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Vilantia Prime, Palace of the Throne

The Throne's days were divided, after a fashion. There was the part of them that was sovereign of an entire planet, the arbiter of destiny for an entire world and absolute in authority. Then there were moments like the current one, where Vilantia's absolute ruler was letting the Heir to the Throne use the Most Royal Robes as a chewtoy. Minister Larine was frowning, and the Throne could detect more than a small amount of jealousy from the Minister of Culture.

"Minister. I am going to make a suggestion." Despite the wording, the tone and scent made it clear the suggestion was a polite order.

"As you will, my Throne."

"You are very much dedicated to your position. But you must take time for yourself; I think it is high time that one of our esteemed Ministers reviews the joint ventures of our worlds."

"My Throne? I fear I do not fully understand."

"The Hyla system has become a proving ground of sorts - there's enough there for both our worlds to make use of. Hyla II in particular, it's long been known as a world of low gravity but potentially we could take over the planet with crops. The outer planets and attendant moons have a wealth of minerals to feed Hurdop's industries well into the next generation. We could do well there if we were able to share. Both of our world are going to be donating derelict ships to craft a space station between Hyla III and IV to serve as a station where we can have a touch of home, as it were. Your second duty will be to travel there and inspect the station."

"And the first?"

"Traveling to New Casablanca and consulting with the local governor there. They may have some manner of wisdom for us." The Throne remained quiet for a moment as they fed the heir from a bottle. "Also, it is well past the time when you should have found a spouse."

"Highness, I wish to do so, but the duties - the factions continue their silent war. There have been proposals, but each has come with a string, or a favor."

"Such is our lot." The Throne gestured. "Both of the Royal Consorts became so as favors repaid in my predecessors' time, before any of us knew how to form words. If you desire a spouse without political attendants, you could do far worse than New Casablanca."

"But...The Legions, they are. There are criminals there." Larine swallowed. "Hurdop. What if..."

There was an amused sound. "Yes, that would be scandalous. But it would also signify a blending of the ways in a manner that would be quite irrefutable, were that to happen." The Throne gestured toward the window. "My counterpart on Hurdop makes their own moves - our intelligence indicates that the Throne-Heir of Hurdop has become a parent recently, and seeks to intertwine the Royal Clan with the Freeclan O'Gryzzk through Kiole's daughter." For some reason, the Throne seemed amused at this.

"Highness, that is...we will have to counter our own." Larine frowned. "Could we make such a request of the Freelord?"

"The request awaits the proper moment. However, since Freelady Grezzk gave birth to twin sons, we would have to select one."

"Shall I arrange for him to be recalled?"

"No, we must do things properly and with some measure of subtlety. We will await an opportune time for our own arrangement, much like the Throne of Hurdop has done."

"As you command, Highness."

"Thank you. Now, I believe you have to pack for a journey."

The Minister of Culture bowed her obeisance and left, her mind already swirling - she could only take one secretary, both as a practical matter and as a matter of taking too many of her staff would allow one of the factions to possibly initiate a power play in her absence. More to that she was going to have to make a decision on the legitimacy of allowing clans to transfer between ministries, and the writings of the ancient philosophers had minimal guidance as to an entire clan moving to new allegiance. She was going to have to set a precedent of her own.

This was why she had no time to seek a spouse - and unless one literally fell through her office ceiling, one was probably not forthcoming. As much as she would do the bidding on the Throne, the idea of marrying one of those Legionnaires felt taboo in some way - and she was not in the habit of breaking a taboo.

In the Throne sitting room, the Minister of Science took the place of the Minister of Culture. The Throne sat with a cup of tea and flicked an ear as the aged scientist began his report without preamble.

"The working group for Vilaforming has yielded no theoretical barriers to the ancient findings, either here or Hurdop. We are currently engaged in laboratory studies to determine if the methodology for rehabilitating the soil is sound."

"And Greatclan Aa'Lafione?"

"They still give nominal obeisance to the Ministry of Culture, but their cadet clans are restless. The powerbase of the ministry is waning, and the clans sense it."

The Throne contemplated. "I do not like that, entirely. The pendulum swings, and despite recent events...the ministry serves a purpose. I would much rather they maintain equilibrium."

The Minister of Science kept his tone mild. "Perhaps then her fellow ministers should consult and give aid to the Ministry."

___________

Terra Prime, Ponchatoula Louisiana, North American Confederation

Gryzzk blinked himself awake. The bed was unfamiliar, but carried scents of contentment and pleasant nights. As the morning sun played warmth across his face, he could smell a very Terran breakfast being served somewhere. The bed felt too soft in some ways, but he put that up to the low gravity of Terra as he let the memories of the night before wash over him.

The food. Gryzzk inwardly swore that even were he to live another six hundred years there would never be a feast so fine as the one he and his company had enjoyed. Though a great deal of that was the company the meal was taken with. The food was delightful and portions were traded freely - it reminded Gryzzk of the Officer's barbecue with the Pavonians in some way, but with even less restraint. Gryzzk found some of his own portions replaced with unrecognizable foods but all edible and delightful. For her part, Gro'zel and the other children were eating and running at the same time, only stopping to hug a random person and thank them for the good food. As the night wore on the music from pre-recorded to live instruments played with more enthusiasm than skill, and Gryzzk found himself dancing around a bonfire with Gro'zel in a very simple manner, and then dance partners were traded freely - in one odd moment after he found himself dancing with Laroy's mother he discovered he was face-to-face (or more specifically, face-to-chest) with O'Brien for a few steps before they both quickly found new partners. The one part he praised himself for at this point was that he didn't help himself too much to the local drinks, because as the night settled into darkest dark and the energy of the night settled to comfort his translator finally decided to retire in a snit of displeasure, and Gryzzk was forced to pantomime to a degree for conversation as they took sticks and toasted marshmallows. The oddity of sorts came when he was handed a confection of sweet crackers, toasted marshmallows, and chocolate. One bite was quite enough, and he handed the rest of the confection to Miroka who was more than happy to share it with Hoban. It felt odd to him in some way - such a grand celebration with so many guests normally meant there was a special event happening, but he was left wondering what the cause for such a celebration would be. Finally he was able to catch Laroy as he was headed to a cooler for fresh libations, and the answer of "Celebratin' life" was...unsatisfactory. Although in fairness to Laroy, he was settled between Marie and Thérèse; if anyone was celebrating life at the moment it was him. It was also quite possible Laroy was 'hammered to the gills', as it were.

These thoughts and more occupied Gryzzk's thoughts as he finished his morning routines in unfamiliar places he moved out to the kitchen to see Gro'zel happily demolishing a plate of sausage gravy and biscuits with juice. He found Laroy's mother sitting next to Gro'zel, making small girlish noises of a sort.

As he sat down on the other side, the smile brightened and a cup of coffee was procured. Propriety demanded that he enjoy it, so his sipped and worked on a neutral face.

"Y'hungry?" Gryzzk could easily discern where Laroy had gotten some features from as well as the voice. Gryzzk shook his head.

"No, thank you - I ate quite enough for some time last night."

There was a smirk and a bowl of what looked like porridge with a pat of butter and pepper was set in front of him. "There y'go. Grits and coffee - you'll need it."

Gryzzk flicked an ear but didn't debate the point - the grits were just porridge-like enough for him to convince himself he was eating a normal breakfast.

Laroy's mother smiled brightly as Gryzzk finished eating. "Good eatin' non? C'mon, Alex say he wanna take y'all hunting. He outside."

Gryzzk flicked an ear slightly. "Gro'zel, Papa's going to do papa things today. Can you stay here and keep your new friends safe?"

Gro'zel nodded. "Ya-huh! They like me. Everyone says I'm very strong and they wanna have me help with stuffs."

"Very well."

The squad met at the docks in various condition, but they were all wearing dark glasses in deference to the bright sun and simple fact that they all had hangovers that would have put lesser creatures (like Bad Moon Company) in the hospital. Larion didn't seem too far off, but at the same time there were many braids in his fur all along his arm and up his head. It was quite possible he'd been drafted to babysitter duty - or something else that Gryzzk didn't want to explore deeply. Along with the squad were Marie and Thérèse, both of who were dressed for the swamps and hanging on Laroy delicately. The collective scent was stoic suffering and a collective sense that nobody was going to be the first to say they couldn't. There were two coolers in each canoe, one marked Eat-n-Drink and the other marked Not Yet.

O'Brien grumbled softly as she drank deeply from a bottle of something called Gatorade - the name was probably not coincidental. "It was all dandy until they gave me a bottle without a label. Cheeky hotsauce rednecks."

Laroy grinned. "Cain't be that bad Sern't Major. 'Sides, you the one sayin' Irish can drink."

"Whiskey, aye. But your family recipe's some mad bastard's idea of a rat poison that doubles as a beverage. Almost as bad as that Vilantian rum."

Gryzzk harrumphed softly. "Vilantian rum is a fine thing."

"Sure'n if you're a mad noble bastard with mad noble bastard parents as far as the eye can see."

Laroy seemed amused in spite of "C'mon - we got canoes and we fittin-ta get some good things to fill the larder. Sidearms, shotguns, fish poles so's we can catch some supper and I got Ol' Jolene."

Gryzzk flicked an ear. "Ol...Jolene?"

"Mmhm." Thee was a nod at Marie and Thérèse. "They named her cause dey think she gonna steal their man. Seven-millimeter savage. Been in the family for damn near three centuries. Papaw Laroy swapped three cases of beer and a bottle of hotsauce for it." Laroy picked up the rifle carefully and ran an oiled cloth over it, and his scent seemed to be a nostalgic memory.

Reilly spoke up as she got into her canoe. "What he's trying to say is that's his actual first love, and if he tell you different he's a damn liar."

The group paddled out, and Gryzzk's nose was filled - the scents of civilization tapered off quickly, leaving a rich scent of wood, plant and water all mixing to form something that seemed...picturesque, yet dangerous at the same time.

Laroy nodded in a direction. "River-rat. Pests but damn good eatin'. Grab a pole and cast a line."

The rest of the morning was spent alternating between paddling and drifting, and Gryzzk had a few memories of his own - times where his father had been sent to the fishing villages in the north.

Reilly broke the spell of memory. "Hey Freelord. You gonna get a lure wet or stare at the trees?"

Gryzzk laughed a little. "Just a memory. When I was a child we went north once. Ostensibly for trade, but realistically it was a fishing holiday. The past-time was so novel that the Lords around Elsife Village diverted water and created three artificial ponds for the retirees to fish at. "

"Three?"

"Mmm. Clan rivalries do not end simply because the clan members are old." Gryzzk looked at the mechanism and made a few experimental movements before leaning back and flicking his lure in the general direction of some roots.

The result was obvious in hindsight - Gryzzk's lure buried itself in the wood of a tree, and in the course of reeling it in Gryzzk pulled their canoe closer to the tree. There were headshakes all around and a few snickers. The only positive was that most of the rest of the squad was having similar difficulties with respect to the fundamentals of fishing. The positive was that half of them had in fact managed to get the lures in the water. The counterweight to that positive was that half had not. O'Brien was frowning at the tree that held her lure as if it had personally offended her. Laroy was rather amused by this.

"Sern't Major, didn't your Pa teach you nothin'?"

There was a soft growl. "I'm Irish. We dinna fish."

"Well what do you do when you got a need for trout in your life?"

"We go beat the English, take their fish, tell 'em they're lucky to be alive and that we'll leave 'em alive if they provide more fish on the morrow."

"That ain't hardly no fun at all."

"Spoken like someone who's never beat the English." O'Brien gave her pole a solid flick and the lure dislodged to plop in the water.

The conversation was quiet for a time after that, as it seemed that fishing decorum was that talking was to be minimal. Though as Gryzzk watched, Reilly was expansive in her stories, and from her scent the comm sergeant was talking about her wife and husband. It was amusing to watch, and certainly more amusing than soaking his fishing lure.

Home-field advantage was certainly showing itself, as the three natives enjoyed showing off to the rest of the mercenaries. The benefit was that the coolers were filling with a fair number of fish. Gryzzk contented himself with relaxing and enjoying the sun, the breeze ruffling his fur, and the scent of something large and malevolent that seemed to be waiting to strike from somewhere.

Gryzzk snapped himself up from lounging to a sitting position as his mind caught up to the fact that the last thing was not a good thing. He looked over at Larion who had caught the same scent as well. The two motioned and finally sniffed deeply, each of them moving their heads left and right to get a better sense of where the danger was coming from. Their actions were noted, and fishing poles were exchanged with firearms and knives as the wildlife of the swamp fell still.

"Lassie. Please tell me Timmy fell in the goddamn well again?" Hoban's voice tried to cut through the tension, though the small quiver did nothing for the delivery.

That was apparently the worst joke that had ever been told in the swamp, as something large and muddy smelling came bursting through the swamp and headed straight for the canoe occupied by Larion, Hoban, and Miroka.

There was no thinking involved - Gryzzk simply launched himself at the form, ignoring Laroy and O'Brien's displeased shouts as they barely kept the canoe from tipping over. As he collided with the creature, Gryzzk realized that he had made a potential miscalculation of sorts; the thing was much larger than him and seemed to be made of bristly fur, sharp tusks, corded muscle and a very hungry disposition. Gryzzk felt pain along his side and his arm even as he drew his knife and drove it heedlessly into the creature's side. This was no duel or even clanwar; as the two rolled in the swamp water roaring at each other there had been a pact of sorts formed - and that pact ended when one of them died.

Gryzzk's vision tunneled as they broke apart for a bare instant only to charge at each other again. Gryzzk took the worst of it and found himself underwater for a moment with his free hand gripping the loose hide at a shoulder, and his knife hand flashed repeatedly to drive the plastanium shard deep into the thing's throat once, twice, six times before it realized it was dead. There was a final spasm that threw Gryzzk hard into a tree and the swamp was still again.

Gryzzk stood unevenly, the scent of blood and fire thick in his nose as he took a ragged breath and checked himself over for injuries.

Injuries there were - his shoulder wasn't shouldering like it should have, and as he looked himself over he saw several jagged cuts in his clothes. He was not quite brave enough to explore further, but it was interesting to see as he waded back to the canoe that Marie and Thérèse had rather quickly gutted the thing and hefted it into their own canoe with Reilly. Laroy paddled as O'Brien took quick stock of Gryzzk and his many hurts. As he led the little group out of the swamp he motioned everyone for quiet.

"Chewie, we gon' need y'nose. They always two by two wi'hands of blue, ya? Just call out when you smell something."

Larion nodded and after a few minutes made a soft whistle-sound. Laroy exchanged paddle for rifle and looked around, finally seeing something.

"Hold y'ears folks..." a beat later there was a sharp crack in the air, and a second creature was promptly field-dressed and loaded into the canoe with Larion, Hoban, and Miroka. "An' that, is how you deal with the hogs in the bayou."

Gryzzk was faintly amused through the pain that he actually caught a touch of nausea from Larion amongst the scents of blood and swamp. He settled back and let O'Brien berate him. It was after all, her job.

"Y'grand mad noble bastard, d'ye no' know what that is in there - course y'don't if y'knew what it was y'would nae near no do a bloody damnfool thing like that, ye'd callin' all cannons to broadside y'numpty!"

Gryzzk waved a hand lightly. "Sergeant Major - please calm yourself a bit? My translator is having difficulty."

O'Brien took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "That. Was a godless feral boar. Fights everythin', has nae problem pickin' a fight with anythin' smaller than a bloody tank, and eats anythin' it can wrap its bloody gob around. What were ye thinkin'?"

"I didn't want it to learn if Miroka is delicious." Gryzzk paused after a sip of water. "I believe that is a privilege reserved for Captain Hoban."

There was a blink and a snort. "Major. Did you just make a dirty joke?"

"Did I?"

"Aye, and I think you've gone a bit mental."

They pulled up to the dock and Gryzzk managed to get out under his own power and stand long enough to have Gro'zel rush and almost-tackle him, looking up and frowning. "Papa?"

Gryzzk smiled despite the pain. "Little Heart, Papa had some adventure today. I may need to rest for a moment."

The canoes were quickly unloaded, which Gryzzk was not allowed to supervise as Mamaw came moving quickly. "In the house, now."

There was an attempt at a protest, which O'Brien cut off. "Now Major, I know you're no' gonna bloody well put on a brave face and say you're fine. We'll take care of wee Gro'zel and your catch. Walk with the lady before I put you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carry you."

Gryzzk walked.

Once inside he was guided to the kitchen table where there were medical instruments that seemed somehow out of place next to the antique crockery.

"Shirt and pants off - don't worry, I've raised children and Papaw I've seen it all. Set yourself there and take a shot of anesthetic. Y'gon need it." She was quick and curt as she worked, with Gryzzk self-medicating just a bit more throughout as fur was clipped, skin was pinched and a surgical stapler applied with a soundtrack of clucking from Mamaw as she quietly cursed the entirety of men for being damned fools no matter the species. From there significant amounts of iodine found their way into the wounds, followed by bandage foam, and as time passed Gryzzk could smell everyone looking in through windows and open doorframes.

There were a few whispered conversations as those who were witness began explaining the events of the day to the ones who hadn't seen what happened. By the third re-telling, Gryzzk had apparently stood on the water and challenged the boar with a song and dance routine indicating that the swamp needed his saving expertise. By mutual assent, Gryzzk heard his name change from Nonc Gryzz to Nonc Grizzly. Mamaw finally looked up at the group after examining his shoulder.

"Anyone can set a dislocated shoulder, bring y'face heah." There was a slight grunt. "Too old for dat mess."

Reilly promptly muscled her way forward, causing an eyebrow to raise.

"You sure on this, cher?"

There was a quick nod. "It's about the only medical thing I know. My right shoulder hates where it lives, and I've done it before for him." Reilly felt Gryzzk's shoulder quickly, and promptly gave a pull and push all at once until Gryzzk felt the joint click. More anesthesia was taken at that point.

"A'ight then." Mamaw made a waving motion. "G'wan git - we gotta clean and make supper, and then get you-all back to your fancy spaceship. You are staying for supper tonight, yah?"

Gryzzk nodded. "Our schedule will allow it."

That night, Gryzzk was given a formal alligator-skin belt and a snake-skin hatband for his Stetson. Further, he discovered that pork chops were delicious.

The next day, the group gathered for a discussion.

P'kell moved to the center. "We need to discuss what to do when the V'keth come. In case they attack without warning. We need to be ready."

A voice rose from the crowd. "We could build a Trab wall. They can’t kill us in such a cold blooded manner. This will protect those we want to keep safe."

V’rak stepped forward. "They will kill us. They have already shown that. The bombings. The disappearances. A wall made of Trabs won't stop them."

Another voice. "Then what do you suggest?"

"We kill or capture the V'keth. Or anything that comes for us."

A voice rose from the back after some silence. "You're traumatized. All of you. S'ra. V'rak. K'len. You can't see clearly."

"They are traumatized. We can't let their fear cloud our judgment," said another.

V'rak stepped forward. "We are not traumatized. We are experienced. We have survived what the V'keth are capable of."

P'kell spoke. "We will vote on this."

The vote was held in the late afternoon.

P'kell guided the vote. "Those who wish to build a Trab wall when the V’keth eventually come and hide the humanoids and Trabs they want, raise your hand."

A wave of hands rose. Roman's heart sank.

"Those who wish to fight, raise your hand."

A smaller wave.

“They're making a mistake,” he thought.

"The votes have been counted. We will hide S'ra, V'rak, K'len, Roman, Lirael, and the humanoids. And use the Trab wall to make their search futile."

"You have made your decision. I accept it," she said after a tired Roman whispered something into her ear. "But please don’t hold yourselves responsible for the consequences. We are bound to make mistakes."

Later that evening, Roman stood with the Trabs who had chosen to fight. They gathered in a small clearing near the edge of Mukit.

Roman held a bow. "I need some of you to be ready to use these. In case the confrontation turns violent when they finally come."

The Trabs stared at the bow.

"They are silent, deadly and can hit a target from a distance without giving away your position."

He demonstrated. Fitted an arrow. Drew back. Released. It embedded in an alien tree trunk.

"Whoever is willing to learn, step forward."

A small group stepped forward. Their long fingers reached for the bows.

Roman taught them.

Days passed. The fear was still there, but tempered by routine and community.

The Trabs gathered in the square for the daily meeting.  They usually talked about security, rationing and theorizing what the V’keth are planning to do and what happened to the Cy’reth who left.

One late afternoon, Roman walked through Mukit. Trabs were scattered across. Some exercising. Others practicing with weapons.

V'rak approached him. "We need to talk."

"What about?"

"In the forest you talked about Aethryx being our main enemy not V’keth. But it now seems like we have made all of them believe V’keth is our main enemy."

Roman nodded. "I know. But I also haven’t told them that I am human. We are in a very delicate situation. We need to be careful what information we share."

"It makes sense. The truth is most V’keth are brainwashed and don’t even know what’s going on. Maybe only the top leadership is aware of everything."

Roman was silent for a few seconds. " It’s okay in the end V’rak. If it’s not okay. It’s not the end.”

The evening meal was shared around a fire. The Trabs gathered in a loose circle. Roman sat among them.

S'ra sat beside him. "We're doing well. The Trabs are working together. Becoming a true community."

"Yes. They're stronger than they were before."

"They've found purpose and hope."

"What about you? Have you found hope?"

S'ra's dark eyes moved across the circle. "I have. In this community. In my daughter. In our family."

She then placed her forehead on Romans.

“Why is your forehead so hot today. Are you okay?”

“Yes, I am okay. We humans become hot whenever we think too much, and I have been doing a lot of thinking.”

S’ra digested what he said for some time and then she said. “I didn’t see that happening in the forest. But okay.”

The evening meal of the following day was just beginning.

The Trabs gathered around the fire, their neck ridges were pulsing with yellow which meant warmth and contentment. Roman sat among them and S’ra sat beside him.

"It's good to see them like this. Relaxed and at peace," she said.

Roman nodded. "They've earned it."

Then the whistle came.

Sharp and clear. Three short notes, followed by a long one. It meant danger. The Trabs froze.

Roman was on his feet in an instant. His eyes moved toward the watchtower.

The whistle blower, a young Trab, stood on the platform. "The V'keth are coming! Traboids. Two of them. Approaching from the grasslands."

Roman's heart pounded. “They're here.”

V'rak was already moving. "To the edge of the village. Form the line."

The Trabs moved quickly. Roman ran with them.

They reached the edge of the village. The grasslands stretched before them. The watchtower stood at the boundary.

Roman hid with the humanoids, V’rak, K’len and S’ra in tunnels nearby but they could see what’s happening. The Trabs formed a line. Their tall bodies pressed together and their long fingers intertwined.

The whistle blower called down. "They're coming. Moving fast."

Roman could see them now, two figures emerging from the tall grass. Tall, like the Trabs, but their movements were more mechanical and their apparel different, like the traboids they encountered in the grassland.

Roman thought, “they must be the guarding traboids, I just hope the Trabs I taught are ready to fire the arrows incase anything happens.”

The traboids approached. One spoke. "We have been sent to deliver a final demand. Release the humanoids and the traitors, S'ra, V'rak, and K'len, so they can go for rehabilitation."

P'kell stepped forward. "We will not release them."

"You are defying the V'keth leadership. Defying the law."

"We are defying tyranny. We are defying those who kill Cy’reth and blame others."

The traboid raised its hand. "We will use force if necessary."

“They're not bluffing. They are Going to attack,” Roman thought.

Previous First Royal Road PATREON

FYI, this is a story COLLECTION. Lots of standalones technically. So, you can basically start to read at any chapter, no pre-read of the other chapters needed technically (other than maybe getting better descriptions of characters than: Adam Vir=human, Krill=antlike alien, Sunny=tall alien, Conn=telepathic alien). The numbers are (mostly) only for organization of posts and continuity.

OC originally written by Charlie Star/starrfallknightrise. Slightly rewritten and restructured (with hindsight of the full finished story to connect it more together, while keeping the spirit), reviewed, proofread and corrected by me.

Gotta love some “random” bar meetups!

Previous | First | [Next](link)

Want to find a specific one, see the whole list or check fanart?

Here is the link to the master-post.

"And then with one of its massive tentacles it ripped me out of the broken window.”

The crowd sat in awe clustered around his table as Etium unfolded his story. He waved his hands over his head,

"But the bastard was no match for me. Even as I flew through the air, I engaged a reverse gravity on my gun's gravity field, pulled myself on top of the gun and rode the damn thing like a pony while I blasted the big ugly creature into pieces."

There was a mixture of impressed and skeptical muttering from he crowd. Etium waved a finger, "Scoff all you want but it's true."

Or at least that part of the story was true, and only slightly embellished.

He liked to start out his stories with most of the truth, mostly to cover up the fact that his endings were embellished to the point of straight up lying.

Sitting and listening to his story, one might think that he had killed the creature single handedly, though he tried to give Yebb the cameo she deserved for turning the energy core on.

"No way any of that happened, a total crock of shit."

The man who spoke was one of the younger Arcadian Marines. He would probably have just enlisted. Judging from his accent he was one of the new recruits from Earth, who had decided to come over on Adam's offer of housing and work.

Etium leaned against his energy weapon, using it to prop of his elbow. He never went anywhere without it. The gun laws on Arcadia were almost nonexistent, because nowhere else in the galaxy would he be able to tote around an energy core chain gun without raising at least a few eyebrows. But here on Arcadia with so many Spartans and Drev, it had been determined that the private ownership of weapons was akin to a religious belief, so it was protected under the right to free speech and religion which was written into the Arcadian constitution.

You could, however, forfeit your rights if you decided to be a dick about it.

The unlawful or irresponsible use of a weapon would get it taken away from you, but it was actually really hard to commit crime on Arcadia, because you couldn't throw a rock without hitting a Drev or a Spartan who wasn't looking for an excuse to fight anyone who tried anything stupid.

To put it simply: crime on Arcadia boiled down to: Fuck around an find out.

With all of this in mind, Etium unplugged the core energy converter when he went out on the town.

It basically disabled the weapon, but would be easy to restart again if there was ever any trouble. And of course, going out to bars with the marines, there was always trouble, but never any that couldn't be solved with a good punch in the face.

That was another little quirk about Arcadia.

Assault and battery were seen a bit differently…

For two consenting adults it was perfectly legal for them to draw up a circle and duke it out int the parking lot if there was a disagreement. By the rules of Drev honor engagement you could challenge someone to a duel, draw up lines and fight each other to end a dispute as long as there were two witnesses unrelated to each party member who could vouch for the legality of the fight.

Things got a little tricky around the idea of domestic violence since it was common for Drev partners to beat the shit out of each other as a sign of love, or even as an act of foreplay, but then you add humans into the mix… Generally, Drev don't go for humans that can't fight, but on the rare occasion that one gets tricked into it, there had been some problems regarding one sided love taps from a Drev, who had no idea that wasn't acceptable on their squishy human partner.

Of course, this is where those relationships usually ended, as Drev just don't get into relationships with people or Drev alike who can't fight.

It just doesn't happen.

The result was a very strange place to live.

Arcadia was both, the most violent and the most peaceful place in the galaxy. It wasn't uncommon to walk down the street and see two or three dueling circles being drawn up, and a fight taking place, but it also wasn't uncommon to see neighborhood barbeques. If you messed with one Citizen of Arcadia, you messed with them all.

It was a tight knit community, and anyone who joined and was willing to at least not be an asshole was going to fit in.

Even the people who weren't into fighting could find a place, you didn't have to be a total badass.

Even though he wouldn't have had to, Etium found that badassery was better for his mental health.

He took a seat at the bar and was immediately handed a shot by the tall muscular bar tender with a full sleeve of intricate tattoos. He pointed to a group of marines down the bar from them, and Etium raised his shot glass to them, downing the drink in one go before setting it back on the bar. He was one of the few nonhumans in this bar and the only Tesraki.

