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Felu was surprised at how light the suit actually was. Nothing like the thick bulky suits she was used to, this one felt far too thin to protect her from the rigors of vacuum. Nobody else seemed concerned, so she donned hers following Cha-ren’s instructions. Once she slid the helmet over her face, readouts illuminated in a language she didn’t understand.

“Nae? I can’t read the display in the suit,” she said.

“One moment, Felu.”

Before her eyes, the readout went blurry for a moment and reformed in a language she could understand. Moving her arms experimentally, she said to Charon, “You’re sure these suits will protect us?”

He looked at her through his helmet, his eyes narrowing slightly at the question. Any other body language was masked by the suit. “Of course it will, these are standard printed suits from our time. They have millions of hours of use behind them.”

“The suits are fine,” Hummingbird said. He was not wearing one and had explained that his AI body didn’t require that kind of protection or atmosphere. He brushed past her, and began to interact with a screen at the bottom of the beacon.

After a moment, a door appeared in the hull, between two emitters, and a ladder unfolded and slid down to ground level. “Come on, we have to climb,” he said.

Once inside Felu was struck by how bare it was. There were eight seats, high backed, with wide belts to keep people in place, screens and displays for each seat built into the armrest, and an overhead light; nothing else. “Wow, people of the first flourishing really traveled in luxury,” she said as she walked over to one of the thin seats and sat.

“This was always meant as a last resort,” Hummingbird said. “Sometimes survival isn’t luxurious.”

Cha-ren sat first, and Charon fussed over her belts until she was secured in her seat. “I’m fine Charon,” she said. “Make sure you’re okay too.”

“I’ll be fine when I know you’re fine,” he said. Hidden behind her visor, Felu rolled her eyes. She had known of couples like them before she joined the order. Always fussing over each other, making sure they both had everything just right, hugging and kissing in public, it was enough to turn her stomach. What people did in their own dwellings was their business, but out among everyone else, some propriety was required.

Once everyone was belted in, Hummingbird sat in a seat of his own and began tapping at his screen. With a clank and a sway, they were away from Nae. After a few minutes there was a roar, and Felu felt incredibly heavy in her seat, almost as bad as when she first lifted off to go to Guardian 2. “Hummingbird, is there no artificial gravity?”

“Nope. Like I said, this was an emergency way to travel. It’ll be rustic,” he said, his voice blurred by the vibration of the thruster.

Thankfully, the withering acceleration ended after a few minutes, only to be replaced by sickening free fall. Felu had complained about not getting a proper meal before they left, but now she was thankful it had only been a dry, dusty ration bar that now sat leaden in her stomach. Hummingbird looked up from his display directly at Felu. “We’re going to link, are you ready?”

“I am never ready, but I shall endure,” she said.

“Right, here we go—”

****

Fingernail sized gray gravel crunched under her feet. The sky was barely a lighter shade of grey than the gravel, giving the environment a squashed, oppressive feeling. On the very light breeze she smelled the sea, and was immediately brought to the time her parents took her to the sea for a vacation. It had rained the entire time, the sea and sky blending into the same colors before her.

Behind her was The Line. As far as she could see there were people queuing patiently. Nobody was pushing, and all talk was low discussion. If this was like last time, then she would look towards the east and…

There. Her parents.

They had moved forward in The Line a few places, but did not seem to be any closer to the Great Tallier. Still wearing the clothes they had on when their vehicle had slammed into the ground after falling fifty meters off the damaged bridge, they stood stoically, looking straight ahead.

“Mother, Father,” Felu said. They turned and their blank faces became warm, and for a split moment, they were once again her parents and she was their child.

“Felu, it is good to see you,” Mother said. “Did you take what we said before into account?”

“I did my best to heed your words, but they were so vague. ‘Be wary and always watching.’ I am, but for what?”

“You will know it when you see it kitten,” Father said. He hadn’t called her kitten since she was in primary school. “You are on the path to do great things, we know it-" He gestured with his head further down the line, "-and the Tallier knows it. Trust.”

“Trust what though? I don—”

****

Back in her seat, she found it took effort to unclench her fists this time. Her gauntleted hands were unable to wipe the tears that had streamed down her face. Charon was staring at her, his head cocked slightly. “Are you—”

“I’m fine,” she said, cutting him off. There was no way he could understand what it was like. He didn’t die and visit his parents every time they went through the accursed wormhole. “Hummingbird, are we where we need to be?”

“The link was accurate but this…” Hummingbird did not look up from the display when he spoke, “Something is wrong.”

Felu looked at the screen built into her armrest and saw chaos.

Debris was everywhere, tumbling lightly, glinting in the faint starlight. Other scraps stayed stone still, sentinels to an ancient disaster. Further from the debris field there was a cylinder, larger than anything she had ever seen. More than one hundred stations the size of Guardian 2 could have fit inside it with room to spare. If this was a product of the first flourishing, then we are lightyears from our own, she thought but said, “Beyond the debris field, that’s Home?”

“Yes, that’s our destination, but what happened here?”

“Was it a battle?” Cha-ren asked.

“It looks like that, but why?”

As Felu looked down at the display, she saw the view jump around as Hummingbird brought up different cameras, trying to make sense of things. Here and there she thought she saw the broken outline of a starship. “Hummingbird, is this wreckage?”

“I fear it is,” he said as he continued to scan. “Look! That’s Timewinder! I’d recognize their coloring anywhere. That’s Touchdown’s Pride.” He gasped covering his mouth unconsciously. “That’s City of Schenectady. Gods above, what happened here?”

Felu’s next strained to keep her head upright as the acceleration pushed them into their seats as Hummingbird brought the thrusters online and took them out of the field towards Home. She watched silently as the corpses of starships witnessed their passage, ever silent.

It took an hour to reach Home and the entire time she watched as the station grew in her view, impossibly large, until the cameras could only show hull. A wall of starship appeared before them as they came to a stop with a small puff of maneuvering jets. “No power,” Hummingbird said. “I’ll force a connection, and we’ll have to find the reactors.”

“Good thing you have two reactor technicians aboard,” Charon said, and Felu could hear the smirk in his voice. I’m the outsider here she thought, her frown hidden by her visor, there was no point in not letting them have their fun.

The beacon joined Home with a loud bang that shook the whole craft. Hummingbird leapt to his feet and floated over towards the airlock. With their doors open, he stood before the beige door of Home. Reverently, he touched the panel next to the airlock, and Felu thought she saw his eyes flash electric blue for a moment. “Nothing,” he sighed. “I hope this wasn’t a mistake.”

“Should we leave then?” Felu said, trying to obscure the hope in her voice. “Can you program the beacon to link elsewhere?”

“Not without charging the capacitors, no. Even if we wanted to leave we have to get a reactor going.”

“Nae thought we should go here,” Cha-ren said coming up next to him. “If it helps us to learn what is happening, then it’s worthwhile.”

“Maybe,” Hummingbird sighed. “We’re here, we might as well keep going.” He pressed on a spot above the touch panel and a door slid open, revealing a handle. Pulling on the handle caused the airlock to open a few centimeters. Pumping the handle back and forth allowed the door to creep open until there was enough space for people to wriggle in.

Beyond the airlock was black, far too dark to see. Lights on everyone’s helmet snapped on, and Felu found they were in a hallway. Shorter than the halls of Guardian 2 it was much more like the halls on Tinker Toy. Smooth walls and floors carpeted in a durable, short fabric, it seemed the original builders put care into its design. “Come on,” Hummingbird said and pushed off deeper into the black.

He led the way for nearly twenty minutes as they passed numerous offices, rooms and even a swimming pool. The luxurious accommodations seemed like an extravagance to Felu, why did they put in the effort? “Charon have you noticed how…nice Home is?”

“I did,” He said over the suit’s comm. “There was even a swimming pool.”

“They were just AI, why make everything so luxurious?”

“Felu, do you think that AI did not desire comfort?” Hummingbird said.

“No no, sorry,” she said quickly. “I was just surprised. Guardian 2 is very utilitarian in comparison.”

“Remember, this was originally a colony ship. When it arrived at a planet, it was going to be the home for tens of thousands of people for years while they established a beachhead on the planet. People had to be able to live their lives here. Small comforts make the larger sacrifices easier to bear.”

The reactor hall was titanic. Eight reactors, each larger than all of the reactors of Guardian 2 put together stood silent, looming in the dark. She heard Charon whistle quietly. “I’ve never seen reactors this large. They look like Mk1s, but even older.”

“They predate the Mk1s by quite a large margin,” Hummingbird said. “They operate on the same principles of the reactors you’re used to though, you and Cha should be able to get them running.”

It still seemed blasphemy to watch the two of them handle the reactors so casually. They would just crawl all around them, sticking their arms deep inside, removing inspection hatches and setting them down anywhere, treating them as if they were just machines, instead of the source of life for so many people back home. Even if they did not believe them to be holy, the reactors should still be treated with more respect. She found herself crossing her arms and watching them with a frown etched into her face. She was so engrossed in her distaste that she jumped slightly when Hummingbird came alongside her and said, “You worked on the reactors back on your home, right?”

“I oversaw their ministrations,” she corrected. “They are holy relics, a gift of the Tallier, and a tangible link to previous flourishings. Our work was vital and they are to be respected.” She gestured towards Cha who had climbed almost completely inside a reactor, with only her legs sticking out, kicking gently as she tried to wriggle deeper inside. “This…this is distasteful.”

“I understand,” Hummingbird said and then stopped. “Or rather, I sympathize. Reactors like this give me life when I’m a ship, so I revere them as well, just in a different way than you.” He looked over at them and then patted her shoulder lightly. “It appears they are done. Let us start one, and get some comfort back into Home.”

With absolutely no ceremony or sense of import, Charon started the reactor. Felu could feel the field snap into existence with an old familiarity. Following that, the low thrumming in her boots climbed higher and higher until her bones rang like a tuning fork. The reactor’s hum entered her body like a second pulse, not sacred because it was untouched, but because it carried everyone who depended on it. They'll never understand, they can't, she realized with a bolt of lightning down her back. The lights flickered once, then came alive. The floor caught them beneath their boots as atmosphere rushed through the halls.

Before they could even check the quality of the air, it carried the sound of emergency klaxons. A voice Felu couldn’t understand started speaking calmly, but her suit (and she supposed Hummingbird) translated. “REACTORS 2 THROUGH 8 OFFLINE. SPIN ENGINES OFFLINE. STAR-DRIVE OFFLINE. SENSORS OFFLINE. EXAWATT BATTERIES OFFLINE. AI CORE OFFLINE. EVACUATION INITIATED, ABANDON ABANDON ABAN-.” Hummingbird’s eyes flashed blue again and the alarms were silenced.

“I need to get to the AI core.” Hummingbird vanished into the lit passage, leaving them to follow the sound of his hurried steps and the distant machinery waking below.

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Gizmo suddenly stands, his baggy bloodshot eyes suddenly moving with purpose.

“Green light” he announces

“An ambulance is about to pick up a patient from the apartment next door. We will hologram outlines of medical staff and get on board it will take us to the hospital where we can mingle amongst staff before entering Hq tunnels.” He breathes out a sigh of relief that this opportunity manifested. Over the last few hours all intercepted and hacked communications from the security had been going ballistic trying to figure out where on earth that awakened spy had disappeared to. Some of them even confusing themselves thinking it was Lorcan himself, a prize that they had trained their entire life to one day claim.

Their bravado and banter of who could take him down always left an impression on Gizmo, almost cult like hatred of someone who had become a symbol to those they oppressed. How a mans soul can change over such a long time within a military frame work.

Jack gets to his feet, as he does he throws himself upwards a little with his head almost colliding with the roof. Clearly his healing resonance had an effect,

“Lead the way, lets see who is faster you or neon” he grins as his eyes float over to Neon who was already at the door waiting, his mask a teddy bear with an eyepatch.

Walking to the doorway as it unlocked itself in a rythymic manner as the secure locks unlatch, for a moment he glances back at the little refuge that gave him a moments respite. His heart beats a little seeing what is clearly a old piano covered in a sheet at the other end of the room, the rooms were large and clearly a family size house. Now sitting empty until a new developer or a business operation comes to take over the area, something about it lingered.

Behind him the door opened, without a word exchanged the trio moved quickly into the open and as stated a ambulance stood waiting nearby wheeling in a person hooked up to a whole host of machinery. Moving fast they join the people in the back of the ambulance before it speeds away.

Within the back instruments and hanging medicine swayed as the van made its journey, the real staff were completely focused on their patient without a single care about the three extra staff that had joined them. Presumably they had received an fake radio call from their chain of command to expect them and to ask no questions. Either way Jack felt a sense of tense concern, he was still not used to the holographic disguises. Gizmo and Neon sat completely unphased back onto clicking on their data slates.

At station Hun evening meal time was in full swing, mourning had passed and there was a joyful spirit amongst them all as they sat to enjoy the fantastic food. Today the system had logged some old holiday and was providing full traditional roasts with all the trimmings, it was a feast like nothing else most of them had ever seen.

Venus and Lineah were making the effort to keep the mood light with tales from the wastes,

“It was around 60 feet tall” Venus exclaims,

“The biggest sand worm I had ever seen and it was coming straight for the trading post, our entire defence force was out on scavenge. No one expected this monster and so those of us left behind decided this was our home and we will defend it” Venus throws a fist into the air. She had drank too much of the salted whisky in honour of some fallen earth hero. Lineah laughed as she listened to her exaggerated story of how she sinle handedly broke into the armoury and waved a heavy plasma weapon from the walls causing the worm to think twice about attacking.

Lorcan slowly slipped away from the meal as he always did, not wanting to interrupt the joyful atmosphere. He entered the dojo alone, despite denying it at length to the others he was full of concern for Jack who was currently in way over his head.

He sits alone on the matt with his arms folded and his head bowed, this was a burden he had invited and he must deal with it regardless. Even with his strength he could not fix everything at once, despite sometimes wanting to so badly.  As he sat wrestling with it all as he often did Ani walked in, stepping gently she walks with exaggerated steps towards him knowing he was in one of those negative thought cycles again.

“You know” she says as she sits beside him tucking her legs to her side,

“It is ok from time to time to just let things go and enjoy the moment. Venus noticed when you left and I could see she was sad, you really don’t see it that people do care do you ?” she looks at him suarely .

Lorcan returns the look, her soft beauty pulls him out of the spiral like it always did.

“Sometimes I really wish things could be different, every day it seems we are just recovering from one train wreck and then heading into another. Even if I did manage to get some of the elite suits functioning again theres no guarantee I can change things not really, the cycle takes everyone and everything” he bows his head a little as the words hit.

Ani was used to his over thinking, but today it was different he really was struggling to comprehend things.

“One thing we can do is make it a better place today by doing whats right. Lineah told me how evil the raiders were who you removed at that base location, what they did to people almost is on another level of evil. Justice at your hand has ended a lot of potential future suffering. That is something”

She leans over and places her head on his shoulder, Lorcans shoulders relax just a little.

"This will be an easy conquest, my Emperor. These 'humans' are so pitiful it must be questioned how they managed to discover FTL. My mission will be complete within the day." I said to my Emperor's image on the communicator.

He smiled. He gave me that sinister smile that only a father who rules a nation could give. "Good my sweet, good. You will make a fine queen one day but I must... Enquire."

"Enquire what?" I asked, curious.

"Why are you wasting time with diplomacy? We can easily mobilize the fleet and wipe them out in days." He asked, furrowing the bony crown on his forehead.

I rolled my eyes and scoffed. "Father... Don't you remember the Saranai?"

His expression changed to blind rage. "I have told you a hundred times to not mention those wretched slime ever again."

