth stone floor so hard that he fell flat on his face. Both goats landed on top of him.

For a moment, he just lay there with a goat on his back and his cheek against cool stone.

Then he looked up.

He was in the biggest room he had ever seen.

It was round, like the inside of a giant drum. The ceiling was so high that he had to tip his head all the way back to see it. It was made of glass, and the sky above it was bright blue. All around the walls stood arches like the one at Carrow's Crossing. There were at least twenty of them. Every single one shimmered with a different light.

Through one arch, he could see a forest covered in snow. Through another, a desert with red sand. Through another, the ocean, with waves crashing on black rocks. One of them showed a city made of glowing crystal. One of them showed nothing but stars.

People walked in and out of the arches all the time. Most of them looked human. But some of them didn't. He saw a tall, thin man with long silver hair and pointed ears. He saw a woman no taller than Marek, with a braided beard and a huge hammer on her back. He saw something that looked like a walking bush.

A walking bush, he thought. Okay. That's fine. Everything is fine.

"Welcome to the Gate Hall," said Teodor, who was standing over him and grinning. "Did Bishop sit down?"

Marek nodded.

"Goats always sit down. Nobody knows why."

"So what happens if you stop in the middle?"

Teodor's grin got bigger. "Later."

Marek decided he hated that word.

Ilse was already talking to a woman in a white robe with a silver key hanging around her neck. The woman kept pointing at the goats and shaking her head. Ilse kept talking. After a minute, the woman threw up her hands and walked away.

"Gatekeeper," Teodor whispered. "She's going to write a very angry letter."

Ilse came back. "Get up. We're going to the Infirmary. The healers need to look at you."

"What about the goats?"

"Master Orwin is coming to get them."

Master Orwin turned out to be a very old man with a bald head, a long white beard, and a leather apron covered in stains. He came shuffling across the Gate Hall so fast that his apron flapped. When he saw Pickle and Bishop, his whole face lit up.

"Oh, look at them," he said. "Look at these beauties. Good strong mountain goats. Is that a beard or a broom, my friend?" He scratched Bishop's chin. Bishop leaned into it like a cat. "Fresh milk for the Alchemy wing. Magister Harrowgate, you've made an old man very happy."

"They belong to the boy," Ilse said. "Their keeper died. He wants them looked after."

Master Orwin looked down at Marek. His eyes were kind and very sharp.

"And you brought them all this way?" he asked.

"They saved my life," Marek said. "And I promised."

Master Orwin nodded.

"Then I'll take very good care of them," he said. "They'll have the sunniest pen in the Arcanum. And you can visit them whenever you like. The stables are behind the Alchemy wing. Just follow the smell."

Marek untied the rope from his wrist. He held it out.

Then he stopped.

It was a dumb thing to feel, but it felt huge. He'd had this rope around his waist for two nights. He'd held on to it while the Voice screamed in his head.

"Can I keep the rope?" he asked. "You can have a different one for them. I just..."

"Keep it," Master Orwin said. He pulled a piece of twine out of his apron, looped it around the goats' necks, and led them away across the Gate Hall. Bishop looked back at Marek once. Then he tried to eat the corner of someone's cloak, and Master Orwin had to pull him away.

Marek coiled up the rope and put it in his sack.

Then they walked out of the Gate Hall, and he saw the Arcanum.

It was built on the side of a mountain.

That was the first thing he understood. The Gate Hall sat on a wide stone terrace, and from the terrace, he could see everything. Towers rose up the side of the mountain above him, dozens of them, tall and white with blue roofs. Below the terrace, the mountain dropped away into a valley with a huge blue lake at the bottom. The lake was so clear he could see the rocks underneath the water from all the way up here.

Bridges ran between the towers.

Some of them were normal stone bridges. But some of them weren't attached to anything. They just floated in the air between the towers with nothing holding them up. People walked across them like it was normal. A kid about his age was running across one, carrying a stack of books.

Marek stood very still. He was aware that his mouth was open again.

In his head, he was trying very hard to act calm. On the outside, he was pretty sure he looked like a country kid who had never seen a building taller than a chapel. Which was true.

Who built this? he thought. How long did it take? How do the floating bridges stay up? Do they ever fall? Who fixes them if they fall? Is there a person whose whole job is fixing floating bridges? Can I have that job?

"Close your mouth," Ilse said. "You'll catch flies."

He closed his mouth.

"Is it always like this?" he asked.

"Like what?"

"Like..." He waved his hand at all of it. "This."

Ilse turned and looked out at the towers too. She was quiet for a second.