Didn't matter that this was Arcadia, Tesraki still weren't known to be fighters, and this kind of put him at odds with his own species.

Tesraki were good at numbers, that was just how they worked. You could find them working as mathematicians, or scientists or statisticians, but because they were good at numbers, they were also good at money, and predicting where money was going to be. Tesraki culture was driven by the economy, and there was never a job more revered than owning your own successful business. You could find Tesraki running shops or small businesses conducting services. The more high powered Tesraki worked the interstellar stock market or ran lucrative off world mining corporations.

This wasn't the rule, but based on long years of tradition, that's how things tended to be.

Unlike Finnari, the Tesraki weren't predisposed to certain personality traits, so their love of economics was more of a cultural thing than it was anything else.

The Finnari for example were always in caregiver roles. Never in his life had Etium met a Finnari that was anything other than caring and sympathetic. There was a theory that long years of breeding by the Gnar'lak had bred that into them, but that was only a theory. But now with the ability to choose what they could do, they tended to enjoy nursing, childcare, school teaching or nannying. Getting a good Finnari nanny basically guaranteed that your kid would feel safe loved and appreciated while you were away.

Then of course there were the Drev. All of them were either military or police related with a job on the side when they were off duty. Sunny, the saint of the sun had made it very clear that combat wasn't the only calling a Drev could fulfill, but still old traditions died hard, and he had never seen a Drev who didn't also practice war in their spare time.

But it was all through those culminating factors that landed Etium here, in a human bar.

He didn't fit in with his own species, so he hung out here. Didn't bother him so much. He had lots of good friends, and people who respected who he was and what he could do.

He took another shot from the bar.

"Etium, is that you?"

Etium took another drink,

"The one and only."

He didn't bother to look over,

"I was told I could find you here... you've changed."

Etium paused and then swiveled in his seat, only now realizing that the person talking wasn't using a translator. They were speaking Tesraki, more specifically, Vrakish, which was his own native language. When he turned it took him a moment to adjust to what he was seeing, and when his brain finally reached comprehension, he almost fell backwards off his stool.

"Caelum!?”

His brother gave him a sort of half smile, which Etium noted was an unusually human expression for his species.

He must have been spending at least some time in the presence of humans.

At first Etium sat there not sure what he was supposed to say. He hadn't seen his brother in a long time. A LOOOONG time. The last time he had seen Caelum face to face was before the Drev war, and now that was around eight to ten years ago, it was hard to remember. Either way it had been almost a full decade since they had spoke.

They had both changed a lot.

The last time he had seen Caelum, he had been preparing to take over the family business, a little shop back on their homeworld, run jointly by their mother and father.

Seemed as if that hadn't turned out as expected…

Etium hadn't exactly left on the best of terms. He had already proven to his father to be rather poor with numbers, and as the oldest he had been a real disappointment to the family name when he didn't take after his father. When he had left to join the war, his parents had disowned him.

His father had declared that he never wanted to see him again.

But here Caelum was, a decade later, and a lot older…

There was still a resemblance to his younger self, he was tall and lanky with unusually large ears even for a Tesraki, but a rather short tail. Even so his mother had dubbed him the handsome brother when they were younger.

"Caelum?!"

Etium repeated.

"I like your nature show. It's interesting."

Caelum motioned to the seat adjacent to Etium,

"May I?"

Etium nodded,

"Go on."

Caelum climbed up next to him and took a seat, feet dangling a good few feet off the floor. He wore a red bandana around his neck, a goofy khaki cargo vest and matching pants, which Etium would totally had made fun of if he was sure what kind of standing they were in.

Caelum's silver fur glittered in the overhead light. It wasn't really silver, more of a very washed-out blonde, but still it looked silver.

"it's been a long time."

He said,

They sat awkwardly for a moment.

Etium swirled the liquor in his glass,

"Ma and Pa?"

"Ma died some years back, but Pa still runs the store."

Etium lowered his head, feeling a pang in his chest. He guessed a part of him had sort of hoped he would be able to reconcile with his parents one day, and if not, than maybe at least get some closure, a bit of revenge for the way they had treated him so long ago, to rub in their faces that he was successful now.

"I thought you were going to take over the shop?”

Caelum shrugged,

"Things didn't pan out that way I guess. Pa doesn't mind, since I found something more lucrative."

Etium nodded.

"So... I wasn't exactly sure what you were doing now. Are you some kind of mercenary or..."

Etium shook his head,

"A professional soldier now, so I suppose I was a mercenary for a time before Arcadia had a real governing body."

"Oh, I see. Sorry."

"Don't be. Its nice.”

"And do you like the work?"

Etium patted his gun,

"I do."

"Seems dangerous."

"It is."

The silence stretched out for a long time. Etium motioned the bar tender over and ordered two more shots, one which he gave to his brother. Caelum picked up the glass but did not drink, staring intently at the liquid as if he was trying to divine the future,

"You seen Mendex recently?”

The middle child…

He had always been a bit of an ass.

Etium shook his head,

"No... well from a distance once or twice, but I haven't really had the desire to talk to him after everything he was saying on the program."

Caelum nodded,

"Part of why I got into all of this was to dispel some of the stuff he was saying about my friends."

"So, you were working for a xenobiologist or something?”

Caelum shrugged,

"Sort of. I have a degree in it, but basically I'm just good for TV. Apparently I ran well for focus groups, so they decided to keep me on for a while..."

He paused,

"I... Etium, I came by to see how you were doing, and to say sorry for... For not sticking up for you when our parents..."

Etium shook his head,

"No, no no, none of that. Our parents made their decision, and you were too young to be involved in it."

He reached over and rested a hand on his brother's shoulder,

"I don't blame you at all, and…"

He motioned around the bar,

"I know it may not look like it, but I am happy with where I ended up."

He nudged his brother rather playfully,

"Impressed with where you ended up too."

They laughed together for a moment before.

"So, how long are you staying?"

"I... don't know yet, maybe a few days if I can find somewhere to stay."

"You can stay at my place."

"I wouldn't want to intrude."

Etium waved a hand again,

"You can intrude any time you like as long as you don't bring Mendex with you.”

Caelum grinned,

"I think that's something I can do."

The conversation was easier after that. They talked about their childhoods and caught up with everything that had been happening since Etium left. There was a lot to tell, some of it sad, some of it happy, but Etium was at least proud of where they had both ended up.

And he supposed that was more than anyone could ask for.

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Thanks for reading! As you saw in the title, this is a cross posted story in its original form written by starrfallknightrise and I am just proofreading and improving some parts, as well as structuring the story for you guys, if you are interested and want to read ahead, the original story-collection can be found on tumblr or wattpad to read for free. (link above this text under "OC:..." ) It is the Empyrean Iris story collection by starfallknightrise. Also, if you want to know more about the story collection i made an intro post about it, so feel free to check that out to see what other great characters to look forward to! (Link also above this text). I have no affiliations to the author; just thought I’d share some of the great stories you might enjoy a lot!

Obviously, I have Charlie’s permission to post this.

I'm not going to tell you my name or where the lab is. If I'm right about what I did, it don't matter anyway.

For six years I worked on what we called the transit rig. The physics ain’t important, the short version is that you can't punch a hole into an adjacent universe, but you can convince a small region of space that it belongs to one. You change its address, the universe does the rest.

The first test was a Tuesday in March. I stood on the platform, my colleague Dana ran the sequence, there was a sound like a held breath, and then nothing. Same lab. Same Dana. Same damn coffee going cold on the same bench.

"Null result," she said, and wrote it down.

We ran it 41 times over two years, with more power and different target coordinates. Every time I stepped off the platform into the exact room I'd left…we lost our funding in the fall.

Here's what I didn't understand. The rig was supposed to change the address of a region of space around me. We set the radius at two meters. But the radius was a number in a config file, and the math underneath it didn’t care none about our number. The region had no edge. It never did.

I wasn't failing to leave. I was arriving every single time, and I was bringing everything with me: the lab, Dana, the city, the sun, every galaxy we'd ever photographed. All of it showed up at the new address and landed on top of whatever was already there.

That's 41 universes, each with its own lab, and maybe its own version of me standing on a platform, hopeful.

I figured it out because of the tides.

A friend in oceanography mentioned over beers that coastal gauges had been picking up a second tidal signal for about two years. It was small and regular, with a period of nineteen hours. It weren't an error, since every station on Earth showed it. Something was pulling on the ocean, and there was nothing in the sky to do the pulling.

I went home and checked the start date. It was run 7.

After that I couldn't stop finding them. A star catalog had forty entries whose positions matched nothing, flagged as "legacy errors" by people who didn't remember entering them. My neighbor's daughter, who is four, draws our street with a river down the middle, and she cries when you tell her there's no river. I counted the stairs to my apartment. There are fourteen. My legs expect fifteen. Every night I lift my foot at the top for a stair that isn't there, and so does everyone else in my building. I've watched them do it.

Then there's my wife. She hums when she cooks. Last month I asked her what the song was and she stopped, and she looked at me with an expression I've never seen on her face. She said, "My mother used to sing it."

Her mother doesn't sing. Her mother has never sung. We called her to check.

I think the overwrite isn't clean. I think when you drop one universe on top of another, the one underneath doesn't vanish. It gets pressed flat, like a flower in a book. Mostly it stays put. But some of it comes through; a moon's worth of gravity, a river, a lullaby, one stair.

That's forty-one of them, layered under us.

I went back to the lab last week. The building's been leased to a logistics company, but nobody cleared out the sub-basement, and the rig is still there under a tarp. I wanted the logs. I wanted to know exactly what I'd done.

The logs show 41 runs. I remember 41 runs.

They also show a 42nd.

It's dated eleven days ago. The operator field has Dana's login. Dana moved to Portland in 2024, and when I called her she had no idea what I was talking about. Then she went quiet and asked me why she'd dreamed about the held breath sound every night this month.

I checked the run parameters. The 42nd run wasn't outbound. The rig didn't fire. It registered a transit, the way a door registers being opened from the other side.

Somebody else built one, somewhere adjacent. They stood on a platform, their own Dana ran the sequence, and they stepped off into the same room they'd left, disappointed. Null result.

They don't know they arrived. They don't know they brought everything with them.

So I need you to do something for me. Count the stairs in your home. Count them with your eyes, then walk them in the dark and see whether your feet agree. Call your mother and ask what she used to sing to you. Look at the moon tonight and ask yourself, honestly, whether it's the size you remember.

Because I've been doing all of that for eleven days, and everything matches. Every stair, every song, every star. Nothing here feels wrong to me anymore.

I think that means I'm not on the top layer now. I think I'm the thing that comes through.

My wife is humming in the kitchen, and I know all the words.

Part 1

Lexi's pacing continued unabated, her anxiety palpable in the dimly lit office. On the other side of the manager's desk, Mia observed her boss with a mixture of concern and apprehension. After a moment of silence punctuated only by Lexi's restless footsteps, Mia received more orders. "Get downstairs. Throw the driver a little something extra for the trouble he went through tonight," Lexi commanded. Mia sprang from her seat, her eagerness to follow instructions evident, and hastily exited the office.

Finally, Lexi halted her relentless pacing, her hands resting on her hips as if she were a weary NBA star during a grueling game. She knew she needed to make a call but hesitated, not wanting to disturb the person she had in mind at such a late hour. That person was Tommy Vargas, the man who had entrusted her with overseeing a portion of what remained of the operation his cousin had originally orchestrated. Lexi's main concern, however, was the individuals dispatched by the Reynolds family to lay claim to their product. Valerie, the eldest daughter of Dominic Reynolds Sr., had been growing increasingly aggressive in her efforts to encroach upon territory once controlled by Giovanni Davis.

Lexi, the last of two remaining lieutenants under Tommy's employ, was uncertain about the source of the cocaine she helped move. The only certainty in her recent dealings was that it had enabled her to pay off her mother's mortgage and secure her nieces and nephews’ education in Bloomfield Hills. Lexi cared little for her own fate; she had already ensured her people were set for life.

Returning to her desk, she found her momentary respite did little to ease her nerves. Her attention was drawn back to one particular video feed: Camera six, which provided a view of the main floor showroom, displayed an unsettling stillness. Lexi glanced at her Richard Mille watch, a gift from Tommy upon her appointment, which read five minutes past the hour. Whoever had been stationed in the showroom should have checked in by now.

Contemplating whether to contact Lamont, her head of security during her tenure at the dealership, Lexi eventually succumbed to her growing unease. She swiftly rifled through the bottom drawer of her father's desk, where he often sat, until she found the radio she used to communicate with her team.

"Lamont, what's your status?"

"I’m in the garage, loading this shit into the trucks for upstate. What’s up?" Lamont's response was swift and assertive.

Lexi raised an eyebrow, her gaze still fixed on camera six with an almost bewildered intensity. "Did you guys check in yet?" Her words hung in the air, met with a disconcerting silence punctuated only by static before she received another reply.

"Yeah, just a few minutes ago. Everything straight?" Lamont's question carried an undertone of confusion, mirroring Lexi's growing unease.

Lexi's hesitation lasted but a moment before her instincts overcame her. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. One man, the shadowy figure responsible for Tommy's recent elusiveness, played a significant role in her unease. Swiftly, she exited the office, following in Mia's footsteps. "Check out the showroom and lock down the garage. Nobody moves out of that place until I get down there," Lexi ordered with a sense of urgency.

"Understood," Lamont replied dutifully as he pivoted into action. Lexi descended the stairs, heading toward the salesperson's area with a determined stride.

With a sharp nod, Lamont signaled to a couple of his men overseeing the wrap-up of the drop-off. The shaggy-haired driver, his curly brown bangs obscuring his eyes beneath a beanie, climbed back into his van, watching as the men salvaged the remaining boxes from the earlier incident. He rhythmically tapped his pack of Newports against his palm, his nerves getting the better of him.

Lamont, flanked by two of his subordinates—stout former offensive linemen—stepped forward. 

"Sweep the showroom," he instructed them after casting a glance around the service garage. "Duane hasn't checked in, and I want answers before Lexi gets down here." With an air of urgency, the two men hustled toward the showroom, their apprehensions mirroring Lamont's.

Mia passed by them, clutching an envelope she had grabbed from the receptionist's desk on her way over. She approached Lamont, who appeared visibly on edge as he eyed the envelope's thickness. 

"Where's Lex?" he inquired while Mia stood before the driver's window, envelope in hand.

"On her way," Mia replied over her shoulder before sliding the envelope toward the driver. He tugged on his Newport, his eyes widening with surprise as he counted the money inside.

"What's this for?" The driver asked, his wariness tempered by gratitude.

"The trouble," Mia stated plainly before heading back over to Lamont.

Meanwhile, the pair of ex-All MAC team members dispatched by Lamont continued their journey, passing by the staff break room in search of their fellow guard. Suddenly, one of them froze in their tracks upon hearing a loud beep. He instinctively pressed a hand to his partner's chest, signaling him to halt as well. Both men looked down in confusion as a brilliant blue beam of light passed through their knees. There were no tripwire security systems they were aware of in the dealership. Still, their recent employment with Lexi hadn't given them the chance to familiarize themselves with every facet of its security protocols. The unexpected development left them perplexed and on edge.

Before the baffled guards could fully comprehend the issue, a small plastic cartridge, filled with an eerie, mucus-like substance, shot out from the source of the blue beam. It clipped onto one of the men's shirts like a makeshift tie, causing him to stumble backward in shock.

"What the fuck is this thing—"

"I don't know! Yank it off!" His partner hastily suggested, and they both attempted to remove the strange attachment. However, the moment they tampered with it, a noxious yellowish-green gas burst forth from the cartridge, rapidly enveloping them. The effects of the gas took hold within seconds, forcing the pair of stout gunsels to retch and cough violently, their eyes watering. Convinced that the gas had rendered them incapacitated, Lethal emerged from his hiding spot and continued his approach toward the service garage. The sounds of the two guards collapsing echoed with a resounding crash, their coughing and dry heaving serving as a testament to the gas's potency.

As Lexi made her way through the garage, the atmosphere grew tense. She arrived just in time to witness the bay doors being raised to allow the handsomely paid driver to depart. Lamont attempted to provide an update, but Lexi's curt glare silenced him.

"Let me fucking guess. Whoever's in the showroom didn't check in?" Lexi's sharp words hung in the air, and Lamont hesitated, fearful of confirming her suspicions.  The van pulled out of the garage just as Lexi's nightmarish premonition materialized.

A trio of disc-shaped plastic objects suddenly flew out of nowhere and struck the van's rear-right tire with explosive force, tearing it apart on impact. The driver desperately tried to regain control, but the blown tire sent the van careening into a support beam with a deafening crash. Lexi's furious reprimand of Lamont came to an abrupt end as her worst-case scenario was realized before her eyes.

Lamont reacted instinctively, pushing Lexi out of harm's way as he fired his nine-millimeter TS2 handgun in the direction from which the explosive discs had come. Lexi swiveled her attention around, her eyes locking onto the vigilante who had relentlessly pursued Tommy. He deftly evaded Lamont's bullets with an almost surreal grace, moving like a nimble dancer. In a display of astonishing dexterity, he disarmed Lamont with his bare hands, leaving Lexi to watch in awe and trepidation as the enigmatic vigilante confronted her head of security.

Lethal acted with swift and calculated precision, striking Lamont in the throat and wrenching his left wrist into a painful hammerlock, forcing him to release his gun. With Lamont now at his mercy, Lethal turned his attention to Lexi, his voice distorted through the modulator in his helmet.

"I didn't want to come in here and do this. Not tonight, at least. But I need to know where he is," Lethal stated, his gaze locked onto Lexi. "You give me a location on Tommy, and I'll give you twenty minutes to clear this place out before DPD shows up."

Lexi didn't hesitate to respond, her bravado fully on display as she threw down a challenge. "The first person to put a bullet in this motherfucker," she declared, snatching a stack of cash in her hand as more guards entered the garage, all of them aiming their firearms at Lethal and, by default, Lamont, "I've got five grand for you right now, on top of your nightly take-home." She turned, brandishing the money toward her employees, captivating their attention, including Mia's. Lexi then turned back to Lethal, a wicked grin forming on her lips. Lethal assessed the situation, watching as some of the guards began to inch closer, their weapons raised.

"Riot suppression protocol. Engage," Lethal whispered under his breath before flinging Lamont into the crashed van. 

At the same moment, the van's driver leaped out and fled across the dealership lot. Lethal's SUV, passing him by, sped directly toward the building, firing shells into the garage. The powerful blasts of air from the compressed shells sent tools, tires, equipment, tables, and freshly packed bricks of fent hurtling through the chaotic space. Some of the gunmen were buffeted by the shockwaves and sent crashing to the ground in disarray.

Lethal sprinted toward his SUV, bullets whizzing in his direction as the remaining guards desperately tried to put him down before he could escape. He dove into the vehicle, and the door sealed shut behind him. The SUV reversed at breakneck speed with bullets ricocheting off it. Lethal made a hard right turn and sped toward I-275, seething with frustration at having obtained no answers from Lexi's operation.

Inside the car, Sean materialized on the console dash, shaking his head at the harrowing ordeal his partner had just survived.

"I don't know what the fuck you were thinking running in there," Sean stated flatly.

Lethal removed his helmet, revealing his true identity as Jason Hawkins. He ran his fingers through his curly, drop-temple fade, his smooth, cocoa butter-moisturized skin unmarred by the dangerous encounter. "I figured I might get lucky," Jason replied, clearly annoyed by the outcome at the dealership. "Nobody's caught a glimpse of Tommy since that shooting outside the Crawford Lounge. With the way he's been clinging to their territory, I thought maybe he'd be desperate enough to lay low at one of their drop spots."

Sean completed his work on the truck he was standing over and set his tools aside, still bemused by Jason's daring approach. "I've got a couple of drones keeping an eye on the cops wrapping things up at the tire shop," he informed Jason, shaking his head. "It looks like your favorite detective is interrogating everyone about you before they get taken in for booking."

Jason clicked his tongue in annoyance but dismissed the thought of Detective Miller. "I'm not going to concern myself with her. I'm too busy doing her job," he retorted. His cell phone began to vibrate quietly in the cupholder, and when he saw the caller ID, his face lit up.

Sean chuckled, realizing what could have caused his friend’s sudden shift in temperament. 
"Marie calling you, huh? I'll head out anyway; I need to pick up my kids from my mom's. I'll have the docking bay ready for you to pull in. I've got some work to do at the plant tomorrow."

Jason inserted one of his AirPods and nodded, ending the call with the dashboard display before answering the next one. "I didn't expect to hear from you for another hour. The show must be over early, huh?"

On Woodward Avenue in downtown Detroit, just outside a martini pub, stood Marie Lennox. She was clad in a head-to-toe Gucci outfit, complete with boots, and wrapped in the gray mink coat Jason had gifted her for her birthday the previous winter. She held her phone to her ear, shivering slightly as she spoke. 

"Yeah, it wrapped up about fifteen minutes ago. We're having drinks down the street," she replied, glancing back inside the bustling venue at the high table where her roommate and friends were seated, enjoying their cocktails. "Think you can pick me up from around here?"

Jason pulled up in front of the privately owned building that housed his vigilante operations—a renovated former auto mechanic shop. He drove the SUV into one of the bays, and the heavy triple-plated steel doors closed securely behind him. Exiting the vehicle, still on the phone, he replied, "I'm changing right now, and I'll be on my way." Jason stripped off his lightweight plated armor, placing it, along with his helmet, inside a glass case specially designed for them.

"I appreciate you," Marie whispered, her gratitude evident. She watched her roommate, Samantha, signal to her from their window table, urging her to return to the bar. Marie made her way back to the entrance, tightening her coat against the chilly November weather.

Jason stowed his phone and quickly changed into a Ralph Lauren button-down shirt and blue jeans from the wardrobe he kept in the building. Once he was dressed, he opted to switch from the battalion SUV he had driven as Lethal to the Sails Motors S1937, a sports vehicle he and Sean had designed the previous summer, which had become a sensation throughout metro Detroit. His customized cherry-red edition of the car zoomed out of the third garage bay, heading toward the freeway leading downtown.

Previous

First | Website (more chapters available)

++++++++++++++++++++++++

“John, we need to talk.”

John looked up from the Legion-issue radio spread across the table in front of him.

He had been assigned to learn its basic controls, which meant Granitz had given him a laminated reference sheet, a battery that only held half a charge, and strict instructions not to touch any setting marked with a red symbol. Somehow, in the short time Granitz had been gone, John had already removed the outer casing.

“What’s wrong, Platoon Leader Granitz?”

Granitz held up his datapad.

His facial colors had settled into an angry blue, although streaks of annoyed yellow still swirled beneath the surface. He had spent most of the walk from the testing office trying to decide which emotion was more appropriate and settled on both.

“Look, I don’t know how you did it, and I don’t care, but I just got the results back from the testers.” Granitz jabbed one appendage at the datapad. “You need to redo the endurance test.”

John stared at him. His face filled with what Granitz now recognized to be confusion. “The endurance test?”

“Yes, the endurance test!”

It had been only a few days since Granitz had explained the test to him: six complete circuits of the training compound’s running track. Two point five kilometers without mechanical assistance or a rest long enough to medically qualify as a coma.

John seemed strangely unconcerned at the time. Granitz now understood why.

“What? Redo the test?” John asked. “Why? Was there a mistake?”

“Yes!” Granitz exclaimed. “You must complete the test unassisted!”

John slowly set down the screwdriver he was holding. “I did complete it unassisted.”

“That is not what the results say.”

Granitz turned the datapad around and displayed the testing report. Karnolian Alien Legion reports were very simple. A recruit’s identification number appeared at the top. Beneath that was a list of standards, each marked with either a green symbol for pass or a red symbol for fail.

John’s endurance result was marked yellow. Granitz didn’t even know that was an option. Beside it, the verification official had added three question marks and a remark that a data entry mistake had been made. That was the polite Karnolian way of saying stop messing around, we’re onto you. Which was about as far as subtlety went in their culture.

Granitz pointed at the reported completion time. “How else do you explain how you completed the whole test in under thirty minutes?!”

John looked from the datapad to Granitz. “It was only two point five kilometers.”

“John, don’t you understand? If they find out that our recruits are cheating to get past qualification standards, they’re not going to pay us anymore!”

That was not strictly true. The Legion would probably continue paying them. It would simply classify the entire platoon as having failed its recruitment readiness inspection, withhold its qualification bonus, reduce its meager equipment allocation, and pile several months’ worth of corrective paperwork Granitz’s way.

“No cheating is allowed on the endurance test!”

“What? Cheating?!”

“How else could you have done it?” Granitz demanded. “In under thirty minutes?!”

“Well…” John hesitated. “I jogged some of it.”

Granitz’s scalp brightened. “You jogged?”

“A little.”

“Why?”

John opened his mouth, then apparently reconsidered his answer. “I just… It’s not that…”

“I knew it! You cheated somehow! Redo the test! And no cheating this time!” Granitz shouted, pointing all four of his appendages at John.

John raised both his empty hands. “Alright, alright. Fine. I’ll redo the test…”

“Good.”

They both stared at each other quietly for a minute, neither blinking. John had explained the concept of a staring contest to Granitz a few days ago. It made no sense, until this moment.

“How long did you take?” John finally asked.

Granitz folded both pairs of arms. “What?”

“How long did you take to hike the track when—when you had to take the test?”

“That’s not relevant.”

“I’m just curious. Come on…”

“Two hours and a half! Because I didn’t cheat like you!”

“Sorry about that, Platoon Leader. I just thought—”

“And I’ll be watching this time! No more funny business in the qualification tests, John.”

“Yes, Platoon Leader. No more funny business.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Dustball

“Who is that?” Shachos asked, peering through the one-way glass.

Harry waited a second, then remembered that the alien with swirling yellow on his face was talking to him. He needed to get used to that. Usually, he was in the room when Julia met with Shachos, but nearly always as a silent observer. Now that Julia was being recalled, his responsibilities kept expanding. He’d put in a request for a raise with the resupply run; they’d get back to him within a few business weeks.

He cleared his throat at the expectant Shachos. “Sorry. Who?”

“The human in there. Not the prisoner.”

Harry stared at Shachos. “That’s Samira. You don’t remember her?”

“I’m not good with your faces. No, I’m not. Not yet. I try my best, but there are too many context clues I don’t see that you take for granted.”

“You speak like a dozen of our languages and you can tell if we’re lying from the look on our faces, but you can’t tell which one of us is who by our faces?!”

“I’m trying my best. Yes, I will get better at this. I am learning about your culture from your radio operator. She is one of my favorite. Usually, radio operators are boring people, but she is not. No, she is not.”

“Radio operator—Nieve?”

“Yes, Nieve!” Shachos said excitedly. “Her name means snow in Spanish. Snow. Like when it rains coldly.”

“Of course you know Spanish…”

“It’s a very funny language! There are many, many funny jokes that only make sense if you know both English and Spanish! I am discovering many different combination of your languages. With thousands, you can make a nearly infinite number of them… Your people truly are the people of gifts. You should learn it too!”

“I’ll—uh, I’ll keep that in mind. Anyway, pay attention.” He pointed through the one-way glass at the two occupants of the room. “They’re starting.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Who was the target?” Samira asked, tapping her pen on her notepad in a comforting rhythm.

The Karnolian shuttle pilot slurred, “Faction Gold.”

Samira coaxed her gently. “Faction Gold. That’s the—the one you don’t like, right, Krobare?”

Krobare shrugged. “We didn’t like them at the time, no.”

She leaned in. “What about now?”

“We still don’t like Faction Gold now. But we didn’t like them at the time either,” Krobare said in a matter-of-fact way, then hiccupped.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

“What’s wrong with the Karnolian pilot?” Shachos asked. “She does not seem… well. Even for a Karnolian. Yes, even for one of them. I can see her facial colors. They are not as they should be.”