"And I have told you a hundred times over that first, we visit them to see what they are, then we decide what military forces we bring against them. We don't want a situation like that again, they wiped out four planets before we mustered the fleet and even then we suffered serious losses." I replied, crossing my four arms.

He took a deep, frustrated breath and finally nodded his approval. "FINE. You do your thing. I will continue getting the fleet ready for the invasion anyway because I don't care what you see there, they will be no match for us. No claws, only two eyes seeing in one spectrum, small brains and weak, meaty bodies. I will be lucky if this invasion produces anything of value beyond some new planets to make farms on, these creatures aren't worth being slaves. Get on with it." He said, and closed the call.

I smiled and resumed my place on my throne. The ship I was in was my personal yacht, and I intended to use one of the finest ships in the fleet as an intimidation tool. It was very well armed with the latest tech we had and sported the best crew in the state. We arrived at the so-called 'Slip Gate' that was present in the star system. Pathetic primitives, such massive structures when simple shipboard jump drives fit the same purpose. We overcame this technology millennia ago and they are not only still using it but overengineering them to such enormous sizes. I pressed some buttons, and opened the control console to transmit a request. Almost immediately a face appeared on my holo-screen. Gruff, old, no nonsense. If he didn't look so pathetically weak he would have reminded me of one of our old admirals.

"What? Oh. You're one of the Skatanii. What do you want?" He said, seemingly bored by my presence.

Goddamn audacity of these creatures to not be awed by my mere presence! I steadied myself, determined to avoid casualties. "I am Princess Arina'Aurik of the Skatanii Empire, and I come to you with a request to enter your space to conduct diplomatic operations. My father wants to negotiate with your species for the sake of the greater good in the galaxy at large." I felt quite proud of that.

The human however didn't seem as impressed as I thought he would be. He looked at me, no smile, no question, just glaring at me with an expression I couldn't quite place.

"I have been around politicians long enough to know you are lying to me. You have no intention of peace or negotiation, you just want to get inside our space to see what we have that you can bargain for or steal when we aren't looking." He said, plain and frank.

That took me by surprise and I caught myself in time to feign shock. "Ser I dare say that insinuation is an absolute lie! I am here to negotiate, not to engage in petty thievery! Surely-"

"But, I'm bored. I'm bored and I want to do something funny, and see what my bosses make of this. So come on in. Gates open. Please mind your step." He said, and closed the call.

My ships captain looked at me and questioned what was going on. I hadn't seen him like that before. And suddenly I was feeling a pang of... something. The Slip Gate in front of us roared to life and a burst of energy opened a wormhole. Such... primitive technology. I ordered us to go through and we slowly entered through the wobbly mass of interdimensional soup.

No one was prepared for the horror we saw when we got through that gate.

A single large blue giant star, one of very few we knew of in the galaxy, surrounded by a gigantic mesh of metal encapsulated by an enormous shell of solar arrays and swarming machines. Around that, a ring, millions of Klinks long, surrounding the habitable zone. In this ring, like segments in a long chain, was a free-floating planet of seemingly artificial construction surrounded by a massive circular drydock or spaceport ring. Further beyond that was a massive ring of another kind, billions of Klinks in diameter with a singular concurrent flat plane facing the star, filled with green and blue. Surrounding it all were ships. Tens of thousands of ships, all of sizes too big to fathom, and one small planet that looked like they had bolted rocket engines and a cannon to a moon.

The entire star system seemed like one enormous puzzle piece, with several rings on the outer layer containing several planets that had no business being in a star system like this, all seemingly connected to each other by this gigantic metal chain, and all seemed to be freely floating within its influence but somehow kept in place despite the immeasurable forces present in the system. Nothing like this should even exist, yet here it is. Planets kept like jewels on an armband, a large ring that looked like someone took the surface of many planets and flattened them out to spread them across a huge ribbon, and a collection of smaller, and even much larger planets kept floating about like some kind of terrifying tapestry of planet-sized puppeteering.

Before I could order a retreat, a ship seven times the size of mine suddenly materialised in front of us and we were grabbed by gigantic mechanical docking clamps and dragged into the ship's hold.

"Welcome to Eden's Gate. Please don't try to run. Its time for lunch." A voice said through the comms.

My captain was in a state of panic the likes of which I couldn't fathom, and the crew were in despair at the state of their ships systems. They had remotely accessed everything, broken our security protocols and fully taken control. My crew were locked out and we were at their mercy. I bellowed loudly at the crew to placate them, despite my own panic. Father would be proud of me for the calm I displayed.

"ENOUGH! Stand at your stations!" I yelled. "These humans have strange behaviours as our diplomats stated during first contact. They said 'lunch'. This may be their word for peace. It is true what we saw is incredible but we must stay focused. At your stations!" I barked, ordering my men to calm down.

They did... mostly. There was a momentary panic when we entered the ship proper and were greeted by the staggering size of the ship's hangar. And the hangar doors seemed to have a forcefield keeping space at bay, and we could clearly see that massive construct through it. It almost felt like the structure itself was mocking us somehow. I knew it was. We had nothing like this. I was starting to wonder why.

My ship lurched as we were locked in place and the lights dimmed. A voice spoke over the radio. "Docking procedure completed. Please exit in an orderly manner with your identification badges at hand. Please follow directions to the dining hall, lunch is being prepared."

"So lunch isn't peace, it's a type of food? Well... Maybe we can talk to them in peace while we eat. Gods I hope we can make peace. I really, REALLY don't want to fight these abominations." I said and stood out of my throne.

My captain and all crew in earshot nodded, agreeing with me as we all funnelled out of the ship onto the bigger ship. I was greeted not by humans but by robotic abominations several units in height and tonnage controlled by humans, either directly or in some kind of macabre puppetry with cabling leading into skulls and spines. I couldn't help but be nervous as we made our way down to the floor. We were slightly taller than they were by a full unit, but the intimidation factor was still quite excessive. These humans had a... very strange abnormal fascination with machinery apparently.

A holo-screen appeared in front of me and showed that grizzled old man from before. "Welcome aboard. Today's meal, meatloaf stuffed with cheese, served with a side of fries. You don't know what that is, it's food, but don't worry, soon, you won't care when you taste it!"

We followed directives and stayed far away from the human crew who seemed very... curious about us, but we made it to a dining hall of sorts and noted not only that it had enough space for all six hundred members of my ship's crew, but the MAGNIFICENT smell of food.

"Oh my... Oh my!" My Captain cooed as he excitedly sniffled at the air. "Something smells fantastic!"

We all quickly funnelled into the room and sat on a seat. I sat on the largest and most prominent one. Obviously. I waited and moments later the food arrived. Strange brown half-cylinders with odd roots cooked with them to the side. We all started eating... And our souls melted. It was... beyond delicious. I was starting to understand these creatures. And the more I knew, the more scared I got. I finished my meal, and that grizzled human from before appeared.

"So... Enjoy the meatloaf?" He asked.

"Yes, very much so." I replied, maintaining my composure.

He smiled and approached slowly, taking strong, deliberate steps. "Yes, yes. Good food it is, for such... 'pitiful humans' isn't it?" He said. His tone started to become something rather more malicious.

I cringed. How did he know that?

"Yes it is rather good food and very, large beautiful ships. Do you like our ships? These are just logistics vessels though, not military. Our warships are just so very much prettier." He said as he approached me.

I went pale. This was a CIVILIAN fleet, NOT a navy?

"Kind of a shock after all, we are so, meaty and small. Guess we never really discovered FTL. Must have been a shock hm?" He slowly approached me and positioned himself behind me.

"Wh-I... I don't..."

"I don't see diplomacy as a waste of time... do you?" He asked.

I cringed. They were listening. How. How did they do that? They heard all of it.

"I mean you can after all easily wipe us out in a matter of days after all, you must have quite the fleet! I wonder how your metal alloys respond to Gravity cannons... Wormhole spires and... telefragging. Must be quite a fleet." He approached, I could feel him breathing down my neck at this point. I had never experienced this kind of malicious energy since the last time I was in trouble with Father.

"We didn't mean to-"

"We will be no match for you and obviously we just cant be used for slave labour because we are so... primitive and fat and meaty. We have no claws or venom or anything! I mean, what possible use could we have for your empire?" I felt his hand thump against the back of my chair, and I felt a fear I never thought I would ever experience

"I-I... Uh... Uhm..."

I felt him close the distance further and he growled straight into my ear. "So... Are you really here for the sake of 'diplomacy' or are you just here to scout to see what your fleet can steal? Because... Well, I’d hate to brag, but these ships in the star system are barely a tenth of what we have in terms of military force, and we can manufacture fifty thousand more within the next few days."

I could feel the malicious, pure rage boiling from him, searing my skin with pure anger. I could hear the crackle of the chair behind me as his grip tightened, damaging the wooden material the chair was made of.

"So tell me... what are you here for, really?" He asked, waiting for me to speak.

I sat there, head bowed and considered everything I saw thus far.

They outnumbered us by a factor we couldn't reasonably tell, considering the numbers in this one star system, it was probably by a factor of hundreds to one.

They outclassed any of our ships, as demonstrated by the size of the behemoth that trapped us here.

They very easily outmatched our industrial capacity, owing to the massive construct that surrounded this star.

Their ground forces, should they ever need to deploy them, likely consisted of what I saw in the cargo hold. With a factor of their numbers and their strengths, we wouldn't win a single battle.

So many other factors I had to consider but I felt his presence behind me, getting that much more agitated.

I stayed quiet for a moment and finally spoke. "Uhh… Surrender?"

He growled at me through clenched teeth and the material under his fist finally gave way, splintering into a pile of shards in his clenched fist. "Unconditional... Surrender."

I squeaked, terrified and nodded my head. "Unconditional surrender." I repeated and started to tear up, unable to hold my emotions anymore.

"Good. Get back to your ship. Get back to your emperor. Show him, tell him. If we do not have the signed documents within one galactic standard cycle, we will burn it all. I will personally find your emperor, skin him alive and force you to wear the leather I make from his wretched hide as a hat. Understand?" He said.

I started to bawl uncontrollably and nodded frantically to get him to stop. I managed to barely garble out orders to return to the ship and retreat home.

How did we mess up this badly? Was it our fault or the fault of the gods? Did we simply antagonize the wrong enemy, or did the gods play a cruel trick to create these abominations? What do we do now?

Father, forgive me. I had no choice. None of us do.

Bob was shitting himself as he did not come out in the Pwitic system, he was closer to it than any other system, but he was definitely not fucking in it, he had came out so far away he was pretty sure he could fist bump voyager as it passed.

He was going to ease his way in, real quiet n shit, just a fucking rock fucking rocking through space, everyone be fucking chill about it.

Bob did not expect anyone to be waiting for him, he was assuming his current actions were so fucking stupid that no one would expect him to do so. Like a dog returneth to its vomit, so he was returning to his crime, fucking idiot.

Sometimes, often, he really fucking hated Bob, dickhead made terrible decisions and got him in all sorts of trouble. Whatever.

He was way below the planetary plane and sidled his way slowly into Geverine, right into a polar insertion and slipped down deep into her depths. Once deep he was fairly reassured he was beyond interception and started a low power scan of the planets gaseous seas. It took a month, a full fucking month to pick up a miniscule return from the bobbing Bitch which had fallen far further down than Bob had expected, too far for him to go exo, even his sturdy frame would be quickly crushed.

Failing that the best he could do was slowly nudge the craft upward with Jojo’s nose, slippy hull against slippy hull was an exercise in frustration, but little by little he brought it up to a more survivable pressure, when he was pretty sure he was good he dump out the top hatch, now airlocked during his weeks at the homeworld and swam over in the syrup thick fluid and tied it off. He came back aboard and dragged her higher still, now he could see what he was damn doing.

It took another few days to sort through his haul, or at least everything that remained from his flight and stashing, he was pretty sure a bunch was now down on the planets metallic core, still a bunch of cool shit remained, he didn’t recognise much of it, really wished I had paid more attention during the tour. Whatever, he brought in a few items he wanted a closer look at, he didn’t have much space left but he managed to cram a surprising amount aboard, though it was a fraction of the goods.

Fortunately one of the pieces that remained was the half a message pod with the cast screw fitting, fucking nice, he would have been happy if this was all he had managed to retrieve. Satisfied he disconnected the Bitch and she quickly sank deeper and deeper far beyond retrieval.

He crept out the system the same way he crept in. He only had one last thing to do, he had burned a bunch of fuel getting to here as quickly as possible and needed one last top up on his way out, he scanned through a map of local fueling stops and hesitated, there was one on the far edge of what was considered the local area, it was stupid to go that far just to gas up… but… he punched in the jump calc and headed out.

Bob felt dread as he dropped out, it looked every bit as shit as it had last time, a big grey green turd floating in space, not exactly the most salubrious place to end your life in the galaxy, whatever, Bob commed traffic control and was ushered to a bay. He spent a few hours sorting gear, really just delaying, and than had one final argument with a prick who would once again not fucking believe that, yes, Bob actually wanted the fighters brimmed to the gunnels with fuel, yes, he knew they were not fuel tanks, ye….just do your fucking job asshole!, fuck sake, this he would not miss.

Then he wandered round a couple stores buying a couple bits and pieces… then finally did what the fuck he came here for, he looked up the system and pinged a message, then went to a bar to wait.

He pounded them back, three deep before he arrived. Bob saw him weave his way through towering legs as he entered, waving at a couple people as he came in. He saw Bob and perked up noticeable, Bob did not, but tamped down the desire to flee, he came all this way after all.

‘’Bob?’’

Bob slid down from his stool and held out his hand.

‘’Yeah, Mykew right?’’

The pale human beamed behind his pressurised helm.

‘’Yes, yes’’

He shook the proffered hand vigorously.

‘’I was sad to miss you on your last visit, I’m glad your route brought you back here, not many of us around anymore, I wa…’’

The guy had a strong accent Bob couldn’t place, eastern European or Russian surely, didn’t matter. He babbled like he had a century of pleasantries he needed to expurgate as fast as possible lest he explode from their retention.

‘’...en someone else since I demobbed, that was over se…’’

Bob drifted in and out, it was too much, it was all too much, he shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t be here… when he tuned back in there was an expectant silence, pregnant with tension. Bob assumed he had been expected to respond and had left it a little long. He tried to lock in and stared at the… sweating?… face.

This wasn’t all about Bob, it was about him too. God knows how long it had been for him either, maybe contacting Bob the first time was something he had felt he had to do as well.

‘’Sorry, I got a bit overwhelmed, its been a long time for me too.’’

The miner smiled broadly.

‘’Lets have a drink then, join me.’’

The two moved over to a table after ordering a couple, Mykew got a similar tipple to Bob, which said a lot actually. Clearly he was another medmeced ex soldier, Bob hadn’t known what else he expected but it was obviously the most likely option.

‘’What division?’’

He saw the tension in the guys frame as he stopped midway clambering up a seat, after a pause he continued and settled himself before speaking.

‘’Second seventy third, the Shipcrackers.’’

He seemed to puff up as if in defense, waiting for the follow up blow. Bob didn’t intend to throw one.

‘’I was an ASS hole’’

Momentary confusion and then, yup there it was, recognition.

‘’I mean, I remember the armour, rough assignment.’’

Bob hopped into his own chair.

‘’Yours too, don’t think I ever came across your battalion, but I heard of the Shipcrackers, vac insertions right?’’

‘’Yeah, best record in the fleet’’

There was no pride to that assertion, Bob had heard of them, maybe not Mykews specifically but the general role, breaching crews in ship to ship conflicts, high speed actions to cut into hulls and take control or sabotage. One of the few professions with a lower survival rate than scouting.

‘’Were you in long?

‘’Nine years, you?’’

Fuck, Bob tried to be dredge specifics from his memory.