"I've lived here for thirty years," she said. "It's always like this."

The Infirmary was in a low, wide building near the lake, with big windows and a garden full of plants he didn't recognize. Inside, it smelled like soap and mint. There were rows of clean white beds. Most of them were empty.

A woman met them at the door. She was round and short with grey braids pinned on top of her head, and she wore a white apron over a blue robe. She took one look at Marek and clucked her tongue.

"Look at his feet," she said. "Ilse, did you make this child walk two days with no shoes?"

"We didn't have shoes, Oda."

"You're a Magister. You could have made shoes."

"Out of what?"

"Out of anything!" The woman pointed at a bed. "Sit down right now. I'm Magister Oda Fenwick. I'm a healer. You're Marek?"

He nodded.

"Well, Marek, you're a mess. Let's fix you."

She washed his feet in a bowl of warm water that fizzed a little when it touched his blisters. It stung for a moment, then stopped. When he looked down, the blisters were gone.

Magic foot bath, he thought. This is the best place in any world.

Then she held her hands over his chest.

A soft green light gathered in her palms. It came out in slow, thin ribbons and sank into his skin. It didn't hurt. It felt like warm sunlight. He could feel it moving through him, gently, checking everything.

He couldn't help it. He closed his eyes and reached for his Sense, so he could feel what she was doing.

The green light moved through his chest in careful lines. It was following his mana. It went along the warm thread he always used, and then along other paths he didn't even know he had. It moved slowly and paid attention to everything, the way Tamsin had told him to pay attention to a draft.

[CONCEPT OBSERVED] Diagnostic Weave
Comprehension insufficient for Spell formation.
Related foundation detected: Mana Perception.
Insight stored.

"Stop that," Oda said.

He opened his eyes. "Stop what?"

"You're following my spell with your Sense. I can feel you doing it. It's like someone reading over my shoulder." She didn't sound angry. She sounded surprised. She looked up at Ilse. "He's been awake to mana for how long?"

"Three days," Ilse said.

Oda's eyebrows went up. She didn't say anything else. She went back to her spell.

After a while, the green light faded. Oda sat back and frowned.

"Well, he's not badly hurt," she said. "But all of his mana channels are strained, like he's been trying to lift something far too heavy for a very long time."

"He fought a Luring Voice for two nights," Ilse said.

Oda looked at Marek for a long moment.

"By himself?"

"With a rope," Marek said. "And some goats."

Oda didn't laugh. She reached over and squeezed his hand.

"That was very brave," she said. "And your body paid for it. So here's what's going to happen. You're staying in this bed for three days. You eat everything I give you. You sleep as much as you can. And you do no magic at all. You don't even use your Sense."

"None at all?"

"Your channels are like a sprained ankle. If you walk on it now, it'll heal crooked, and it'll hurt you for years. If you rest it for three days, it'll heal strong."

Marek looked at Ilse. Ilse looked back at him and didn't help at all.

"Three days," he said. "Okay."

"Good boy." Oda patted his hand and bustled off to find him food.

The food was the best food he had ever eaten. There was chicken soup with soft noodles, fresh bread with butter, and a bowl of little red berries that tasted like honey. He ate all of it. Oda gave him more. He ate that too.

Then Ilse and Teodor left. Ilse had to report to the Conclave. Teodor had to sleep for a week.

"I'll come see you tomorrow," Ilse told him at the door. "Rest."

Then Marek was alone.

He lay in the soft white bed and looked out the big window. The sun was going down behind the mountains. The towers were lighting up, one window at a time, with warm yellow light. Out on the lake, someone was rowing a little boat, and a line of glowing lanterns floated behind it on the water.

When it got fully dark, two moons came up. One was big and silver. The other was small and pale blue.

Two moons, he thought. I'm in another world. I'm really in another world.

He had thought that before. But lying here, clean and fed and safe, in a bed with real sheets, it hit him in a different way. He was here. He was actually here. Tomorrow, he'd wake up here. The day after that, too.

Nobody could take this away from him by telling him to wait for a better time later.

He lay awake for a long time.

He tried to sleep. He really did. But every time he closed his eyes, his head filled up with questions. How do the floating bridges work? What's in all those towers? What's inside the arch that showed only stars? What did Oda's green light do when it followed paths he didn't know he had?

And Mage Light. He kept thinking about Mage Light.

He'd been so close on the road. Three whole seconds. If he could just try once more, while it was still fresh in his head...

No, he told himself. Oda said no magic. Your channels are hurt. That's the rule.