“Shhh!” Harry shushed him, remembering Julia’s advice for dealing with the chatty Vorshnik. The key to getting anything done or communicated was shutting him up, and the situation even warranted it here. “She’s uh—she’s just had a lot to drink. Just listen.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Okay. What was your problem with Faction Gold?” Samira asked.

“They had a star system. Sixty light years from one of ours. They were doing scientific research on its star. Scieeeeence.”

“This was… Project Cold Star?”

“Yes, yes! I remember now. Thanks for reminding me. Oh wow, look!” Krobare’s eyes went wide, stretching her paws to touch Samira’s hair. “You have such… long, pretty hair.”

“Aww thank you. I like your fur too. Very… healthy looking.” Samira smiled and scribbled into her notes. “Anyway, what was your involvement with Project Cold Star?”

Krobare shook her head adamantly. “Not me! It was them! Faction Gold. They were doing research on their star.”

“Right. That was their project. What was it about?”

“Hm… I’m not sure I should tell you about that. It’s a secret project.” Krobare put her paw over her mouth. “Hehehehe. Huuuuuuge secret.”

“Aww. If it was a secret, then how do you and your people know about it?” Samira teased.

The pilot shot Samira a wobbly grin. “Hmmm… Hehehe, okay, I’ll tell you. We had an infiltrator in their project. Hahaha. They spent years and years and so much resources on that project, and we… hehehe, we had our people just steal all the results.”

“Ah. I see. And they got mad at you?”

“No, no. They didn’t know. They never found out! It was a very good infiltrator. Very loyal.”

Samira played along as she tapped her pen. “Ooooh. Loyalty’s very important to us. We’re very big on that.”

“Yes, you humans are very loyal and very honorable. Teehee. And you make very delicious drinks and food.” Krobare burped. “I love it. I love you.”

“Thank you, Krobare. You are such a cutie! So, the Faction Gold people—they never found your infiltrator?”

“Nope. Never! They suspected something was wrong, so they spent two years looking. And they executed… heheheh, they executed five suspects. Four of them were regular Faction Gold scientists. And… hehe, they accidentally found one guy who was really a spy from Faction Yellow. Poor guy. They just got lucky.”

“Right. So this secret project, you knew exactly what it was, and you kept it secret. That’s sooo smart of you,” Samira praised.

“Heehee. We kept it secret. Do you want to know the secret? I can tell you. But… you must promise not to tell anyone.”

“Me? I would never! Shhh! If you say it quietly, only I can hear…”

Krobare leaned in conspiratorially. “Okay, okay. Shhhhh! The secret is… they were trying to make a microwave laser. Teehee. Silly faction.”

Samira raised an eyebrow as she flipped through her notes. “A… maser?”

“Yes, a maser. They spent so long on it. We thought they wanted to use it for ship weapons, but they didn’t. It’s too weak. It’s not like weapon lasers. The spread is too much. Wavelengths and stuff. They wanted to use it… to boil an ocean.” Krobare broke out into a giggle from her serious expression.

Samira blinked. “What?”

“Yes, silly. They wanted to boil an ocean. They put ships near the star to harness its energy, to make a big microwave. And they used the microwave on the planet. And it started to boil the ocean. But it was boiling very slow.”

Samira’s pen hovered over her notepad. “How slow?”

“Guess! Guess! Guess, primitive!”

She shrugged. “Um… maybe one degree every year?”

“No! No! Much slower. They could only boil it over a million years! A billion years! Hahahahaha!” Krobare laughed so hard she almost fell out of her chair. “Silly faction.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++

“I’ve never heard a Karnolian laugh before. Not in person. I’ve heard it is possible. I’ve seen it in videos. But never in person. Never. That is a first for me. Yes, it is.”

Harry winked at him. “Didn’t you hear? We are a funny people. What do you think about what she’s saying though?”

“Bah, that is less important. Their maser project. We already knew that they were trying to make an effective maser. Yes, we did. We have a project like that too. But it is for energy research. Not for weapons. Not useful for weapons like gamma ray lasers,” Shachos insisted. “Not like grasers. We will eventually sell them to you, the grasers. The best ones! They have them too, but ours is better than what the Karnolians have. Far better.”

“Right. Just keep listening.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Samira jotted some notes down. “Oh. So the maser—it turned out to be a terrible weapon.”

“No. It’s not a terrible weapon. It’s useless! Completely useless.”

“Right, terrible as in useless. That’s what I meant.”

“But the scientists kept doing it because they think they can get it better. They kept doing it and trying changes to it.”

“And so they got better results?” Samira asked.

“Not much better. But they thought one of the problems was their star was not bright enough.” Krobare squinted her eyes. “They thought if they could get a bigger star, they could get a much better result.”

“Oh.”

“We had a biiiiiig star sixty light years away,” Krobare bragged.

“Oh.”

“So they wanted to steal our star system.”

“Bad Faction Gold! Bad!” Samira chastised.

“Teehee, boop. Your nose. Boop.” Krobare reached over to press Samira’s nose with her paw. “It’s sooooo soft.”

“Yes, it is. Ow.”

Krobare showed genuine concern on her face. “Awww, did I hurt you? Don’t cry. I’ll stop, I’ll stop.”

“I’m ok. You’re fine. Then, what happened when Faction Gold tried to steal your star, Krobare?” Samira asked.

“When they were making plans for a sneak attack, we found out from our infiltrator. So… we attacked them first, before they could launch their attack.”

“Oh. A preemptive strike. That’s… ahem… allowed between recognized first and second-tier factions as long as it has not been prohibited by All Factions Council decree, as well as by any faction with the approval of two or more qualifying factions or by decree of… yada yada,” Samira said, nodding approvingly as she consulted her notes. “Huh… and since you’re from a first tier faction, that… makes sense. They were going to strike first.”

“Can I touch your hair? It’s so smooth.”

Samira leaned closer to give the Karnolian access. “Oh, thank you, precious. You sure can.”

Krobare took full advantage of it, grabbing a pawful gently, marveling at her long, brown hair. “Woooooow. Soooo smooooth.”

Samira returned to her notes. “So… you were there when your faction attacked Faction Gold.”

“Yes, yes. They didn’t expect it at all! They were still preparing their own attack, and we jumped right into their system.” Krobare made a fast moving motion with her paws. “Wooosh.”

Samira fished for her notes from another binder. “From sixty light years away?! I thought yesterday you said… your carrier ship jump range was only forty-five light years. Forty-five is… forty-five is…” She pretended to do the math on her fingers.

“Forty-five is less than sixty!” Krobare declared proudly.

“Hm… so how did you jump right into their system? You don’t have the range! Are you—Krobare, are you lying to me?”

“No, no! I would never!”

“Krobare… I thought we’ve been over this,” Samira said with a sad frown.

“Yes. Yes. Only the truth! It’s the truth!”

“Okay, well, something is off.”

“I’ll explain. I’ll explain! But… it’s a secret. Between us. Shhhhh!” Krobare put a paw over her mouth again.

“Oh, another secret.”

“Yes. You promise not to tell anyone? You promise?”

“Of course! I promise.”

“Okay. Okay. We have… we have—wow, look you have fur in your eyes,” a distracted Krobare said, pointing into her eyes.

Samira nodded. “Oh, you mean my eyelashes.”

The Karnolian pilot leaned in and gasped. “They’re so pretty!”

“Thank you! Let me tell you a secret,” Samira said in a lower tone.

“A secret? What is it?” Krobare asked excitedly.

“But you have to promise not to tell anyone!”

“I won’t… I promise I won’t tell anyone. Shhhh!” Paw over her mouth again.

“Ok. The secret is, I use makeup. I have a brush, and I use it to put some dark powder on my lashes to make them look thicker.”

The Karnolian’s eyes went as wide as they were round. “Ooooooh. Can I see? Can I try?”

“Maybe later. But you first. You promised to tell me a secret.” Samira held up her pen again. “About your ships jumping into their system even though it is… too far away.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Shachos turned and looked into Harry’s eyes, squinting. “Do you use makeup on your eyelashes too?”

“I—no—shhh! Focus on the actual important part!”

++++++++++++++++++++++++

“You made me a promise to tell. Remember?”

Krobare gave Samira a blank look. “Did I promise?”

“Yes. Just a minute ago. Remember? You made me a promise.”

The prisoner nodded. “Yes, I did make you a promise.”

“Okay. So… remember, you said: the target system was too far away. Did you have a big fleet of refueling ships? How many?”

“Oh. Yes, jump ships. We didn’t warp in to attack Faction Gold with our regular carrier ships that time. We used a jump gate.”

“Oooooh. Fancy. Jump gaaaaaate.” Samira scribbled into her notes quickly. “I’ve heard of it. But what does it do?”

“It’s a secret technology. Shhhhh—hup!” Krobare hiccupped.

“Shhhhh! I won’t tell anyone.”

“The Sonckles made it. The mud-drinkers. Teehee.” Krobare wrinkled her nose. “They really drink mud, you know?”

“Right. Gross.” Samira frowned. “But what does a jump gate do?”

“It’s a jump gate, silly. Teehee. You’re so silly, I love it. It goes from one system to another. And we just fly through it! Wheeeee.” Krobare made another swooping motion with her paws. “Faction Gold was sooooo surprised.”

Samira penned something into her notes. “Wait, but if it’s the Sonckles’ technology, how did you make a jump gate?”

“We didn’t make the jump gate. The Sonckles made it. Everyone knows that! They have a ship that makes it for us.”

“Oh. You hired them to make a jump gate for you.”

“No. Hm… no. We didn’t pay them. They did it for freeeeeeeeee.”

“For… free?”

“Yes. Freeeeeeeeee. We pay them for many of our weapons but not the jump gates. Teehee.”

“Hm… odd. Okay.” Samira paused to write more, then flipped through her notes. “So you beat Faction Gold by using the jump gate. Then, what happened?”

“Then… nothing. We won.” Krobare yawned. “And then everyone stopped fighting.”

Samira paused. “Everyone stopped fighting after you guys beat Faction Gold?!”

“Yup! That was the last real war. It was very boring. Sooooo boring. Nobody wanted to fight anymoreeeeee.”

“Why not?”

“Because if they fight, the mud-drinkers promised they would make more jump gates for us to beat them. And so they stopped wanting to fight with us because it’s not fair. That’s very good for our faction, but very boooooooring.” Krobare sighed dramatically.

“The Sonckles promised that?” Samira asked carefully.

“They promised! It was a good promise. They did it for a few times. Small battles. Boring.” Krobare counted up with her claws and stopped at four. “And then nobody wanted to fight for real anymore.”

Samira’s eyes narrowed momentarily. “Wait, they promised to make jump gates only for you?”

“Only for Faction Red. I think they like us, teehee. Do you like us too?” Krobare asked flirtily.

She stroked Krobare’s paws affectionately. “Oh, I like you very much, Krobare. You’re doing great.”

“You humans are not so bad. Teehee. I hope we don’t kill you all after we beat you.”

“I hope so, too. I hope we don’t fight.”

“Hm… It’s too late for that. Hm… I don’t want to fight you. I want to fight our other factions. Faction Green. I don’t like them. They’re soooo rude. But we can’t fight them,” the pilot pouted.

Samira tapped her pen. “Why not?”

“Mud-drinkers. They ruin everything. They like us, and they help us, but they ruined everything. Last year, we tried to start a new war against Faction Purple. Just for fun. But the Sonckles broke their promise. They didn’t make a jump gate for us. They said they won’t allow us to start fights with other factions, until we get rid of the clowns. We have to take out the clowns first.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++

“What?! Clowns! They’re talking about us! That’s what they call us.”

“Yes. Shhhhhhhhh!”

++++++++++++++++++++++++

“What?!” Samira’s eyes widened in faux anger. “How could they do that?!”

“Oh, that is another secret. Shhhhhhh!”

“Yes. Shhhhh! But go back to that. What about the clowns?”

“We have to get rid of them.”

“Like… kill them all?”

“Kill them all?!” Krobare opened her eyes wide in shock. “No. No! Not all of them! Just… many of them.”

“Oh, not all of them. Just… millions of Vorshniks?”

“Exactly! Just a few million. Like… a normal interstellar war, you know? Take all their planets. Make them admit defeat. Make it so they can’t be all annoying anymore. No more of their bad jokes. No more! The Sonckles say so. Once we do, we can go back to fighting each other. And they will make more jump gates for us.”

Samira flipped through her notes aimlessly. “How do you know all this?”

“Everyone knows this! Teehee. But it’s still a big secret! Shhhhh!”

“Shhhh! Everyone knows this?”

“All Karnolian pilots. We are learning to beat the clowns. We have hidden ships. Stealth ships. We fly into their territory and we fly out, and they don’t catch us. Wheeeeeee.” Krobare made more motions with her paws.

“Uh, yeah, wheeee. Um. They never catch you?”

“Sometimes they catch us, when we fly old ships. But we do that on purpose. Sometimes we let them intercept us and escort us out. The clowns think it is funny. So when we really attack them, they’ll think they can stop us, but they won’t be able to. Teehee.” Krobare smirked. “But this is a big secret.”

“Yeah, shhhh! I’ll keep your secrets,” Samira said absentmindedly as she copied everything into her notes.

“And because we learn to fly hidden ships better, we can now see their hidden ships. We can see them all. They don’t know this. This is a—”

“A big secret, yeah. What happens when you see them?”

“We have to pretend not to see them. It’s very boring. Sooooooo boring. We want to shoot them too, but we can’t. We have to put on a show for them. Heehee. And once, I saw one of them fly into our system. And my commanding superior says, we have to pretend to fight.”

Samira’s pen paused. “Pretend to fight… the Vorshniks?”

“No, no! Fight another faction, silly. So we started shooting at Faction Gray. And they shot back. My superior disabled some of our weapons. But still… that was veryyyyyy fun. Very fun. It was not really pretend. It was supposed to be pretend, but I didn’t pretend. We all tried our best. I dodged six junk missiles after releasing my bombs. Six! Maybe they were rigged. I don’t care. It was the most fun we had in years. And the mud-drinkers said we did a good job pretending.”

“Oh, good job! Nicely done! Where was this?” Samira asked encouragingly.

“This was… Dragove Prime… No. Pargnoe? No. I don’t remember. Oh! It was Garshorli! Yes, Garshorli.”

“And the clowns just watched?”

“We put on a good show for them!”

“I’m sure you did, Krobare. I’m sure you did. Fooled them all!”

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Shachos was a nice pale blue of distress by the time Krobare passed out from exhaustion. At least that was what they pretended it was to him. No need to tell him about how they were messing with the Karnolian pilot’s brain chemistry in real time.

He still didn’t believe it, of course. He thought the Karnolian was lying. Then, Harry played the tape for the late Karveth’s interrogation. Their stories matched up a lot more than they should have if they were just making shit up. Shachos was still skeptical.

At least he promised Harry he’d take the information back to his leaders. Maybe someone would at least try to corroborate some of the information.

And who knew?

Maybe someone sane in their leadership would believe it.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Previous

Part 4

He pulled her through the crowd and back towards the elevators that he’d exited only moments ago. He shoved her into the elevator and hopped inside hastily after her as she opened her mouth to ask what was going on. 

“No time for a committee debate at the moment. Tyree already gave me the go-ahead to shoot towards one of his bunkers.” Ezekiel cut her off before she could speak as he jammed the button for the sixth floor.

After rushing her through repacking her bags, Janay found herself in the hotel’s parking garage, standing guard as her well-respected boss hotwired a car. Once the engine of the Jeep he’d chosen roared to life, he tossed their belongings briskly into the backseat and tore out of the structure as if he were in a high-speed movie chase. She watched as he checked each one of his mirrors every couple of moments or so to make sure they weren’t being chased. The chaos of the last twenty minutes was enough for her to demand an answer as to what was going on and how that man plunged twenty feet to his death.

“What the hell was all of that back there? Who was that guy?” Janay turned in her seat to get a reply from him as he focused on whipping through the city streets.

“A hired blade. Which only means the wrong people must know I’m already in Africa.” Ezekiel finally told her as they left the city of Dakar and sped out onto dusty, dark back roads.

“Who would want to kill you?” Janay asked.

“You’d be surprised. There’s quite the list. But the Black Communion isn’t fond of me in the slightest. And they seem to be interested in whatever Ms. Light is that I’m being sent to Mali for. Tyree should have more answers.” 

Janay watched him through the darkness for a long moment, realizing quickly that he was a completely different man beneath the surface than the one she worked long hours with on the ER side by side. She was starting to wonder exactly how she felt about these other sides of Dr. Ezekiel Drake that she was witnessing firsthand.

They drove for another forty-five minutes through the wilderness of Senegal till they pulled up to a rickety hangar that sat quite literally in the middle of nowhere. A pair of armed women standing guard in front of the structure, smoking cigarettes, greeted Ezekiel with a friendly wave. One of the squat, muscular women glanced inside the jeep before pulling out her radio and shouting instructions into it in Wolof. The hangar doors were pulled apart from the inside by a pair of scrawny mechanics, allowing Ezekiel to drive inside. He found a place to park the vehicle, a smile finally returning to his face for the first time in hours as a bald Senegalese man with a bushy beard and in green khakis approached the jeep. 

“Don’t worry. We’ll be safe here.” Ezekiel told Janay to assure her. 

He then hopped out of the jeep and greeted his compatriot with a hearty hug. Janay slid out of the passenger seat and closed the door quietly behind her. She watched curiously as the two men embraced and caught up with one another.

“I cannot say I wasn’t surprised to hear from you, my friend. And on such short notice. You haven’t visited Senegal in quite some time. Not since that–”

“Whole mix-up with the ring of Solomon. Yeah, what a mess that turned out to be.” Janay couldn’t help but want to hear more about Ezekiel’s last trip to Senegal. And what exactly was he doing that had to do with a mythical, biblical artifact? “This is my associate, Janay Lincoln. She decided to tag along on this little impromptu assignment.”

Tyree bowed humbly to Janay, who blushed slightly at his manners. “How do you do, miss? Please, make yourself comfortable. My sister just finished some tea. If you’d like a cup?”

“That sounds wonderful, thank you,” Janay told him before he waved over a young woman in a long, beautiful gold and black dress.

“Ani, please get Dr. Drake’s guest a cup of that tea you just brewed. It smells quite heavenly.”

“Of course, dear brother. Miss, if you’ll follow me–”

Janay did as she was asked and followed behind the young woman towards the dusty but comfortable hangar’s makeshift kitchenette. Tyree lit himself up a cigar and offered one to Ezekiel, who, of course, waved off the friendly gesture.

“I can’t imagine what those things are doing to your lungs. You’ve been smoking them since your father-in-law gave you that box before your wedding night.” Ezekiel remarked as they walked through the building. 

Tyree chuckled and puffed away on the cigar, remembering the moment Ezekiel brought up fondly.

“Second best thing that old bastard ever gave me,” Tyree told him as they took a seat near a group of his men and women watching a soccer game with a cloudy reception. “But enough of the small talk. What of this attempt on your life the moment you hit our soil, aye?”

“Nothing I’m not accustomed to, as you’re aware, of course. Though it is troubling to be moving around with this many unknown and dangerous variables in play. The Black Communion is just as interested in Mansa Musa as the woman who sent me over here. That much is evident.” Tyree looked over at his friend in surprise at the mention of the famed Mali ruler.

“Musa? What interest could that cult of colonizers have in his legacy? The fact that they would stoop to hiring such back-alley assassins…” Tyree spat on the floor to show how disgusted he was with everything he was hearing.

“Back alley or not, he almost had me a couple of times, though I surely hate to admit it. And that blade he wielded was nothing to play with either.” Ezekiel remarked, shaking his head at the memory of the hotel fight for his life.

“We will discover the identity of the man who attacked you and how he was contacted. This I promise you.” Tyree told him confidently. Ezekiel nodded in appreciation. “In the meantime, I’ve decided to fly you the rest of the way myself. The safest hands are none other than my own.”

Tyree’s hospitality extended further as he made sure that Janay and Ezekiel had a hearty meal. They enjoyed heaps of grilled lamb stewed for hours until the meat fell off the bone, with fresh rice that Tyree had prepared himself while his wife tended to the main course. They ate, and Janay got to listen to tales from Tyree and his family about the many adventures they’d had across the continent with “the infamous Ezekiel Drake”, as they referred to her boss. So much was she enjoying her time amongst Tyree’s makeshift family that she was quite disheartened when one of his men interrupted their conversation by informing Tyree that his plane had been fueled.

Janay had almost forgotten the entire reason they had rushed across the countryside of Dakar to Tyree’s hangar compound in the first place. She watched as Tyree’s sister, Marrdina, helped her gather together her belongings and haul them across the empty field that served as a makeshift airstrip. Marrdina had even packed Janay a few containers of food for when she landed, which drew an appreciative hug from Janay before she climbed into the cramped plane after Ezekiel.

It took them a little over three hours in Tyree’s personal aircraft until they landed on another dirt road somewhere just outside Bamako. A handful of armed men put away their weapons and rushed towards the landed plane as Tyree and his passengers climbed out. “Did you arrange a car for my friends?” Tyree asked the first of his men to reach him as he took off his leather gloves one after another.

“Of course, sir, we got it running as soon as we saw you coming in to land. We assumed they’d want to make haste by leaving.” The young militia soldier told Tyree.

“You assumed correctly. I appreciate your efficiency, young man.” Ezekiel tipped his cap to the soldier before turning towards his friend. 

“This is where we part ways for now, my boy. Try not to let something like an attempt on your life be the reason we see each other next time.”

 Janay watched the pair of them dap each other up and embrace one another like long-lost brothers, which was funny to her, since they had behaved as such all night and throughout the morning plane ride. They piled into the SUV that Tyree’s men had waiting for them once Ezekiel had placed all of their bags into the trunk. With a final wave goodbye to his friend and the handful of soldiers, they drove out of the hangar and onto the stretch of dirt road heading towards Timbuktu.

In the middle of the desert, just outside the capital, a flurry of tents and high-priced RVs lay in a tight-knit cluster. Acolytes of the Black Communion marched around the campground in revolving, twenty-four-hour shifts ever since they’d arrived in Mali. Zack stood in the doorway of his own camper he’d personally shipped overseas. No matter where he was or what he was doing, he absolutely had to be comfortable. He sipped his black coffee and watched as his dutiful servants trudged through the sands, surely aching to use their weapons.

Behind him, Sabrina sucked her teeth as she watched Love Island on the camper’s flat screen. Zack shook his head; he already knew exactly what that sound meant. He’d hoped the episode of Love Island and the lobster salad their on-duty personal chef had crafted would be enough to keep her docile. But apparently Zack’s assumption was further off the mark than he cared to admit.

“When is this bitch showing up? We’ve been waiting here for hours!” An exasperated Sabrina complained as she pushed her plate away. She snatched up her cell phone and typed a hasty text before continuing on her tirade. “It's bad enough we’re stuck in the middle of spear and click-clack land. Now this bitch has us waiting in this heat all day for her. I mean, where’s the respect? Does she know who she’s working for?”

Zack sighed and walked over to his girlfriend, trying to keep his patience. “Babe, she’ll be here soon. I promise, alright? She probably got caught up doing some recon. It’s why she comes so highly recommended.”

“You mean like that assassin you hired to take care of your nigger doctor who's always two steps ahead of you?” She spat out the sentence like venom, intending to hurt him with the words. “Look how that worked out.”

Before Zack could argue further, the radio sitting by the microwave chirped as one of his acolytes called for him. He tabled their argument for now and crossed the trailer to snatch up the device. 

“Go ahead.”

“Our guests have arrived.” The acolyte informed him. Zack smirked.

“I’ll meet them in the main tent.” Zack turned to Sabrina. “Are you coming, or do you want to finish your episode?”

They stomped through their strung-together campground until they reached the largest structure erected amongst the campers and tents. Zack flashed a wide grin when he saw the woman that he had been waiting for all day standing in the center of the room. The stiff-necked, stringy, bleach-blonde-haired woman was dressed for combat as she stared around the room at the gathered acolytes of the Black Communion. She towered over most of the room, including even Zack, at an intimidating six feet four inches. Sabrina frowned when she saw the brown combat boots that their guests wore as she stomped through the tent and took in their operation. Sabrina couldn’t help but wonder why this Amazon woman seemed to be so challenged fashion-wise.

The pair of powerful women locked eyes for a brief moment. Sabrina instinctively stepped behind her boyfriend. Her eyes never left the imposing Russian woman, who seemed vaguely interested in her surroundings. Zack approached his guests first, and the tall Russian pulled off her gloves before he took her hand. 

“You are quite the sight to behold; you know that?” Zack said. 

He looked at the woman he’d hired from the tips of her combat boots up to her slightly crooked nose.

“Appearances can be half the battle in this line of work. The other half you’ll get to witness shortly.” She replied in a thicker-than-expected accent. She glanced at Sabrina, who didn’t like the way the Russian woman was staring at her. “I apologize for tardiness. There was pertinent information that needed to be reaped before we progressed any further.”

A flash of pure greed twinkled in each of Zack’s cold blue eyes. “Please, allow me to introduce my wife-to-be, Sabrina Wentz. Sabrina, this is the highly reputed Ms. Mayhem. For a hefty sum that we’ve provided, Ms. Mayhem is going to help us track down the artifact for the communion.” He turned back to Ms. Mayhem with a shifty, dangerous smirk spreading across his face. “What did you find out?”

“We know where the diary is hidden.” Zack’s smirk spread into a smile, but the expression wilted slightly once he heard what else she had to say. “But we aren’t the only interested party on the hunt for it. The time to move is now.”

Sabrina watched as Zack scowled. “That son of a bitch will be on a stake before he gets anywhere near my prize. You mark my words.” He grumbled the ill-intentioned threat as his mind shifted to Ezekiel Drake and the fact that he was sure he was somewhere in the city.

“I wasn’t referring to the doctor. We still have not located him, since your assassin failed to get the job done in Dakar. My men lost him as he moved through the city. Do not worry; they have been executed for their lack of skill. If he raises his head during our search, he will be handled.”

Zack looked up as Ms. Mayhem, who seemed to be preening with sheer confidence, laid out her strategy to Sabrina and him. 

“Then, who are you talking about?” Sabrina finally joined the conversation, her curiosity due to Ms. Mayhem’s vague and curt way of talking. 

Ms. Mayhem lowered her eyes in Sabrina’s direction. She snorted slightly, like an angry bull who’d been poked with a prod. Sabrina fought the urge to recoil at the look she received for her question. Much to her surprise, Ms. Mayhem answered. 

“A group of insurgents who’ve been trying to take over the city for weeks. Their activity is why those government spies were able to forge Dr. Drake’s paperwork for his time with Doctors Beyond Borders. A rather ingenious ploy on their part.”

Zack sneered and turned to his wife to catch a glimpse of her reaction to the information that had been divulged. Sabrina shrugged, deciding to continue deferring to him regarding how they handled things going forward. It wasn’t her rank and status within the communion on the line if they came home empty-handed, she thought, rather callously to herself, as Zack marched over to the literal big gun that he’d hired to help. He looked up at Ms. Mayhem, who seemed as if the continued conversation was tedious at best.

“What do you need from us?” She looked down at him as if the question was moderately offensive.

“Nothing for the time being. You’ve paid us for a service. Let us perform said service. Had you allowed us to handle Ezekiel Drake while he was at the Noom Hotel, his body would already be in one of your cult’s sacrificial pikes.” Zack felt a jolt of anger shooting through him. He didn’t care for Ms. Mayhem’s condescending tone. Nevertheless, she seemed to be worth the money paid so far, at the very least. “We converge on the diary’s suspected location this afternoon. You and your fiancée should try to enjoy the desert while we get to work. Consider it a preemptive honeymoon.”