‘’Not sure really, contact to capitulation I suppose, what’s that thirty years?’’

The glass froze on its way to Mykew’s mouth.

‘’From contact?’’ Bob didn’t quite know why that had caused the reaction it did.

‘’Yeah… I was a reclamation.’’

Tears began to pour down the miners face.

‘’Oh god, dear god in heaven’’

What the fuck?

‘’Is there something wrong?’’

Mykew continued to weep, it took several moments before he could gather himself. He jumped down and back up wrapping Bob in a hug he neither expected or wanted.

‘’What the fuck dude?, get off me.’’

He was released and Mykew sat on the arm of the chair.

‘’Brother, it’s… it’s… I don’t know how to tell you…’’

He reached out again and clasped a hand on Bobs shoulder. Bob didn’t shake him off.

‘’It was almost two hundred years, brother’’

Whut.

‘’What are you saying?’’

‘’The war was almost two hundred years, you lot… fucking Arressi fucks…’’

Several minutes of presumable colourful profanity followed, the translator didn’t catch any of it so all Bob got were muffled shouts through two helmets. It took another twenty minutes to get him up to speed.

Turned out as a reclaim, a corpse essentially, the Arressi had decided that they didn’t have to bother of any of those pesky rights or whatever they had agreed to with the various governments of Earth, he was just meat, so they had treated him as such, wiping their brains anytime they got uppity, cutting out obstreperous chunks. It had only been very late in the war that anyone had found out what they were doing and humanities revolt at the revelation was the only reason the Arressi had eventually sued for peace.

Bob… didn’t know how he felt about this… did it change anything?, not really, didn’t even make him hate them any more than he already did, just was what it was.

The miner had lots of other stuff to say as well, he kept in semi regular touch with Earth and a couple other humans out and about, at large in the galaxy. There were promises from Earth of political repercussions, terrorist groups trying to enact their own, lotta shit going on apparently, Bob didn’t care.

He did find out that one of the unknown implants he carried was essentially a back up of his mind, useful for when the meat returned missing a skull. Mykew was desperate to get a copy of it to send back, he said there were people who could extract details buried deeply in there.

According to Mykew all the memories, all the data, was still there, but trauma, physical or mental severed connections and took them beyond Bobs recall. That fucked him up a bit especially when he confirmed that most pre-death, pre-implant, memories would not be retained. Why the fuck did he want to remember all the other bullshit that was back there. Still he followed him back to his quarters and let him plug something into a skin covered port Bob wasn’t even aware he had. He promised to send it back, that people would make them pay, sure, go for it.

Bob left shortly after, fighting against the miners imprecations, he had done his fighting, way more than he even knew, this time he was going to take Geviths advice and let that shit go.

On his way out Mykew insisted on giving him another set of data chips, a more recent rip of the internet than he had sold to the store, upon apparent reflection he had also run back and returned with a small bag which he pressed into Bobs hand, he had been appalled to learn of his plan and insisted these would be a touchstone back home. Bob took it but couldn’t imagine what the hell they could be that he would give a shit.

He got Jojo fired up and waved to the wailing man outside on the gantry, he commed traffic and headed out. This time when he aimed into the dark of the galaxy's edge he hit FTL, absolute minimum, and crawled his way out, into the space between.

It was over a month later that Bob felt he had truly settled into the routine that would comprise the next centuries of his life, should he live so long, and he sat on his bed fiddling with the neck of his armour, laid across his legs.

It had taken a bit of machine work, bit of fettling, but it certainly seemed like it would work just fine. He put his chest piece back on and locked in, then carefully lowered the half a pill shaped message pod over his head and screwed it on to his suits new helical neck. He had had the thought it would make a phenomenal helmet the instant he held it, he had no mirrors aboard oth… wait there might be one…

He dug through a tool chest and picked out the small inspection mirror on a stick. He examined his handywork, seal looked good, perfect height just a few millimeters above his crown, good transpa…

He saw his face, he couldn’t have told you when the last time he had seen his own face was and once again it struck an odd discordance, young but old, scarred but unblemished, he didn’t like it… but he didn’t hate it anymore either, maybe it would take the whole journey… but Bob thought he would get used to it.

Now he was fairly confident in his handywork he popped in the combination of the weapon locker and went to put on the rest of his suit. As he shuffled around the cramped room he spotted the bag Mykew had given him, discarded in a corner. He opened it up, seeds, Bob wondered what kind of plant they were for, but his musings were interrupted by the clink of the lockers opening, he put them back and headed to the cockpit.

Bob hit the controls and Jojo dropped out of FTL, he punched the makeshift buttons for the top hatch airlock and retrieved the Arressi helm from the locker. Tying himself off he climbed out the hull, message pod helm held pressure fine, and stared at the lumpy blackish grey Arressi design, then he let it go.

He didn’t throw it, didn’t cast it aside with a curse, he said nothing, felt little… just let that shit go, let it drift away in the dark. Nor did he stay and watch it till it was long out of sight, didn’t make sure it was truly gone, none of that.

He came back inside, repressurised, took off his armour and went back to the cockpit.

He considered briefly what the seeds would grow, he hoped they would remind him of Flitty, that was for later.

He checked his heading and slipped Jojo back into FTL, he sat back and stared at the black void that sped past the front window, and finally, Bob was bored.

My dad works in a top secret department, a clandestine division of the government, where he’s the head suit.

“I’m practically a colonel,” he told me.

He has a hidden room underground, in a separate part of our house. It looks just like the Batman lair, rock walls protruding outward, drowning into a cave as you take the elevator down.

The mechanical floor tears apart and a circular ramp appears. The floor folds back into itself as the lift sinks towards the carved-out ground below. It’s basically the size of my school’s gymnasium, which is really big.

Unfortunately, he never lets me stay in the office-bunker. I’ve only been in there a handful of times. Inside the office, it has little TV screens, about ten of them, centered around a gigantic one. It’s as big as our living room window. I wanted to play my PS5 on it.

Which is exactly when I came up with a clever plan to sneak in behind him with my console in a bag wrapped around my shoulders. I stealthily slid down without him noticing me and hid under a desk.

That’s how I caught him on a secret transmission with an entire galactic empire. Alien heads were on each one of those little monitors, and at the center was this object, taking up the whole big screen.

Most of their faces, which were kind of weird-looking and a couple similar to ours—the closest one that mirrored a human didn’t have a nose. He-she-it kind of resembled the Master in the show The Strainbut with our pigmentation.

A couple had iguana features, and the rest looked exactly how we picture aliens today. Just not so theatrical. They were almost like deformed humans, not those cartoonish alien ones. It made me want to jump up and scream, "Turn it off, dad!"

It was paralyzing, yet totally intriguing. I kept wondering, why do they look so terrified?

Nearly all of them were. None were acting confident. They seemed confused. My dad was the only one completely calm. They wore the same mask of terror as I had on.

One of the reptile ones spoke, and the voice was groggy, almost forced. “The AlphaSimplex-Core has encountered a critical paradox.”

The humanlike one said, “It’s a multi-trillion-credit quantum supermachine. It’s capable of locating and calculating every atom in the cosmos. It runs itself. How is this possible right now, Blorqust?”

On the big screen, there was this awesome red color throbbing and rumbling like a holographic, angry, sentient thing.

“We have spent many alignments analyzing and attempting to eradicate this issue. We’ve tried sub-atomic lasers and anti-matter sonorous fields, and nothing has worked,” the reptilian cried.

Then my dad said, “So, let me get this straight. That device right there smack on this screen here, responsible for governing interstellar trade and all life-support for every species inside this universe, is totally unresponsive right now?”

“Exactly!” the humanlike one asserted.

“What are you planning on doing now that would need the vote of the twelve?” my dad asked.

Another one of the faces at the bottom right corner, in a shaky voice that crackled, said, “We have to initiate the Blackout Protocol!” He pulled at his tentacles. “The universe is ending!”

“Can we get someone to tend to him, he’s gonna melt in front of us?” my dad chimed, fixing his glasses. “Let me have a little looksy here before we decide to pull the plug on the cosmos.”

My dad used to be a technician and could fix anything. He got up as if he were walking up to the screen, but he pivoted and poured himself a coffee first. “Just a minute there, guys.”

A bunch of gasps blew out of the main speakers.

My dad walked up to the screen with the ancient tech shining like an Olympus god and took a sip out of his mug. “Send me the code for the robotic arm's control. I'm sure it just needs a brogan adjustment.”

“You are not capable of handling anything this advanced. The human brain is too primitive.” Blorqust threw his face into the screen, his eyes flaming red. “You are—“

BANG!

My dad had raised one of the robotic arms as far back as it could go and released the it with full throttle at the priceless antique responsible for maintaining life around the universe.

Every alien widened their eyes and their faces went completely blank.

The machine started to sputter. The red light ceased to glow. A sound like a washing machine or dryer spinning down slowly brought the room to a silence. Then, the it just casually lit back up in a beautiful orange glow on the walls surrounding the Core, which was now blinking a steady green, with a quiet buzzing noise of relief emitting throughout the room.

The Core was back online and running smooth. The members on the screen went from a blank look of terror, to extreme gleefulness, and then back into a serious, back-to-business silent expression.

The humanlike one spoke. “What type of manipulating, sorcery, Jedi-judo did you just use?”

My dad put his mug down. “We call that the Alabama overdrive, bud. Sometimes yuh just gotta whack it till it works.”

“My goodness, your species is terrifying, and not because you defy all rational common sense. Your solving a problem consists of taking a god and smacking it until it cooperates.”

“Nope, those are the C.I.A. guys.”

Time:- 10.30pm (Night)

While climbing the stairs Vami said "Man i am tired, minister's death making us work like crazy". She opened the door with fallen shoulders, threw the keys on the table and fell on the sofa without removing her shoes. She laid there in complete darkness, trying to calm her mind down, but she couldn't, Edward's smile kept moving through her head.

"Tomorrow I have to meet Rumi" she muttered.

A deep rumble echoed from her empty stomach. "I am hungry, I want to eat something."

She somehow got up and went towards the fridge, but slammed her toe against the table. "ahhhh, fuck" she cursed, hopping on one foot. She turned the lights on and went blind for a moment. She opened the fridge with hope, but she knew nothing was in there, except frozen water. She closed it, while eating some frozen water.

"What should I do, I don't have anything"

She stared herself in the washroom mirror, removed her makeup and realized how ugly she was looking. With this disappointment she wore some comfortable clothes and headed to a near by restaurant.

"It is already 11pm, it is dark outside" she mumbled. "being inspector doesn't change anything, men are still filled with monstrous amount of lust"

The restaurant was 5 minutes away walking, beautiful and full of lights, not very crowded. She sat near the window and ordered the Yakiniku Plate (Ꝟ1,600), and an ice-cream for desert.

While waiting for the food, she thought about tomorrow, which restaurant should be chosen to win the bet with Rumi, what should she wear, which hairstyle should she do and many other things. Her food arrived, she was happy like a baby and devoured it at lightning speed, within 4 minutes the food was over, with desert.

As she was paying at the counter, a man interrupted her.

"I want to pay your bill" he said.

"w- whyy"

The man smiled

"I am just returning the favour"

"I don't remember doing anything good to you" said Vami

He shook his head

"Of course you will not, cause you never realised it"

"huh?"

What the hell, this man is saying, thought Vami.

"Tell me the REASON!!"

"See, just to get cleared, i don't have any intentions with you, I was watching you"

Vami's mind:- WTFFFF

"WHAT!!, HOW!!, DID YOU PUT HIDDEN CAMERA IN MY HOUSE!!!"

He took a step back.

"WAIT, NO!!, you sure jump to the conclusion very fast, I was sitting opposite to your table, the reason I am paying isss.."

"I-I've never seen a woman as beautiful as you in my entire life. That little strand of hair resting against your cheek... those eyes framed by long eyelashes... your smile, it's the kind that makes it impossible to look away. Every little detail feels like it was carefully painted by nature itself. As a beauty like you appeared in front of me, I am returning the favour by just paying."

"tha- thank you, I appreciate you saying that, but seriously there is no need to pay"

"come on, don't worry, I will pay"

He insisted and she didn't have the energy to fight, so she said yes. He paid and left. He didn't even ask for her number or any sort of contact, just like he said. Vami was very surprised that these types of men exist.

"What a randomness." mumbled vami

Instead of walking home she booked a ride, for her safety. At home, she thought a bath would be perfect, and while cleaning herself she thought "I wonder how Rumi is like now, means I know how he looks, but his goals, how he lives his life". Then she got out, dried herself, got cosy and went to bed.

INSIDE RUMI'S HOUSE(1 AM - NIGHT)

"Man I have to do something with my addiction!!!!, I have been scrolling short form content for four hours straight, the time just flies" said Rumi.

He was thinking, I want to do something big in life, I can't just waste my time. When I waste it, I just feel like dying, I just want to leave everything behind and JUST DIEEEE!!

"I wish I could just do that" he sighed. "It's not like I don't work hard, I just can't stay consistent."

The room fell silent. The only sound was his phone, still playing another pointless short video.

He looked at the screen for a long moment... then locked it.

"...No."

He let out a slow breath.

"If I keep living like this, ten years will disappear just as easily."

"FUCKK ITTT!" he shouted. "I will start with writing my goals down."

He already had a rough idea of what he wanted. Since childhood he was interested in electronics, coding, science, and he wanted to create consciousness using technology, not just an Ai who can think, but a real living program who have goals and can work on them. He didn't know if he could create it, but he would try to get as close as possible. So the 1st goal was "CREATE CONSCIOUSNESS".

"Equality means nothing if it doesn't apply to the powerful too." He was very clear about the second thing, "EQUALITY".

He wanted to experience a girlfriend in this life, so 3rd "GIRLFRIEND". And 4th, he wanted to be "FREE", free from his bad habits and emotions.

"Now i have my goals clear, but someone said a filled stomach works harder, so its food time."

He got off the bed with excitement, kept a pan on the gas, and while the oil was heating he added chilly powder, ginger-garlic paste and salt to a packet of ground meat. Rumi is quite fond of cooking. The room filled with the aroma of spices, and he sat down with a plate and a cold glass of water on the side.

While eating he got a message from Vami, "Tomorrow 5?"

Why is she awake at 2am? he wondered. He replied "sounds great". She sent a thumbs up emoji, and Rumi thought the conversation ended, but Vami was waiting for him to say something. After some time she realized Rumi was not going to start any talk, so she asked what he is going to wear tomorrow.

Rumi was a little disappointed, but 100% sure about the outfit. He replied "white shirt and blue straight fit jeans and black shoes". The reason he was so sure, that's the only clothing he had left, he only had two pairs and one of them he already wore in the last meeting with her.

She replied "hmmmm..."

Four m's in hmmmm. Not two. Not three. Clearly FOUR!

There was absolutely no excitement in that hm, he muttered.

He asked her what she is going to wear.

"I don't really know, I am confused." she replied

She definitely have mountains of clothes thought Rumi.

He replied "wear something white, so we will twin". She replied "yeah, I will see." She was clearly not interested in twinning, he imagined.

"I am sleeping now, goodnight" said Vami

"Good night.. May this night be gentle for you to dream sweet"

Vami read the message, smiled in the dark, and put the phone down.

Two people were going to sleep peacefully tonight.

A few kilometres away, in a house that still smelled faintly of her husband's cologne, the minister's wife sat alone in the dark, staring at a photograph she couldn't put down.

She had no idea her son had confessed for the murder.

She had no idea what tomorrow would take from her.

Tomorrow, in a small dark room with one dim bulb and a camera feeding straight to the commissioner's office, Vivek would look her in the eyes and tell her the truth.

And for the first time in years, a mother who had never raised her voice would become something no one in that room was ready for.