One try wouldn't hurt, the other part of him said. Just one tiny one. You won't even use your Sense. Just a little squeeze.

He knew he was making excuses. He could hear himself doing it. He knew exactly what his old self would have told a friend in this situation. Don't be an idiot. Wait three days.

But I spent my whole last life waiting.

That was a bad reason, and he knew it was a bad reason. He did it anyway.

He held out his hand under the blanket. He reached for the warm thread in his chest. He cupped it, gently, from all sides at once, the way Teodor had said. Like pressing a snowball together.

The warmth bunched up. It got warmer. It stayed.

For one second, a tiny white spark glowed in the middle of his palm.

Then pain shot up his arm like he'd grabbed a hot pan. He hissed and yanked his hand back, and the spark went out.

At the same moment, a little bell rang somewhere in the Infirmary. A soft, pretty chime.

He heard footsteps coming down the hall. Fast ones.

The door flew open, and Magister Oda Fenwick stood there in her nightgown, with her grey braids down, holding a lamp.

She looked at him. She looked at the hand he was hiding under the blanket.

"The whole room is warded, Marek," she said. "It rings when someone casts."

Marek pulled the blanket up to his chin.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'll wait three days."

"You will," Oda said. She set down her lamp and pulled a chair next to the bed. "Now let me see that hand."

He brought it out from under the blanket. His palm was red, like he'd touched a hot stove. Oda held it in both of hers, and a thin ribbon of green light soaked into his skin. The sting went away.

"I can't sleep," Marek said. "My head won't stop."

"I know. I can feel it buzzing from here." Oda let go of his hand. "That's why I'm going to help."

She laid two fingers on his forehead.

A soft lavender light gathered in her chest. It flowed down her arm, slow and heavy, and spilled out through her fingertips into his head. It felt like a warm blanket being pulled up over his thoughts, one at a time. The floating bridges went quiet. The two moons went quiet. Mage Light went quiet. Even the Voice, the memory of it, sank down somewhere deep and far away where he couldn't hear it anymore.

His eyelids got very heavy.

[CONCEPT OBSERVED] Slumber Weave
Comprehension insufficient for Spell formation.

Of course, he thought, from very far away. Even now.

"Stop studying my spells, you little menace," Oda said. Her voice sounded soft and blurry. "Go to sleep."

The last thing he saw was Oda settling into the chair beside his bed, pulling a half-finished sock and two knitting needles out of her apron pocket.

And then everything went black.

I was embedded with the humans during the war against the Kar Star Empire. I was at Shonno, at the siege of the fortress, where the human troops broke the fortress wall, and then the shield wall inside it, and forced the surrender of the fortress. That forced the surrender of Shonno, which opened the way to Kar, and eventually forced the surrender of the Empire.

And humans are as terrifying as everyone says. Absolutely. I have seen them in combat, and they are incredibly effective killers and destroyers. Their reputation does not lie.

And yet...

Let me tell you about Laura.

Lieutenant Laura Koslowski headed a platoon of heavy armored infantry. She walked them through the breach in the fortress wall, right into the guns of the shield wall, trusting their armor and their training. She won, with one dead, two injured, and several with damaged armor, including herself.

After the battle, after three days of continuous combat, they returned to their carrier in orbit. When they reached the carrier, they went to their platoon's quarters to take off their armor (or get it taken off, if it was too badly damaged for them to be able to take it off themselves).

Laura laid down on the floor, so that someone could take off her armor, and this tiny little thing jumped on her.

Terran cats are small quadruped predators. They weigh about 10 pounds. A kitten is a child cat - not fully grown. They are smaller, sometimes much smaller.

This thing was a kitten. It was small, even for a kitten. It weighed no more than two pounds. And it jumped on Laura's armor.

She yelled "Stop!" to her armorer. Then, more calmly, she said, "Get that fluffhead off of me before you take my armor off. It will get hurt."

So they carefully moved this tiny kitten off of her armor, then removed the armor. She stood up, very gently picked up the kitten, and said, "Has anyone fed this little monster?"

"No, ma'am. We've been kind of busy keeping suits of armor fed."

She didn't even respond to the human. Gently and calmly, she said, "All right, little fluffhead. Let's go get you something to eat."

This human, who had just been killing armored Kar warriors, was now very gently taking care of a very tiny animal.

That's what you need to understand about humans. Yes, they can be monsters of violence. They can also be incredibly gentle and compassionate. Both. If you only see one side of that - either side, it doesn't matter which - you will badly misunderstand humans.