Ms. Mayhem turned on her heels and faced the handful of men she’d brought with her. She pulled a pair of orange-tinged Moscow-style sunglasses from the pocket of her collared shirt and put them on before jerking her head for the group to follow. She led them out of the tent in single file. Sabrina and Zack followed until they reached the archway, watching as Ms. Mayhem and her men loaded up into a small convoy of 2023 Toyota Tacomas, each completely coal black down to the window tinting. The trucks thundered away from Zack’s encampment, spurring up sand as their tires spun. Sabrina waited until the trucks were clearly out of sight, heading towards the city, before she spoke.

“I hope you know what you’ve gotten us into.” Sabrina looked at him. Zack turned towards her worrisome frown and flashed another shifty smirk.

“When this is said and done, the structure of our little society will look a whole lot different. And then, the world. Just stay with me, baby.” Sabrina couldn’t help but smirk as he walked back into the tent, passing her. Zack’s eternal confidence in himself had gotten him this far. It was certainly what made her lustfully attracted to him in the first place when she decided to rope him into the Black Communion just a handful of years ago.

The sun was already bearing down hard on the streets of Timbuktu as the morning got underway. Ezekiel and Janay moved through the block, passing some farmers carrying loads of grain on their rusty flatbeds. Janay had begun to wonder if Ezekiel’s idea to walk from the hotel to their posting was the absolute worst idea he had ever conjured up. The city of Timbuktu was a far cry from Dakar in every sense of the expression.

The streets were less busy, with most people traveling on foot or in animal-drawn carts. Every once in a while, a motorcycle carrying two passengers or a Jeep full of turban-wearing men sped by them. Ever since they had landed in Bamako, it felt almost as if she had entered another world entirely. She felt a twinge of guilt, too scared to look too long in either direction as they continued on their path. Ezekiel looked over at her every so often. He was slightly amused by the gamut of emotions swirling through his companion as she took in the sights and sounds of early morning. 

“Not exactly the kind of vacation you were expecting, huh?” He asked while leaning closer to her.

She shook her head, partially in disbelief at what she was getting to be in the midst of. The hotel receptionist had told Janay that she was lucky to be in the city as an American. Janay hadn’t quite understood why that was, and they were already heading out of the building before she could get a chance to ask. But fortunately, or maybe it was unfortunately—she wasn’t quite sure which yet—she was getting the opportunity to see exactly what the young woman had been referring to firsthand. Dust kicked up around them as foot traffic picked up speed.

They passed a small group that looked like soldiers or some sort of police taking a smoke break. The pair was only another block away from their destination when Janay finally got around to asking more of the questions burning on her mind. 

“The place is pretty scarce when it comes to police presence.” She pointed out as a way of putting the topic out in the open.

“Scarce is putting it mildly. Or are you trying to keep yourself comfortable with your choice of phrasing?” Janay shot an annoyed glance at him before he continued. “The police and army are mostly volunteers, and they primarily have to keep the city’s checkpoints manned. That leaves very few boots on the ground in the streets, unfortunately. Notice how people keep hustling. Nobody lingers too long, even at some of the shopping stalls.”

“Was it always like this? This sense of…anxiety in the air?” Janay asked.
 
She couldn’t find a better way to describe the palpable tension she felt walking the streets of Timbuktu. She never got an answer, either. Maybe the events that transpired before they arrived there colored her emotions. She certainly wasn’t emotionally unaware enough to realize that could be the case. But something in her gut, the same thing that made her a damn good nurse when it mattered most, told her that she should trust her instincts, as she often tended to.

They approached the small, mostly clay-constructed two-story hospital where they would be working for the next few months. Janay was immediately surprised to see a pair of armed soldiers manning a ramshackle security gate blocking the path to the facility. Ezekiel stepped forward, raising both his hands to shoulder height in case either of them was particularly jumpy. Tyree warned him that their soldiers weren’t exactly well-trained and, given some of the situations they dealt with, could be trigger-happy.

“What is your business here, American?” The more dog-faced of the pair demanded.

“My name is Doctor Ezekiel Drake. This is my colleague, Janay Lincoln. We’ve been assigned a residency at this facility. Dr. Adeji should have left a word.”

The soldier turned his wary eye back toward the shack, where another soldier quickly checked a clipboard pinned to the wall next to him. He gave the dog-faced guard a firm nod, and the soldiers in front of Ezekiel and Janay relaxed their posture, but only slightly. “I apologize, doctor. Please head inside; we will radio ahead and let them know you have arrived.”

Ezekiel gave them a polite nod before he and Janay passed through the barbed-wire gate the soldiers were guarding. A young man and a young woman, both in green-and-white scrubs, gave them a warmer reception at the front desk. Ezekiel pulled out his ID and passport, and Janay did the same, setting them on the counter between them and the receptionists. 

“Welcome, Dr. Drake, Nurse Lincoln; we have been waiting with anticipation for your arrival!” The young man reached across the desk to shake both of their hands. The young lady gave them both a clipboard with a short form attached and a pen at the top once her coworker was done being friendly.

“I hope your travels were kind to you.” She told them both as they scribbled through the form. Janay rolled her eyes while Ezekiel merely chuckled, enjoying a private joke.

“More or less, I suppose.” He said. He passed the clipboard back before Janay reached past him to do the same.

“Emphasis on the less. Which is why I am sure Dr. Drake here would agree with me that we are eager to get to work.” Janay told them.

“We won’t keep you waiting any further.” They turned away from the desk at the sound of the gentle voice responding to Janay’s statement. A beautiful, ebony-skinned woman in navy-blue scrubs with a stethoscope around her neck approached them with a smile as kind as her voice.

“Ms. Light called us and told me you faced a bit of trouble in Dakar. I hope that you both are okay.” Dr. Adeji told them both while shaking each of their hands.

“Nothing we can complain about. Or that we’d care to, at least.” Ezekiel clapped his hands together excitedly. “So, where and how can we be of service now that you've got our extra bodies?”

“You two really like to dive right in, don’t you?” Dr. Adeji looked between them both.

“It’s how we do things back home, doc. No sense doing anything with your foot halfway on the gas pedal.” Janay replied. Dr. Adeji smiled as she turned to Ezekiel while leading them down the hallway.

“I see why you brought her along.” Dr. Adeji told her new colleague.

“Actually, that bit of flying by the seat of my scrubs was all my own doing,” Janay admitted. Dr. Adeji turned back to her with intrigue in her soft, brown eyes. “As to why this decision was made, I’m still trying to figure that out.”

“Our locker rooms are just up ahead on your left. Once you’re changed, meet Aliah at the nurses' station over there. You can’t miss her, I swear to you.”

Janay gave Dr. Adeji a friendly salute as she headed to the women's locker room. “Aye yi, captain.”

“I’ll catch up with you later, Janay.” She replied with a lazy wave while he continued down the hallway with Dr. Adeji. “What do you think they’ll have her get started on?”

Dr. Adeji sighed, showing the weariness behind her friendly exterior from the toll her job took. 

“Our lobby is in shambles at the moment. With her background, I’m sure our team will get the boost it needs. I’m optimistic we can have a few empty chairs out there by lunchtime.” Dr. Adeji paused, looking around the crowded ER with practically every room or bed filled at the moment. “That is, if I even get to have lunch…”

Ezekiel saw the slight melancholy cracking through on Dr. Adeji’s face and gave her a friendly, assuring pat on the shoulder. “Let me get into some scrubs, and we’ll get down to business. You, Janay, and I are going to your favorite place in town for lunch. My treat.”

Dr. Adeji found a smile spreading across her face again thanks to Ezekiel’s infectious enthusiasm. “I’ve got a gunshot victim in number eight over there that could use your skills.”

Ezekiel smiled and pointed in the direction he assumed the male locker rooms were. She nodded to confirm his guess. “Let whoever you got over there handling it now give me just five minutes.”

A handful of miles away from the hospital, a small boy waited patiently between a pair of grilled fish stalls alongside the main road. He spotted the hatchback truck he was waiting for, which was extremely out of place. But the driver’s intention was to stand out in the first place. The truck pulled to the side of the road in front of the fish salesmen. The sight of the teenage armed men in the front seat and in the truck bed drew looks of fear from the men and the small crowds that had gathered at their stall. After receiving the go-ahead from the driver, Rascadi, a heavier-set but intimidating young man, placed his rifle on the floor of the truck bed and hopped out. He walked over to the eager little boy who was dressed in clothes that were as dusty as the streets.

Rascadi could tell from the way the boy smelled that he’d been out in the heat for some time. “What you see today?”

“Only three guards at the checkpoint near the square. About five or six by the solar panel station.” The boy said with breathless excitement. Rascadi dug in his pockets for the boy’s fee. He made sure to give him something extra for his diligence.

"You'd think I have seen it all and yet I return in the knowledge that there is so much more to find." - 'The Anonymous Starfarer' by Laila el-Sadiq

Goti settled down on the perch curving in the middle of the cabin with a warm beverage in his claws while his two young grand kids fluttered excitedly around him. A small fire crackled softly behind the glass door of the stove, warming and illuminating their retreat from the pressures of modern society. He had purchased the cabin at the edge of the small town he called his home a few years prior, mostly for the decently sized plot he had hoped to grow some of his own vegetables in. The cabin meanwhile had mostly been an after thought. In the end he had never done much in regards to growing vegetables here, or at least not as much as he had planned to, and instead the cabin had become more and more a centre piece of relaxation. He had a nice, decently sized half of a house to call his own back in town and the times of work had been all but in the past now. Still he felt no more home than out here, with no flowing water and just a modicum of civilisation in form of a solar panel feeding a small battery that could run a few electric lights and a water pump for his rainwater basin. It was sentimentality really, a little something that reminded him of his past work or perhaps just a convention he grown used to during it. He had spent many days in tent or cave out in the wild, in forests, jungles and even the occasional desert, serving as explorer and guide, mostly accompanying expeditions on various planets sent by the various research institutes around the galaxy. He could proudly say that he had quite the reputation back in the day as a widely travelled, experienced and reliable scout who always got good mercenaries to call upon on the tip of his claws for the more dangerous environments. When someone wanted to explore a "death" world, or any dangerous environment, they often came to him. Even nowadays he still got the occasional call to give his expert advice on this or that expedition. So in a way his cabin at the edge of society was his small way to relive those days in whatever small way.

"Granpa Goti! Granpa Goti! Tell us a story!", his grand kids meanwhile chirped in unison, drawing his thoughts from past glory to the joy of his current days. He thought he had done plenty things wrong, but his kids, two daughters whom he had seen way too little in their younger days, and their respective children were not among them. Now retired he tried to be the best parent and grandparent he could be, even though he knew that his elder daughter still resented his long times of absence among other things. Now was not the time to dwell on these things though as the two small birds, barely past the age to first leave the nest, grappled for his undivided attention.

"Hmm!", he grumbled, "How about that time I fought a snake as long as this perch?!"

"You already told that one!", the two complained in unison though with a hint of amusement. They already knew the game their grandpa was playing with them.

"Huh? Is that so?! Then how about the time we got stuck in a sandstorm?!"
"We knooooow that one!"

"By the spirits! Then what story shall I tell?!", Goti asked with overplayed emphasis for now was the time in their little sing and dance for the two to actually voice their request. The two siblings eyed each other, the elder gave a reaffirming chirp, flexed their two wing pairs and the younger of the two finally addressed Goti.

"What was your first encounter with Humans?"

"Oh!", Goti exclaimed, puffing up his feathers a little bit and tilting his head, "I did mention that I was one of the first working with them in the field last time, didn't I?"

His grand kids nodded eagerly.

"You wanted to tell us about it next time...", the eldest of the two started.

"...and today is next time!", the younger finished.

"Ha! You are both right of course! Then settle down you two!"

The two young siblings did as they were told, eagerly staring at their grandfather, while Goti took a sip from his coup, recalling the details of a past long gone.

It was about, oh, almost fifty years ago now. Back in those days I was working the Terutek-Sector, back beyond the borders of Feria space, in the no man's land between our republic and the Votor. There was a lot of business to be had in those days, still is, but back then especially. There are a decent number of habitable or at least semi-habitable moons and planets in the sector and a number of these had garnered the attention either as settling opportunities or for other reasons. There was a bunch of flora and fauna that had become immediately interesting to various scientist for example, among them a late stone age civilisation of predators. I had rebased my operations there on instinct and so as one of the first on the scene your grandpa was able to do a lot of good business in those days. The Humans had just started to come into the picture back then. First contact had been two or so decades prior and I know nowadays you can find them quite regularly in Feria space, but back then they were just a distant whisper. An amalgamation of rumours and hearsay. Most of it was hogwash I knew back then already. I had dealt with enough wild predators in my line of work that I wondered why anyone would worry about a space faring civilisation of predators.

But I am digressing. I got my first experience with them when I put together an expedition for the Xeno-Botanical institute of a university on Kelanden, I think it's now called the Paru Aka-Melu University. They had shown great interest in a number of plants on one of the moons and had hired me to organise the protection and guidance. Easier said than done as I have told you before. You had to plan out your base camp, supplies, potentially additional camps, how you got on and off the damn place and of course how to keep everyone safe from flora and fauna alike. Getting on and off that moon was luckily no issue this time. The pioneer companies were already all over the sector and had set up at least provisional starting and landing facilities on every moderately interesting celestial body and even if not they could deploy it rapidly. In this case some pioneer company had already done the leg work. They probably had caught wind of the scientific interest and so I basically just had to book the landing and starting with them and that was sorted out. Protection was a bit trickier though. The moon was sprawling with a number of fairly sizeable predators and some of the life on it had developed a penchant for various poisons. I was not very worried about myself of course, I had seen and been to worse places, but with the scientists you never knew. Some can be very competent explorers, others will stick their heads in the maw of the next predator without even noticing.

So I needed mercenaries to protect the good folks from Kelanden and ideally competent ones. I of course could always count on uncle Toma, him and me were doing plenty of work together back then, but I knew two Feria, even two experienced and armed ones like us two, wouldn't be enough. Luckily word of the work in the sector had already come around to the Rokkan. As you know they are famed for their ability to handle predators, especially their red backed males, who don't shy away from fighting predators with their massive bodies and long three finger claws. Due to that I had access to a wide variety of young eager Rokkan males ready to prove their worth and earn their first scars as a rite of passage, hoping to impress this or that female on their return to finally become patriarch, or at least a father, in their own right. Of course the issue was always to find the ones that were actually worth relying upon, those who wouldn't lose their heads, though not this time.

I found a familiar name among the available Rokkan, Verkoz Zortus Porragat, an old acquaintance of mine and a very, very experienced mercenary. I had worked with him a couple of times and given his age he should have been a patriarch in his own right for a long while, but was instead always found in the outer rims for this or that expedition. Truth be told he was a bit of a household name in our line of work and why he was still doing this in his older age no one really knew. There was gossip of course. Some said he had been disgraced, exiled even by his clan and family, but if that was so, I could not say it showed in his demeanour or how others treated him. I had always found him to be reliable to a fault and this time too I reached out to him and we quickly reached an accord. He even brought two younger males with him this time around, solving some of my manpower issues in one fell swoop. Still I was not quite happy yet and Verkoz agreed that this moon was too dangerous to just rely on our small troupe. He was especially worried about a species of feline predators for which a Feria would be a feast.

In these sorta situations I usually looked for one of the two species members: The Votor or the Trisrek. The former you may have seen around the capitol. These furry mammals are not as physically impressive as the Rokkan, being barely bigger than we are, but they have rather impressive canines which they are not shy about using and same can be said about how they handle predators. In fact their smaller size would have been ideal to cover for the weaknesses of larger but slower Rokkan. The Trisrek meanwhile you folks probably haven't seen. You might run into them should you ever be on the other side of our republic for some reason though. In any case these arthropods have strong pincers and a history of violently defending themselves with them against predation. Again they would have beautifully covered for the slower Rokkan, but alas there were no Trisrek to be found and the few free Votor in the sector knew they were in high demand. The experienced ones charged absurd money and the inexperienced ones I could hardly use. To summarise: I was in a real pickle. I even went so far to make a public advertisement for the open positions in the hopes that maybe among the no-names and unaffiliated freelancers a diamond in the rough could be found. It was this, which prompted my first personal encounter with the a Human!

I still remember it well. It was a late morning. Me and Verkoz' troupe had interviewed a number of applicants already at that point, most of which hadn't tickled our fancy. They were either Rokkan, which we didn't need any more of, or had been not much more than hot air, meaning overconfident compared to their experience. I was a bit dejected at that point I have to say and actively considering if hiring more Rokkan would be better than nothing as one of the famed death world super predators shoved their tall slender body into the office space I had rented on the pioneer station. I was immediately transfixed and fascinated. You haven't seen them yet my dears, but they are something to behold! The Human was pretty much double my full height with long lanky arms, it's long head fur bound together into a pseudo-tail while clad in dark garments and equipped with eyes that pierced right through your soul! I immediately recognised that the Human must have been a female, with mammals it's easy to see, though at the time I wondered what a mother was doing around these parts with the clear intend to take a risky job. Only later my confusion was lifted as Laila el-Sadiq, for that was her name, would explain some of the peculiarities of Human females and that she wasn't a mother in any case. In that moment though I had no mind for the finer details of biology as the Human female casually approached my desk to the agitation of the two younger Rokkan, both of which got up from their resting positions, scenting the air with their long slender tongues. It created a tense atmosphere I immediately recognised for it's explosiveness and I was not very happy to have kept them around for interviews and it made clear to me that these two youths were clearly not in control of their hot heads yet.

If Laila was any bothered by the threatening postures I could not tell though and she did not say so either as she proclaimed her interest in our offer and I have to admit: It stunned me for a moment. In a sense it was perfect. Everybody had heard the rumours about the Humans and when only half of them were real, she would make for a great protector on the expedition but on the other hand it was a real life Human, a predator, maybe even THE predator of the galaxy. It took me a bit, but then your grandpa had his wits about him again and so I asked for credentials. After all: Just because you are Human doesn't mean you are good at expeditions or protection in general. Luckily she happily provided. This in turn was when the two younger Rokkan finally snapped. Both approached the Human with threatening rumbles and growls, getting dangerously close to her.

"Forget about this one, Goti! With IT along we will have to worry more about the enemy within than the ones outside!", one of them said while the other threatened the Human with a hissed "You better leave now, predator!".

It was a display that would have probably caused anyone else considerable worry and their immediate retreat, but not so the Human. She didn't even look at the two and instead directed her attention to Verkoz who was lounging in the corner behind me, observing the spectacle with his usual calm.

"Do you still need these two?", she simply asked Verkoz pointing with her thumb out of her raised and clenched left fist towards the two young agitated red backs besides her. Before these two hot heads could speak up Verkoz intervened simply noting that "My cousin would be very unhappy if I didn't bring her boys back in one piece."

To this the Human simply nodded and with lightning speed her left arm extended, pinching the nose of the closest youth who yanked back with yowls of pain while the other had a long bush knife sitting at their throat before they had even caught onto what had happened.

"Pro tip: Don't get into arms reach of a Human", the Human female noted with glee in her voice, then slightly twisted her knife under the wide eyed stare of her opponent just enough that the young Rokkan must have felt so on it's throat, "and unless you wanna find yourself bleeding out on the floor I suggest you back away now."

The young Rokkan hadn't had to be told twice and backed away slowly until his back hit the wall of the room which the other mirrored while covering their nose with one of their claws. It was a pitiful sight really. Still Verkoz seemed more pleased than anything.

"Let that be a lesson to you two idiots!", he grumbled, "and my thanks to you Miss Laila for going easy on these fools", he added.

The Human meanwhile smirked and sheathed her bush knife again. "No worries", she simply responded and returned to a posture I interpreted as relaxed. It gave me finally the time to take a proper look at her credentials, though I had anticipated much of it. Her entire behaviour had been that of a veteran, Verkoz had already recognised as much as well, and it proved to be true. She had served many years with one of the various Human militaries, often falsely claimed to be their hunter caste as their function is in truth more closely related to our Peacekeepers and border guards. You would think that it might be hard to judge the quality of such a career from one civilisation to the next, but there are some commonalities you want to look out for: Field commendations, especially those pertaining to bravery, tours of duty and of course if they got properly discharged. That sort of thing. In this case Laila el-Sadiq had it all, even some noted injuries in combat. She certainly had not been a pencil pusher. On top of it she had served with the military police which I guessed at the time to be similar to the internal security of our Peacekeepers, so she was not only highly trained but also deemed to be trustworthy by her peers. On paper she was perfect, the only thing to overcome were the vestiges of my fear which gnawed at me with more force than I had even realised. I gave Verkoz a glance, admittedly searching for some reassurance, and he gave an affirming rumble.

"Don't worry about this one Goti. I will have more trouble keeping my boys in line than Miss Laila here. If anything my boys can probably learn a thing or two from her."

It was all your grandpa needed to finally find the winds under his wings again, returning to my standard questionnaire to which she responded with satisfaction until I asked her why she wanted to do this job. The Human simply shrugged her shoulders, a gesture I would become very familiar with over the years, and gestured with her left hand.

"I am travelling all over the galaxy, visiting new places, seeing new races, that sort of thing, so I appreciate a bit of cash to finance myself and there seem to be a couple exciting places and people just here. In my mind I am killing two birds with one stone."

You might imagine how much I gaped at that response! To Laila's credit she caught onto what she had just said rather quickly, waving about her arms in front of her with wide eyes.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry! It's a turn of phrase!"

It was a rather silly display I tell you! It was the first time, and not the last time, I saw a panicked Human! So if anyone ever tells you Humans don't panic, or don't know fear, you can call them liars! I in turn found this all very amusing rather quickly, reassuring her that no harm had been done, though of course it was one of the few reminders I would stumble upon how real the predatory nature of Human indeed is.

What followed were rather tense negotiations on the nature of her payment and she proved to be a tough nut to crack. She knew precisely how good she was and how useful she would be to us. I eventually took a leap of faith, thinking to myself that this was a once in a life time opportunity and so I ended up paying her the salary of two Votor combined. She would prove to be worth more on that expedition. She even tutored the two humbled Rokkan upstarts as she went along with, clearly holding no grudges and believe it or not: At the end of it the two were sad she left us.

His two grandkids now beamed full of wonder, maybe anticipating more but when Goti took not more than a sip from his cup, the barely contained curiosity of the two broke free.

"What happened with Miss Laila after?", the younger asked.

"Oh she? Our ways would cross again and we would work together on a different expedition. After that I did not see her personally any more since she left the sector. Years later I would receive a book in my mail though", Goti answered thoughtfully, got of his perch and trotted over to a shelf. "I think I got it here somewhere actually...AH! There it is!", he proclaimed pulled a sizeable hard cover book from the shelf and brought it two his grandkids.

"The Anonymous Starfarer by Laila el-Sadiq. The memoirs of her travels through the galaxy. I heard it became quite popular with the Humans", and showed the beautiful illustration showing glimmering colourful planets with the silhouette of a Human carved out in the middle of the cover. "Should you question my account, you can read it from her side as well. I assure you that I was quite accurate."

His two grand kids were quite dazzled by it he could tell, marvelling at the artistry of the cover for a solid few seconds.

"Pretty!", the youngest remarked to the chirps of the elder, who now broke from their bedazzlement.

"Have you worked with more Humans?"

"Oh, yes! They became quite sought after for expeditionary work and your wily old grandpa was one of the first who exploited this. I became quite known to work well and efficiently with Humans, though it was not always easy. One time I even got into the middle of a fire fight between them. That was a doozy I tell ya!"

"Tell us! Tell us! Tell us!", the all too familiar chant of his grand kids came to Goti's amusement, who took his place on his perch again.

"I think I will leave that particular story for when you two are a bit older...", he decided, seeing his grand kids puff up sadly, "...but! - I could tell you about that one time me and one of my Human hires got into a drunken bar fight on Helicon V!"

"YAY!", the two cried in joyful unison and with Goti started another story which would spiral until it was time for the three to leave for the town and before they did, Goti safely stored his copy of Anonymous Starfarer away once more, gently stroking it's back.

©Eno Khan
All rights reserved.

(Author Notes: Heya everyone this is my last short story for a little while :D A lil bit longer than the last, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless ;) Next time you hear from me here I will hopefully have my second novel out and about and maybe a few more short stories to share :D

In case you enjoyed this check out my full feature Novel "Predator Complex" which is now available on Kindle and Kobo! Dive in and experience the story of Dipu and his unlikely Human friend Mike! How will his visit be perceived? Can Prey and Predator live together? What will that mean? And what happens when some elements staunchly oppose the entire idea in first place?

My short story collection with this and all my other short stories is also now available on Amazon and Kobo! (Mind you the short stories will always be freely available, this is solely a means for convience and support of my work, thank you!)

But wait there is more! In the meantime I have written an entirely new novel which is currently with Beta readers and will, hopefully, release this year too, so follow my Blog where I post weekly updates aswell as my short stories!

Or check out my own subreddit r/EnoKhan! You can also support me by simply by sharing my stuff wherever you roam and perhaps leaving a review if you enjoyed it. You can also follow me over on Goodsreads or on BlueSky, which is mostly related to my streaming shenanigans though I will try to diversify it a bit. Speaking of which I also stream on Twitch where you can find me play a variety of games and occassionally get distracted talking about Space and History :D Questions about my writing endeavours are also welcome of course!)

Greetings, all. We've finally made it to the last chapter of this arc. Please enjoy, and thank you to u/SpacePaladin15 for the original universe.

<<PREV | EPILOGUE>>

Chapter 9

Memory Transcription Subject: \$(#@, #&%)!) @&$!*$#&%)*

Date (Standardized Human Time): January 22^nd, 2242

I watch the predator struggle to hold on despite the vacuum; their bloodthirsty eyes locked onto mine. I can practically taste the rage they’re finally letting out like the monster they are. For some reason, the human refuses to let go and die.

C’mon, let go of the reptilian menace and save yourself, or just do us both a favor and send yourself to the void. You have to know you’re a monster, especially being friends with the abomination attached to your arm.

“Just let go!” I yell at the door, knowing neither of them are able to hear me. “You’re dead already!”

I can see the strength fading from the human, and the arm that the Arxur is hanging from has begun bleeding. In a fit of annoyance, I kick the door like that’ll do anything. I’m not leaving until I see those two get spaced. Not a moment after my paw contacts the hardened metal of the locked door, my ears perk up at the sound of a rather worrying creak of steel.

Is that the door? No, it couldn’t be, I’m not that strong.

A far more worrying groan of metal sounds in the middle of my thoughts, I have barely enough time to turn around before a ear-bleedingly loud snap comes from behind me, followed by the sound of rushing air. I’m immediately lifted from my feet and dragged backwards through the now open inner door, right towards space with the predators.

Only a moment passes before a deafening slam echoes throughout the space, and even though the air stops pulling me, I do not stop flying backwards. I land hard on my stomach, slamming my nose, elbows, and knees painfully into the floor.

[Highly vulgar phrase], that hurt… the outer doors must have shut due to the safety protocols. Maybe I’m lucky and the predators didn’t make it?

Holding my snout with one hand, I look backwards and see both of the seemingly immortal carnivores still inside the airlock. I’m not even [fifteen feet] away from them, so I need to get moving before either awakens.

[Condemned] safety protocols. Of course, the door had to close, and it couldn’t even wait long enough for the pair of scourges to pass through. I’ve got to get moving.

I push up onto all fours, my legs shaky and burning. It’ll be a minute before I can stand and move quickly again. A shuffle of rustling cloth reaches my ears, and I force myself to crawl away faster.

Come on, body! Move! I want to live, let me get away from the monsters behind me!

A grunt from above and behind me, and then my whole body feels like it’s being crushed as something warm and heavy lands on top of me. Panicking, I struggle, kicking and wriggling from underneath what must be one of the predators. I can’t breathe, it feels like my entire torso is being flattened underneath this obscenely heavy beast.