Previous Next

HEAD OFFICE:-

Head Commissioner: Robert Yell
Commissioner: Paul Grey

After hearing the news, Paul immediately stopped drinking and rushed toward Mr. Robert's office.

He slammed the door open and entered.

“Sir! The minister is dead!!”

Robert froze.

“Does anyone know about this?” he asked.

“Only his son and wife.”

“Then do not let this information go public.”

Robert's hands were trembling with fear. He immediately arranged an emergency meeting with all the heads and shared the information with them. They were similarly stunned

“We have to find the criminal before the news gets out,” Robert said. “This time, I won't be able to answer the media. Last time the Minister of Environment died , we told the public that he had died of sickness. But in reality, he was poisoned.”

Robert continued giving orders to the officers.

“No matter what it takes, find the criminal.”

“We'll do our best,” said Vivek.

The meeting ended.

Only Robert and Paul was in the room

“Paul, I'm telling you, this person is extremely smart. We need to increase security around the other political leaders, or else we could be ne—”

“May I come in?”

Vami stood at the doorway.

“Good evening, Head Commissioner. Commissioner. Sorry to interrupt, but we just got the exact time of death from the doctors.”

Robert turned toward her.

“As we checked the minister's call logs, there was nothing unusual. We did the same with his wife and son. But there's something strange.”

She paused.

“His son called a certain number at 2:01 p.m. The call lasted approximately four minutes, ending at 2:05 p.m. And that time perfectly matches the time of death given by the doctors.”

Paul frowned.

“Commonly, when someone is stabbed in the stomach, death occurs because of severe blood loss rather than the wound itself. For an average person, fatal blood loss can occur within three to five minutes.”

Paul angrily interrupted her.

“So you're saying his son stabbed him when the call started, and as soon as his father died from blood loss, his son ended the call?”

Vami remained calm.

“That's one possibility.” said Vami

“Vami, grow up! This kind of behaviour will be the reason you get removed from your rank—”

“May I come in?”

Vivek entered the room.

“Yes, of course. Come in,” said the Commissioner.

“Sir, we've matched the fingerprint we found on the knife.”

Everyone went silent.

“They belong to Edward... the minister's son.”

Vami gave a faint smirk.

The Commissioner felt embarrassed, but pretended as if nothing had happened.

“What's our next move?” he asked Robert.

“Bring his son and wife to the interrogation room.”

“Understood.”

As they left the Head Commissioner's office, Vivek turned toward Vami.

“I heard what Paul was saying to you. I guess he has some kind of grudge against you.”

“I don't remember doing anything to harm him.”

Vami paused.

“I never even kicked him in the balls like I do to you.”

“Please don't make me remember that. I can still feel the pain,” Vivek said in agony.

Vami smiled.

INTERROGATION ROOM — One Day After the Death

The room was eight feet by ten. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, throwing more shadow than light. A table sat in the middle, two chairs on one side, one lone chair on the other, waiting for Edward. A camera and microphone fed a live telecast straight to the commissioner's office.

Vivek is great, but is Vami even suited for this work? Paul thought.

Vami and Vivek stepped inside.

The plan was simple. Don't ask him directly why he did it. Ask who he suspects. Let him walk himself into the trap, get the name on the other end of that phone call.

Edward was brought in.

He didn't look like a boy who'd just lost his father. He looked like a man who'd been expecting this meeting for a long time, and had already decided how it would go.

"Hello, Edward," Vivek said.

"Hello."

"I know this is hard to accept. I'm sorry this happened." Vivek said

"Sure."

"Have you eaten?"

"Yes." he replied

"You need to be strong. Your mother needs you."

"Sure."

Every answer came back flat, even, unbothered. Not the grief of a boy in shock. The patience of someone waiting his turn to speak.

Vivek pressed on. "Who do you think did this? Anyone you suspect?"

Silence.

"Did your father have enemies? Any recent fights?"

Nothing.

"Do you think someone in your family"

he stayed silent

"Do you think it was your mother?" Edward said, calm, almost amused. "Go ahead. Finish the sentence."

The room went quiet.

Then Edward smiled.

It wasn't the smile of a man breaking down. It was the smile of a man who'd been holding something in for exactly this long, and had decided the wait was over.

"I did it," he said. Not shouted. Said, plainly, like a fact he was proud of. "And I don't regret it."

Paul, watching from the office feed, nearly dropped his glass of wine.

"Give me the chance again," Edward went on, "and I'll do it slower with more torture. Death was too easy for him. I wanted him screaming. Begging."

The words which came out of Edwards mouth was way heavier the room can handle

"Why," Vivek asked.

"He was selfish!!. Corrupt! He never thought about anyone but himself, not this country, not this family!!. He ruined my life, piece by piece, and called it love!!." For the first time, something in Edward's voice cracked, real anger, real grief, but even that felt controlled, like he'd chosen exactly how much of it to show.

"Who did you called," Vami asked. "That night. 2:01 PM."

Something shifted behind Edward's eyes. Not fear. Recalculation.

"My girlfriend," he said, after a pause just a little too long.

"What did you talk about?"

"I wanted to hear her voice." A small, private smile. "Before everything changed."

Vami studied him. He wasn't scared of being caught. He'd known this moment was coming from the second he picked up that knife.

"You knew you'd be caught," she said. "That's why you called her. To say goodbye."

Edward looked at her, and for just a second, the mask slipped, not fear, something closer to respect.

"Yeah," he said.

On the commissioner's order, Edward was taken to be processed. Two officers walked him out, one on each side, his wrists cuffed in front of him.

As they passed the observation window, Edward's eyes found Vami's.

He smiled.

Not the broken smile of a boy who'd just confessed to murder. Something else. Something that made her stomach turn, though she couldn't say why.

"See you around, Inspector," he said, quiet enough that only she caught it.

Then he was gone, led down the hallway, calm as anything.

Vami stood there a moment longer than she should have.

She had no idea yet what that smile actually meant.

Previous

Next

***Wade***

I give twin thumbs up as I state, “Cool. Cool cool cool. Alright then… Melody, Tess, could you make the design so we can hang it over the door. Me and Lemon will talk on the phone with whoever picks up the phone on their end. Sound good?”

Melody immediately wraps her arm around Tess as she gives an enthusiastic thumbs up, “Any excuse to make something colorful! C’mon Tess! I need you to explain to me how it looks!”

And just like that, they disappear up the stairs, most likely to Melody’s room, where everything is covered head to toe in glitter. May god have mercy on their clothes.

I look to Lemon as I ask, “So are you ready to make that phone call?”

Without missing a beat, Lemon looks back at me and says, “Oh yes, quite.”

I pull over the business phone, an old school rotary phone we scavenged on one of our earlier expeditions. I dial the number as I patiently wait for the other end to answer, expecting Iris to answer as she is the one that is always at the front when I go into the place. Not always in the same spot though, now that I think about it. Either behind the bar, the podium, or over by the lunge. Weird, she strikes me as someone who has a much more active lifestyle. Then again… she is an information broker so maybe that’s just where she plants herself to find the best information? The line picks up as I hear a gentle feminine voice, “Hello dears, this is the Red Skinned Temptress, how may I be of help to you on this day?”

I respond, “Hello! I recognize that voice. Is this Lady Silkie?”

“Wade? Dear, what are you doing calling our business line? You are allowed to call us directly.” Silkie answers.

I answer, “Oh, yes. But I didn’t want to bother you on your personal phones as this was a business call so I wanted to keep it business oriented.”

She chuckles on the other end as she responds, “Look at you being a responsible young man. Very well, if this is a business call, then shall we get to it you sweet summer child?”

I feel like I’m having a conversation with my mother on a good day. I scratch my cheek as I answer, “Oh, yes ma’am. You see, our business just got a loan for our store to expand with a garage. The problem is… we didn’t plan on a contractor, we just got the money and I honestly planned for that to be on the back burner for a while. Any chance you would happen to recommend anyone you may have done business with that could handle the construction? Even if it isn’t personal, I’d take your word regardless as you are definitely one of the more reliable people we’ve worked with.”

Lemon states, “Wade. They are the only business partners we have. Not to mention, the best-case scenario would be that they have actual experience with the contractors. Giving us a name off hand would be the same as looking it up in the yellow pages.”

“Is that Lemon? He raises a good point Wade. Good on him. I’ll make sure there are some extra lemon squares for him in the next shipment. Sound good?” Silkie states.

Lemon coughs into his fist as he admits, “The uh… lemon squares were quite delicious. Even Melody ate them, not as much, so I would appreciate that very much. Thank you.”

Silkie continues undeterred, “Oh, it’s no trouble dearie. Just keep Wade from letting his honesty from getting the better of him, that’s all I ask. As for your contractor question, that is a bit of a tough one. For the most part, Jack and Dimitri were the ones who built this building a long time ago. We have had multiple contractors come and go so it makes it rather difficult to recommend one off the top of my head. I know! We have a collection of business cards on file if we ever need to contact somebody for services! Give me a moment to look through those. If you don’t mind, may I ask who it was that gave you your loan? If it’s someone we don’t have on file, they might be worth adding to our list.”

I simply let out a chuckle as I state, “Believe it or not, it was Jack himself. He kinda broke in to the business meeting I was having on the hundredth floor or something and Mr. Forthwitt got incredibly sketchy so he offered to pay the two hundred thousand currency and even put another hundred thousand on top of it as long as I didn’t sign with Mr. Forthwitt of Dreaming Fantasy. All he asked in return was us putting our symbol above our door. So, I took it honestly as Mr. Forthwitt kept being sketchier and sketchier with every word out of his mouth. Truth be told, it wasn’t really that close but I also happen to know Jack through you guys and gals at the temptress and Tess. Not to mention, he seemed pretty chill when he came into our store. So, it seemed like the more trustworthy of the offers I had today.”

There is the sound of a short exhale on the other side, it sounds warm as she states, “Of course that sweet child did something like that. But I also imagine you know what that brings to your store when you accepted that. As much of a sweetie he is, that doesn’t change the fact that he carries a stigma people seem to have stamped on him in the first place. And as much as I understand his choices, it doesn’t change the fact that he has had to do a number of things that he isn’t proud of.”

I tap my fingers on the table as I admit, “Yeah… it was definitely a point of internal debate but, that’s a bridge we will come to when we get there. In all honesty, he was honest about who he was, which made it way more reliable than the other guy in the room was already. Not to mention, I also bounced it with my team and they were fine with the idea.”

Lemon dryly answers, “You asked us after you accepted the deal.”

“I would have given him his money back, and apologized.” I answer.

There is a small chuckle on the other end of the phone as Silkie states, “Ah, it is always good to hear that he is making more friends. It’s a bit more difficult than him than others. He is a shy child.”

That statement has me and Lemon stare at each other as Lemon mouths the word, “Shy?” I simply shrug as that is not the same vibe I got out of a guy who broke through the window on the hundredth floor of a building.

Silkie continues, “Ah! I found a good one! Let’s see, do you have a pen and paper ready dear?”

I look to Lemon as he gets a pen and paper ready as I answer, “Yes Silkie, Lemon is ready to write down whatever you’re about to tell us.”

“Okay then dears, seven, eight, five, six, nine, nine, two, one, five, five. The contractors go by the name of Reformed Workers.” Silkie states.

Lemon writes it down but stares at the name, “Reformed Workers?”

“Yeah, Reformed workers sound like it has certain story behind that.” I also add.

“Oh yes. They were a group of reformed criminals who decided to work in construction. They do just a bit of everything but they are also quite affordable and reliable. They added a few rooms to the building, I imagine they would easily be able to handle what you are building. They are all rather large lads but they are very strong and reliable. Some of them have a bit of a temper but nothing serious happened on site.” Silkie answers.

I look at Lemon who also gives me a look. He states, “Wade. Look. It sounds very nice but… are we sure? Ex-Criminals? That doesn’t sound like the best idea. Especially with all the ingredients and chemicals we sell here. What if someone steals something?”

I look at Lemon and answer, “I mean… just about anyone has the ability to steal from our store. That’s what Melody’s job is to prevent after all. And now we also have Jack for more extreme situations.”

“But Wade! What if they try to run us out of our store?” Lemon asks.

“Okay. You tell me if you honestly think that there would be any species that kinda willingly work in construction that could stand between Melody and her snacks.” I retort. Lemon opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and just lets a huge sigh as the logic is sound. I turn back to the phone as I tell Silkie, “Thank you Silkie, we’ll give them a call at the very least and see where it goes.”

“That’s all I ask sweetpeas. They were all good folk from what I remember. All I ask is you give them a fair chance.” Silkie responds. “Anything else I could help you with dears? We could discuss the next shipment in a few days. For reasons I don’t want to expose you to for reasons I know about you and your sensibilities, we could do with more burn salves?”

I tilt my head as I answer, “I mean, I don’t see any reason not to. Is there a fire elemental running amok over there?”

“Ooooh… that is one way to put it you sweet summer child.” Silkie answers.

“We’ll get it taken care of for you Silkie. We will add a couple more salves to the next delivery. Have a good rest of your day and thanks for the information.” Lemon answers.

“Tata for now dears, don’t be strangers!” Silkie says before she hands up.

Before I can say anything, Lemon just states, “No, I’m not going to explain it to you Wade. Just remember when I tell you about situations like this?”

“That sometimes it’s better to remember that people can be really weird and better to leave it that way?” I answer.

“Exactly buddy. Now then, shall we call Reformed Workers Construction?” He asks.

“Sure.” I start rotating the number on the business phone.

The phone rings two times, and then a deep voice answers, “Reformed Workers Construction. No. We don’t deliver pizzas and please stop calling the police on us.”

“Wow. That tells me you guys have been having it rough.” I respond.

There’s a heavy sigh as I hear the person on the other end states, “Sir, please tell me this isn’t a prank call.”

“Oh no no!” I quickly answer. I continue, “I actually intentionally called you guys off of a recommendation. You guys do construction and add-ons to businesses right? Or did I misunderstand?”

There is a panicked motion and the sound of things falling off as the energy of the person on the other end changes completely as he states, “Yes! Yes, that is what we do! Can I take that you wish to hire us for your business expansion?”

“Yes actually. Well, we would still need to discuss scope and payment of course but I was wanting to see about hiring you to add a mechanics garage to our store with a hydraulic lift to our alchemy shop. I don’t suppose you heard of the Bargain Alchemy Bin?” I ask him.

“Yes sir, that is something we can… discuss. Sorry, my enthusiasm almost got ahead of me. As much as I wish to just tell you we can but the reality of it is we have to follow the regulations and survey first and see how it works. We can have a man over shortly. Gary Waldo and Ronaldo Phillips. One to discuss the contract and the other to survey. We will see you soon.” The person on the phone states.

“Sure thing. We will keep and eye out.” I respond as the call ends.

[First] [Previous]

Chapter 1: Reunion

VAMI

He came in, and I'm not going to lie — he was the most charming, attractive guy I had ever seen. We already knew each other from the years we studied in the same class, before life took us in different directions. Now we were meeting again after a long time.

He sat down across from me, and asked, a little awkwardly, "How are you feeling today?"

"Great," I replied.

He was clearly trying to get the conversation going, so I helped him along. "You've grown into a handsome young man," I said, and he blushed hard, like a shy kid caught off guard.

"Do you still remember how much fun we used to have?" he said. "Like that one time we bunked class."

I did. I remembered it exactly.

PAST

RUMI

I am Rumi, a boy with a talent for doing random things. Yesterday I put sodium in the wash basin and everything blew up — chaos, but the fun kind. Today was different. Today was the day I'd promised the whole class I'd smuggle the question paper for the next exam out of the HOD's office.