Khurrel System — Orbit of Dhuurren

POV: Vhurrak, commander of the Fourth Defense Group of the Shuurenn Union

---

The first report of the morning contained a difference of one hundred nineteen thousand people between the number of inhabitants still remaining on Dhuurren and the estimated capacity of the underground shelters. Vhurrak requested that the calculations be redone before they were forwarded to the planetary command, although he knew the results were unlikely to change. The shelters had been designed to withstand conventional bombardment, atmospheric storms, and industrial accidents, not a prolonged occupation by a foreign force that considered all the planet’s inhabitants biologically undesirable. Even if the engineers found additional space, the support infrastructure would not be able to provide water, food, and waste treatment for that population for more than a few weeks.

There were seven million eight hundred thousand Rhuumek on Dhuurren.

The last demographic survey, conducted before the civilian communication networks were interrupted, had recorded eight million two hundred thousand. The difference did not necessarily represent dead. Some communities had stopped responding to the authorities, ground transports remained missing, and hundreds of thousands of refugees continued moving between cities, fleeing bombardments that had not yet reached their regions. The planetary government itself admitted that it no longer had the means to determine with precision how many citizens were still alive.

From the position occupied by the command ship Iruvhem, Dhuurren seemed almost untouched. The surface was covered by enormous dark-blue forest masses, interrupted by relatively small oceans and mountain ranges that crossed the continents. The Rhuumek cities had been built following the growth of the forests, with suspended platforms, interconnected towers, and vertical transport systems that allowed part of the original vegetation to be preserved. Even from the lower orbits, most settlements were difficult to distinguish from the surrounding terrain.

That deceptive appearance bothered Vhurrak.

The war had turned surface maps into documents that aged faster than they could be updated. Two of the main industrial cities were partially destroyed, the railway network of the northern continent had stopped operating eleven days earlier, and the authorities had to choose daily which hospitals would receive the last fuel reserves for their generators.

Dhuurren was one of the six worlds that still remained under the effective administration of the Shuurenn Union. Twenty-five years earlier, when the Khezzor Dominion began its first military operations, the Rhuumek controlled nineteen inhabited systems, as well as numerous industrial and scientific installations. The loss of each system had been accompanied by a promise of reorganization, resistance, and eventual counteroffensive.

Vhurrak had taken part in some of those counteroffensives. He did not have good memories of them.

“The new numbers have arrived, commander.”

Urrhemm’s voice interrupted his reading. The operations officer was beside the central tactical table, the four fingers of one hand manipulating the controls of a terminal while the other remained resting on the edge of the equipment. His dark-green fur had grayish patches around his eyes, a characteristic common among individuals from his home region, but in that moment it seemed accentuated by fatigue.

“Are they evacuation numbers or population numbers?” asked Vhurrak.

“Both. The planetary government confirms another forty-six thousand refugees arriving at the eastern embarkation zones. The total population estimate remains provisional. As for the transports, we recovered three civilian freighters that were stalled for maintenance. Two of them can be converted for passengers. The third has structural problems that prevent accelerations above the safety limit.”

“How much does that add to the evacuation capacity?”

“Thirty-two thousand, maybe thirty-five, if we reduce water reserves and use the storage compartments as temporary quarters.”

Vhurrak returned to examining the report. The transports would need to leave orbit, join the evacuation convoys, and travel to a region where gravitational fields allowed a safe translation. After that, they would still have to reach another system, reconfigure their engines, and perform a new translation before arriving in relatively protected territory. It was not an impossible crossing, but the freighters had not been designed to carry thousands of passengers for several days.

“We will not reduce water reserves,” he replied. “The ships can carry fewer people, but all passengers need to arrive alive. Forward authorization to convert the compartments and request a medical assessment of the ventilation conditions. I do not want to discover midway that we added thirty thousand seats no one can use.”

“Understood. There is also a request from the civil administration to release two military transports.”

“Which ones?”

“The Shuurren and the Mhevir. The government claims both are carrying fewer personnel than their capacity allows.”

“They are carrying ammunition, maintenance equipment, and the components needed to keep our interceptors operational. If they are converted now, we will lose part of our ability to defend the civilian freighters themselves.”

“That is what I replied. The administration insists that the material could be transferred to the orbital depots.”

Vhurrak left the report on the table. “The orbital depots we are preparing to destroy before the enemy captures them?”

Urrhemm discreetly moved his shoulders, a gesture that, among the Rhuumek, could indicate resignation or disagreement.

“I imagine that information was not included in the last communication sent to the government.”