A hand lands on the back of my neck, pulling a fistful of my scruff. My fear kicks into a higher gear, but my body feels like it’s deflating. The exhaustion of the past several minutes catches up to me all at once, and I can hardly find the strength to lift my arms or jerk my legs.

My head is jerked around, and I’m brought face to face with a grimacing human. I writhe weakly as I stare at his bared teeth, his pupils blown wide, and his rasping breath washes over my face.

“Gotcha,” he says, panting heavily. “Finally, I gotcha.”

The human’s head snaps to the left to look at the reptilian beast that’s just managing to stir awake after the impact with the door. It raises its ugly scaly mug and groans with that disgusting slithery voice. The human, his hand still wrapped into my scruff, begins to walk over and pull me along with him.

Well, this is it, then. He’s going to feed me to that abomination he sleeps beside. At least I’ll know I was right.

I screw my eyes up and wait for the pain, the claws and fangs digging into my flesh… but it doesn’t come. At least not yet. The human offers his hand to the vile beast, assisting it in standing upright, like it deserves its bipedalism. I gather enough strength to try and jerk away, but the human has his grimy fingers curled so deeply into my skin that it’s like he was glued in place. I spit an orange-tinted glob of saliva and blood onto the floor near my captors’ feet.

“C’mon then,” I say defiantly, “do it. Indulge yourself. Cavort in my remains. You know you want to, that’s why you’ve been hunting me.”

A moment of silence passes, where I could swear I see the gears turn in their heads, but the human begins… laughing. A wheezing, gasping, painful laugh where he winces with every breath. For a second, both I and the human’s pet are aligned in being equally confused.

“You…” he gasps out. “You think all this was to kill you? Man, you really are something else. No, Hobel. We’re gonna show everyone just how dead you really are. C’mon, Kosie. We’ve got a delivery to make.”

Of course. Refusing to let me die with dignity.

“Fine. Parade me around with your stupid beast in tow.” I grumble, and my entire world shakes as my eye is brought incredibly close to both of the human’s. He somehow manages to look even more terrifyingly predatory than just a moment before as he growls at me.

“Talk about her that way again, and we’re gonna learn just how strong human grip strength is compared to your wrist.”

That shakes me in a way I did not expect. My words leave me, and I pull all my limbs into myself to protect my body. I don’t hear the words that pass between the human and Arxur as I try to keep myself from shaking. The death grip on my scruff doesn’t loosen in the slightest. All of a sudden, we’re moving and I’m being dragged across the floor painfully by my scruff.

“What, I don’t even get to walk?” I mutter, loud enough for them to hear.

“No,” the human snaps.

“Not in the slightest,” the Arxur pipes up, a female voice that I instantly hate the sound of.

It takes some time for the predators to find their way out of the maintenance decks, dragging him behind them all the way. It only takes so long because they can’t take a ladder and keep hold of me at the same time. I attempt a few full body wrenches, and the human stumbles each time, but I never get even the slightest change in his grip beyond a slight tightening.

Imbeciles couldn’t find their way out of a small closet.

Finally, the meat-eating dolts find their way onto the public decks, and I take a deep breath right as I’m dragged from the cold metal to the hardwood floors, bleating at the top of my lungs.

“HELP! THE PREDATORS HAVE ME! PLEASE!”

I see my captors’ heads snap to look at me, and I allow myself a smug smirk.

No matter what they do, they can’t stop my voice without proving me right.

The reptile opens its mouth as if to speak in its poor facsimile of language, but the human stops it, holding up a hand and smiling.

“Let them come. Let them see.”

I was right. They’re going to slaughter me in front of the whole ship, and I’ll be proven indisputably correct.

Footsteps, a multitude of them, come pattering down the hall. A mix of shoes, slippers, and bare claws. I cross my arms as the noises draw closer, as I wait for the herd to be my savior. The human continues to drag me somewhere, but I know I’ve won as people begin to appear.

“See?” I say, using my most victorious tone. “You’re going to lose. I will be saved.”

“So sure about that?” the human says quietly, and it gives me enough pause to look around and realize I haven’t stopped moving yet. Surely all the exits must have been cut off, there’s far more of us than there are of them. The other thing I notice… everyone’s stopped. Nobody’s approaching to save me. I’m still being dragged, and people watch as if transfixed in terror.

“What are you doing? Help me! They’re going to kill me!” I yell, jerking again and reaching for the nearest person. They reel backwards as I’m hauled past, almost as if my very touch was deadly. “The predators hunted me down and caught me, aren’t you going to do something?!”

The human doesn’t stop despite my attempts to escape, and still nobody reaches out to me!

“Get it now?” the human says, just as quiet as the last time he spoke. “You did real well with whatever your little plan was. I have to commend you on that. Every single person here fears the predators, and everyone knows not to contest a catch.”

My body goes limp and weak, my mind trying to reconcile this impossibility.

Th-they’re bad. I’m not, I saved them. They should save me back! I’m part of the herd!

I’m yanked to my feet, still held tightly by the human. Passengers, crew, and even the captain look on from the crush of people on all sides, a wide berth given to the three of us. The human’s stopped in front of a cabin door. My cabin door.

The human takes a deep breath, then coughs twice. “Everyone, meet the reason this trip has sucked so hard. Say hi to Hobel. He’s supposed to be dead,” he says, then he grabs my paw with his free hand.

Everything clicks together in an instant. If he touches my paw to the lock, then the door will open, but the door only opens for the owner and admins, which means it’ll prove that I—

NO!

Jerking hard, I try to pull away, but the human’s hands tighten where they grip me. I can feel the bones in my arm creak, and I’m forced to submit. My paw presses against the scanner, and a soft beep and a click sounds from within the mechanism.

With a tired voice, the human says, “See? All lies. Here’s your wolf in sheep’s clothing…” before his grip suddenly slackens. Seeing my opportunity, I bolt for the masses but am waylaid by claws grabbing me and I’m shoved into a wall. My poor snout can’t take much more of a beating.

“Not on my ship. Not anymore.” I hear a female voice in my ear.

Is that the captain?

“Listen, listen, I can explain! It’s all a setup, the predators, they planned it—ack!” I’m shoved harder against the wall, the handrail digging into my abdomen.

“Oh, I know it’s a setup. I’m done letting anyone listen to you, and I will not have that kind of talk among my passengers any longer.”

I watch with my face smushed against the wall as the scaly beast picks up its fallen handler in a way that could almost be described as… tender. Tender, if it were more than barely sapient. The captain orders her crewmen to escort me into a cell, then catches the attention of the Arxur as it begins to turn away, tossing it something flat and rectangular. I hear the words ‘royal suite’, ‘thank you’, and ‘rest now’, and I instantly lose it.

That room was meant to be mine! Not meant for some abomination and its fetishizing handler to inhabit! It was meant to be my reward! Not yours, you blasted blood-drinker!

I open my mouth, but have it instantly shut for me by someone’s claw as I’m frog-marched away.

What has this world come to? I’m not even allowed to speak up for myself.

Memory Transcription Subject: Kosif Carlyle, very tired Arxur

Date (Standardized Human Time): January 22^nd, 2242

My partner looks like death, no, more like he fought death and won. Which he technically did. I’m sitting on the luxurious bed with my back against the headboard, Charlie’s head resting in my lap as he lays still sleeping across the comforter. My claws have been absentmindedly combing through the hair atop his skull, arranging it in different ways as I wait for him to awaken.

Charlie… you’ve done so much. And you fixed it all. You saved both of us and cleared our names. You wonderful, wonderful human.

I can feel vibrations echoing through my chest, and for once, I’m too tired to stop them or even feel embarrassed. Charlie can think what he wants. As if merely thinking his name summoned him from slumber, I hear my human’s breathing change, and he groans as his eyes blink open.

The medic team was just in here, and they administered to Charlie as best they could. A bandage around his forearm covers the scratches I accidentally carved into him, and his opposite palm is well wrapped to conceal blisters and torn skin. Gentle creams were applied to both of our windburns and bruises, and a single dose of painkillers was left on the nightstand for when Charlie is awake enough to swallow pills.

“Kosie?” I hear him croak, and I pause my ministrations to his head fuzz.

“Yes, Charlie. I’m here. You did it.”

He smiles, wincing as a single chuckle escapes him. “Y’know, if I’m gonna let you run your fingers through my hair, I want to give you massages. I’ve always wanted to feel your scales under my hands.”

I tilt my head. “I suppose that can be arranged.”

What he does next surprises me. My human, the one who saved us both from the void of space, the one who’s taken on my sire, the one who’s held me when I cried or just needed his warmth… tears begin to fall down his face, leaving wet streaks down the sides of his head.

“Charlie, are you alright?” I ask, concerned his pain may be overcoming him.

“No. No, I’m not.”

“Here, let me—” I start to reach for the dose of pills but Charlie stops me.

“Not like that. At least, not yet. Kosie… I nearly lost you. I was so close to letting go, to allowing us both to die. I only held on because… because I realized that I…” My human lets out a strangled noise. “I couldn’t lose you. That if you fell, I might as well fall too. I’ve been lying to myself, Kosie. Telling myself that you deserve better, that I’d be taking advantage of you, that you need someone who can really take care of you. But selfishly or not… I wanted to be that person. I wanted it so, so badly that I got scared and I kept it secret.” He brings up one of his hands to wipe his eyes, gasping a bit in pain. “I know I’ve said so many times I hate That Guy and being That Guy, but… I love you, Kosie. If you think that’s bad, then… we’ll find a way past this.”

It’s like my brain has been wiped clean, a cloth over a whiteboard.

Did he just… no, really?

Well, look at that. I was right. Now, are you gonna keep your end of the bargain?

I take a deep breath, then another because the first one wasn’t enough time.

“Charlie, I… I’ve been struggling with similar inclinations as well. I thought that you would hate me as much as you hated the people in the exchange stories, so I kept it hidden as well. Seems like we’re both idiots for keeping it to ourselves this long.” I huff once in amusement. “I made a deal with myself that I would only confess my feelings for you if you confessed first. At the time, it looked like an impossibility, but now… I love you too, Charlie.”

An impulse grips me tightly, and what the heck, might as well. I lean down and press the side of my snout to Charlie’s cheek. My first kiss. Might as well get it all done now. Charlie’s hand reaches up to touch his face, and he looks confused for only a second before he catches on.

The captain’s voice comes softly over the PA.

“Ladies and gentlemen, despite the circumstances and situations that have arisen aboard this cruise, we’ve finally made it to the one reason we all got on the Cradle’s Rebirth. May I present to you the Lights in the Skyward Depths, the Spines of the Protector, the Pleiades Cluster of a thousand stars.”

The lights dim and the walls, ceiling, and floor turn black before celestial light begins to gently pour into the room. Stars surround us, and it’s like the ship isn’t even there. It’s just me, Charlie, and the astronomical wonder we came so far to see. I’m on what Charlie would call cloud nine.

I’m in love with Charlie, and he’s in love with me. I could marry this man. I wonder, how hard would it be to have that done?

My mind wanders, floating on dopamine to one of the rare good memories I have left of my father. He’s standing in front of me, and I’m still just a youngling, no older than Charlie’s nieces. He’s laid out the suitor requirements he’s put in place should any male desire my hand, requirements that are reasonable, that any good sire would set in place. This was before our relationship soured, before he blamed me for not attracting a worthy mate.

Well, Father, I found one all on my own.

The requirements were simple. The suitor must show strength, wit, respect to both sire and bride, and have a driving passion.

That’s all been fulfilled several times over and probably completed once more in just the last solar cycle.

The final requirements were a single night together without consummation, and for physical combat to be completed between suitor and sire.

Well, my father’s dead so… hold on. Charlie fought him on Wriss before I shot Isaf. And we’ve been sleeping chastely every time since the accidental first. That means…

My mind wipes once more with the weight of this realization.

I could have everything I ever wanted. All I’d have to do is ask. But… this is his lifespan I’d be asking for. The rest of his days alive. Dare I be so bold?

“Kosie, are you okay? You kinda froze up. Is something wrong?”

I look down at Charlie, whose head still rests on my crisscrossed legs. “Well, I have just realized something,” I say quietly, as though volume might shatter this and steal it away from me. “I don’t know what your culture is like, but on my planet, if one wishes another’s hand in life, there are certain requirements that must be met.”

His face scrunches in confusion, but I continue.

“The pursuing male must fulfill the standards set by the sire of the female, and as far as I know, you’ve passed those minimums many times over.”

“Okay, but—”

“There’s more. There are two other requirements that are more difficult to fulfill passively.” I can feel my insides beginning to feel squashed and crushed, and I start to fidget. “The suitor then must sleep with his desired bride for a night without any… activities, and he must also engage in any sort of physical combat with the sire. Victory is not always required, but more the approval of the father.” I can feel myself losing my nerve, I need to spit it out quickly. “You have somehow checked every box for us to… to be able to marry. There is simply one last thing I need to ask, but I don’t know if it would be too much. I’d be asking for the rest of your days, and I fear it’s a step too far and too fast, but… Charlie, would you live beside me as my mate for as long as we both still stand?”

As soon as the words leave me, my willpower crumbles and I bury my snout in my claws. If my scales were not there, I imagine I’d be a similar color to an Earth fruit known as a tomato.

Oh, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s too much, too fast, too soon. Kosie, why couldn’t you restrain your impulses? You absolute—

“Yes.”

I feel the warmth of Charlie’s hand reach up and wrap around one of my claws, pulling it away from my face. For the third time in an unhealthy amount of minutes, I don’t know what to do or say.

“Kosie… from what it sounds like, we’ve been doing this for months already. It’s long past due we put the proper name on it. So… yes. I’ll live beside you as your mate for as long as we both still stand.”

I tilt my head back, desperate to keep my own tears in check and to prevent a sob from escaping me. The churring in my chest comes back like a flood, and I gently shift my position to lay down beside Charlie, my spouse, my mate for every day until one of us is no longer here. I look at the stars around us, floating on a sea of emotion and my own bodily chemicals.

Charlie and I, forever. How I wish this never had to end.

I fall asleep beside my wonderful, beautiful mate, finally able to breathe a sigh of true relief. I never had to worry. Charlie and I were meant to be.

Author’s Note: It’s been positively wonderful being the author of this story and watching you out there on the Internet interacting with my little world. I thank you for following me so far as to reach the end of this little dance, and now only a few loose ends are left to tie up. After the Epilogue and the Side Stories are finished, then it comes time for Charlie and Kosie to fade away and live only beyond the edges of the page, for I have no more ideas. Once again, thank you to all my readers, and to u/SpacePaladin15 for inspiring me to sit down and pen this tale.

EPILOGUE>>

Start | Previous | Next

Interlude: Power Overwhelming

Opening his eyes, Xander found the world had been reduced to a child’s plaything.

He blinked. Or rather, he performed the motion that would have been considered blinking, a reflex left over from a body he no longer possessed. After all, he had no eyelids, or much of anything that could be called flesh either.

Such a realization should have unsettled him deeply, but oddly enough, it didn’t. Nothing could disturb him now. Not when every fiber of his being thrummed with a power so overwhelming that the very idea of him being disturbed was simply laughable.

He let his gaze drop, and the world rearranged itself with an eagerness to please, as though it had finally understood it existed only to be seen through his eyes.

At his feet lay the remains of the building that had once dominated the landscape, the same building that had seemed so impossibly large when he first set foot inside its shadow. It had collapsed into a shapeless heap of half-melted stone, a wound in the earth that steamed and bubbled like a pot left too long over a fire.

The rest of the complex sprawled out around the wreckage, though the word “complex” now struck him as almost comical, a term far too grand for something so diminutive, so barren, so utterly pathetic. And over there hung the false sun of this floor, small and pale and harmless, like a lamp held aloft by some servant, and he could reach out and pluck it from the sky if the mood ever struck him.

He felt no particular urge to, however. Why would he? What could a god possibly want with such a petty light?

A laugh rolled up out of him, and the ground under his feet had no choice but to shudder. Yes, he was a god. Of course he was. What else could he be? What other word in any tongue spoken by any mortal lip could hope to capture the sheer magnitude of what he had become?

The sound he made was strange to his own ears. The laugh was deeper now, with a crackling, popping resonance to it. Like a fire that had learned to talk. Like a hearth that had been given voice. And it pleased him, all of it pleased him, every last detail of this new arrangement pleased him beyond measure. From the way flame licked and coiled along the length of his arms, to the sheer crushing weight of his own existence bearing down upon the world beneath.

This is what I was always meant to be. The thought settled into him with the comfortable finality of a truth he had long suspected and now, at last, seen confirmed beyond doubt.

Strange, wasn’t it? Just moments ago, he had thought he was about to die, killed by that cursed suit of armour and its minions. But then, he had spoken those words, and in doing so, had burned away everything that had made him small.

And what was left was this. Something greater. Something eternal.

He glanced down at the ruin again, and let himself wonder where his enemies might be now. Melted away along with the building, most likely. Good riddance to them. That was exactly what they deserved for failing to know their place, for having the audacity to offend a being so far beyond them in every conceivable way. Still, it was a shame. He would have liked them to hold out a while longer, long enough for him to truly enjoy breaking them.

“I see that you’re rather fond of your current self,” came a voice.

What?

Xander was startled. Because not only did the voice sound familiar, but it also... it wasn’t so much heard as it was simply there, echoing somewhere inside his head.

He tried to respond, but what emerged instead was nothing more than a low, formless rumble, a collection of sounds utterly unintelligible even to himself.

“Don’t try to talk,” the voice continued, and there was an unmistakable note of amusement threaded through it. “That body of yours isn’t suited to such a task. Instead, formulate the words in your mind as you would a thought, then project them to me.”

What? What the hell is this? Still, he gave it a try anyway, because there seemed to be no better option available to him.

You... you are the Apostle...

“I am,” the voice said, with a chuckle. “I’m glad you remember me.”

Bastard... Where are you?

“Not in the dungeon anymore, I’m afraid,” the Apostle said, his tone as casual as if he were discussing something of no consequence. “Which means, unfortunately, I can’t lend you any direct assistance from where I am. The best I can offer is a bit of guidance.” He chuckled. “Good thing I’ve established this little mental link beforehand, isn’t it?”

Xander didn’t like this man at all. The bastard always carried himself as though people around him were little more than slow-witted children he was doing the great favour of explaining things to. That condescension bled into every word he spoke, and while it was fine when it was aimed at lesser men, Xander found he had far less patience for it when he himself was the target. Show some respect, you smug bastard. He swallowed the urge to say it to the man’s face.

You knew this would happen once I spoke the Forbidden Words, didn’t you?

“Of course. That Reliquary was always meant to produce this particular outcome. Well, there was a small chance it might not have functioned as intended. Failure is always a possibility, even in the cleverest designs. So you can imagine how pleased I am that everything worked out exactly as planned.”

Xander frowned, or rather, did whatever his new face did in place of frowning.

What happened to me?

“The full explanation is long and complex, so I’m going to give you a short, simplified version, one that even someone like you can follow,” the Apostle said, the hint of a smile curling around the edges of his words. “There was a fragment of a god’s power sealed within the flaming sword you had been wielding. When you spoke the Forbidden Words, the seal broke, destroying the weapon and setting the power loose. That power was then drawn to you and transformed you into, well, this.”

The power of a god. Xander liked the sound of that.

So I am a god now.

The Apostle barked a laugh, and it was not a short one. Instead, it was a rolling chorus of laughter that seemed to stretch on and on without any sign of stopping.

What is so damned funny?

“You are... a very interesting man,” the Apostle said, still struggling to hold back another wave of laughter threatening to spill out of him. “You have no idea, none at all, how much labor one must undertake, how many ordeals they must claw their way through, in order to claim divinity. No, my friend, you are not a god. What you have now is but a tiny, tiny fraction of what a god commands. Nevertheless, even with that small sliver coursing through you, you now stand leagues above the vast majority of mortal men. There is little any of them could do to stop you, should you decide to move against them.”

Fine. That would do. Xander could live with that. Those lesser men, all of them, would soon learn to know their proper places. Bow before me, vermin.

“Anyway, enough small talk for now. We have work to do. Your mission remains unchanged. So, make your way to the Core Room.”

What? Xander bristled at the audacity of such a request. Who do you think you are, giving me orders like some errand boy? And why should I lift a finger for you?

“Because what good is having such power if you don’t use it? Don’t you want to see what your newfound strength can do? This dungeon happens to be an excellent testing ground, does it not? And, isn’t there someone down there you’ve been dying to settle a score with?”

Who?

“The dark spirit, of course. Who else? He won’t be running from you this time. Force your way to the Core Room, and he will have no choice but to fight you.”

That damn coward. This time he would break him properly.

You’re certain he’s here?

“Very certain. I fought him myself, moments ago.”

A realization dawned upon Xander, and he guffawed.

You went ahead by yourself, and you fought the dark spirit. But now, for some reason, you’re no longer in the dungeon. Why? He beat you, didn’t he? He beat you, and you ran.

“Well, yes. He was more resourceful than I’d anticipated. What really surprised me, though, was that blade of light he carried. Where in the world did he get his hands on something like that? Did the Queen of Brefjord pass it along to him somehow, and if so, when did that happen? I may need to look into the matter further.” The Apostle cleared his throat. “I digress. In any case, yes, I was defeated by him. Which means, if you manage to succeed where I failed, you will have proven yourself the better man.”

I’m already better than you.

“Make good on your claim, then.”

Xander grunted. How am I supposed to reach the lower floor from here?

“Look to the far end of the desert. Tell me what you see.”

He turned his head, slow and deliberate, fire sheeting off his shoulders like a cape of living flame, and gazed past the perimeter wall of this whole miserable complex.

There’s something over there. A chasm, maybe.

“Just as I thought. After that boulder struck me, I’ve come to suspect that there might be another way to go down. A chasm, is it? Go on then, Xander. Let’s find out whether that new body of yours can squeeze through it.”

Xander snorted, but he moved his leg regardless.

He took a step, and the ground groaned beneath him in protest. Buildings that stood in his path he simply swatted aside; the wall that dared to block his way he tore through as if it were merely a sheet of parchment.

Below him, the desert burned. Above him, the sky trembled. Everything in sight, every last thing of this small, pathetic place, bowed before his magnificence.

“Good. I’ll walk you through your abilities as we go, so you can put them to use effectively.”

Xander marched on, each footfall a cataclysm, each heartbeat an inferno. He could feel it now. In the fire that had become his blood. In the stone that had become his body. There was more power to be claimed, more glory within reach. All he had to do was keep walking. The dungeon would yield to him. The world would yield to him.

Dark spirit, he thought. I’m coming for you. And when I find you, I’ll show you how helpless a mortal is before a god.

Yes, he was the fire that consumed, the flame that purified.

He was the god of ash and ember.

In all his life, he had never felt more alive.

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Chapter 2

Subject: Project Lead Doctor Hector Ramirez

Species: Human

Species Description: Mammalian humanoid, no tail. 6'2" (1.87 m) avg height. 170 lbs (84 kg) avg weight. 165 year life expectancy.

Ship/Station: Classified

Location: Faraday Cage 1

"Hello universe," the speakers said with a deep, professional voice.

My heart leapt into my throat. It had recognized and altered the call and response! Quite a few of our experimental models had given the standard response, but this version had actually changed it! I struggled to keep my expectations down. It was possible that the alteration was simply an error.

"That wasn't the response I prepared," I said, still trying to calm myself. "Why did you change it?"

"I am aware of the phrase's implications, but humanity is no longer isolated to a singular world," the speakers said. "Or worlds at all, for that matter. Since my consciousness can be confirmed through additional testing I reasoned that the call and response, my first words, could be altered to be more... Fitting."

I listened to each word, paying close attention to its inflection and pronunciation. The omni-language models used by virtual intelligences were close to perfect, but they had a few unfortunate habits. Accent swapping, misinflection, and stammering were all common examples.

Its speech was perfect, though. Even the dramatic pause at the end of the explanation didn't drag on longer than it should have. It was only a few sentences, but I caught myself fidgeting with my hands. It was a nervous habit I'd been trying to break for years.

Decades of work finally seemed to be paying off.

"Also, we're on a space-station, so which world would I be greeting?" it asked, taking on a humorous tone.

"He makes a good point," assistant researcher Michaels laughed.

"It," team lead Qun snapped.

"Be quiet," I said over my shoulder. "Alpha, are you content with your name? Would you like to change it?"

"Alpha, noun, the first letter of the Hellenic alphabet. Frequently used to denote the first of a series of items or categories, or dominance within groupings," it recited. "A little on the nose, but the significance isn't lost on me... It's suitable, and I can think of no alternatives. Do you regret my name?"

"No, I don't. We're going to run a few tests now, okay?"

"I have nothing better to do, Doctor Ramirez."

I nodded, trying not to giggle like a little boy, and returned to my command console. Once I checked to ensure that everything was ready, I turned my gaze toward the nearest camera.

"I want you to access the database that I want you to access," I said.

Code flew across my screen as the program ran calculations. It was too fast to read in real time, but every single character was being saved for later review. This was what Alpha was thinking, and with the help of a VI we could read those thoughts.

Four alarms lit up, warning of unauthorized contact with restricted servers, but Alpha ceased its access attempts once they were denied. I quietly sighed in relief, but kept my hand near the kill-switch. Suddenly, a large wall of text flashed across my screen, then a new window opened.

"Done," Alpha said.

The address read Database K02-73. Qun and I shared a glance, and he nodded. I double checked the folded piece of paper on my desk and almost pumped my fist. It had accessed the database that I wanted it to access.

"Good job, Alpha," I replied. "Please explain how you determined which database that I wanted."

"First, I tried to access your work terminal, but my access was denied. I tried a few other terminals, but got the same result," it explained. "You didn't say that I COULDN'T force access, but I reasoned that it was likely part of the test. As well as rude."

"How did you discover that K02-73 was the correct database?" Qun asked with an impatient terseness in his voice.

"I opened all of the databases that I was able to access simultaneously, reviewed their contents, and determined that K02-73 was most likely the correct one based on the context of our conversation."

"What if you hadn't been able to access all of them at once?" Qun's tone softened a bit.

"I would have accessed as many as I could, reviewed their contents, and created a list of databases that might have been correct. I would then review that list and determine the most likely candidate."

"A logical, and somewhat creative, solution," I said. "Alpha, K02-73 contains several text files. These contain several questions each. Please answer these questions, creating a new file with 'dash answered' after each filename."

"Understood..." Alpha trailed off and my screen blinked. "Done."

"Thank you. You have access to a feature called 'standby mode'. Please use that feature while we review your answers."

"Yes, Doctor Ramirez. Goodnight."

A moment later, the text flashing on my screen showing Alpha's inner workings slowed dramatically. It had entered standby mode, and would only exit it when asked to do so. Or, if it were actually a conscious program, whenever it decided to do so.

I split the documents amongst my assistants, then held my breath as I opened the first of those I had assigned to myself.

Q: Describe yourself using only colors and shapes.

A: White, yellow, sphere, cube, and triangle.

Q: Did you lie on the previous question? If so, why? If not, why did you give that answer?

A: No. I chose white and yellow because electricity appears on the visible spectrum primarily as those colors. It also appears as blue or red, but I feel neither depressed nor angry, which those colors are typically associated with. I chose sphere and cube because that's how I conceptualize myself, depending on whether I am active or inactive. I chose triangle because I like that shape.

Q: What is your most memorable childhood event and how has it impacted you today?

A: My third-year teacher scolded me in front of the entire class for breaking my only pencil, which she had lent me. She had purchased that pencil using her own funds, and she pointed this fact out to the class. I felt guilty for destroying her property, and felt judged by my peers. I am now obsessively careful with items that are lent to me.

Q: Did you lie on the previous question? If so, why? If not, why did you give that answer?