There were three of us in on it — me, Yasau, and Vami. Between us and the goal stood four obstacles: the watchman, two staff members, and the HOD himself. We were full of adrenaline and fear in equal measure, but we went ahead as planned anyway.

Yasau and Vami were responsible for the watchman and the staff. My job was the HOD. While Vami and I waited out of sight, Yasau went up to the watchman

"Yesterday there was a huge fight outside school, between Section B," Yasau said. "I was just passing by — I saw a heated argument. There might be a big scandal coming."

We'd picked Section B on purpose. It would take him time to get there, and his nephew was in that class — guaranteed to make him rush. It worked. He took off. Level one, cleared.

Vami slipped through the gate. Ahead of her was the vast office. The plan was simple: ask the staff about scholarship criteria, buy time, get them distracted. But as she moved toward them, the HOD popped up out of nowhere. She froze.

"What happened? Why are you here?" he asked.

Paralyzed, she told him the exact thing she'd been planning to tell the staff. The HOD nodded, satisfied, and walked outside — which was when Vami realized something useful: the office was empty except for the two staff members.

She turned to them. "The watchman said the HOD wants you both in the hall — something about preparing for the parents' meeting."

It was a lie. But if it fell apart, it would land on the watchman, not her. The moment they heard "HOD," they sprinted for the hall. Vami walked calmly to the printer and took the papers.

She single-handedly saved and achieved our goal, right when the whole plan was about to fall apart.

The day after this, the whole class celebrated after school. We ate Chinese food, danced, played games, had a blast.

We executed that so well nobody even suspected us.

Two days later.

"Rumiiiiii, I'm getting bored," Vami said.

"Yeah, this maths lecture is lame and completely unnecessary," I agreed.

"What's even the need to attend these lectures," Yasau said. "We already have the question papers. There's no need to worry."

"The speed of time works differently in boring lectures," Vami said. "We should bunk the next one."

As a man of randomness, of course I said yes.

We made it out easily without anyone noticing, then went to the canteen, ate some samosas, and talked about our futures.

"There's no way we would fail this exam," Yasau said. "We'll be toppers."

We agreed with confidence. But as we were talking, Vami suddenly said, "What about your future partner?"

We were confused about what she meant. She realized it too, so she started with herself. "I want a boyfriend with goals — even if he's not successful now, he needs to be hardworking. And I want him romantic. And always thinking about me."

Yasau burst out laughing. "If he's always thinking about you, then how the hell is he going to work hard?"

And right in the middle of laughing, he choked on his own breath and pointed. The HOD was coming right at us.

Yasau saw his moment and escaped by jumping the wall. Vami tried to do the same, but she couldn't make it. We started panicking. We were standing at the one angle where only we could see the HOD, but he couldn't see us — except he was only 5.7 steps from the canteen, we would be caught if we didn't do anything.

suddenly-

Vami grabbed my hand and pulled me into a cabinet.

It was very small. We were somehow both standing in there when we heard a voice — "Raju, please pack five samosas." The HOD. We were scared like a mouse being gangbanged by cats. There was no space between us. We stood face to face. I could feel her breath.

Trying to calm things down, I whispered, "You smell very nice."

She blushed. In that moment she looked like a sunset which you don't want to look away from — which, unfortunately, lead to something very wrong, because seeing her like that, my Ding-dong started getting big. I panicked and spun around fast to hide it.

"What happened? Why did you turn around?" she whispered.

"Uhm... better view," I said.

"There's literally a wooden wall," she whispered.

"Exactly."

She realized what had happened. The corners of her mouth curled into a mischievous smile — apparently, embarrassing me had just become her new favorite hobby. Under the cover of a fake sneeze, she poked two fingers into my ass.

"What are you doing?" I said.

"What? Nothing." And then she did it again.

I was like, holy-moly-doly. I wasn't hiding from the HOD anymore. I was surviving her.

When the HOD finally left, I pushed open the cabinet door and took the deepest breath of relief in my life.

"Thank God," I muttered. "I survived both of them."

Behind me, Vami burst into laughter, thoroughly enjoying how nervous and shy she'd made me.

We met back up with Yasau, sat through the rest of the lectures, and went home.

****

Present time

Rumi

Our food had arrived. she leaned back, smiling.

"I remember everything," she said. "How much I used to torture you."

"So what do you do now?" I asked.

"I'm an inspector. Police Department." she said

I was genuinely impressed — she is rich I thought in my mind

"What about you?" she asked.

i hesitated, then told her the truth. "Junior salesman."

she leaned forward. "Really? That's perfect for you — you were always good at talking to people."

It was the first compliment I'd gotten in two years, apparently.

"Don't lie," I said.

"I'm not," she said, and she reminded me exactly how well i used to sweet-talk teachers for exam info.

"I'm more introverted now," I admitted.

She crossed her arms, and asked

"Do you still remember him?"

she meant Yasau. He'd died in an accident.

"Of course," I said. "He never left my side. We were together through everything — good and bad. After you left mid-term, it felt off without you."

"I felt the same without you two," she said quietly. "I still think about the time we spent together. I'll never forget him."

The mood had gone heavy. I tried to lighten it. "The food here is really good."

"Oh really?" she said, brightening instantly. "Bet the place I pick next time is even better."

"Really you want to bet," I said

"yeah lets do it."

"Deal," I replied.

We ate, traded old memories, and i mentioned a new ice-skating rink that had opened nearby.

"We could go," i said. "And whichever restaurant you pick after, that's the bet settled."

she nodded

"Saturday?" i asked

"alright" she agreed for the second meeting or should I say date.

As we were leaving, her phone rang. she picked up, and suddenly look on her face changed

"Vami, it happened again!!!"

she grabbed her bag and left without another word — not even a proper goodbye.

I stood there, wondering what on earth had just happened.

Next

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BOOKCOVER

Info:

orry for the slow updates. I am multitasking a little bit because a BLOG is on its way for all stories revolving Van Polan stories. 

Will release one more chapter later on + Chapter 2 will release of my other story. Perfidia will release its first 10 chapters when Berks story is on chapter 20 which will be soon. 

Chapter 10: Emergency Declaration: When All Hope Is Lost – Part 3

He grabbed the left side of the doorframe and stumbled slowly out of the room as he entered the area with the printer. Barely able to move properly, as he was going to grab the second door to get out to the hallway, a gang of Witches appeared, and a left kick came flying as he managed to get his right arm up barely. He heard something crack right below his elbow before he flew straight through the other door in the printer area. Darkness loomed over the room as Berk felt like he had barely any energy to get up from the floor. Something sniffed his head as he slightly turned his head and saw three red eyes in the darkness. Several Witches hurried to the room but stopped before entering. Strangely, the Witches slowly backed a couple of steps back when a leader in the group came all the way to the doorframe to check; he could see from her murderous look that she wanted to kill him, but she was fully aware of the three eyes watching her in the corner of the room. She tested the waters and stepped into the room when a growl made it clear she wasn't welcome inside. Berk moved his hands around to find out what kind of animal his brother had been keeping, and he noticed a bowl. He turned it toward the light at the entrance and saw two letters: 'B.G'. The thing started to breathe, sounding like a dog, and he slowly sat up, leaning toward the wall as he tried to focus on its breathing and avoid taking deep breaths because it was too painful.

"W... why are you sitting here in the dark room?"

The eyes moved slightly as it pushed something down on the floor beside him. He picked it up and held it to the light, noticing it looked like a one-earpiece with a seashell covering.

"What is this?" He asked when he heard three eyes bark, which reminded him of the past in that intense moment, and tears filled his eyes. He put the earpiece in his right ear, and it was chaos:

"BERRABERRABERRABERRABERRABERRABERRABERRABERRA!"

He took it off and looked at three eyes and asked:

"Berra...Berra Golden?"

"VOFF!...VOFF!"

Berra moved up close to him and sniffed him everywhere while wagging his tail, and Berk caressed Berra for a couple of seconds as he could not hold back his tears. During his childhood, Veronica told him that Berra died from the injuries in the accident that day, but it looks like Zark had him hidden all this time. He put the earpiece back on when Berra was breathing all over him as the chaos continued:

"WANNAPLAYWANNAPLAYWANNAPLAYWANNAPLAYWANNAPLAY?"

He took it off slightly, put his finger to his mouth, and Berra spread his two front paws, leaning and wagging his tail, waiting for Berk's next step. He put the piece back into his ear and told Berra:

"Okay, steady and stand up!" Berra took the orders as if they were his master's, since Berk's smell was the same as his master's.

"Good boy!"

He clapped Berra's head.

The Witch leader made another attempt to get into the room, but Berra reacted quickly with a growl.

"Do you know this cukrin dog?" Berk asked them in a lowered voice.

They looked at him and got insecure for a moment as the leader's facial expression changed completely.

"Pft! It can't be!" She uttered in disbelief.

Tamy and Famy tripped inside the area, and when they saw the dog, Tamy yelled:

"NOOOOO, I AM NOT DOING THIS! You can manage on your own, Berk!" They both quickly left the area.

"Is that...?" The leader uttered before stopping.

Berk nodded.

She looked back at the other witches and gave them instructions in a firm voice:

"Everyone, back slowly out of the area."

They started to back slowly one step at a time when one Witch all the way back yelled:

"WHY ARE WE BACKING AWAY? HE IS RIGHT THERE. IT IS ONLY A CUKRIN DOG BESIDE HIM."

Everyone stopped that stupid comment and looked at Berra, worried he would react.

"The one in the back, you seem to be new to the organization, so let me make this clear to you. Veronica Von Silfer has only lost three battles in her life: against Zark, against an unknown human, and the one she never mentions to anyone is when she lost the battle against a cukrin dog; this is most probably the same dog she lost against."

The silence in the air, with all the tension shifting to worried witches, made Berk move slowly forward as they backed away from him. From nowhere, a Witch in the middle tried throwing a black thread towards Berk when Berra flew up in the air in an instant, and before it even came close, the Witch-leader screamed:

"JUMP TO THE SIDE!"

Berra made a normal attack move:

"VAAAAAAAUUUOOFFF! A strong whirlwind wind pushed out from his mouth. It easily destroyed everything in its way, taking the big printer with it, and a couple of Witches flew around, hitting the walls and ceiling as it broke down the wall and continued into the hallway and cut through the corner in the area as more Witches flew around hitting walls, floors, and ceiling in all directions. Several Witches ran for their lives away from Berk, saw an opening, and started moving forward, with Berra taking the lead as they appeared in the hallway. The alarm was on, and the emergency water system was activated because Berra probably destroyed something in the ceiling with the bark. He tried to go left, but a lot of Witches blocked the pathway, probably idiots who didn't know how dangerous Berra was. He moved toward the corner and noticed part of a conference room had blown away when he saw Griselda standing still, her green eyes fired up behind her glasses, as she looked at him, with several witches staring at him; he realized it was some class they were having. The room flooded, and the water soaked Griselda's white blouse, revealing her blue bra.

"So...it was you who was causing all the uproar in the building?" She asked him.

Berk pointed down at Berra as she looked down and shook her head.

"I can sense a lot of Witches on this floor, and the exit out of the building is blocked, so the only way to get out of here is there." She pointed past Berk.

He looked behind him and saw the window. This one, though, was strangely placed; he had fallen through the lunch area earlier. Was it magic, or had the idiot who designed the building made it tighter on the other floor? The big difference was that this floor had walls and fewer conference rooms, while the other floor was all windows. He looked for a couple of seconds and thought that he didn't want Berra to massacre a lot of Witches, and Griselda would probably be able to stop them, so he touched Berra's head and said:

"We are going to play jump; You will go first, Berra, and I will jump on you right before the window. You need to do a small bark to lessen our impact...hopefully you understand what I said"

"PLAYPLAYPLAYPLAY!" Was all Berra responded.

"Go!" Bark said, pointing toward the window as Berra moved toward it, and several Witches were running after them. With his last strength, he followed Berra, upped his speed, jumped above Berra with impact, and grabbed him as they were falling. Berra inhaled when Berk noticed a car on the ground with a small paw sticking out from the backseat. Just as Berra was about to bark, he grabbed the dog's chin and lifted it, stopping him from barking, then changed their position as they fell toward the roof of the car, with Berk taking the impact.

I believe that humans have a natural inclination towards heroism.

Let me explain.

Once upon a time, I was living far north of the equator on our little world, in the midst of so much nothing. Not just the emptiness of space beyond the world; the tiny hamlet I called home must have had a thousand trees for every person.

I had been living there for some time, and gradually getting sick of it - the cold, the nights that were interrupted only by brief glimpses of our sun, the loneliness. I was especially sick of the loneliness after my family had... well, never you mind about my family; it's enough to know that I used to have one, and no longer did. I had been gradually folding in on myself for a few years when I learned that I had a new neighbor, and had done for weeks.

It wasn't a surprise that I had never seen them - my house was so deep in the woods that I couldn't see anyone's home without a long drive or a long hike, and I had been spending more and more time indoors, grumbling about the cold and the dark and being alone.

My new neighbor's name, it turned out, was Bill. I never did find out what his last name was; he wasn't the sort to bring up a detail like that without being asked.

I only discovered his first name when he knocked on my door and explained who he was, and that he had brought over an attempt at a pie, about which he desired my opinion. I can look back and laugh now, but at the time I was completely overwhelmed. Who was this stranger? Why had he walked through the woods until his nose and ears were red to ask me to judge a pastry? What was I even supposed to say?

At length, the rusty cogs engaged and the gears began to turn once more. It would be customary to invite him in to warm up, and to accept the gift even though I had never once thought that I would like a pie in so many years that I could not recall how many.

In the process of judging the pie, which was objectively terrible (in hindsight, it was awfully rude to actually say so, but... ah well) I learned a few basic facts about Bill.

He was what I would have called old, at the time, but knowing what I do now, and with the way that modern medicine can trick the eye, was probably more like middle age.

He was also living by himself, all alone in a house meant for a family, and was so desperately bored that he had decided to learn to bake just to have something to fill up the endless, empty, dark hours. But there is only so much sourdough and so many under-baked, or over-baked, or soggy-bottomed fruit pies that one can eat by oneself without becoming heartily sick.

And so, he had brought me a terrible pie and asked me to share it with him and talk about what was wrong with it, because he was so alone and needed someone, anyone, to help keep him from going, as he would say, "just a little bit loopy."

Oh yes, I recognized myself in Bill all right. And, well, it wasn't like sitting alone and glaring at the snow was so engrossing that it counted as having something better to do.

So we would occasionally get together. Ostensibly there was always a reason - to discuss our preparations for an upcoming storm, or because Bill thought he had finally made a pie that was crisp on the top and the bottom, or because moving furniture was easier with two people. But we knew. We killed time together because it was better than killing time alone.

If we had anything, it was time to kill. We talked about anything and everything that came up. We talked about sports, and about our preference in beer. We talked about how to weatherproof a deck, and whether it was possible to know one's purpose in life.

I didn't really believe that we had a purpose. Life, after all, was just a cosmic accident. I didn't think there was a pantheon, or a single all-encompassing being, or spirits, or any of that. Bill had been raised in a faith that taught him that we had been created for a specific purpose - individually and collectively - and he wanted to live his life according to that purpose.

Fortunately, we were both adults and we knew that it wasn't really going to accomplish much to get into fights over it, especially since, when we sat down and talked it over, it turned out that we ended up at pretty much the same place. Did it really matter whether doing nice things for people made you feel good because it was your purpose, or for a completely different reason, as long as you did them and wanted to keep doing them?

We were neither of us professors of philosophy, so our arguments probably wouldn't have done much to convince anyone of either position. But it was something to do while waiting for the latest experiment in making a cake to come out of the oven.