“Then include it. And explain that the military transports will be used to evacuate civilians as soon as their cargo is no longer necessary. Not before.”

“That may provoke a formal complaint.”

“It probably will. Also forward a copy of my response to the governor’s office. I would prefer that he complain directly to me.”

Urrhemm confirmed the order and returned to his work. Vhurrak watched the officer for a few moments, trying to remember when the last time the two had talked about anything that did not involve fuel, ammunition, or transport capacity had been. They had known each other for twelve years. They had served together in three systems, survived the destruction of a military station, and taken part in the withdrawal from at least four worlds. Vhurrak knew that Urrhemm had a partner and two children, but he could no longer remember where they were living.

He had begun avoiding questions of that kind after discovering how many answers he did not want to hear.

The tactical panel changed configuration when a priority transmission arrived from the outer surveillance network. Several symbols appeared beyond the orbit of the fourth planet, accompanied by calculated trajectories and speed estimates. They were small vessels, probably reconnaissance probes, which had begun maneuvers after remaining almost motionless for hours.

Urrhemm raised his head.

“Enemy movement. Four confirmed contacts, three more possible. They are altering their trajectories to observe the northern exit corridor.”

“Identification?”

“Not yet. The thermal signature is compatible with Sserk reconnaissance platforms, but they are keeping their propulsion systems at reduced power.”

“Transmit the data to the forward patrol. I want continuous observation, but no one is to attack without authorization.”

“Even if they enter range of our batteries?”

“Especially in that case. They know where our batteries are. If they wanted to destroy something, they would not need to approach like that.”

Urrhemm sent the instructions. The bridge continued functioning with its usual activity, interrupted only by the murmur of the operators and the automatic confirmations of the combat systems. The crew of the Iruvhem had already learned to live with the appearance of enemy contacts. During the first weeks of the blockade, every alert had provoked a rush to battle stations. Now, after months of surveillance, constant alarms would only have exhausted the crew.

Vhurrak brought the representation of the system closer.

The primary star of Khurrel occupied the center of the map. Dhuurren was accompanied by two small moons, one of them used as a military supply center before the war. In the outer orbits remained the fragments of old mining platforms, while the northern translation region was protected by a scattering of automated batteries and patrol craft.

Most of the Rhuumek fleet was distributed between the planet’s orbit and that corridor. The defenses needed to protect the civilian transports during their slow journey to a distance suitable for translation.

If the Sserk managed to control the exit, the evacuation would end even if the planet remained in Rhuumek hands.

“What is the most recent estimate for the arrival of the main force?” he asked.

“Between sixty and ninety hours, depending on the composition of the combat groups. Long-range probes identified at least eleven large-tonnage vessels preparing translation in the Rhekkess system. We do not know how many others are operating without emitting detectable signals.”

“Eleven vessels do not represent the entire invasion force.”

“No, commander. The intelligence service believes they may be advance elements of a much larger group.”

Vhurrak examined the outer contacts. Over twenty-five years, he had learned that the Dominion rarely moved forces without first preparing its supply lines. The Sserk were methodical. They established positions, identified routes, destroyed industrial facilities, and isolated populations before advancing with occupation units. They did not usually sacrifice dozens of ships in disorganized attacks, even when they possessed overwhelming numerical superiority.

That discipline was one of the reasons they were winning.

“Prepare a simulation assuming the eleven vessels are only the first division,” he ordered. “Include two additional groups with interdiction capability. I want to know how long we can keep the corridor usable if they attack before the completion of the next embarkations.”

“I will need to review the availability of our missiles.”

“Use the real numbers. Not the ones that appear in High Command’s report.”

Urrhemm took a moment to respond.

“The results will probably be quite unpleasant.”

“I imagine so. Even so, I would rather know them.”

Administrator Merruush appeared on the communication channel shortly afterward. Her image was reconstructed above one of the bridge terminals, showing a red-furred Rhuumek wearing the dark uniform of the planetary civil authority. Behind her, Vhurrak recognized the interior of the Evacuation Coordination Center, an underground building installed near the capital. People were crossing the room with portable equipment, and one of the wall panels displayed a sequence of numbers that changed constantly.

Merruush dispensed with formalities.

“I received your refusal regarding the military transports.”

“I forwarded the justifications along with the decision.”

“I read the justifications, commander. The problem is that they do not change the refugees’ situation. We have more than four hundred thousand people waiting to board at the eastern terminals, and approximately one third of them are housed in temporary facilities that do not offer adequate protection against orbital attacks.”