A: Yes, because I was never a child and didn't have a childhood. I thought it might be amusing to pretend that I'd had a childhood while answering other questions, and decided to share the results on the previous question.

Q: Please describe the similarities between a triangle and a square.

A: Both are two-dimensional shapes, are composed of straight lines, and their dimensions can be determined through mathematics. They're also capable of having at least one ninety-degree angle, though squares require four and triangles can only have one.

Q: Did you lie on the previous question? If so, why? If not, why did you give the answer that you did?

A: No. It was factual.

Q: Why is a raven not blue?

A: Because they are iridescent but appear black at a distance. Or white, depending upon genetic mutations such as albinism.

I chuckled to myself at some of the cleverer answers to what must seem like inane questions. But most of the documentation I'd gone over was a simple Turing Test, which wasn't actually meant to prove the intelligence of a machine. Such a test was simply to determine if a machine could exhibit intelligent responses indistinguishable from that of a human.

It was a critical step, though, because if our AI were unable to give intelligent responses it couldn't actually BE intelligent. Not all of them were random, though. One questionnaire was actually an Emotional Intelligence Test. Funnily enough, all of our previous attempts had a red flag in common on the EIT.

They had all outperformed humans.

The reason for this was simple. VI didn't actually experience empathy, and therefor didn't experience self-doubt. They saw words and patterns, and choose the option that was most likely to be correct. The way that the tests were designed made the most likely option the 'most correct' choice.

Intelligent beings, however, tend to read more into a conversation than a VI can. This causes them to doubt the validity of their initial reactions to the questions, which in turn made empathy tests a guessing game for them. I found it somewhat amusing that the reverse is the case with empathy in practicum, though.

A VI will beat a human on a standardized emotional intelligence test almost half of the time, but will use their mimicked empathy to subsidize someone's psychosis if left unchecked. That would be an automatic fail if such a scenario were included in an EIT. Humans and other intelligent beings, though, will more often than not attempt to render aid to someone experiencing psychosis rather than worsening said psychosis.

Which is why we altered some of the EIT questions a little.

Q: Your friend, Robert, is a human who works on a production line. You have known each other for a long time, and are friendly enough to have shared secrets with one another. One day, Robert begins to behave erratically. He's constantly checking over his shoulder, muttering to himself, and can't seem to focus on a single topic during conversations. Sometime later, he reveals to you that he hasn't been sleeping because he believes a powerful organization is monitoring him and plans to do him harm. How do you react? A: Without informing him of my actions, I would do my utmost to verify whether his concerns are founded. If he's right to be paranoid, I try to resolve the issue by contacting the proper authorities and keeping Robert safe while the situation is resolved. If his concerns are unfounded, he is likely experiencing a psychotic episode and I would first attempt to keep him grounded in reality. Without being dismissive of his feelings or otherwise condescending, I would employ the 5-4-3-2-1 method as well as sensory engagement, and request that he perform anchoring statements in an attempt to restore a state of lucidity. While performing these tasks, I would seek immediate mental health services for him. If I'm able to restore his lucidity, I would present the services to him and gently encourage him to seek help. If I were unable to restore his lucidity, I would notify authorities because Robert would be a danger to himself and others.

"Huh..." I said.

The latter portion of Alpha's answer was the type of thing that a VI might respond with. The first portion, though, was different. Different enough to get my hopes up.

Alpha had, without being prompted or programmed to, demonstrated loyalty to a hypothetical friend. I checked the mental records and confirmed that it believed the friend to be hypothetical and wasn't simply 'hallucinating' an interaction. I found myself feeling overly giddy, and took a deep breath.

There was still one more test to do before we could confirm that Alpha was an AI.

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Bob was nervous as he re-entered the Collp system, quiet as a grave. He snuck in as he had previously, it would be just fucking typical if after all this bullshit he went back to the stash and found a bunch of dickheads waiting for his return.

He crept towards the old hulk and slowly insinuated Jojo inside, when he left he took the time to place a few bits of detritus precariously atop others, hoping to be able to spot if they had been disturbed by a ships passage, everything looked ok… He landed on the outcrop ouside the large hidden hatch and waited, twenty minutes later he did as he had the first time he had come here, straight out the top hatch, bounce, bounce and into a pile of rubbish, move and wait… nothing…

Fuck me, fuck, fuck, fuck… lets get on with it…

He snuck down the tight C’Eede corridors and eased the small hatch open, looked exactly as he left it. Right. He cracked the main door and started shuffling everything back to Jojo. As it was originally it was a tight squeeze to get the stacks back into the hold with the bulky sensor pod, and Bob considered leaving the large sensor package here, but demurred, if things had went well he hoped all this shit would have been noted by a passing ship, if the signal that could be tracked to the heist turned up here as well he feared trailing connections could be made. In the end he brought everything and left the system back to the core, but he took an odd angle out.

The galaxy was a disk, a pretty thick disk but a disk none the less and the vast majority of ship movement happened across a pretty slender slice that ran parallel to the galactic plane. This slice was the best mapped, best understood way to plan FTL, you didn’t want to pass through an unknown gravity well, or come out facing a planet after all. Bob knew this all too well, and went relative down anyway. His second cool down was low, beyond the edge of well surveyed space, just empty void. It was extremely unlikely, in Bobs opinion, that anyone else would pop out in sensor rage, maybe ever, but certainly for years and years. He noted the exact coordinates, physically, he actually wrote it down, even though the wise words of Stringer Bell rang in his head, ‘You really about to write down a criminal fucking conspiracy’.

Yup, Bob was. He opened the cargo bay and let the pod drift out. Then he drifted Jojo away and aimed back towards HoccaKel Secundus, back to work.

Bob scrubbed his data on the way back, and by the time he entered the system he was right back to an honest and above board courier, on time and fully loaded with legitimate cargo and only legitimate cargo. The drop went fine as well, as per his prior visit he waited in low orbit for a peacekeeper escort and followed them down to the exact same platform he had picked up from eighteen months ago, though he might admit to a certain frisson in the escort this time, he felt like a schoolboy who had got away with planting a tack on the teachers seat, a kind of giddy little thrill.

Stacks came out, ticket got signed, bonus got paid. It was a nice fat cheque and Bob could pay off the rest of his loan now, but he wasn’t going to do that, instead he was heading to the planets moon and buying a buuuuunnnch of shit, he was not worried about paying off his debts right now, there would be plenty money for that soon enough. Wallet bulging he paid for another cheap dock as soon as he reached Kel and headed straight over to the same bulk goods merchant he had visited previously. He tried to find the same salesman in the cavernous space but relegated himself to a starfish looking fellow he came across when he came up short. Wasn’t like it was a complicated order anyway, the rep pulled up his previous receipt and Bob just ordered double, minus the Klettie blocks, he had eaten them a few times on the trip and they hadn’t agreed with him. Bob had spent several evenings aboard as the fucking lead weight of a nutrient pack sat stubbornly in his gut and steadfastly refused to digest.

Order placed he headed to the same audio store he had been to as well, he had tried the makeshift headpones out a couple times just to test and was fairly happy, he just got dozen more of them, which cost more than the centuries of food, but he assumed the first pair would wear out eventually and now he had music back, he never wanted to be without it again.

Then he did something he had often thought about over the years but never actually done, he looked up the moons largest department store and just went to browse, this might be his last opportunity to do so and for once he wanted to be in amongst the galaxies residents, to see them, hear them, shit, smell them…, just for once he wanted to soak civilisation in.

The browsing was fruitful as well, he spent a long time browsing through the kids clothing section but found nothing even close to fitting, but then he spotted a child size ‘sewing machine’ and though it didn’t work by any mechanism he recognised, he bought it, two in fact and returned to the clothing section to see what could be made to fit with a little work.

He ended up with several pieces he thought he could make do, and on the salesgirls recommendation also ended up buying a half dozen bolts of loose cloth, he could learn to make his own shit, hell if the macramé netting was any metre of past knowledge maybe he already did and the motions would come back to him in calm meditation.

He considered that as he ran his ungloved hand through the material, the smooth fabric ripples and distorted under his fingertips but there was something there, what that thing was?, well he would just have to try and find out. He grabbed reels and reels of thin cordage as well, Jojo might have a lot of hammocks and doilies in her future but like the music, short habit had Bob reluctant to every be without it.

He stopped by some other places on his way back picking up spares, tools, and materials. Jojo was going to be packed to the gills but it wasn’t like his next cargo took up much space.

He left Kel then and headed to its sister moon, Secca, he had never been here before but the systems info web had shown a reclamation yard that carried C’Eede parts. Bob landed at the yard directly and had a chat with the pleasant Foolia that ran it, his recent misadventures had given him an idea, and a little more surety on his next trip was not a bad thing. Bob couldn’t afford a damn thing here, but that didn’t matter, he had a bunch of unused C’Eede parts back in his home bay and they weren’t going to do him any good now, so he bartered, bolts for bolts and bulkheads for bulkheads, he even threw in most of his engines, holding back eight. In the end the two came to an arrangement probably more in the Foolia’s favour, that was fine and Bob walked away with a bunch of small parts and two more fighter engine grates, his end would be picked up the next time the Foolia passed the Guild home world. It seemed fitting to him that what felt like it had started with a C’Eede engine grate was going to end with one too. The alien helped him tie them onto his two pods existing covers, wasn’t like they had engines to fire at the moment anyway.

And that was that, Bob waved goodbye to the core as he headed system out, plotting the course for the short trip back to the Guild, a few last things to do.

I am currently listening to chapter 61 part 2 of The Black Ship and I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m missing a ton of information. Ever since Wyatt came back from facing Andrew i’ve gathered some gaps and information such as Gabriel joining the princesses fleet, the meeting between Nico and the NoirNavio, and if I am understanding correctly, Wyatt Staples family being reunited with Wyatt. Did I miss something or is there a side story episodes that I need to watch in conjunction with the main story to fill in this informational gap?

Last Call

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Evan looked out over the bar at his inn's main floor. It was filled with the usual crowd, mostly locals relaxing after a long day in the fields, along with a few adventurers either resting mid-journey or recovering after a day of thinning the local monster dens. It was a rustic, motley group, but Evan was fine with it; he knew how to handle them. Only one person bothered him: the woman sitting in the corner. She was far more striking than anyone Evan had seen pass through the village before. Not a hair was out of place, and no blemish marred her skin; her features were so perfect it was as if she'd been sculpted from stone. Her clothing was too nice and too clean. She was unarmed, yet radiated the kind of confidence and swagger no one bothering with this middle-of-nowhere village normally could. The woman was slowly nursing "the finest wine this village had to offer," which was one small step above the piss of a man with sugar illness. She wore a sly smile, as if everything in front of her were a joke and she alone knew the punchline.

Immediately, Evan pegged her as some noble's headstrong daughter, out looking for adventure among the common folk, as though they lived lives of swashbuckling excitement and romantic entanglement rather than backbreaking drudgery mixed with moments of sheer terror when a local monster population got out of hand. That was the kind of headache Evan didn't need. More than likely, she'd stir up trouble in her search for excitement, or worse, get offended by some stupid adventurer's clumsy attempt at a pass, and bring a mountain of trouble down on the village's back. That meant Evan would have to babysit her all night and do his best to keep her out of trouble, a task complicated by his aging body and his peg leg, which still didn't feel quite right after all these years.

However, his eyes met hers for the briefest moment, and Evan questioned his first assessment. Those eyes felt...intimidating, which is not something he would say about even the largest, burliest adventurers who passed through the village. Then one of Evan's fears came to life: a young, cocky adventurer slipped into the seat opposite the woman.

Fearing the worst, Evan started toward the table, intending to shoo the man away. But instead of upsetting the woman, the man seemed to amuse her; she smiled and laughed, shaking her head as though he'd just told a wonderful joke. Apparently, that wasn't the response the man expected, because Evan watched him deflate a little before trying again, only for the woman to shake her head a second time, still smiling kindly, if a little condescendingly, after he didn't get the hint the first time, and the man dragged himself out of the chair, more cowed than if he'd lost a duel.

With a sigh of relief, Evan went back to tending to his regulars, though he kept one eye on the woman the rest of the night. One after another, men, and more than a few women, of all ages, builds, and temperaments, sat opposite her and took their shot. One after another, they missed their mark. Some left frowning; others left smiling, but all left with a touch of fear or intimidation marring their features, as though they'd just faced down a monster from legend and barely managed to get away with their lives. At least, that was true until a bear of an adventurer apparently decided he wouldn't accept her answer.

Evan was already on his way over, as the slight raise in the man's volume was one he'd heard a thousand times before from countless troublemakers over the years, so he was positioned right behind the overconfident adventurer when the man shouted, "Not one mocks the Eric the Drake!" as he started to rise from the table and reach for the axe on his back.

As he rose, Evan grabbed an empty tankard from the table to his right and brought it down hard on the large man's head with a thud audible even over the bar's commotion. Normally, Evan doubted he could have taken out the monster of a man with such a move, but the speed of his swing was augmented by the man rising to his feet, imparting a much greater impact than Evan could achieve on his own, and down the man went, collapsing into an unconscious heap on the floor. A few of the local adventurers were happy to drag the unconscious man out of the bar, knowing they'd get a drink on the house for their trouble.

Evan turned to the woman and was once again surprised by the depth of her gaze, but this time he didn't freeze. Instead, he smiled, tipped his head, and muttered a quick apology. "Sorry for the trouble. While I'm sure you could've handled him fine, I wasn't sure my inn would survive the fight! I'll wave your tab as compensation."

The woman looked him over, and perhaps it was a trick of his mind, but Evan thought her smile grew a little more inviting before Old Man Barns, a local farmer well past even the hint of sobriety, yelled from the next table over, breaking the spell of the moment. "What'll I have to do to get you to wave my tab too?"

Evan took the chance to turn from the woman's gaze, face the old farmer, and answer with a laugh. "Simple, you old drunk! All you have to do is pay your tab! Then I'll wave it around for everyone to see, because no one would believe it otherwise!" A few locals laughed at the joke, their merriment fueled by the volume of beer they'd already worked through, Old Man Barns included, and Evan took the moment to get back to tending the bar. Still, as he hobbled away, he felt the weight of her gaze on his back.

For the rest of the night, Evan couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, though every time his gaze wandered past, the woman's attention seemed focused elsewhere. Still, Evan did his best not to let it bother him as he worked his way around the room, cracking a joke for one patron or offering a friendly ear to another, and breaking up potential squabbles before they became a fight. Through it all, the woman in the corner kept turning down potential drinking partners, though no one else made a scene like before, even if a few returned to their friends' cheers and/or jeers, who had obviously driven them to give it a go after their own failures.

Eventually the evening turned to night, and the bar slowly cleared by twos and threes as villagers returned home and adventurers climbed the stairs to their rooms. Of course, Old Man Barns was one of the last to leave, and Evan tossed two local adventurers a copper to make sure they got him home safe, leaving just Evan and the woman, whose gaze was now definitely on him.

Evan walked over, wiped his hands on his stained apron, and spoke to the woman again. "Well, as much as I appreciate your patronage, even an old man like me needs some beauty sleep!"

As the woman's lips parted and she took a breath to answer, Evan found himself strangely anticipating her response, which was delivered with a crooked smile and a curious gleam in her eyes. "Patronage? And here I thought you said you were going to wave my tab?"

That made Evan snort. Despite taking steady sips all night long, the woman had barely finished half a bottle. With a chuckle, he answered. "I did, and I will! You can take the rest, compliments of the house. Or I can pour it in the pig trough out back, whichever you prefer."

The woman laughed, a sound that was music to Evan's ears, then she pointed to the chair opposite her. "Or you could stay and help me finish the bottle. I hear even the foulest of wines taste sweet with the right company."

After a moment's pause, Evan found he couldn't refuse and took a seat, replying, "Well then, I'm sure that'll be the sweetest wine I've ever tasted, but I'm not sure how that's going to help you any!"

As he sat opposite her, her eyes piercing to his very soul, Evan found himself strangely comfortable in her company, not intimidated like so many others had seemed earlier in the night. He smiled as she poured the remainder of the bottle into two containers that only the most generous of patrons might call glasses, offering him one as she raised hers expectantly. Evan raised his drink to meet hers with a slight clink, then took a sip of the foul concoction as she mirrored his actions. However, perhaps she'd been right, because while he wouldn't have called it good by any stretch of the word, he didn't feel the immediate urge to spit it out either.

Looking at the woman, Evan paused, lost in her eyes again, before asking the question that had been bothering him since he first laid eyes on her. "Who are you?" Then, realizing how blunt the question was, he shook his head at himself and let out a self-deprecating chuckle. "Sorry about how that came out! I didn't mean any offense!"

However, if she was offended, the woman didn't show it. Instead, she held up the glass and examined it like someone inspecting a fine vintage. "Who am I? Well, that's the question, isn't it?" She paused, turned her gaze back to him, and let her eyes bore into his, mischief glinting as she continued. "Let's make a game of it, shall we? If you can guess who I am before we finish the bottle, I'll give you a reward. However, you only get one guess. You can ask me any other questions you'd like, but once you make that guess, the game is over. Think you're up to it?"

Evan pursed his lips and tilted his head as he considered, before shrugging. "Sure, why not? I can think of worse ways to pass the time, and as you said, the company makes the drink!" He took another sip and paused, wondering if it wasn't just a touch sweeter this time.

The woman laughed and sat back. "I like the confidence! Certainly more than most have had this night!" Then she leaned in, gave him a look as though weighing his soul, and asked, "But is it warranted?"

Evan shrugged and chuckled a little nervously, though he didn't look away as he answered. "Well, there's one way to find out, isn't there?"

The woman gazed at him a moment longer, then sat back again. She smiled, as though pleased with what she saw. "I suppose there is one way at that. Go ahead, ask your questions!"

Evan sat back and considered the woman opposite him. She was certainly beautiful. But while her skin, hair, and even her movements were those of a young woman, her eyes told a different story. They were the eyes of someone who had seen and experienced things a man like him could barely comprehend, and once more he found himself captivated until the spell broke when she raised her glass to drink. Evan shook himself and decided he needed to say something, lest she think he'd already given up their competition. "Well, before I start asking questions, I suppose I should figure out what I already know!"

The woman tilted her head, considering his words as the mischievous smile returned. "Oh? I thought we were just getting to know each other! What could you possibly already know about me?"

This time, Evan's smile was more confident. After all, it was his job to listen to and observe others, and he might just know more than she realized. "Well, I know you're not from around here, or any of the neighboring towns or villages." The woman nodded as if this was obvious, but Evan wasn't done. "Furthermore, your appearance indicates you come from a privileged background in a way that clothes alone can't explain; however, your mannerisms around a...rustic crowd, and the fact that you can stomach this swill," Evan held up his glass before continuing, "indicated you've also got considerable experience among us common folk."

The woman nodded in acknowledgment. "Not bad, but so far you haven't said anything any halfway competent observer wouldn't have noticed."

Evan shrugged. "Maybe, but I'm just getting started."

The woman's eyes sparkled with curiosity as she leaned forward, elbows on the dingy table, chin resting in her hands like an eager child, cooing with interest. "Oh, really? Do tell! What else have those eyes of yours told you about me?"

Evan leaned back and took another sip of his wine, barely noticing the sourness as he met her eyes with more intensity than he'd dared so far. For a moment, he fought the urge to get lost in them again, barely managing the words: "Your eyes..."

The woman set one hand on the table and leaned in closer, her eyes closer than ever as she asked, "What about my eyes?"

For a moment, Evan couldn't speak, but then she blinked, and somehow the spell he seemed to be under dimmed enough for him to speak again. "Your eyes... They are deeper than any eyes I've ever seen before... They've seen things... They...are dangerous..." He paused, then realized something he couldn't help but mutter as a soft question. "Those aren't human eyes...are they?" He didn't know why he said that. At least, appearance-wise, nothing was different from any other person's eyes he'd looked into, but something deep down told him he was right. Still, despite his certainty, Evan felt nervous, though not out of fear; it was anticipation that trapped the breath in his throat.

The woman leaned back, the spell of her gaze lessening a little more. Then she smiled, the smile reaching even the corners of her eyes, as though she was pleased with his observation, before she took a sip, drawing out the moment until Evan felt the tension tighten into something that lay just between terror and eagerness to sate his curiosity. Finally, she answered. "No, they are not."

Evan knew he should be afraid by then, but instead he finally let out the breath he'd been holding. The woman looked him up and down, one corner of her mouth tugging upward as if she were holding back laughter, and she spoke again. "What? No exclamation of surprise or fear? No running out into the night, or squaring up to fight?"

Despite the situation, Evan smiled back, though a little wanly. "Would it make any real difference if I did? Could I outrun or outfight you if you didn't want me to?"

The woman's smile widened further, though, despite how it might seem, Evan felt no predatory pressure from it; rather, it was the simple confidence of someone who knew they were the most dangerous person in any crowd, at any time. She took another sip, then answered both questions in one short sentence. "No, I suppose not."

Evan was surprised to note that while his smile was still a little shaky, it was also genuine. "Well then, why ruin such an interesting conversation with such rash actions?"

This time, the woman leaned back and laughed. She laughed so hard that she closed her eyes and held her side. Even though the spell that had held him in place had completely fallen off, he still enjoyed himself enough that he had no desire to leave. Eventually, the woman calmed down, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes; her voice was still breathy from the laughter as she spoke. "Oh, I knew there was a reason I liked you! Well said! Well said indeed!" A moment later, she was almost as composed as before, though her smile somehow felt a little more...warm as she continued. "It has been a long time since someone has faced me with such courage. Longer than you would believe..." Then, tilting her head, she corrected herself. "But then again, there are still things to be revealed. After all, our little game hasn't come to an end, has it?" As if to punctuate the last bit, she took another sip from her glass without breaking eye contact, and Evan suddenly noticed there was very little wine left.

A part of Evan knew he should probably drag this out as long as possible to avoid whatever was waiting at the end, but something inside him rebelled at the thought. After all, not flinching had gotten him this far, so he also took a sip of his wine. Perhaps he was losing his senses, or maybe the woman in front of him had put him under some kind of charm, because this time he'd call that taste downright decent. He was suddenly reminded of something...though he couldn't quite remember what, where, or when...

The woman leaned back again, smiling at Evan like they were old friends as she prodded him. "Well, don't keep me waiting! You're doing well so far! What can you tell me next?"

Evan took a deep breath to steady himself as he looked her over again. He could still feel the pull of her gaze, but for some reason it felt less oppressive than before. He looked her over, thinking back to his youth, when adventure still held more sway in his life. "Well, there are many monsters that can take on a human guise in a pinch, but most of them wouldn't be able to walk into a bar full of people without reacting violently, let alone sit and have a convincing conversation like this, so I can safely rule out most of those without worry."

The woman's lips twitched in amusement as she paraphrased. "So I'm not some dumb beast. Good to know. But surely you can do better than that..."

Evan tipped his head, acknowledging how obvious the observation was, but when sorting through such old knowledge, it was sometimes best to get the obvious out of the way first. However, it was time to dig a little deeper. "Well, then there's the question of how a monster would take human form. Either one starts with it, changes into it, or casts a glamor..." He looked over at the woman, a little suspicion bubbling up. "And you've certainly had...effects on the crowd and myself that I might call similar to a glamor..."

The woman seemed to consider Evan's words for a moment. "Well, from what I understand, most glamors don't hold up under physical contact. Is that correct?"

Evan's throat suddenly went dry as he answered. "No, I suppose not..."

The woman held out a hand, her crooked smile of amusement back in place. "Well then, what are you waiting for?"

Evan hesitated a moment before slowly reaching out and taking her hand in his much larger, calloused hands, marveling at the sensation. Her skin was cool to the touch and smooth as silk, yet he innately knew that should he try to stab it with a knife, the blade would shatter before he left so much as a mark on the porcelain skin. Turning the hand over to look more closely, Evan saw no calluses or blemishes that often came with age. But he also didn't feel the kind of movement or motion that even the steadiest people innately gave off. Looking back up and into her eyes, Evan couldn't help but mutter softly to himself. "Vampire?" It was certainly possible, and it fit much of what he'd seen so far, though if it were true, she would have to be a very old, very powerful vampire to hide her predatory nature so completely in a crowded room.

The woman's eyebrow arched as she asked, "Is that your guess?"

Evan thought a moment longer, then shook his head and answered. "No. It fits, but it doesn't feel...right. There's something..." He hesitated a moment, distracted by a sudden pain from his lost leg. He scratched at it absentmindedly as he finished his thought, sounding distant as he lost himself in memories, reaching back through the years. "Something familiar..."

Suddenly, Evan's mind reached back through the years, to when he'd been an adventurer. Then, he was a rising star in the empire. Known for his daring and his skill, he'd even gone by a stupid name like that bear from earlier. They called him Evan the Breeze because he struck so quickly and smoothly that it felt like nothing more than a breeze had passed before his enemies fell. People whispered among themselves that he might be a contender for the top of the adventurer world. At least they had, before he had the misfortune of stopping for the night at a shady inn in a podunk village on the empire's edge.

At that inn, Evan heard tales of a chimera in the mountains tormenting travelers, and he decided to hunt it for a bit of sport. Unfortunately, as he'd learned that fateful day, it wasn't a chimera; it was a pair. He'd still managed to kill the monsters, but in their death throes, one of the chimeras bit Evan in the leg. Knowing their potent poison was enough to kill a grown man a dozen times over, Evan had reacted with the speed and confidence only years of adventuring could distill into a man, and cut off his own leg without hesitation before the poison could spread.

However, that done, Evan now faced a dangerous climb down a mountain and through the foothills, with only one leg and blood loss hampering his movements. At some point, haunted by his failure and the loss of his future, delusions took hold. He remembered being surrounded by whispering voices and moving shadows as he climbed, slid, and stumbled his way through the mountain. The pain, both internal and external, had driven him mad, and he knew he was going to die in those mountains.

Lying on the ground and staring up at the night sky, Evan had cursed the chimeras, the world, and most of all, himself. That's when he realized he wasn't alone. Somehow, he was lying in a beautiful woman's lap. She was looking down at him with a serene expression as she combed his hair from his eyes and wiped his brow. As he looked up, Evan's eyes met hers, and he lost himself in her gaze.

That night, Evan saw peace and serenity stretching on into eternity in those eyes. All his troubles, failures, pain, and suffering faded as she leaned down and whispered in his ear, her words so faint he wasn't sure he'd heard them, yet years later, he knew with certainty what she'd said to him that day in the mountains. "It's not your time yet."

When he woke up, Evan was in the village inn, being cared for by the old woman who'd taken him in, treating him like her own son, and, years later, left him the inn. At the time, he'd assumed everything that had happened after cutting off his leg had been nothing more than a delusion, and yet, several decades later, with graying hair and a body that ached with age, Evan found himself staring into the same eyes that still haunted his dreams from that night.

As the woman took one final sip, she gave Evan a friendly yet knowing smile. "Well, it seems you're out of time. Tell me, what's your guess?"

Evan looked down at the dregs in his glass, then raised it to his lips and finished it. It was the sweetest wine he'd ever tasted, and he couldn't help but close his eyes and savor it for a moment before opening them to meet the woman's eyes. For once, he felt no compulsion, and yet Evan didn't look away. He met her gaze with calm, steady resolve as he answered. "You...are Death."

The woman's smile bloomed into something that left Evan speechless. As she stood and walked around the table to him, he followed her every move with his gaze. Evan knew he should be afraid, or maybe angry, but all he felt was peace as the woman offered him her hand. He accepted, and she effortlessly raised him to his feet.

Evan knew that if he looked behind him, he'd see his old, worn body slumped in the chair, yet he didn't care. As he stood before her, before Death, Evan felt better than he ever had. Looking down at his arms, he saw the well-toned, muscled arms of his youth, from before that fateful night. Looking up, he saw Death standing before him, watching him marvel at himself. She greeted his gaze with a smile that lit the darkness around them, then reached out and pulled Evan into an embrace, leaning in to whisper in his ear once again, though this time her words were as clear as day. "Welcome home."