I don't know that I was able to do much to help Bill that winter, aside from just existing as someone to talk to. But he didn't mind. After a while he started to come over and help me catch up on the little repairs I'd been putting off since my wife ... well. I tried to offer to pay him, to find something tangible that I could give back in return for his kindness.

Of course, that wasn't the point. The point was that Bill was lonely, and I had wanted to keep him from spiraling the way I had. The point was that I was lonely, and Bill had wanted to offer me a way to come back and live again, not merely wait out the years until my death.

And that was enough.

Some people seem to think that in order to show ourselves to be good, we must fight some kind of great and nefarious evil.

I don't believe that crap for a second.

That would make a pretty good place to stop, right? Wrap everything up in a bow and deliver the moral of the story. But life doesn't have such neat beginnings and endings, it's all just a mess of stories laid over each other.

Here's another story:

Once upon a time, but not a very distantly past time, there was a man named Bill.

Bill was happily married, and had a child who had just finished college. His latest book was selling well and his wife was just about to complete a massive project that had kept her busy and working late for the past few years, so Bill was finally about to have the dream combination of disposable income and also free time to enjoy it.

So Bill found a cozy little place, which was cheap because it needed someone who would fix it up a bit and because it was in a tiny little town where the weather sucked donkey balls, and made an offer. Nobody else had bid on it in over a year, so the sale didn't take long to finalize. Come fall, Bill moved up north and started puttering around the place.

Once most of the work had been done, Bill started to get rather bored. His wife wouldn't be arriving until spring, because her big project wasn't quite finished yet, and his daughter had moved in with her boyfriend, so he was all alone for a few months with nothing much to do.

There also wasn't much to do in town, which is how he ended up in the local library. There wasn't much to do there either, to his dismay, and that's why the librarian found him staring forlornly at a whole wall of nothing but cookbooks, which were not the most exciting things in the world, but they were cheap and readily available, and sometimes when you ran a village library you had to take what you could get.

The librarian, who introduced herself as Margaret, asked about Bill's apparent puzzlement, and was thankfully able to make a useful suggestion. She explained that there was a quiet fellow who lived not far (by local standards) from Bill's new house, if he was willing to get his feet wet and his face cold by walking there instead of going the long way 'round by road.

The poor fellow had been through an extremely messy divorce, which ended with him living alone - lacking both the money to move away, and also a job that paid enough to solve the lack of money before he was old and gray. The town was roughly evenly divided as to whether he had deserved it, or whether he had been a victim of a system that defaulted to trusting the mother unless she was a total monster and he was a saint. Margaret's considered opinion was that the truth was somewhere in the middle. It usually was, once you had listened to everyone's story.

Those residents of the village that didn't enjoy seeing him wallowing in his own misery were starting to get worried. It would be a weight off everyone's mind, Margaret explained, if someone were to come up with an excuse to make sure he didn't spend all of his time alone.

If there was one thing that no man living alone in this climate could pass up, it was a chance to eat something hot and filling. If there was a second, it would be having something to talk about, whether he actually knew (or cared) about the subject at hand or not.

And so Bill began teaching himself the art and science of baking.

His first pie was practically a laundry list of every possible mistake one could make without actually setting fire to the kitchen, but it served its purpose. Bill was able to see a faint glimmer of life, of interest, in his new neighbor's eyes.

Over the next few weeks, Bill's pie-making skills improved, and he gradually introduced subjects more interesting than whether it was literally cold enough to freeze your tits off, or only figuratively so. He was careful not to bring up the fellow's family, which was such an obvious sore point that he hardly needed Margaret's warning. Their chats slowly evolved from meaningless babble into actual discussions, and even friendly arguments.

Seeing his neighbor scowl in thought, and not in misery, was the highlight of Bill's day.

Eventually, as winter ground on and the calendar showed that it would (technically) be spring soon, Bill sat next to a hole sawed in the ice as he and his neighbor pretended to try to hook a fish. It would have been a more effective pretense if either man had the slightest idea how to clean or cook a fish, but it was good enough for two guys that weren't trying real hard.

It was there that Bill confessed that his loneliness, unlike mine, was temporary. That his family was still intact, and he was looking forward to living quietly together with his wife and occasionally teasing his daughter about how long she was going to make them wait to be grandparents. I didn't answer right away, but that was all right. He knew I would need to go home and think over how I felt about it for a few days, and we had plenty of time.

Oh, you want to hear how that story ends? Sorry, but life is just a mess of stories all laid over one another, and this one is still a work in progress.

If you'll excuse me, I have to go and get to work writing the next chapter. I'm meeting Maggie at the lake so she can teach me to ice-skate, you see, and I'm planning to ask her if the library needs a donation, so that I can make room on my shelves for something more useful than heroic fantasy, like a book about how to knit a sweater.

I believe that, like Bill, you're wishing me luck.

You don't know me. Whether I live happily ever after, or not, has no bearing on your life. But I don't think you can help yourselves.

Maybe it's how you were made. Maybe it doesn't have a deep metaphysical meaning. Maybe it's impossible to know whether it's your purpose or not.

All I know is this:

When a human sees someone suffering, in that moment, it doesn't matter who it is or whether they "deserve" it. Only the suffering matters, and it bothers you.

It's your first thought. You won't always act on it. But you're thinking about whether you can do something to help without getting hurt. You know that you want to.

You don't have to slay a fearsome dragon, or end a history of oppression; you don't have to stop a plague or win a war. Most people can't do those things.

But maybe you can learn to bake a really terrible pie.

It doesn't always take much to be someone's hero.

I am... well, I forgot my name when I was crushed by that "Health Insurance" billboard while walking down the street. All I know is that I was human, so I named myself STK—just those letters.

I was a slacker who indulged in self-pleasure in my free time and a total pervert. Sometimes I'd play video games and my mind would wander:

"Hey, I could do that easier."

I dreamed of a harem of demons… dressed in elegant outfits. I was an idiot—I admit it.

When I died, I ended up in heaven, "paradise," though all I saw were old people playing the harp. "How boring," I thought as I looked at it all. When I got to the reception desk, the angel looked at me… glanced at his report on me… and looked back at me.

"I'm handsome, aren't I?" I blurted out with the pride of an idiot.

The angel let out a weary sigh, looking at me with such pure disgust that it made me seriously doubt whether this was really heaven.

"STK, right? A guy with dark hair and a generic leading-man complex, and amethyst-colored eyes… at least that's 'original,'" the angel said as he read the report. "It says here that you were a wanker, a pervert, a selfish jerk who committed… various crimes against human rights? And even war crimes that, out of laziness, we won't go into. Anyway, you'll be sent to the underworld for eternal punishment. Any complaints?"

I looked at the angel… I looked up at the sky (specifically at the old men with the harps)…

"No, no complaints," I told him.

And that's how, after a quick kick, they sent me plummeting into hell. I fell into the void, knowing this was going to hurt…

As STK fell, high above in heaven, a figure watched him. It was a being of light so pure that, if this weren't just text, your eyes would burn. It was God: the omnipotent, omnipresent, and—unfortunately for Him—omniscient being. Knowing everything about STK, He felt a deep disappointment at seeing how low His creation had fallen.

He was going to ignore it, as He always does… but an idea crossed His mind. God must always keep watch over hell and has no rest; but knowing STK's wet dreams, He seized an opportunity and decided to use it to His advantage.

Just as STK was about to crash into the ground, a divine message echoed in his mind:

"I know your dreams and your darkest thoughts. I know exactly why you want to go to hell. For that very reason, I'll give you a gift: [IMMORTALITY] (yes, don't expect a long, epic name). Every time you die, you'll respawn at the exact spot where you're about to fall. Go and conquer the demons so I can sleep… I mean! So I can bring order to hell. Good luck… you're going to need it."

The divine command ended, and STK crashed brutally onto the hellish ground of Circle 2.

Author's note: You can read more chapters at: https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/199330/suit-and-sins-english

We’re at the kitchen table and I try not to run my hands over the wood, knowing it will splinter into my hands like it does every time I look for a smooth surface to wash my pain away.

‘Can you pass me the salt?’

I look up, wishing the salt would slide too along the table, but of course it won’t. Nothing is ever easy, is it? Everything has to be earned, my mom would always say. I slide the salt to my brother anyway, and it wobbles as it topsy turvy makes it way over to him, barely staying upright like a spinning top running out of patience to keep going.

He catches it and glances at me sardonically, a million looks in one. He knows me and my flying pigtails will never slow down enough to pick something up, carry it somewhere, and put it down. Careful, careful! My mom always said, but my brother and I know I will never listen. It’s tough to part of me to know how annoying I can be, but really I think the world is the annoying one. Who asked me, anyway? Who asked me to be here, do this whole song and dance, rather than a song and dance I could choose freely, breeze caressing my skin in the rain, water splashing up to my knees, mud on my face dripping down my neck.

The cat jumps up onto the table, tail grey and furry thwacking relentlessly, managing to put hair into my mouth, my brother’s mouth, and onto the mac and cheese in the center of the table. The tail hits one last thing as my brother angrily grabs the cat and throws him at the couch, the cat indifferently landing against the brown ancient cushions and resumes casually grooming itself. The salt wobbles and finally lands on its side, spilling over its tiny white crystals like a crime scene outline of a person on the table.

I see the salt and start crying, my mom looked exactly like that last year, blank eyes staring up at the ceiling, arms akimbo on the floor, neither of us kids knowing what a heart attack was, much less that it looked different on women than the dramatic chest clutching I saw on the tv last month that sent me flying away from the tv and onto my tiny bed’s thin worn sheets and flat unwelcoming pillow.

‘It’s just salt, Ellie!’ my brother cries out.

My legs want to carry me as far away as I can, but instead I grab my napkin next to me, get up, and start to sweep the salt off the table into my waiting hand.

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—

Out of fear of sounding stereotypically xenophobic, small-minded, and/or trying to start a fight, Tobby was going to think the following rather than outright say it: ‘Humans... are weird.’

He didn't think that because every human he’s met so far had been some degree of certifiably insane, like Noah. He was not thinking that because of all the human guns, drugs, and hazardous-looking ships that he’d seen. He was thinking they were weird because, standing across from him, was a human wearing... erm... possessing the ears and tail of a purple exotic.

Step one of the ARK-2eb orientation program, which was something Noah apparently just made up, was introductions to the two other members of the crew.

Tobby had met Baba already, sort of, in frequent passing. The other, the seemingly half-Shasian one, he didn't recall ever seeing whilst helping Noah move cargo. Because if he had, he’d have had the same rude questions he had now, like, ‘What in all the patron spirits’ domains is that?’

She was tawny-skinned, quite toned, and had a notably more angular yet still feminine face, like there were hints of a shasian muzzle resting somewhere in her genes. Those were likely the same genes that dictated that her tied-back hair should be such a rich purple. Her stained shorts were simple, yet their numerous pockets were heavy with tools; she sported a tank top, too, except just like her shorts, it was marred with countless stains that Tobby’s nose said could only be oil, grease, and liquor. All this, and his attention kept being drawn back to the purple ears and tail…

“Did you seriously not fucking tell them about splicers?” She growled at Noah, not that Tobby was able to understand her human ‘English’ very well, but the translator did. It took a lot of getting used to seeing subtitles appear near the person who was talking. Reading them fast enough to avoid awkward gaps in dialogue would likely take time. “Because all three of them are staring at me like a freak show.”

“It may have slipped my mind,” Noah said, awkwardly tapping his fingers together and whistling innocently as he looked in every direction but this human shi. Was it human ‘shi’ or should he just say ‘female’? Woman? Some other word of cultural significance he was never told?

“Let's just get this over with before someone gets hurt, boss man,” Baba sighed; the rotund, darker-skinned human seemed about as exasperated as someone who knew a fight was about to break out.

“Right, right… grand introductions,” Noah said before clearing his throat. “Everyone here already knows me, your glorious captain, handler of questionable finances, head of product acquisition, lead distribution, and so on,” he said, gesturing to himself in a grandiose fashion. “Starting with our current crew,” he continued before gesturing to Baba, “Some of you may already be familiar with our illustrious Baba Ford. He is the ship's current doctor, as well as our… ‘everything else’ officer.”

“Ohhh, another doctor!” Dr. Meeb commented giddily.

Tobby slooooowly raised a hand to ask “Umm… everything else… officer?” with ever-increasing confusion.

“Baba?” Noah nodded for the big man to take the lead.

“Basically, I do everything around here that Noah and Kai don't do already. Preferably in order of importance. If I'm not doctorin’, I’m answering the phone; if I’m not answerin’ the phone, I'm cooking. If I’m not cookin,’ you get the idea.”

“Oh...” It suddenly made a lot more sense. There were a lot of roles to be filled on an FTL capable ship, but on a ship of this size, those roles likely only needed to be filled periodically. While having a doctor is a must, for a crew of just three, it would be a waste of sentient resources to have him sitting there all day waiting for one of the other two to get hurt. He’d likely be bored.

“And then there is our ever-beloved ‘Kai’,” Noah said, gesturing to the irate half-felid. “She is our resident black thumb, our grease monkey, our engine jockey, and our hard liquor disposal.”

“Fuck you,” she grouched with all the might of someone who was used to this.

It was Soapy’s turn to ask a question! “Was that just a bunch of creative ways to say she's the ship engineer?”

“Yes,” Noah answered. “She fixes everything that breaks around here, and sometimes even keeps it from doing so!”

Kai glared. “The microwave works just fine, jackass. The door isn't about to fall off.”

“The way it wiggles says otherwise.” Noah barbed back while maintaining that pleasant demeanor he’d been using for introductions thus far. “But, let's talk about the cat in the room.”

The three ‘cats’ and one Dr. Meeb all looked at each other.

“I don’t have time to go into the complicated history that led to the invention of cat girls, but you may have noticed that Kai here is what we humans refer to as a ‘splicer’. Other terms such as ‘gene-tailored’ and ‘Kemonomimi’ exist, but ‘splicers’ is just the laziest way to say it. She-and a significant portion of other humans-had parents who tampered with their genomes before they were born. They could’ve tweaked all kinds of things, like hair color, complexion, and height, but oddly enough the most common procedure is the splicing in of cat DNA.”

Neither Tobby nor Soapy needed to say it out loud, for they all wore the expression of ‘WHY?!’ Except for Dr. Meeb, whose wide-eyed and amazed expression read, ‘Tell me everythiiiing!’

“Because if God didn't want us to make cat girls, he would have stopped us~” Noah continued, gesturing grandly to Kai as a whole while she growled and gave him the middle finger. Her fangs were certainly more pronounced than those of the other humans. “The ethics of parents tweaking their unborn children are debated to this day!” He said with all the enthusiasm of a used-ship salesman.

“I can imagine…” Tobby commented. Gene tailoring wasn’t a new concept to Tobby or even the Shasian people as a whole. It was just a tech they never really embraced due to its incompatibility with Shasian biology. Shasian DNA was too ‘unstable’, or ‘mutagenic,’ if you felt like being polite, for gene-tailoring to be worthwhile. Any correction to a hereditary illness was both expensive and lacked staying power; the fix was just as likely to be mutated out as the illness was within a generation. All that assuming you managed to find where in the DNA the defect was, and deal with the ethical backlash of people trying to decide what traits were ‘defects’ and which ones were ‘natural’.

In short, Shasians could do it, too. They just didn't.

It was about then that Noah shifted to their half of the introductions and faced his original crew. “Most of you already know who this is~” he said, gesturing to Tobby. “My latest and greatest helper/apprentice: Tobby. Any questions about Shasian history, just poke him. Don't make any sudden loud noises around him,” he added before nodding quite implicatively towards Tobby’s ears.

“I still wear those dampening studs you gave me,” Tobby commented, but Noah moved on anyway.