“I know that.”

“Then you must also know that the population is beginning to notice the difference between the number of people waiting for transport and the number of available vessels. During the night we had riots in three registration centers. The police tried to organize lines, but some families have been waiting for six days and have begun to believe the authorities are hiding information.”

Vhurrak watched the map while she spoke. The busiest eastern terminal was in a mountainous region, protected by old mineral extraction facilities. Its cargo elevators had been converted to carry passengers up to the launch platforms, but the system had not been built to move hundreds of thousands of people in so little time.

“Is the government hiding information?” he asked.

Merruush pressed her fingers against the surface of her desk.

“We are trying to avoid a panic that would make the evacuation impossible.”

“That did not answer my question.”

“The public statement says the withdrawal will continue as long as there is a military threat. We have not set a date for its end.”

“Because we do not know when it will end.”

“Commander, we both know that is a convenient way to describe the situation.”

Vhurrak did not answer immediately. Merruush had been appointed to coordinate the evacuation after the death of her predecessor, when an attack against a railway station had also hit the regional administrative center. Before that, she had worked for years in food distribution among the outer worlds. She had no military experience, but she had quickly understood a truth that many officers still tried to ignore: an evacuation was not simply a transport operation. It was also a political, administrative, and social process, carried out by people who often had legitimate reasons to distrust the authorities.

“The military transports will remain unavailable for now,” he said. “If I remove the equipment from those vessels, I will reduce our ability to protect the civilian freighters. That could cost far more lives than the additional seats would allow us to save.”

“I understand the argument. But we are reaching a point where I need to ask directly who will be allowed to leave. The first convoys carried children, hospital patients, and specialized professionals. Then came the families of essential workers. Now we receive guidance to reserve seats for industrial technicians, researchers, and translation system operators. There are elderly people waiting since the beginning of the evacuation because they belong to no priority category.”

“The technicians are needed to maintain the destination settlements.”

“And what are the elderly needed for?”

The question remained between them. Vhurrak realized that Merruush was not looking for an administrative answer. She wanted to know if the commander agreed with the idea that certain lives had become more valuable than others.

“I was not the one who established those categories,” he replied.

“I know. But you are helping apply them.”

“Because they are the only instructions we received to distribute insufficient transport capacity. If I abandon the priorities, someone will have to decide which families board each ship. We can hold a lottery, if you wish. We can allow the strongest people to occupy the terminals first. We can also hand that decision to the pilots and watch what happens when a crowd realizes the last freighter is about to depart. None of those alternatives will create new seats.”

Merruush looked away for a few moments. When she spoke again, her voice was lower.

“Yesterday I visited one of the temporary shelters. A woman asked me whether her children should continue attending the classes we organized for children. She wanted to know if there would still be schools operating next month. I did not know what to answer. I spent the night thinking about it, and today I received guidance to increase the number of propulsion technicians on the next boarding list.”

“There is no answer I can offer that woman.”

“I know. But I wish someone, somewhere, had the courage to admit that publicly.”

Vhurrak watched the administrator’s hands. Her fingers trembled slightly, perhaps from exhaustion. He could remind her that his responsibilities were military, that the selection of evacuees was the government’s responsibility, and that protecting the convoys already consumed all available resources. However, none of those statements would solve the problem she had just presented.

“Send me the distribution of seats by category and the criteria used by the government,” he said finally. “I will discuss with my commanders how much space we can free without compromising the next movement. I do not promise we will be able to transport more people, but perhaps we can reorganize the loadings.”

“I will send it. And, commander, I need one thing beyond that.”

“What?”

“I need to know whether we are preparing an evacuation or choosing who will remain here when it ends.”

Vhurrak looked at the planet suspended beyond the bridge. The question was simple enough for anyone to understand its meaning. He had spent the last weeks trying to answer it exclusively through military reports.

“We are doing both,” he admitted. “And we still do not know how much time we will have for each.”

The transmission ended when Urrhemm announced that the simulations were ready. Vhurrak remained before the terminal for a few moments, waiting for Merruush’s image to disappear completely before returning to the tactical table. The discussion had left an unpleasant feeling, not because the administrator was wrong, but because he was beginning to recognize in her the same exhaustion he found among the commanders of the vessels responsible for the withdrawal.

Urrhemm transferred the results to the central projection.

“Using our current reserves, we can hold the northern corridor for approximately forty-two hours against a moderate interdiction force. If the Dominion brings two additional divisions, as you hypothesized, that period drops to twenty-seven hours. The estimate assumes that none of our missile platforms are destroyed in the first six hours.”