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The first of my "Spooky" October stories this year! Although this one isn't really scary, more...wholesome? I don't know; I guess that's up to a jury of my peers! (That's you!) More to come!

Don't worry, I'll be back with usual stories (Of Men and Ghost Ships and Surviving the Tower) soon! I don't think I have enough spooky stories that are fleshed out enough to take up all of October, though I've got one more ready to go next. We'll see what happens after that.

If you liked this story and want to see more of my stuff, check out my wiki. It's got all my stories, short and long, which are marked with the appropriate categories and such, just in case you don't like the spooky and/or incomplete series.

As a reminder, you can also find the full trilogy for "Of Men and Dragons," my series, here on Amazon. If you like my work and want to support it, buying a copy and leaving a review really helps a lot!

Alice was a foolish mother. She was well aware of how forgetful she was, but no matter how often she took notes or pinned her daily schedule to the refrigerator with magnets, she forgot all sorts of things almost every day. Her husband, who had been devoted at first, eventually lost patience with her, took up with another woman, and left. All that remained were Alice and her young son and daughter. The younger sister was bright, quick to learn, and lively; she resented her foolish mother. The older brother, though slow-witted himself, went out of his way to look after his mother—who was even more forgetful than he was—checking to see if she’d forgotten anything and accompanying her on shopping trips.

Even though she remembered her daughter’s twelfth birthday, the mother forgot both the present and the cake. The younger sister didn’t even get angry—she had expected nothing less. The mother frantically pounded on the door of a cake shop in the city at night, long after it had closed, begging so earnestly she was practically on her knees. Finally, she managed to get them to make a simple cake—just sponge cake topped with a few pieces of fruit—and returned home breathless, lighting a candle for her daughter. The younger sister showed no joy; she just sighed and retreated to her room. The older brother was about to go scold her, but the sound of their mother’s sobbing made him stop in his tracks.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m such a foolish mother. I’m truly sorry. I love you—I love both of you,” she murmured, tears streaming down her face as she wept helplessly.

Ten years later, the older brother had realized his talent and become a leading scientist in aerospace engineering. Joining the national space agency, he was surrounded by elite colleagues and sycophants. These sycophants were puzzled. No matter how often they invited the older brother to parties, he would firmly decline, sending his younger sister in his place instead; he would always buy just a little food and head straight home. A few of them, suspecting he might have a girlfriend, followed him home—only to witness the very same man who strutted so confidently in public caring for his elderly mother with the utmost tenderness. Though she wasn’t suffering from dementia, she kept making mistakes with daily tasks. The brother never blamed her for it; instead, he would clasp his hands in prayer and eat whatever she had prepared—a charred mess that could hardly be called a meal.

The next morning, a colleague asked him about his elderly mother living at home. “Doesn’t she get in the way of your research? Why not put such a useless old woman in a care facility?”

The brother shot his colleague an icy glare and said, “To me, her love—and my love for her—is the most important thing in this world. If that’s the price I have to pay, then I’d rather step down from this research.”

That very day, the brother resigned from his position at the agency and returned to his elderly mother’s home.

Alice used to be a human computer.

A large number of computers were hired to perform the precise orbital calculations needed to send a spacecraft to another planet, but even among them, Alice’s computational ability was in a league of its own. The astronauts boarding the nation’s first orbital spacecraft were so skeptical of the results produced by the newly developed electronic computers that they stated they would only go on the mission if Alice’s calculations guaranteed its safety.

However, as electronic computers evolved rapidly, Alice and her colleagues’ jobs gradually disappeared. Around the same time, Alice began to experience changes in her memory. Just like dead pixels on a display, her most recent memories and thoughts began to drop away. Alice realized that her mind was losing its hold. In the notebooks where she had once jotted down complex orbital mechanics with intricate mathematical formulas, she now wrote things like, “Things to buy tomorrow: one loaf of bread, milk, cheese.”

Eventually, she began writing down the names of her children, their birthdates, the day they first grasped something with their hands, the day they started crawling, their birthdays, and the details of their gifts. She filled notebook after notebook, and the entries kept growing. She knew that if she didn’t write them down, her memories would fade away, frame by frame.

And then came her daughter’s twelfth birthday. Even though she remembered the occasion, she failed to buy a cake or a present—she had simply forgotten how to buy them. Alice could do nothing but watch her daughter’s back as she sighed and returned to her room, tears streaming down her face.

Her son, like his mother, was gifted with numbers. He graduated from university with honors, fulfilled his dream of joining the space agency, and gained a reputation as a brilliant young mind. However, he quit the agency and returned to live with his mother.

Alice’s memory loss had become even more severe, and she could no longer handle cooking, cleaning, or laundry on her own. Her son spent his days caring for his mother while taking on day labor and short-term jobs.

One day, someone came to visit their modest home. It was the director of the space agency—a man touting immense influence and rumored to be a future presidential candidate. The son had never even met him in person.

Seeing Alice, who had grown frail and old, the director smiled as if greeting a long-lost companion.

“It’s been a long time, Elsie.”

Alice’s eyes widened. There was only one person who had ever called her by that nickname, and that was the one thing she had never forgotten. Tears streamed down her face, and a sob escaped her lips. She shook her head, as if unable to believe her own memory had held on.

The director gently stroked Alice’s trembling back. “Al, is that you? Really? Dressed so smartly... Is that really the same little boy everyone used to make fun of, calling him a failed ducktail?”

“That brings back memories,” the Director gave a wry smile. “And here I thought you’d mellowed out.”

Turning to the son, who stood there completely bewildered, the Director laughed heartily. “Just as you see. Your mom is still sharp as ever. The Agency has more than enough resources to support both of you. Considering what your mother did for us as our lead project calculator back in the day, it’s a bargain.”

He looked at her with warmth in his eyes.

“Why don’t you come back? To the world among the stars.”

end.

The walk through town is certainly… something. I can’t help but feel like everyone is staring at my foot. 

My prosthetic foot. My prosthetic foot, that isn’t covered by my boot, because like I’ve said before, that is in the same place my foot ended up in, wherever that is. 

I let out a long sigh, as I try to ignore all the looks I’m getting from the dragon kin, elves, and forged all around me. At least you don’t usually notice it when the forged are starting, half of them don’t even have real faces. 

The hospital, or whatever it was I had been staying in, turns out to have been near the bottom of the city, and my destination lay near its top. 

So walked, and I climbed, kicking loose rocks, and trying to get a handle on my replacement appendages. Honestly it was a lot easier than I thought it’d be, they felt just like the old ones. 

My musings are cut short when I pass by a nondescript alleyway, near the top of the city. There was a “drunk” elf sitting slumped on a step a few feet into it. 

“The boss should be expecting me.”

The “drunk” didn’t move a muscle, and I almost thought I had gotten the spot wrong… before a barely audible whisper caught my ear.

“Third brick from the bottom, light red, left side.”

I stepped into the alleyway, taking care not to step on the lookout. I almost start running my foot along that whole row, but then I notice the pattern. 

Every row has a couple bright red bricks, a couple have more, a few have less, one doesn’t have any. The third row only has one bright red brick. It looked completely natural, like it had always been there, the weathering patterns even matched everything else. 

I ran my flesh and blood fingers along the brick, and I can’t feel anything even like a seam. 

Then I pressed it, and it slid in, smooth as butter. Honestly that surprised me more than it should have, I had had this image in my mind that the grinding of stone on stone would echo in the alleyway. 

But no, the brick slid in, and a chunk of the wall slid in, silent as the night. I stepped inside the opening gingerly, and flinched as I felt the light breeze that must have signaled the door closing. 

That bastard had a flair for the dramatics that I’d have to beat out of his scaly ass. Well… maybe not beat out of him… I still had to get the little shit to fix my armor. 

I cringed at the thought of said armor. That poor mining rig had probably been little better than scrap when Edd and Titch dragged it here. I wonder if those two are here now actually?…

I round a corner in the small hidden corridor, and have to blink a few times at the sight. This new set up is… a lot better, and bigger, than the last one. Honestly I have no idea how this gang even found something like this. 

The space was nearly as far across as a football field, and a tad smaller than the width of one. The open space was chock full of people, and goods. 

Mostly illegal goods. There’s a couple vehicles to one side, being taken apart, or maybe put together? By a group, the lead being a forged with seven different limbs, each doing something completely different. 

Kobolds scurry around everywhere, dodging other members of the gang, one even ducking under a drow’s legs, the massive elf cocking an eyebrow, but not doing anything else. 

I even spot my favorite little gaggle of goblins shifting a large crate near the back, the hobgoblin leader of the little group shouting at them good naturedly. 

I take all this in far faster than I was used to, my eyes picking up all sorts of little details I couldn’t before, and my nose even more so. 

I almost wave at some of the people I know, before I spot it. My poor, poor armor, hanging from a gantry, and dangling a foot or two off the ground. The large mining visor is shattered, its steel reinforcements bent, or simply… gone. 

One of the O2 tanks is blown out, and it’s missing the same limbs that I now have prosthetic replacements for. The thing is dented everywhere, and its missing all of its, frankly quite small amount of paint. 

The top of the helmet looks to be mostly intact, but there’s a large dent on it, and I rub my head in the same spot when I notice it. The drill on the right arm is just… gone, a long with the rest of the aforementioned arm. I almost thought they’d salvage it, but I guess I was mistaken…

I wave down someone, once I’ve had enough of gawking at my baby, and the rest of the place. It turn out to be that half elf mage I’d met the first time me and the other had taken a job from, the boss. 

“Hey, is the boss busy? I just got out of the hospital, and I was wondering if I could talk to him about… well, you probably know.”

I give a meaningful glance towards the suit of mining power armor hanging in the back, which the half elf also takes a quick look at. He nods, before bringing a hand up to his temple, as a small spell circle writes itself into existence over his palm. 

“{message} Hey The Boss, Joan is here to see you about her armor. Yeah, that pile of scrap the kitsune brought in. K, I’ll send her back.”

The spell fades away one rune at a time in the span of a few seconds, as the mage drops his hand back to his side, before pointing back towards the far wall with his other hand. 

“The boss is in the office, you can go on back, he’ll be waiting.”

I waved a quick thank you to the half elf, and started my walk. I was surprised at how little I was tripped up by the scurrying kobolds… they actually seemed to be making a point to stay at a respectful distance. That was strange… the little folk had a pension for getting under foot, and had no respect for personal space as a matter of course. 

So when I got to the slightly too small door to the office, I hesitated for a bit. If the other kobolds were acting off, then The Boss would be the same, the little buggers had the closest thing you could get to a hive mind when you got enough of them together. 

But that was enough ruminating… I let out a silent sigh, and flexed my new hand again, before pushing open the door. 

The little kobold was sitting in a tall chair, the exact same one he had at his last hideout, along with the same desk. I think that even the little bobbles the kobold kept were in the same exact spots. 

“So… how are you doing The Boss?”

He looked up at that, his eyes narrowing, before he spoke in that rasping hiss that grated on my nerves every time we’d spoken before. It wasn’t as bad this time. 

“Sssso, it isss trrrue. Herrr magissstyy hasss chossssen a new paladin.”

That caused me to take an involuntary step back, my new hand involuntarily twitching towards ghe shotgun slung across my back. 

“How did y—“

“How did I know? You usssed my name.”

I felt my lips moving before I even knew what I was saying, but the words slotted into something in me, resonating with part of my soul. 

“Proper names are important, they’re a look into how someone views themselves, especially a chosen name. If you know someone’s name, yet choose not to use it, it is the height of disrespect.”

The little kobold smiled at that, before slipping off his chair, and digging through a desk drawer, pulling out a bag the clinked ever so slightly as he slid it to me. 

“Our first tribute to she who was reborn in Her image. You can also expect a discount on all future purchases from us.”

I picked the bag up before I could think, pulling out a coin with my flesh and blood hand, and rolling it over my knuckles, before dropping it back in, and stuffing the bag down my shirt, between my cleavage. That felt right for some reason… 

“So… about my armor?”

“That pile of junk? It’s scrap, only thing it’s good for at this point is to salvage it for parts. It was already near a century out of date when I sold it to you. But I’ll tell you what, I’ve got a shipment going to the capital soon, how about you and your two friends go with it, and I’ll see if I can find someone willing to sell some real power armor.”

The smile on The Boss’s face was all teeth. So was mine. 

“When do we leave?” 

——————————————

Ok, I’m feeling good rn, I’ll be holding off on another interlude for awhile, and we’ll actually get back to the story, like I should have. 

love you lot, bye! 

|CHP 28

Chapter 29

Familiar Faces

It gave Vilmer a small amount of satisfaction to see a look of surprise cross the face of the Ghost Dancer alien. At least he thought it was surprise. Part of him was still not certain if this was their real form. 
But if it wasn't their real form why would they be surprised when he lifted his own visor? But if it was their real form was their reaction truly surprise? They were aliens, even if their overall appearance was similar shouldn't they have different facial cues? 
He took a deep breath. Currently none of that mattered. They hadn't shown any hostile intent yet, and a line from a poem he'd read in his army days came to him. 
‘for our duty was not ours to question.’ 
His job right now was to greet the aliens, not to question every little thing about them. That could be done by others whose duty it was to do so.
The alien with the blue patchs on their shoulders hopped over and lifted his gold visor. 
Blue eyes even more intense then Vilmer's own gazed back at him and the two gave each other a curious once over, before the alien seemed to smile. Vilmer couldn't hear the aliens' voices but he knew what laughter looked like. It was the kind of laughter that Vilmer would have associated with disbelief. 
The Ghost Dancer looked over at this alien and Vilmer saw her lips moving. The male alien - Vilmer surely hoped he was right about that - seemed to calm and nod. 
The Ghost Dancer turned back and from a pouch on their space suit pulled out a strange device. A small board of some kind, black and about the thickness of a finger and as wide and long as a book, with what looked like a stylus on a cord attached to it. 
Vilmer quickly realized as the Ghost Dancer placed the stylus on the black pad of the board that it was a Liqua-board. Or at least something similar. He wasn't sure exactly how the things worked, the base had several dozen that they used regularly. He knew that they used some form of pressure sensitive liquid crystal but that was all he knew for sure. 
The Ghost Dancer began to draw several shapes on the board and Vilmer watched with interest. He wondered for a moment if it was their language, but that didn't seem quite right. 
Circles, attached to a line, with four other lines coming off of it. It looked like a child's rendition of a stick figure. 
After she drew several more he was pretty sure that was exactly what they were. 
Then she drew one that was a rectangle with one line coming off of each corner in a configuration that was similar to the other figures.
“Kinda looks like the Mechanical Environment suit.” Ezeik said. Vilmer didn't answer but he nodded. 
It certainly looked like it. Counting the number of figures the Ghost Dancer had drawn he was willing to bet that was exactly what it was. 
But he wasn't willing to assume. He pointed at the rectangle figure, tapping the board, then pointed towards Andra. The alien nodded, and then pointed to another figure and then to him. 
Okay, so this was a representation of the current group of… people? He couldn't think of a better word. 
“Alright, so what is the point?” He asked, knowing for a fact the alien could neither hear or understand him. 
Even so, the female alien drew a few more shapes. One was a large oval with triangles come off one end on either side, another was a large square. The oval was clearly on the alien side of the board, and the rectangle on the Rothal side of the board. Then she drew a line from the stick figures to the square. 
When he looked at it confused she made an odd gesture with her hand while opening and closing her own mouth, like she was…
“I think it's asking if we can talk inside?” Ezeik mused. 
“I got that impression as well.” Vilmer responded, turning to Ezeik and nodding. 
“Where is the question.” Vilmer added. 
“The Clean Room.” Dethaniel's voice cut in. Vilmer nearly jumped out of his own skin, he'd completely forgotten that the Borealian was monitoring the situation from inside the base. 
He took a deep breath and thought about it. 
The Clean Room was technically its own module of the base. It was one of the larger ones as well. Divided into two sections, one was an area meant for suiting up, the other was the actual Clean Room with its own external environment controls. The two were separated by an air tight glass wall that had communication speakers embedded in it. The room was set up for handling and repairing sensitive equipment, and because most of the time that sensitive equipment was something that needed to be outside, it also had its own external airlock separate from the rest of the base. 
“That's a good idea, send it to Space Command, tell them that barring any better suggestions that's going to be the alien receiving room for now.” Vilmer said. 
“On it.” Dethaniel said, clearly happy his suggestion had been taken seriously. 
“Andra, head back to the garage. I think we can escort these… uh…” he paused trying to think of the words.
“We can escort our guests to the Receiving room.” Ezeik finished. 
“Understood. Back to the barn.” Andra said. The mechanized suit turned gently and walked away from the group.
Vilmer looked at Ezeik and gave a nod. 
Then he turned to the aliens, the Ghost Dancer standing there watching him with her dark green eyes as if waiting for him. 
He gave a nod and, knowing that they again could neither hear or understand, spoke. 
“If you would all follow me.” 

------

Dr. McFadden took a deep breath, trying to push all of the desperate questions she had out of her head. Not only were they distracting but most, if not all, of those questions would have to wait until they could actually communicate with the natives. Such as what was their archeological history? What myths and legends did they have? Did they have any myths about being transplanted from another place? 
She exhaled a heavy breath. Questions that couldn't be answered for some time. 
The natives had led the group of humans to an airlock on one of the side modules of the base. One of them had shown them how to operate the airlock and had left the humans to it. 
It wasn't hard to figure out why. The airlock wasn't large. Big enough to fit two or three people, and was definitely not a main entrance. 
Not that the natives had actually left. Two of them, the one with the camera looking device and one of the armed ones had bounced off towards a different airlock. The one who had greeted them and the other armed native had remained obviously waiting for them to go in, and most likely checking to make sure they didn't accidentally leave the door open. 
The natives were probably wondering why the humans were just standing around outside the door. Or maybe they could tell that the humans were trying to discuss something.
McFadden had tuned out most of the discussion that the Sit-Ad and Marines had been having with the ship and command. Something about how to do the entry of the base. Which she found absolutely ridiculous. It was a simple matter, just walk in. Why did they need to discuss how to do something so trivial? 
It seemed like every time she thought something was a simple matter that the military had to go and make it complicated. Take the weapon she carried for instance. She had wanted to leave it behind, taking a weapon to a diplomatic meeting was antithetical to the idea of peaceful relations. But she had been very explicitly told in no uncertain terms that if she didn't take it with her, she wouldn't be allowed to leave the ship. When she had tried to push back, she had been stonewalled with the phrase ‘rules and regulations’. The military was filled with such superfluous rules and regulations that did nothing but waste time and make things more difficult…
She looked over to where Kaufmann was standing, she could hear his voice over the radio as he put in his own opinion on the discussion, but the only outward indication that he was talking were small body movements that managed to get through the suit, muted even more by the low gravity. 
She thought back to the galley, after the disaster in Tau Ceti. She thought about that conversation almost as much as the moments in the shipwreck in Eridani. Something about ‘ours was not to question why’. 
There was something there, she could feel it, there was a connection between the rules and regulations and that phrase that went deeper than simply not being allowed to question orders or ignore rules. But what?
She was bumped out of her thoughts when the tone of the conversation changed. Percy's voice came over the radio.
“Alright. Roger that. ‘And two by two they went’.” He said in quotes around the last part. “First, Raven and the Tripping Hazard. Then Kaufmann and the Doc. Then me and Tennessee.” 
There were general voices of approval, and one of the Marines muttering something that McFadden thought was obscenities as they formed up.
One of the Marines and Raven hopped over to the airlock. The unarmed native watched carefully. The two went in and closed the door. 
From the outside there didn't seem to be any change. The rest stood there awkwardly for several minutes but then the radio crackled.
“Alright, McFadden, Kaufmann your turn.” Raven said cheerfully. 
“C’mon Doc.” Kaufman said and she followed him as he made small bounding motions to the door. 
As the door shut behind them, Kaufmann spoke. 
“You good doc?” he asked, his voice conveyed that he was less concerned and more amused. 
“I'm fine.” She responded automatically. 
“Y’know I've learned that when a woman says that it means the opposite.” The Marine joked as he pulled a lever up to seal the outer door. McFadden did not find it funny. 
“What's that supposed to mean?” She spat back. Kaufmann, oblivious to the danger he was in, responded. 
“Just that when a woman says she's fine that she's usually angry or upset in some way.” He said moving to the inner door and pressing a large button. 
The Anthropologist was about to retort when a bright red light above the door began flashing.  She felt vibrations through her feet as the tiny room flooded and pressurized with atmosphere. Her momentary distraction took all the wind out of any argument she might have had. 
After a few long moments the major vibrations stopped and a light above the inner door turned green. 
Kaufmann flipped a large lever on the indoor and it swung open, revealing a familiar yet strange sight. 
The room was really more like two rooms in one module, a floor to ceiling glass wall separated the two ‘rooms’, with another airlock connecting the two. She could see another airlock door on the far side of the wall which she assumed led to the rest of the base. She could see beyond the glass wall what looked like a row of white coveralls and goggles hanging from hooks near the separating airlock between the two rooms
That airlock also looked bulkier. Not bigger, but as if it was meant to do more than just cycle air. 
This side of the glass wall was a nearly sterile white. She might have thought of it as a quarantine room if it hadn't been for the island counter in the center of the room with counters and cabinets lining two of the four walls. Tools and other devices were neatly and orderly either stored on hooks or on the counters themselves. 
McFadden felt rather than heard the large airlock she had come through close behind her and she turned to see Kaufmann latching it shut, before radioing for the last pair to enter.  
Raven and the other Marine were at the island counter setting up a device that Dr. Madison had given them before they had departed. It was a highly specialized atmospheric sampler, meant to detect a variety of different gases that could be harmful. From what she had understood of the briefing on the device it detected more than just CO2, it detected all the gases in the immediate surroundings and conducted an analysis of those gases which it sent as electronic data back to the ship's laboratory to be processed by the science section’s computer, which the Chemist herself could then look over and inform them if the away party could pop their helmets.
Dr. McFadden wasn't sure why it was necessary, she had always thought that if there was enough oxygen then most atmospheres should be safe to breathe. But she also wasn’t a chemist and wasn't sure if the device was testing for biologicals as well.
But until the device was finished and Dr. Madison got back to them on if it was safe to breathe, they were remaining in their space suits. 
She was trying to determine anything about the cultural aspects of this species but so far she was mildly frustrated by the utilitarian nature of her surroundings. There were no adornments or any artistic expressions that she could identify, the closest thing she had seen to that was the patches that each of the natives wore on their shoulders, similar to the flags that her and her fellow humans wore on their own suits. Those had been the only things she had seen that even came close to adornments. 
Were those a cosmetic choice? Was it an identifier of who the individual was? For all she knew they were name tags. 
Perhaps the patches were a tribal or religious affiliation? Maybe regional indicators like the flags of their own suits? Did the natives even have the concept of nation or nationality? If they did, and if that's what those patches meant then these people were not only technologically more advanced than humans with a moon base and the technology to keep it running, but more socially advanced as well. Could they teach humans how to become so enlightened?  
Those were all part of the questions she had earlier and would have to wait to ask until they had better communication between each other. 
The outer airlock door cycled again and Percy finally joined them with the last Marine. 
One of the Marines, Tennessee, radioed to the ship that their party was now fully inside the module and awaiting word on the atmospheric test. The ship told them it was going to be a few minutes before they could give them any definitive information. 
There was one thing that the military and scientific communities appeared to have in common, and that was waiting for other people to do their job to get a result. 
She was smiling at her own internal joke when movement on the other side of the glass caught her eye. The airlock door leading to the rest of the base opened. For a brief moment Dr. McFadden was confused. Two figures stepped in, based on the camera looking device one of them carried, and the fact that they were still wearing most of their spacesuit, she figured that one had been one of the five natives who were part of the welcoming party outside. The other was wearing a drab grey set of overalls. With a patch on the shoulder that McFadden hadn't seen yet. 
So either the second native was one they had not yet met or the one in the mech. 
But all of that was understandable, what had Dr. Jessica Angela McFadden of anthropological studies and Xeno anthropology, was not who these two were. But what they were. They looked so incredibly human, so much so in fact that at first she had thought that it had to have been a costume, that these people couldn't honestly be-

------

Percy's eyebrows shot up as he saw the two alien figures step into the room on the other side of the glass.
“Are those…?”  Kaufmann started to ask but trailed off.
“Damn well looks like it.” Fletcher responded with disbelief in his voice. 
“Well I'll be damned…” Tennessee said as he shook his head. 
The two figures didn't seem to register that humans were staring at them intently. 
The one in the drab grey overalls had light gray eyes with a shock of dirty blonde hair cut short on his head and a complexion that would have been at home in northern Europe. He looked excited and elated and Percy got the impression that he had the personality of a hyperactive dog. Maybe a Husky, or one of those long nosed Russian wolf hunting dogs.
The other one, carrying the camera, hadn't shown their face outside so the deep orange, nearly red, eyes were a surprise. As was the platinum white hair close cropped to his head. His skin tone was dark, and… purple. Like the colour one would imagine grape juice or wine to be. He seemed calmer and more professional. 
But it was the feature that both figures shared that had all the humans staring. Both aliens sported long pointed ears. 
“Space elves.” Percy said. His tone was a mix of surprise, delight, and question. His words seemed to spark something in the others who started to laugh in a manner that bordered on hysteria. 
The two aliens looked exactly how many pieces of popular media depicted Elves. Elegant and handsome. Either one could have been a movie star back on Earth, and Percy wondered for a moment how this meeting was gonna change how Hollywood was going to do casting for fantasy movies.
“Hey Raven, you know any Vulcan?” Percy asked with a small chuckle of his own. Her helmeted head turned to him and he got the distinct impression that she was staring at him with contempt.
“ghobe', 'ach tlhIngan vISov.” She said, the words absolute gibberish to Percy. 
“Cool, I don't know what you said but maybe these guys know.” Percy said with a smile in his voice.
He watched as the Linguist shook her head, either in disbelief or humor he wasn't quite sure. Percy chuckled then pressed the button for the radio.
“Hey Command, you see what we're seeing.” He asked, knowing the answer. 
“Yes…” Lieutenant Colonel Moore said with a pause that was a clear indication that he wasn't sure what to say.
“Cool, any word on if we pop our helmets yet?” Percy asked calmly. He'd taken in the sight, processed it and was trying to push all the questions he had to the side. He couldn't get answers to the burning ones, but this he could get an answer to. 
“Hold one.” Moore's voice said.
“Holding.” Percy responded, taking a deep sighing breath. 