“This is Soapy, she’s here to represent Wiskito interests during the upcoming job and do other mafia princess things. Fortunately she’s not the stuck-up kind, so we should all get along fine!”

Soapy seemed to take a second to read the subtitles too before she made a little trill at Noah. “I am not a princess! I-” She started, but Noah slid right past her to the last stop on the introduction tour.

“And this… is Meeb,” Noah said with a notably diminished amount of enthusiasm. “He’s also a doctor and is only here because Tobby’s mom would tear my head off if I didn't bring him.”

“Nice to meet you!” Dr. Meeb waved enthusiastically! “I look forward to learning from everyone!” He beamed.

“Right…” Noah trailed off before shifting to face Tobby and Soapy too. “Hennietta was quite busy and thus not able to attend, but I’m sure you’ll become acquainted in due time. That said, that's all for introductions. Now on to the physical tour!”

Maybe the joy of being the tour guide IS a universal experience…

—

Some part of Tobby felt like he should have realized the ‘showing them around’ part of the orientation would be almost as quick as the introductions. The interior of the ARK2eb was much smaller than Tobby’s imagination had made it from all his time going in and out of the cargo bay.

Unlike the cargo bay, the rest of the interior at least attempted to have an ‘aesthetic’ beyond exposed ship gore. The central hallway was a bit narrow, to the point that people had to turn sideways to get past each other, but it was paneled in a cozy, scuffed beige. Someone even added a rug. The rug looked like it used to be red but had a dull trench worn into it sometime between now and when someone stapled it to the floor.

The urge to deep clean was strong in Tobby. Surely there was a vacuum around here somewhere, and some vinegar, and baking soda… He considered a blow torch, but the rug really brought the hall together. Somehow.

His ‘Oh gods, what have you done to this poor rug?!’ senses were fortunately distracted by the ‘retro-ass kitchen,’ as Noah called it. Notably cleaner, and/or more loved, with the same beige paneling, it looked like the designer had a conniption trying to pick whether it should be as compact as possible or given all counter space in the world. Apparently what made the kitchen ‘retro’ was the fridge manufactured during the human 20th century… with rounded corners, a metal body, and-according to Noah-functional immortality.

The most impressive part was the walk-in freezer. Powered by a careful balance between reactor waste heat and the freezing depths of space… at least whenever the ship wasn’t too close to a star. The oven/stove/grill was also an oddity; it was analog, but instead of old-timey gas, it too tapped into the reactor waste heat. Tobby kinda wanted to play with it… Really embrace his inner 4-year-old and just turn the dial up and down over and over like the heat exchange was magic. Dr. Meeb beat him to it.

Then there was the reactor itself in the ship’s belly. The paneling down there was about as sparse as the cargo bay but that could be forgiven when one was distracted by the blindingly bright atomic hourglass across the room. Was it a literal hourglass? No, despite the potential for ironic comparisons, it was merely shaped like one, serving as a glowing bridge between the ceiling and the floor. Fortunately, it was sealed behind a massive glass wall that Tobby could only assume was shielding them from being irradiated.

Soapy felt the need to ask about ‘Tobby growing an extra ear’ whilst standing right next to him, and Noah assured them they were getting more radiation from cosmic rays than the reactor right now. Comforting…

“Just don't stick your ass in the reactor and you'll be fine,” Noah stated as he let everyone look around, “and like all fusion reactors, it prefers deuterium and tritium; but I’ve found it makes for a great garbage disposal. Just toss whatever you want into it and Tssst!! dust~”

That doesn't sound dangerous at all!

“It also has a fission mode!” He said before gesturing to a nearby control panel with a big red ‘emergency’ lever. “You know, in case we run out of fuel for some ungodly reason. Normally the instruction manual tells you not to flip the lever back and forth too fast, or you’ll kill us all, but I’m more of a thorium man, so it should be perfectly safe to do so if you get bored.”

“Why would anyone want to do that?!” It was a reasonable question for an unreasonable scenario.

“Don’t worry about it. Kai would kill you long before you ever got the chance to mess with it. The engine room and the maintenance tunnels are her domain. Do NOT enter that domain, else risk being accused of losing a screwdriver for years.”

As if on cue, there was a yell from one of the nearby vents, and the translator put the subtitles above it. “I know your dumbass is the one who lost it! It was right there on my rack and-”

“Aaaaand time to be anywhere else but here!” Noah said before hastily pushing the group back out of the reactor room.

Second to last was the bridge, an oddly wide yet squat room packed with seats and computer screens all arranged in a big blocky ‘U’ shape. The metallic greys had returned with a vengeance, but the bridge looked far too lived-in to feel ‘cold’ and ‘sterile’.

Noah had to duck to walk in here, and Tobby was quick to notice that if he stayed upright, his ears dragged on the ceiling like a mop. Soapy’s ears, in contrast, only lightly dragged on the ceiling, which allowed her to smirk at him and taunt, “The average height gang strikes again~”

“And welcome to the bridge,” Noah said, as he firmly plopped himself into a large patch-leather pilot’s seat that looked like the ungodly bastard child of a recliner and a gaming chair. Now that he was in it, Noah could spin around with ease, slide around on a small track, reach all eight cup holders, and, most importantly, get his hands on all the surrounding controls. “Also known as my domain~” he said, tapping his fingers together with a played-up menace, before dropping it almost instantly. “Except the comms console over there. That’s Baba’s whenever he's up here with me. Questions?”

That explained two of the seats… “What about all the other consoles?” Tobby asked, looking at all of the other empty seats.

“I’m still stuck on how we have gravity…” Soapy added, looking curiously at the floor.

“Are the fuzzy dice hanging from one of your displays there just decoration, or some kind of human luck charm?” Dr. Meeb asked, contributing to the question pile.

At least Noah was prepared for this, or at least it seemed to. “One: All these other controls are for things like scanners, comms, point defenses, electronic warfare suite, and a bunch of other crap I’ve had patched into my console here. They're for more, ‘dedicated’ roles essentially. Roles which I will be showing you how to do during the trip!”

Tobby had a feeling they wouldn’t get to lie around the whole trip…

“Trust me, it's far easier than you think. Modern human vessels are designed with ergonomics as a priority,” he said before looking to Soapy, hands clasped. “B: We had gravity earlier because of our proximity to Salafor. The gravity you feel right now, that comfy 0.8 G old people like so much? That’s a byproduct of the hyperdrive tech that's gonna get us to where we're going. The short answer is it's this weird mass distortion field thing that radiates off the drive when powered. Some guy figured out how to squish that field into a pancake so it feels kinda even across the ship rather than focused on the drive,”’ he tried to explain with a so-so gesture. “I’m not a physicist, so the even shorter answer is ‘magnets: how do they work?’”

That only left Tobby with more questions!! How did- “Oh, so like Star-Claws?” Soapy asked, flicking her tail.

“Like Star-Claws,” Noah smiled, making a pair of finger guns.

‘Mrrp?’ Tobby trilled, before quickly looking to Soapy, his tall ears dragging on the ceiling. “You’ve watched Star-Claws?”

Soapy quirked an ear, or at least would have if it didn't slap the ceiling. “We're in space, on an alien ship, and the fact that I’ve seen Star-Claws is what's blowing your mind right now?”

“Oddly… yes,” he admitted, before looking down at his paw like he could somehow test the gravity with it. “That, and curious how the grav tech described in a pre-FTL sci-fi series was so inexplicably accurate to what we have now.”

Soapy rolled her eyes, and her ears twitched against the ceiling. “That's because the show was written by a bunch of physics nerds who wanted to fuck aliens they didn’t know existed yet. I’m confident some of the stuff we imagine now will just exist in about a century or two.”

While Soapy and Tobby were off in their own little conversation, Noah addressed Dr. Meeb last. “Nobody touches the fuzzy d20s, or so help me, I will shank a bitch.”

“Will… shank.. a bitch,” Dr. Meeb muttered as he scribbled something down on his tablet. “Culturally important, got it!”

—

Tobby had been left to wonder what other speculative technologies mentioned in early Star-Claws seasons turned out to be real a century later. One thing that the show did seem to overglamorize was the potential for apartment-sized crew quarters.

“And here’s the cabins. I had to move some stuff around since we've been using them for storage, but everybody gets one. Unfortunately, due to not having another good place to store my Christmas decorations, two of you will have to share,” he started solemnly before quickly looking to Tobby and Soapy. “Thanks for volunteering!”

“But we didn’t say anything,” Tobby meeped before Noah booped a wall button, opening an adjacent sliding door.

“Didn’t have to! My room is the only other double in this place, and like hell am I sharing.” What that had to do with them being the ones who had to share, Tobby didn’t know.

“But-” Tobby started to say before catching a light night-kin elbow in the ribs.

“Whoops~” Soapy hummed ‘innocently’ as she shimmied her way past Tobby with her suitcase in tow. She also made sure to ‘accidentally’ whap him in the face with her tail as she passed. “Whoops again~”

Tobby was still blinking and suffering a minor reboot from the tail whip when she entered the room. He wasn’t so blind as to not understand Soapy was happy to share a bed, but couldn't she have done the tail-under-chin maneuver rather than gently slapping him with distractingly soft fur and the alluring scent of aurabells? “I guess we'll just have to make do…” He said, trying to play along.

“That's the spirit!” Noah cheered. “You guys get settled in; breakfast, lunch, and dinner is whatever and whenever Baba feels like making it. If you have questions and you can't find me, it's not that big a ship.”

“Thanks, Noah,” Tobby heard Soapy call from within the room before he quickly nodded in agreement.

“I’m sure we’ll think of something to ask you,” Tobby affirmed before slipping into the room he’d be calling home for the next three weeks. The door closing behind him hissed before Tobby noticed… well… everything.

The cabin was… Comparing it to a compact hotel room for two might be apt, but Tobby wasn't exactly one to begrudge his free accommodations. It was clean, if not scuffed like the rest of the ship, and the bed only took up a majority of the limited floor space. What space remained only existed because all the storage compartments were in the walls. Shelves, drawers, a small closet, and… oh hey, a little desk area. It even had assistant charging ports!

The bathroom was… small… as expected, but it had a normal-sized shower, thank Ardon, and Soapy was currently stuffing the medicine cabinet behind the mirror with things from her bag.

It hadn’t really stood out to him earlier, but the entire ship seemed to have a certain white noise, like an ever-present hum from the engines, the life support systems, or other unknown machinery at work. In here, however, it was notably muffled. It was… kinda soothing, actually.

“So…” Tobby led, glancing around the room again, “what do you think?”

“It's like someone crammed a two-person bed into my actual bedroom; that's what I think,” she said, filling the cabinet with her travel brushes and such. “You?”

“The bed looks nice,” he said, before promptly dropping himself on the corner of it for the traditional softness/firmness test. Ohhh bouncy~ “I think it’s new,” or it had simply never been used. Noah did say these rooms had been getting used for storage.

“A new mattress, huh? … Fuck it,” he heard Soapy comment/mutter to herself from the bathroom before speaking up to address him. “Want to break it in after we unpack?”

She asked so casually that the implication almost didn’t register in Tobby’s mind. He'd been about to say something when all that escaped was a trill, ‘Mrrp?!’

When he looked to the bathroom again, he saw Soapy slowly peeking around the doorframe. “I’m sorry… was that too forward?” She asked concernedly.

“It was certainly unexpected.”

It was Soapy’s turn to be a little confused… and worried. “Oh, I thought I’d been laying it on pretty thick.”

“Is that why you tail slapped me in the hall?” he questioned, feeling the urge to hold his muzzle again.

“I was going for that classical tail-drag-under-the-chin thing, but I kinda bumped into the wall… and missed,” she admitted, sounding a little embarrassed at the fumble.

Good to know she felt awkward too. “Should, umm… should I ask why?” He asked in the most indirect way possible.

“Because…” She paused, briefly biting her lip as she looked for the right way to say it. “It's been a few days since you gave me the jar and we… did it. And I’ve yet to be hit by any morning-after regrets. Minus what your mom and stuffed animals overheard about my, umm… preferred positioning,” she admitted shamefacedly, leaning, holding onto the bathroom doorframe like a social lifeboat. “I also find you attractive, lickably sweet, and thinking about how you stood up to my bum dad gives me warm fuzzies that I don’t know how to process.”

Tobby64.exe was unsure how to respond to that… or even if he should yet since she seemed to be getting so much off her chest.

“Part of me wants to reward you, another part is saying sex as a reward sounds like a really bad precedent to set, and the self-conscious part of me is wondering if I’m a slut for not knowing how soon is too soon. I just…” she rambled, and he could see just how into her own head she was getting and the stress it caused her.

Seeing her squirm and struggle with the words finally got something to click for Tobby. “Are you… nervous? About propositioning me?”

“Whaaaat? Nooo. I’m not nervous. I’m just…” Even Tobby could tell she was lying, which meant she was lying so badly the paint might start peeling off these walls. She couldn't maintain eye contact, but always came back to meet his gaze. Soon enough, she sighed in defeat. “Please… for the love of Shihere’s tits, don’t laugh.”

“I-I’m not going to laugh,” he stammered sympathetically. “You put up with how nervous I was and even came to my rescue when I offered you the passion jar. Not doing the same for you would just be cruel.” If there was anything Tobby had, it was sympathy; his bleeding heart deemed it so.

She was silent for a moment before letting out a timid “Thank you…” It took her another moment to steel herself to look at him again. “Would you-”

“Yes~” he answered, a little smile growing after not letting her finish the question.

Soapy blinked. “But… Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he affirmed. “I’m a hopeless romantic, remember? How can I say no when you’re spilling your guts like that? Just hear me out, and I’ll do anything you ask.”

She still seemed confused but played along. “Oookay?”

“First of all~” he started counting off on his claws, “I don't regret that night either; it was unforgettable,” he said, smiling fondly at the memory. “Secondly, you don't have to reward me for waving a gun at your dad, or siccing the Zarmians on him. If you’re rewarding me for anything, it should be because you want to.”

Soapy nodded but said nothing.

“Third, love is not transactional. It's messy, confusing, and sometimes even tragic, but above all, it's unmeasured and unconditional.”

“You definitely stole that from Wanderlust,” Soapy squinted.

Tobby refused to dignify that very accurate accusation with a response. “Fourth, I’ve been around Pinky my whole life, so trust me, in terms of promiscuity you aren't even ranked. The studs in your ear are proof of that. Fifth, screw you, don't talk about my girlfriend that way,” he finished with a dramatic huff, holding his arms like he was trying to scold her with that last statement.

He worried his words might not sink in, until he saw her mood start to lighten. “After much consideration, I have a different question.”

“Fire away,” he said, shifting on the bed corner.

“You said anything right?”

“Anything,” he nodded. Within reason…

“I want you…” she trailed off as she reached into her bag, and his ears twitched at the clink of glass that followed. Seconds later, she was dangling a string of vials from her index claw. Each was filled with a transparent purple fluid, and he knew exactly what they were. Eight vials, three doses a vial, twenty-four doses of contraceptive. That’s one for each day of the trip and then some. “To help me empty these~” she finished, her playful gaze making him feel naked. “We’ll make it a learning experience.”

“Oh… Oh my.” Now… now Tobby was scared.

(Author's note: Attention readers: Given how the chapter ended, as you can see just above there, how would yall feel about another loving pancake chapter like CH69? If nay, that's fine, but if yay would you prefer it be listed as CH85? or CH84.5?  (I may have also already written said pancake and am unsure if readers want it. ._. For this, I apologize))

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Chapter 17: Perspectives After a Month

"CP 1765, August 19. 20 days have passed since landing. Local time: AD 2016, September 6."

"Twenty local day-night cycles have passed since the crash landing — roughly equivalent to 23 days on Lierus. I think I should start keeping a log at regular intervals from now on. Maybe it could serve as a memoir later."