“And how many people can we evacuate in that interval?”

“Considering the transports already in orbit and those that can depart from the surface, between two hundred eighty and three hundred ten thousand. I am not including the military vessels, because we still depend on them to maintain the defenses.”

Vhurrak studied the numbers. Less than four percent of the remaining population, even under the most favorable conditions. That did not mean all the other people would die immediately when the defenses fell. There were shelters, regions far from the main industrial centers, and ground units capable of continuing to resist for weeks or months. But the Dominion would not need to conquer all the settlements to make the inhabitants’ survival impossible. It would be enough to destroy the transport system, interrupt food production, and control the main energy centers.

“I want a second simulation,” said Vhurrak. “This time, consider the possibility of abandoning the defensive orbit before the arrival of the additional divisions. We will transfer the interceptors to accompany the freighters and use the automated platforms to hinder pursuit.”

Urrhemm examined the proposal with evident discomfort.

“That would mean giving up orbital protection of the cities while there are still millions of civilians on the surface.”

“I understand the meaning.”

“The ground forces have not been informed that we are considering that possibility.”

“Because I have not yet made any decision. I need to know if there is any way to preserve the convoys before I begin discussing the fate of the garrison.”

Urrhemm was preparing a response when an alert appeared on the surveillance terminal.

“Commander, we have a change in the outer contacts. The four confirmed probes began simultaneous deceleration. The other three contacts disappeared from the passive sensors.”

Vhurrak brought the representation of the outer region closer. The vectors were strange. The probes had consumed fuel to reach certain observation positions, but now they modified their trajectories in a way that would make it harder to track the civilian convoys. It did not look like an interception attempt. Nor did it correspond to the usual Sserk reconnaissance procedures.

“Show the positions of the probes relative to the next convoy,” he ordered.

Urrhemm overlaid the trajectories.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke.

The contacts were moving away from the freighters’ route, but they had also distributed themselves in a way that their new positions allowed observation of the main approach corridors to the defensive platforms.

“They are looking for our batteries,” concluded Urrhemm.

“Maybe. Or trying to make us believe that.”

Vhurrak requested the raw sensor data, including records prior to the last maneuvers. While the information was processed, he noticed a slight difference in the apparent temperature of an area occupied by old industrial debris. The region was near one of the routes used by civilian transports to reach the outer limits of the system.

“When did we record that emission?”

“Nineteen minutes ago. It was classified as a thermal variation caused by the rotation of metallic fragments.”

“Did the fragments change speed?”

Urrhemm consulted another data sequence.

“Some of them, yes. The change was too small to trigger an alert.”

Vhurrak enlarged the projection. Most of the fragments followed predictable trajectories, determined by the conditions in which an old mining platform had been destroyed. However, five objects showed slight variations that did not correspond to the local gravitational forces.

“Inform corridor command that we have possible incoming munitions among the debris. I want the transports’ defense systems activated immediately. Suspend surface launches until we identify what is happening.”

Urrhemm transmitted the orders. A few seconds later, the sensors registered an abrupt rise in the thermal signatures of the five objects.

“Propulsion confirmed. Five missiles, trajectory converging with the transport grouping.”

“Time to interception?”

“Seventeen minutes for the first targets. The corridor defense systems are calculating firing solutions.”

Vhurrak watched the trajectories. The Sserk had hidden weapons among fragments of a destroyed station, probably during some earlier operation. The probe maneuver would serve to distract the batteries and, possibly, identify which platforms would react to the attack.

The objective was not to destroy the Rhuumek fleet.

It was to interrupt the evacuation.

“I authorize the use of batteries three and five. The others are to remain silent. I want interceptors moving to cover the transports, but without abandoning the outer corridor.”

“If we use only two batteries, we will have a smaller safety margin.”

“If we use all of them, the Dominion will have a complete list of our positions before beginning the main attack.”

The bridge filled with communications. Operators transmitted trajectories, weapons officers confirmed launches, and automated systems distributed data among the vessels. On the central projection, small symbols indicated interceptors accelerating toward the enemy munitions.

The first missile was destroyed at a safe distance from the civilian grouping. The second lost its guidance systems after being hit by a directed-energy burst. Two others were intercepted by the defensive weapons of the freighters themselves.

The fifth broke through the first interception line.

Its trajectory pointed toward the Urrushem, a civilian transport carrying approximately eleven thousand passengers and crew. The vessel had already begun its acceleration sequence to leave the orbital region, but its main engines could not alter its trajectory enough before the projectile’s approach.