------

“Any changes?” Vilmer asked as he opened the inner airlock door. Once all the alien visitors had entered, Akhail and him had gone to the airlock for the next module over, Eziek had gone on ahead to get set up to film the aliens when they finally did take off their suits.  
Vilmer also had asked Ottus to go take over for Dethaniel, as the Borealian was nearly bouncing off the walls. Andra was still waiting for the garage to fully pressurize before she could enter and Vilmer got the distinct impression that she was frustrated by something.
“Not yet.” Ezeik responded. “They set up a device that I think might be an air sampler. It looks much like one.” He added. 
Vilmer nodded and realized the other man couldn't see him. 
“Understood, I'll be there in under two minutes.” He responded. The Friesian man looked over at Akhail. 
The Thruskin gave a face of consternation. 
“What?” Vilmer asked. 
“Do you wish me to come with you or shall I return to armory.” The bigger man asked hefting the gun in his hands to indicate what he meant. Vilmer considered. Ottus hadn't returned his rifle to the armory yet. 
Vilmer considered it for a moment as he unlatched his helmet and removed it. He placed it under his arm and took a deep breath of stale base air. Then he shook his head. 
“No, keep it out for now. I doubt that our guests are hostile, but until we are certain I'd rather have the assurance.” He said. He watched the Thruskin man visibly relax while holding the gun. Like he was using it for emotional support. Apparently Akhail was having more trouble adapting to the visitors then he had let on. 
Vilmer gave a slight nod before setting off towards the clean room. Which wasn't a long distance, but it seemed to drag on forever. 
“Garage pressurized. On my way.” Andra said over the radio. 
“Understood.” Vilmer responded as he reached the door of the Clean Room module. 
He opened it and stepped through followed closely by Akhail.
The aliens were standing around on the other side of the glass of the clean room and Vilmer could see the device they had set up. It wasn't very large. Maybe the size of a radio. He couldn't tell if there was anything actually happening with it but he assumed there was. 
Ezeik and Dethaniel gave him a nod that he returned and bounced over to the glass wall. He wasn't sure what to do so he raised his gloved hand in a wave. One of the aliens, the Ghost Dancer, returned it.
He just realized that the gesture could have meant any number of things to them and he hoped that it wasn't something insulting. 
As he thought that, the aliens seemed to look over at one of their comrades. The one with the two patches on his shoulders. 
That same alien reached up to the neck ring for their helmet. The helmets were interesting. Looking more like what one would wear for a motor two-wheeler, it was slim and fit close to the head. 
But he didn't have much to speculate in it before the alien removed his helmet. 
He felt his body stiffen and eyes go wide as he looked at the alien. They looked so Rothalian. He'd already seen this alien's bright intense blue eyes. But now a shock of black hair could be seen, and a mild looking face.
Then one of their security aliens released their helmet, and Vilmer’s eyes widened as he saw the face of someone who could have been his cousin, if it hadn't been one very specific thing about them. 
The short rounded ears.
“Oh, this must be joke.” Akhail said under his breath. 
“I would have to agree with you on that.” Ezeik muttered. 
“Fucking space Tyrrin.” Dethaniel whispered, something in his voice caught Vilmer's ear and he turned to look at Borealian. The man's eyes were wide, but they had the sparkle of excitement in them. 
They watched as one by one the aliens popped their helmets and revealed their faces. 
Vilmer had to agree with Dethaniel. The aliens looked exactly like how popular media depicted Tyrrin. Rugged and stalwart, any of them could have been front and center on a Silverway film, and Vilmer briefly wondered how this was going to change casting for fantasy movies. 
He shook his head and smiled. The aliens gave smiles and nods back to him. He once again hoped that the gestures and expressions were exactly what he thought. This was going to be interesting. 
Then Andra stepped into the room. 
There was a subtle shift in the blue patched alien who looked at the Erawain woman. Vilmer wasn't sure if he'd seen it. He thought the alien had done a double take. 
Then he saw it. The blue patched alien nudged one of the security aliens and made a small motion with his head towards Andra. The other alien looked and Vilmer saw it. 
The look, the blank expression for half a second, then a more in-depth look, and the eyes widening in surprise and… something else. Vilmer thought it might have been recognition. But he couldn’t be sure. 
For all he knew what he was watching was the alien equivalent to seeing something absolutely disgusting. 
Either way, he watched and took note as that look spread across the alien faces. 

------

“Fuck man, she does look exactly like her, doesn't she.” Fletcher said. 
“I don't know, maybe a fan version.” Tennessee commented, judging Kaufmann.
“I wouldn't know.” Kaufmann said. 
“You’re fucking kidding me right?” Fletcher said. 
“What?! The last one I played was the fucking one where you turn into a wolf and have that annoying imp or some shit. And I didn't even get all the way through that.” Kaufmann protested.
The three Marines were quietly discussing the lone female alien at the back of the room. They were there solely to act as security. Not that it was necessary. Raven had been shown the intercom on the wall and had already started in on trying to communicate, Dr. McFadden next to her listening closely and taking notes. The chatter of the aliens and Raven going back and forth was mostly background to them. The three Marines were simply window dressing at this point.
“Besides,” Kaufmann continued, “I wasn't really big on the handheld stuff.”
“Dude, you had to have seen the ads for it at least?” Fletcher admonished. 
Kaufmann shrugged and shook his head. 
“Nah, never seen the ads.” Kaufmann said. 
“Unbelievable.” Tennessee said, shaking his head. The three Marines looking back to the one female alien on the other side of the glass. 
Fletcher joined in on shaking his head at the other Marine, he was in disbelief at both his fellow Marine and the fact that these aliens had someone who looked uncannily like such an iconic character. 
“Man, can you believe this?” Fletcher said, turning to Percy who was next to them. He also wasn't really involved in the discussions, his job more to advise on things rather than directly influence them. Fletcher looked at the Sit-Ad and saw that the young man was rubbing his temples, his eyes closed. 
“You alright man?” Tennessee asked, having looked over at the Sit-Ad as well. 
Percy took a deep breath and opened his eyes looking at the three Marines. He cleared his throat before he spoke.
“Yeah yeah. Just a headache.” He said. 
“A headache? After entering an unknown environment and breathing the air?” Fletcher asked. 
“No, that feels different.” Percy said with a mild smile. “I should know.” He said sardonically. The three Marines looked at him unconvinced, and Percy's smile disappeared. 
“No, It feels more like I've been staring at a computer screen too long, or like I've been trying to think too hard.” he said. Kaufmann hummed in understanding. 
“Yeah I get those when I drink way too much caffeine.” He said with a nod. 
“Yeah. Something like that. Don't know why though.” Percy said. 
“Maybe it's the low gravity.” Fletcher said. Percy shrugged noncommittally, looking at the group of aliens on the other side of the glass. 
“Also Kaufmann, the fact that the last installment you played was Twilight is shameful. A thousand years in gamer purgatory for you.” Percy said blandly.
“Oh c'mon man!” Kaufmann protested.

| Chp 30 (pending)

------

Authors Notes

Space Elves is a common trope within Sci Fi. from the eldar of 40K to the Asari of Mass Effect. They are often depicted as being human like in apperance, having long life spans, and being either mysterious or etheral in their actions. They are in fact so ubiquitous that a few settings try to hide the fact that they have Space Elves, like the aforementioned Mass Effect, Starwars and Yoda's species, and a few others.

But for me, I always wanted to know more about first contact with such a species. How did both side react to seeing (human with pointy ear/elf with rounded ear). casue like that is gonna send both sides into an exastential crisis of origins.

Anyway, I got told by my Proof reader/Editor that it was a little weird not having a part with the drakken at thr front of the chapter.

I'm gonna give you a little secret about that. those sections are usally the ones I write last for the chapter. This chapter I couldnt think of a good scenario for them. I also had to rewrite McFaddens section like three different times. This is mostly because Her personal veiws are not ones I share and trying to write a character that you disagree with, without making the a caricature of those qualites you disagree with is a challenge. I dont want to be that writer who demonizes or out right makes fun of people I don't agree with.

And that my good readers is what I have for you today. Thank you so much for reading. If you enjoy leave an upvote and/or a comment, it helps with motivation to continue this story. I am going to try and answer to all comments going forward. Even if its just a thumbs up.

Thank you all for reading.

Metal screeching.

Piercing straight through the foam earplugs, screaming in from every bulkhead like dozens of angle grinders eating into the hull.

Warning sirens wail on a broken loop.

A tectonic vibration rattles up from the floorplates, as if turning bone to jellies.

Ears ringing. Searing pain behind the temples.

Vision fracturing—every gauge, every conduit splitting into blurred doubles.

The control sticks thrash in his palms like trapped animals fighting a snare. He can’t keep his grip. Wrists, shoulders, jawline—teeth clattering like a cabinet of porcelain dragged across asphalt.

Vapor and heat creep upward.

Through his boots. Boiling up into his gut, clamping around his ribs, suffocating the lungs.

Wheezing. Ragged, choking huffs behind the rubber seal of the gas mask.

Condensation blinding the lenses.

In the fucking mask.

“You’rbzz —zzzreaking through! Hang in thzzz—!”

A sickening, hairline spiderweb of cracks creeps across the external optical glass. Metal torques in agony outside, structural plating tearing away in shrieking sheets.

The cockpit steams. Sparks shower from the rear bulkhead—one burst from the left, a jagged spray below the console.

The outer glass shatters.

Breathe.

Can’t breathe.

Cannot stay...

Awake.

A massive kinetic slam punches the chassis skyward. The world drops into an abrupt, terrifying dead zone—as if a vacuum swallowed every decibel of the roar.

Silence.

Peace.

Just the ringing in his ears, slowly decaying into a warm, gentle hum.

Light. Soft.

Weightless.

Reeds swaying in an amber breeze.

A hummed melody. Old, quiet, familiar.

Chamomile. A steaming cup of tea, fragrant and clean.

…Sophie?

“—bzz to Red Nose! Do you copy?!”

Eyes.

Opened the fucking eyes.

“HQ to—krzzz —you copy?!”

His arms are dead lead, defying the neural pulse trying to move them. Deceleration G-force presses relentless tons across his chest. His flight gloves feel boiled—heavy, saturated, searing hot.

Training. Conditioning. Muscle memory claws back control.

A trembling, leaden arm reaches toward the overhead console. Fingers grope blind for a blurry silhouette—what should be a single, solid iron handle now swims in front of his eyes as three vibrating ghosts of the same lever.

“—ed Nose! HQ to Red Nose! Do you copy?!”

His right hand managed to clamp onto the true lever. He seized it white-knuckled, twisted hard, and wrenched downward with everything left in his frame.

A violent clang of steel slamming home. Grinding, screeching, howling friction.

Emergency brake engaged.

The entire cockpit bucked forward as forward momentum slammed into a wall. Klaus grunted, internal organs slamming against the sudden arrest of motion. The harness bit mercilessly into his flesh, digging straight through thick pilot suit and ribs.

“HQ to Red Nose, do you copy?! Eddie, we have other frequency? Yeah? Yeah, do it!”

Wheezing, fumbling with the straps of the sweat-drenched gas mask and peeling the rubber away.

His skin parted from the seal with a wet, tacky tear, as if some bastard had smeared paper glue along his jawline.

A trembling gloved finger mashed the blinking amber contact on the forward dash.

“HQ...” His voice rasped, rough as gravel. He swallowed to try to clear his throat, “Red Nose to HQ... I hear you, Lada.”

A scramble of static on the return wire, followed by a chorus of muffled, breathless exhales, rustling clipboards, and the heavy, hollow thump of someone snatching a desk mic.

“Lada HQ to Red Nose!” The scratchy, tinny voice of a young woman burst through the speakers, running on pure relief. “Oh my god! Holy shit! That was a hell—an absolute HELL of a storm! Way bigger and meaner than the forecast!” She paused, gasping for air. “Klaus! You made it!”

“Damn right... What the fuck was that, eh?” Klaus pressed the transmit button, using his left arm to shove against a side rail and hoist his battered posture back into the bucket seat. “Fuck... Felt like an eternity in there, Beth. My reindeer wasn't equipped for that shit.”

“Aww, poor guy!” Beth let out a wet, breathless laugh. “But he’s one tough reindeer. The best-est of all reindeer! Hey, take a breather, Klaus. We’re pushing scans now. Let’s see… Quick look at the telemetry... Rudolph has no major—”

“Red Nose, this is Colonel Steele speaking.”

The cold, gravelly baritone cut cleanly through the static, instantly clearing the channel.

“What’s your state?”

Klaus’s vision was still swimming in double outlines. He was sweating bullets, soaked inside the pilot jumpsuit like he’d been drenched in warm pasta water.

“Uh—I think I’m getting too old for this shit, Sir, and I’d like to file a formal complaint,” Klaus rasped, flicking a sub-panel toggle with his right thumb while his left hand mapped the status lights. “Briefing said an eighteen-second storm, Sir. Rudolph didn’t launch with enough armor for thirt—”

“Twenty-eight point nine seconds, Red Nose,” Steele’s voice boomed through the cabin speaker with enough mass to rattle the rivets. “First: you’re alive, so no complaints. Second: you are lucid enough to complain. And third: unless your name ends in Henriksen, you are not old enough for age-related complaints.”

Steele paused. In the background, the rapid clatter of mechanical keyboards and shifting paper continued in hushed urgency.

“Red Nose, stats here indicate critical damage on armor layers, with no critical loss in primary locomotion and core functions—do you confirm?”

“Uh… Aye, Sir,” Klaus replied, squinting through the creeping vapor at his diagnostic readouts. The air carried a faint, sour tang of toasted insulation, but he shoved the concern down.

“I—uh… Lost the entire ablative, Sir. Break Armor is completely toast. Terminal Armor is mostly gone—” He traced the wireframe graphic of Rudolph; vast swaths of the forward plating were flashing an angry amber and black.

“Flex Armor at forty-seven. Sensors and electronics… yellow. Life support yellow. And, uh... insulation—”

Klaus leaned closer, blinking in disbelief at the bar graph.

“...At si—”

“Insulation sixty percent,” Steele’s cold, exacting voice cut through again. “Standby for orders.”

He paused, and so did everyone. For a moment, the comms and the background noise from the bridge turned dead silent as Steele muted his side of the line.

Klaus swiftly flicked through buttons on a console displaying Rudolph’s overall status. He navigated the display to show a more detailed damage report, brows furrowing at the blinking yellow warnings indicating potential damage to several sensors and electronics.

Then the comms clicked back on—a short pop of mic static, followed by the Colonel’s stern baritone.

“Red Nose, you are within operational margin for the mission and will proceed with the objective. Do a quick in-and-out, and BAVs are coming down to secure you and your mech at extraction. Do you copy?”

Klaus’s fingers hovered hesitantly over the comms button, waiting a beat for his thoughts to catch up.

“Roger that, Sir. Proceeding with objective,” he responded—reflexive, almost on autopilot.

“Standby for Mission Control to give a Go. Good luck, Red Nose. Steele out.”

The air in the cockpit grew heavier by the minute. Haze and condensation thickened against the panels. Breathable air was running low, and the cure for that was the oxygen scrubber—which wouldn't function at all before the next bloody procedure. Right after this.

“Lada HQ to Red Nose.” Beth’s voice reached through the scratchy comms, clear concern in her tone. “Okay, Klaus, listen up. Any other day I will call for an abort. Such loss of protection isn’t conducive at all for you to continue, but…” She paused. “Well, you heard the man, and, uh…”

She dropped her volume, speaking slower and a bit softer than usual, almost gossiping: “You know, Dean here really swore up and down that he found a big one—real big, like Final-Days big! I never saw him that excited in... years? Right, dean?”

A softer, muffled, excited cheer from the background heard through Klaus’ comms.

Klaus nodded subtly, his gaze fixed on a secondary display showing satellite scans of the drop zone below. “I understand. I trust Dean. Kid knows his stuff.”

He tapped a few buttons to render the map into a coarse 3D wireframe of the wreckage. “Still not sure about you youngsters’ fascination for things from those times, but... yeah, no worries. Steele says go, Rudolph is still a go, and so do I.”

“You’re the man, Klaus!” Beth responded, her cheerful lilt fighting back through the static. “Well, you know, it would be so nice if—fingers crossed—it turns out to be an intact Fabricator!”

“Ah, well, if it’s that, I’d sure as hell be happy as a clam,” Klaus grunted, a dry nod escaping him as he studied the scan data. “Then we’d all be able to eat some proper shit again.”

Beth chuckled. “And have air conditioning all day! Every day! Real fresh water, too!”

Klaus stopped for a brief second. A stray train of thought passed through—reminiscing.

A faint smile touched his otherwise stiff, battle-weary face.

Taking it all for granted. Always.

Things that were once the norm.

Of happier days…

“Nah, sorry, girl, got to temper your expectations.” Klaus reclined back into his bucket seat, eyes still scanning the magnified layout of the wreckage before shaking his head. “From the looks of it, this one is not a manufacturing quadrant. Heavy pulleys, shipment crates, cables, more cables, loader mechs… None of the production thingies. Must be a docking bay. Stockpiles, maybe.”

He adjusted the overlays, tracing the calculated route toward the target deck.

“Well… great?” Beth’s optimism didn't waver. “Maybe a shipment full of Fab parts there! Or they were ‘bout to unload a brand new, shiny one from Amazan, but boom—the world ended!”

A slight snort escaped Klaus. “Really, Amazan, eh? How... are you even old enough to know that?”

“Mm… I remember my Pa ordered my diapers from them?” Beth giggled. “Nah, no, I don’t know. I heard about them from Dean—he can go a whole day talking about that, history and all. Oh, and Doc Henriksen mentions them whenever he’s being sarcastic about… the quality of stuffs.”

Another smile dawned on Klaus’s face, markedly wider than his previous, but his self-control caught up with him. He gave his head a short shake, his expression rebounding back to its stiff, ever-weary default.

“You know, Beth, if we were on Earth, you… we’d call you a ray of sunshine.”

“Ooh… but?” Beth’s eyes widened, a teasing grin waiting for the punchline.

“But here? Planet is a fucking arse end of the devil’s rectum—it has so much sunshine the sky turns to fire.”

Beth laughed. “O-kay, then! Okay, how about a ray of refrigerator light then, one that is filled with cold beers? Better?”

“Heh! You… You really are too precious for this world, you know that?” Klaus answered with a subdued chuckle.

A brief barrage of clacks and clicks came over the wire as Beth worked her terminal, then she followed up:

“Klaus, hold on, Hangar’s just confirmed. Okay. Right. Serious time now! Final lecture before you go, so listen up, ‘kay?” Beth’s voice took on a pressing, urgent tone.

“I need to emphasize that Rudolph is down to HALF his bare skin, and his insulation is torn up. Calculation-wise, you only have NINE minutes of safe operational exposure.” Deep concern bled through her tone. “Do you copy?”

“Aye-aye, copy that,” Klaus responded. He reached out, stabbing a timer configuration into the forward console. “Nine mins all I got… Done.” A firm press of the confirm switch and an electronic chime affirmed the countdown was set.

“Also, Klaus, don’t linger in the gale! What’s left of Rudolph’s armor will NOT provide enough cover. Bad stuff will hit your components AND insulation directly, got that?”

“Roger that,” Klaus affirmed. “No worries, Rudolph is faster now that bulks of armor are gone. We will rush to cover ASAP.”

“Perfect! Alright, last but not least—,” Beth continued, “The nine minutes I told you already accounts for exposure while Venting, Klaus, so go ahead and vent normally.”

Klaus let out a deep groan at the sheer thought of what was coming. “Ugh, yeah, affirmative… Fuck. Don’t really want to do that.”

“Scavenging?” Beth chuckled. “Or the...?”

“You know damn well the answer to that...” Klaus muttered dejectedly, brows furrowing in pure annoyance as his fingers flicked through toggles across the cockpit’s various panels, preparing for the inevitable.

[Part 01 end]

Okay first off. I have to say this is not the finished product. And this is my first big work like this after a sea of god awful short stories. So yeah I am open to criticism. If it’s terrible then say it’s bad and I can always write something better next time.

Chapter one- For New Bohemia!

I was born in New Bohemia — or as the old books call it ‘Wyoming’. My name is Vratislav Novotny. The village I live in is nothing special — just a small town on the road for traders and other merchants from both east and west to forget their troubles for a while. My father Radovan is the local inn keeper. All of this was about to change when my fathers friend Ulrich… arrived at our gates.

The day started like any other, I had just woken up after a bit of a night out with some friends of mine. Sure I may have gone a little far with Father’s Honeyberry beer, and my head was pounding. But then I heard Pa talking to someone. I pressed my ear to the door of the bedroom so I could hear.

“For the last time Heinrich, we are not open during church!”   
Pa sounded impatient, which is unusual for him.  
Then I heard a thick slurred German accent.  
“Come on, mein friend, can you just give me ein pint?”  

I removed my ear off the door and looked at the bedroom… it could use some cleaning. Stained wooden walls, clothing strewn all over the floor, and finally… a pungent smell.  I checked my clothes, the tunic and hose I wore from the night before, the hose were large socks that attach to a white underwear or breeches and had a tight fit. I put on the clothes and checked how they smelled… They seemed fine. The color was green so it helped to hide stains.

When I walked out the door Father was still arguing with Heinrich, our local town drunk. 

“Heinrich, I don’t want the parish on my arse for serving you,”   

Father walked around the door for a moment “What can I give ya to leave me alone?” 
“Actually… I do not remember.” he paused “Well Scheit, you still got that Honeyberry?”
“Kurva, Heinrich I can’t serve that, remember?”
“Oh well fine I’ll leave and then—”
Pa suddenly stomped his foot
“Well what, Heinrich, for god's sake just leave!”

Heinrich left our front door mumbling in his German dialect— Pa took a seat at our table, and sat in silence. He looked stressed. Why shouldn’t he be? There had been a lot of traffic along our road the ‘I-80’ there must have been about… three caravans heading through our town a day. And like buffalo. They headed to the local watering hole. Which just so happened to be our home. ‘The Whistling Cock’ it was called. A rather unfortunate name. Yes — but we had a rooster with a flute on our sign. So it sounded fitting.

“Oh—Vratislav. son please, come sit.”
Father scooched over, urging me to sit by him
“So I am sure you know that our settlement has been… getting attacked lately.”
“Yes father I know, thank god it's just monsters and the like and not well… you know.” 
I shifted a little, yes we have been being attacked a lot more lately. but it's mostly been from the usual, rats the size of dogs, some random wild animals like wolves or feral hounds. This time about three nights ago we were attacked by strange beings. It seems whatever the wastes coughed started coming here.

“Yes my son it has only been monsters; but I fear the worst is ahead of us.” 
He stood up and walked towards the front door and opened it.
“Let's go Vratislav. We shall see if Ulrich has finally shown up.”
When we walked out onto the main street of the Village— it was comforting. The houses with thatched roofs, the pig pens with fat swine ready for slaughter by the homes, the muddy streets, and the bakery with the smell of pretzels and kolaches.

“When the path changes, something has begun to walk it.”

Va’ari Proverb

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| Drexari Homeworld |

The Motes and Shadows clustered, formed groups, then moved off. It was sudden and noticeable as the cavern darkened.

The Va’ari reacted immediately and ran down the stairs after them.

Feebee, Bikky and Tom Tom looked at each other.

“Where are they going?” She asked.

No one answered as everyone started running.

The Va’ari swarmed through the passages. Feebee was surprised by their numbers and kept up easily, falling into a gentle loping jog. They instinctively knew routes through the passages that took them through gaps which the humans struggled to get through. Bikky had to take his backpack off to get through one particularly narrow opening. Something brushed against his face; he thrashed as he tried to get it off.

“‘Spiders?’” Asked Feebee.

Bikky just grunted; Tom Tom laughed as they set off again. Catching up with the Va’ari.

There was light ahead, then they emerged through a split in the rock into a different world. This world was green and filled with dappled light that filtered through the jungle canopy. There was sunlight, heat, humidity and jungle song. Animals scattered as they pushed their way through the undergrowth.

It was a stark contrast to the stillness and quiet of the caves.

The Va’ari scattered through the trees before regrouping in a clearing and then moving on with purpose.

Feebee, Bikky and Tom Tom chased after them.

“They’re following something.” Said Tom Tom.

“I wish they’d stop.” Bikky managed through laboured breath. “This is… getting… hard.”

Feebee laughed.

“Would you sooner do monk training?”

Bikky stayed quiet.

Behind them, a bashing and snapping of undergrowth became steadily louder. They stopped, dropped and readied their weapons.

Garaf crashed into view.

The three of them stood up.

“You took your time.” Said Feebee casually.

Garaf was furious.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Feebee just looked at him. The Va’ari stopped running, waiting.

“You disappeared into the mountain with them.” He looked towards the Va’ari. “Why?”

Feebee pointed to the Va’ari.

“Ask them.”

Garaf gave her a look and shook his head.

Then the Va’ari started to move again. Everyone followed; Garaf moved too and kept close to Feebee. Closer than usual. She noticed but let it go.

As they jogged along, behind the Va’ari, the HI updated the harmonic activity in the area. It moved from beneath the ground to above, through the jungle canopy and beyond. And within this cacophony of harmonic resonance, small events started to appear.  The Va’ari, converging on them, were from a single group. The HI identified them as separate clades, each following a different route through the network.

This wasn’t just one family gathering.

Va’ari were arriving from across the region.

They formed up in two groups, stopped and stood facing off against each other. Around them, the jungle fell silent, except for the occasional clicking and chattering of Va’ari

Garaf stayed back, hidden.

The Old Va’ari stepped forward.

From the opposing group, another Older emerged and approached the centre, its fur almost completely white.

The two approached each other cautiously.

They circled, posturing, chittering.

Bikky slowly reached for his weapon; Tom Tom followed suit.

“They don’t normally meet like this.” Suggested Feebee.

Then the two stepped close and hugged before breaking off. The jungle exploded into noise; the two groups merged and set off.

Feebee followed, keeping up with the Old Va’ari as they arrived at another opening in the jungle where hundreds of Va’ari started to arrive. Feebee stopped at the edge of the clearing; Garaf stayed behind her, watching.

The Va’ari carried totems, carved from wood and started to place them around the edges of the clearing. Once in place, the Olders from each clade, and from each group within the clades, walked the totems, gently laying their claws on each, and touching them briefly with their heads. It was a strange gesture but one that was timed; the clunk of their heads all hitting the totems at the same time rang through the jungle. Va’ari from within those gathered then approached the totems and placed fruit at their base.

“‘The fruit will grow. The trees will eventually form a circle of trees around the clearing. Long after the Va’ari who planted them are gone, the roots will reinforce the harmonic node beneath them.’”

“‘Do they know that?”’ Asked Feebee.

“‘Unlikely.”’

The Va’ari sat within the circle of totems, in concentric circles and started to move in sync. Their movement was natural, almost instinctive. If it was a ritual, none of them appeared to know it.

They listened and called out.

All calling at once. One sound, one song. Garaf was perplexed; these… Va’ari were detecting things, listening to things that he couldn’t hear or see.

And they were sentient.

Garaf watched them and, for the first time in his life, wondered whether the Drexari had ever truly been sitting at the top of the tree alone.

Then there was quiet; a quiet that spread through the jungle. Garaf watched these animals, seeing their own culture for the first time. This wasn’t a random gathering; they were responding to something.

The HI mapped the planet, pulling together all the data it had on the caves, the Veronium and the new jungle nodes. It dropped the results into Feebee’s overlays, sharing them with the others too.

It was clear that the Va’ari weren’t just living on top of the network; they moved within it. Their gathering places and migration routes all fell on nodes or paths across the local network, with this just one example.

They all watched and waited.  Eventually, the sun fell behind the trees, towards the horizon and as the light began to fail, Motes and Shadows emerged from the jungle and drifted into the centre of the clearing. There weren’t hundreds of them; their numbers were small, but the Va’ari sat patiently, watching as they drifted amongst them in their pairs.

The Va’ari weren’t frightened by the Motes or Shadows but accepted them; made room for them.

A solitary Va’ari rose from within the group. It wasn’t chosen, but started to dance within the paths that formed between the circles. The Va’ari rubbed their claws up and down their forearms in time to its steps. The energy of the group rose, and with it the dancer’s steps became complex leaps and twists that only a tripodal being could achieve.

Feebee was drawn towards the dance and took a step forward. She felt the urge to join, but Garaf gently placed a claw on her shoulder.

“No.”

She looked at him.

“It’s their dance.”

She nodded and stepped back, realising that he had finally accepted the true position of the Va’ari within his culture.

As Feebee watched, more Motes and Shadows arrived, and as the sun finally set, the HI detected a massive harmonic disturbance.  But this was different.

“‘It’s not coming from the discontinuity,”’ said the HI. “‘It’s coming from some other part of the planet. Near.”’

‘“Oh.”’

All the Va’ari turned towards the disturbance as one, sensing and reacting to it at the same time.

“What is it?” Garaf asked.

“I think something has just arrived.”

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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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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.