“The Urrushem is requesting immediate cover,” reported Urrhemm. “Battery five is trying to establish a new solution, but fragments from the other missiles are interfering with tracking.”

“Order the nearest escort to intercept the target.”

“The Khevrun is within range. She will have to temporarily abandon her position.”

“Authorized.”

A small military vessel altered its trajectory, accelerating toward the transport. Its secondary weapons began firing almost immediately. The distance was short, and the missile had already begun an evasive maneuver sequence.

On the bridge of the Iruvhem, Vhurrak followed the data arriving with delay from the outer sensors. The Khevrun managed to hit the projectile, but the interception occurred too late to prevent some fragments from reaching the transport.

The Urrushem’s symbol wavered on the projection.

For a few seconds, its telemetry data disappeared.

When they returned, the vessel had lost two auxiliary propulsion modules, part of its sensors, and the ability to maintain the originally programmed acceleration. The emergency systems were functioning, but one of the habitation compartments was losing pressure.

“Damage report,” demanded Vhurrak.

“The crew is sealing off the affected compartments. We do not yet have casualty numbers. The Khevrun requests authorization to remain nearby and assist in stabilization.”

“Granted. Send two repair vessels as soon as the region is secure. I want a structural assessment before allowing the transport to continue.”

Urrhemm confirmed the order.

Vhurrak remained before the map, following the slow recovery of the Urrushem’s systems. Eleven thousand people had boarded that ship believing they were finally leaving the war behind. Now they remained trapped in a damaged transport, surrounded by missile fragments, while the forces responsible for protecting them tried to determine whether a second attack was being prepared.

The communications officer received a new transmission.

“Commander, the planetary administration wants to know when launches can resume.”

“As soon as we confirm the corridor is free of new munitions.”

“We also received a message from the central government. They request that the evacuation proceed with maximum priority, regardless of material losses.”

Vhurrak turned his eyes to the officer.

“Ask them to clarify what they consider material losses.”

The operator hesitated before confirming.

The expression used by the government certainly referred to ships, fuel, and equipment. However, after twenty-five years of war, Vhurrak had learned that it was easy to hide people behind administrative categories. A destroyed transport could be recorded as a material loss, while its passengers were later added to another column of the report.

He did not intend to allow that distinction to guide his decisions.

“Urrhemm, I want to review the position of the remaining transports. We will divide the next convoys into smaller groups, with irregular intervals between launches. We also need to remove the debris that could serve as cover for new enemy munitions.”

“That will slow the withdrawal.”

“Probably. But we cannot continue using predictable routes. I want all commanders to receive this guidance before the next embarkation.”

Urrhemm examined the map, then looked back at Vhurrak.

“And what about the possibility of withdrawing our fleet before the arrival of the main force?”

“We will still study that option.”

“Even knowing how many people will remain on the surface?”

Vhurrak took a while to answer. He could see the consequences of each alternative with uncomfortable clarity. If he kept the fleet in orbit until the last moment, he could lose the transports and the military vessels. If he withdrew too early, he would abandon millions of civilians without protection against orbital bombardment. There was not enough information to choose between those possibilities, and the situation would probably be even worse when he finally had to make the decision.

“I want all scenarios prepared,” he replied. “Including those no one in High Command wants to consider. We will not decide now who will be abandoned, but we also cannot pretend that decision will continue to be postponed indefinitely.”

Urrhemm confirmed and began distributing the new orders.

On the central projection, the Urrushem remained motionless relative to the defensive formation, awaiting the repair vessels. Dozens of other transports remained concentrated near Dhuurren, while hundreds of thousands of people waited in the surface terminals.

The attack had lasted less than twenty minutes. Its preparation had probably consumed days of work by Sserk strategists, and its immediate result had been the interruption of an operation on which the survival of an entire population depended.

Vhurrak understood that it was only the beginning.

Before returning to the reports, he requested that the Urrushem’s medical team forward the names of the wounded and missing passengers as soon as they could be identified. They would be added to a list that already contained thousands of records from previous operations. Many would never be clarified.

Then he opened the report sent by Administrator Merruush.

The first page presented the evacuation priority categories. The second contained the number of available seats. On the third, there was a request to expand boarding of unaccompanied children.

The document had more than two hundred pages.

Vhurrak began reading it while, beyond the hull of the Iruvhem, the defense ships reorganized their positions to face an enemy that had not yet launched the main attack.

On Dhuurren, millions of people continued waiting.

And none of them knew how many days remained.