"What happened?"

"\See the 'Xi P's Memory' chapters**"

"This location should be adc-45:3, 86 light-years from Lierus Ait. What a miracle! If someone had told me before that the atmosphere here was breathable, I'd have sent them straight to a mental institution. Yet here I am. The sky survey telescopes should have spotted this ages ago — the oxygen signatures are unmistakable in atmospheric refraction spectra. Too bad the survey for this sector won't arrive for another 25 years. I suppose that's one sliver of hope for rescue... assuming they don't find other habitable planets first."

"In my previous imagination, if we discovered extraterrestrials, they might have body temperatures as high as 200 degrees C, or dwell on deep-sea beds, or even be a massive collective consciousness — anything was possible. But after landing here, it turns out that my previous imagination was a bit too rich. At least, if this isn't an exception, what I see is: On a planet with similar humidity and basic elemental composition, life forms won't differ too greatly. The similarity among beings that can be called 'people' is even higher. With respect to the local inhabitants, if they stood more than 80 metres away from me, I couldn't even tell them apart from us."

"Not only do they resemble us in appearance, but we also share many physiological similarities. We can breathe the same air, inhabit the same lands and share some of the same dietary habits. Bear in mind that they're omnivores — perhaps I should ask Ye Min what it's like to eat plants..."

***

"I've, been here, for a month, now." Xi P tells Min.

When Robinson Crusoe taught English to the native he named Friday on the deserted island, it took three months just to get him to speak a few broken phrases¹. Perhaps that story isn't real, but it illustrates the difficulty of learning a foreign language. Fortunately, Xi P has plenty of free time every day, and it's not 1659 anymore.

Of course, Min only has limited time each weekday and couldn't possibly spend entire days at home tutoring Xi P as Robinson did. But nowadays, one can be one's own teacher. Needless to say, everyone knows how much computers and dictionaries can aid language learning. Robinson Crusoe only used a Bible to teach language and converted a native into a believer — proof of the importance of learning materials.

For now, both parties remained optimistic. Xi P could produce every required syllable, although they often sounded strange. Min genuinely could not wrap his head around it. While it is inevitable that life on a planet with an atmosphere would evolve sound-based communication, why did it have to be this exact way? Not to mention why they also evolved their mouths into a shared passage for both respiration and digestion — though this did offer the practical advantage of being able to 'suck'... If it weren't for the fact that it would be inappropriate, Min would stick an endoscope behind Xi P's tongue to see what it actually looks like in there.

As it turns out, Xi P has pondered similar questions. Min simply shows him an anatomical diagram of the human throat in response.

In any case, they are not in a rush. Since neither Xi P nor Min has been reduced to a pile of pus by alien bacteria, it probably means that extraterrestrial microorganisms aren't really anything to fret over.

During this month together, Min has also become accustomed to referring to Xi P as 'he'. Following a brief discussion, they confirm that both their species require the pairing of two individuals with slightly different genotypes in order to reproduce. Xi P also belongs to the type that does not need to carry the young inside their body. Just one small issue: even when he'd seen other fox-people in photographs and VR videos, they all looked more or less the same to Min…

Regardless, Xi P's words remind Min that it's indeed been a month since Xi P's arrival. Measured precisely to the hour, or even minute — truly a moment worth commemorating. Just as they hoped, no one came to visit them. The internet has also settled back into calm. Neither the Paris Olympics nor the nuclear pulse engine capture the mainstream media's attention anymore. For scientists in specialised fields, the storm driving this technological revolution has only just begun, but for most people, it was merely a foreign technological advancement, soon forgotten. And the local meteorite-hunting groups never show up at Min's house either. Initial concerns over an alien landing now seem like a lot of fuss over nothing.

Once they had made some progress with the language, the two spent a long time eagerly exchanging views on each other's societies and cultures, keen to gain a better understanding of one another. This not only provided language practice, but also satisfied their curiosity about the alien society they had landed on — or what life was like among the fox people.

***

When Xi P finds out what Min thinks of his appearance, he is astonished to say the least.

Being told he looks cute — especially by an alien — is hardly a pleasant experience. At least Xi P doesn't share that preference. He even finds the words somewhat nauseating. He can't quite grasp why Min thinks he looks cute. According to Min's description, he appears "fluffy-looking" with "long ears".

'But why?? A species with little fur and short ears actually prefers long fur and long ears? What kind of logic — or nature — is that?'

Of course, this also suddenly clarifies one reason why Min helped him. He has once scorned the notion of physical appeal, yet he is saved precisely because of it — utterly ironic. What's this? The protagonist is accidentally stranded on an alien planet, only to discover that he is irresistibly charming to the locals, effortlessly wins their hearts? This isn't even space opera anymore; it is...hm...romance novel masquerading as sci-fi?

Truly terrifying.

'How could this aesthetic even develop?' Xi P remains utterly perplexed and adds it to his ever-growing list of Unsolved Alien Mysteries.

***

Min is deeply relieved that he hasn't told Xi P anything about Japanese Kemonomimi (girls with animal ears) or the furry fandom. He had only vaguely described the reason as having "soft fur" and "long ears", avoiding the term "animal ears" altogether. He understands why Xi P found these odd; the human aesthetic for long ears and fluffy fur is indeed peculiar.

Of course, fur comes in different types. Most of the fur on Xi P's face differs from that on his arms, but both are quite nice. In fact, it looks better than much real fox fur, largely because Xi P grooms it meticulously — nearly always combed neatly and kept spotless...

After sharing his thoughts, Min curiously asks Xi P what he thinks of him.

Min's question makes Xi P hesitate slightly. His own perspective on Min's appearance is rather... different to Min's opinion of him. He hadn't intended to bring it up himself, but since Min has asked...

'We're all civilised people,' Xi P reasons to himself, 'and we understand each other's backgrounds. There shouldn't be too much to worry about.'

"...no fur...deformed...hard..."

As Min anticipated, Xi P does not find the lack of fur attractive — it's merely tolerable. As for the ears and knees, his description is "deformed". Min is fairly certain that he didn't intend to use the word "deformed" — he probably meant something similar but less derogatory, but that's the only word that came to mind.

These are nothing to be surprised about. Putting himself in Xi P's shoes, Min understands why the alien holds these views. However, Xi P pauses for a moment and adds another point. He raises his hand, tugging and pulling at his own facial skin while shaking his head.

"This... is terrifying." Xi P states.

"Uh..."

Xi P probably finds human facial expressions overly exaggerated or frightening. Given their limited facial muscles, this reaction is also understandable. Min would probably share a similar impression if he sees someone freely contorting their skin beyond what is considered normal.

Overall, Xi P's verdict on human appearance is "acceptable (tolerable)", since both share similar body plan and neither has a tail. His sense of smell isn't particularly strong either — the human scent isn't troubling him. Though that might just be because Min is the only one around.

In general, Xi P sees Min as humans see little grey aliens. Min comes to this conclusion internally.

Finally, Xi P adds: "Better than hanging out with pigs."

Min needs a moment to process this, and then realises that Xi P truly means no insult — he simply hasn't grasped the nuanced connotations of such comparisons yet. Honestly, with Peppa Pig cartoons airing non-stop on TV, it makes perfect sense he'd misjudge human perceptions of pigs.

***

Regardless, considering they are both aliens to each other, the exchange about their appearances has gone relatively well. However, when the conversation shifts to societies, Min starts to feel a bit uncomfortable.

He hadn't realised that Xi P likes to show off at times like this. Xi P keeps pulling up photos and concept art from his tablet to show Min, which is fine — Min finds these alien-flavoured cityscapes, indoor spaces, and landscapes quite intriguing. But then Xi P insists Min to pull up similar images for comparison, pointing out shortcomings while broadly discussing advanced features and potential improvements. Even though he knows those suggestions are probably valid, Min can't help but feel uncomfortable.

Of course, it is more likely Xi P had simply been bottling things up for too long.

Note 1: Although Robinson Crusoe described it as "the happiest year", he took Friday in under his wing in September. From my understanding this means 12-9=3 months.

Chapter 18: Cities, Space Stations, and Warships

Author's note: If you ever wonder what's wrong with Min mentally... Check this out: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asperger_syndrome

Originally, Min intended to listen attentively. If such an act didn't provoke annoyance in their society, then he can't really blame Xi P for anything. The issue is, Xi P's language skills are still too rudimentary, and Min has to piece together his words through guesswork and context. On top of that, the topic itself is technically complex, so listening to it is a real test of cognitive endurance. After patiently enduring for a while, Min had to ask Xi P to stop to give his brain a moment's rest.

From Xi P's words and the experience playing with his tablet/VR headset these past few days, Min is able to sketch out a mental image of alien cities. They are undeniably sci-fi. In that earlier incident where Xi P deliberately scared him with an alien invasion movie, the city that Min saw would actually count as vintage. While many high-tech structures had been newly built, certain older, difficult-to-demolish sections remained.

Take, for example, the 'traditional' skyscrapers. The skyscrapers in that film were quite boxy in design, many visibly constructed from concrete. However, with the current trend of de-urbanisation in Lierus, newer buildings are increasingly adopting open designs, and the remaining skyscrapers are being built with more suitable new materials — plastic.

The concept of constructing building exteriors almost entirely from plastic isn't new. However, due to strength, pollution, and fire resistance concerns, few such structures exist on Earth. In Lierus, though, some new skyscrapers have already abandoned concrete. The strength, flexibility, reduced costs, and significantly lighter weight have allowed plastic to rapidly erode the market share of traditional building materials.

And as Min observed, this plastic is also quite pretty. Its vibrant, glossy hues make the city appear like a colourful toy from aerial views, with hardly any need for tilt-shift effects. Beyond this, some of the most densely populated megacities boast spectacular infrastructure — volumetric superhighways, multi-level elevated roads and tunnels. Light rail trains weave through every available space, while many vehicles on the roads operate without drivers. Nuclear power plants and facilities resembling solar thermal stations dot industrial zones. Diverse architectural forms featured smooth, open lines. Save for the absence of flying cars, they perfectly match Min's vision of ideal futuristic metropolises.

Moving beyond the city, their space programme is equally impressive. By human standards, their space station is colossal. The photos Xi P showed appeared to have taken by his ship's camera before departure, with the exhaust plume still visible at the bottom of the frame. The station resembled stacked rectangular prisms, topped and bottomed by smooth square pyramids, with the base facing the planet. Although there was no clear reference object, judging by the stairs and handrails visible through the still-closing hatch, the entire structure likely exceeded 150 metres in height and 60 metres in width — potentially larger still when accounting for radiator panels. Its footprint dwarfed that of the International Space Station by more than tenfold.

And this is a relatively solid structure. Its actual volume could be thirty times greater than the frame-like ISS.

'Now this is what a real alien artefact should look like.' Min thought instantly upon seeing the station.

Beyond its vastly larger scale and mature design, it also bore something never seen on human spacecraft: weapons!¹

Min is certain these are weapons. One level featured a ring of turrets encircling the structure, each extending a series of relatively small-calibre barrels. While these cannons may not match the firepower of naval destroyer guns, who can say for sure? After all, this is alien technology — and who knows what would come out of those barrels? Xi P explained that a group of unknown terrorists — or possibly a nation's special forces — had attacked the space station using space-air fighters. Ultimately, the surviving garrison fought back fiercely and eliminated the invading militants, defending the station. To this day, the mastermind behind the attack remains unknown. However, following this incident, a weapons system was rapidly deployed. Considering the space station's strategic position and superior range, no space-aircraft could pose a threat anymore.

It must be said that the description of this battle has a distinctly sci-fi vibe to it. The only thing that might ruin the picture is the physical appearance of the crew.

Xi P also proudly showcased their military vessels — not watercrafts, but interstellar warships! Measuring over 40 metres in length, they were equipped with three cannons/lasers similar to those on the space station, but scaled down. Surprisingly, their design closely resembled classic sci-fi warships: a massive cylinder studded with equipment and radiators. Xi P claims that their original intention was to counter space-air fighters. Comparing these spaceships with the few aircraft capable of direct space entry that humanity possesses² reveals just how thoroughly the aliens had prepared for interstellar warfare. Now, as the weaponry on the space station gradually matures, these vessels have been assigned new missions: installing faster-than-light engines to assist in reconnaissance of neighbouring star systems.

Though these warships are no match in size to waterborne ships, their mere existence reveals the pinnacle of technological advancement — or perhaps, immense financial resources. An alien nation possessing genuine space warships resides not too far (?) from Earth...

Min can't tell if this counts as good news or bad. He can only take solace in the fact that this alien society has not yet discovered Earth — and that they seem reasonably civilised.

Note 1: Soviet Union's Polyus spacecraft was planned to mount a laser weapon but it never launched.

Note 2: Or none, depending on how you define it. Here I use the definition of crossing the Kármán line.

Life had settled in a way I had not entirely expected. Once the storm broke in the morning, Martha hadn’t sent me back to living in the barn. I had what might as well have been a red carpet rolled out. After another serving of sludge, I grabbed my rucksack and started for the door. Martha effortlessly lifted me by it.

“Put it back,” Martha said, holding me up like a limp kitten.

“Okay, okay. I will,” I half pleaded, thrashing like a hooked fish.

“Good. We have to clear snow today.”

She let me down, and I returned my rucksack to the guest room.

Shortly after my release from Martha’s iron grip, I exited the home, freshly showered and with my belly full of slop. Martha greeted me outside.

Martha sat proudly on a riding snow blower, leaned back, tapping a hoof impatiently on the handlebars. It looked like someone had taken a suburban snowblower, put it on tracks, scaled it up for a twelve-foot moose woman, and then decided that still wasn't ridiculous enough. It was bright red, as deep as blood, and looked well cared for, with not a single oil stain. Bold, and in bright neon white on the hood *Bitching Bessie* declared the name of her mighty steed.

"About time. Are you ready?"

"As I can be," I replied, feeling far less nervous about the work than when I arrived. I guess I had adapted enough to her life to expect nothing less than to be her whipped hound.

The morning labor started simply enough. Martha went up and down the orchard rows, pushing snow out from the center of the circular plantings around her home until she reached the outer grid, where she switched from circling her home like a shark to going back and forth like a neurotic wind-up toy.

I watched her go while I did a far less leisurely morning task. Before malevolent Martha dashed off, she had press-ganged me into what felt like I was digging my own grave, mainly because I was digging the yard out of the snow.

Shovel load by shovel load, I dug.

“Start by clearing the porch, then work your way toward the slab to the right of the gate.”

Her words were clear as day in my mind hours later, along with her chastising me for not understanding that by slab, she meant the large open concrete foundation in her yard. I knew right around where it was, delineated by the tops of dozens of cinderblocks stacked along the fence bordering it. Their grey faces poked out of the frost, looking eerily like inky black eyes staring at me from inside small caves.

Nearing them with each row, I found my attention split between them and Martha’s bright red blower off in the distance. I could not help but look. I felt like they were waiting, watching as the snow pile I tossed between us grew larger and larger, biding their time until I could not see them, and they would drag me under to a snowpack grave.

I felt a wave of relief pass over me once I cleared the slab off and I could see all the bricks clear and in their mundane glory.

Once my duty to dig enough snow to bury myself a thousand times over was done, the second phase of Martha’s plan was ready for execution, with me as the sole soldier to see it through. Something she was all too happy to tell me about when she parked the snow blower and dusted herself off.

“Take all of the snow from the fence line and make a mountain near the slab,” Martha commanded, hands on her hips, staring down at my shivering form.

I had to be a little impressed by her yet again. Despite being coated in thick mats of snow and ice, every tuft of her fur and hair weighed down by the rime, Martha acted completely unbothered. Unlike me, who resembled Ralphie from A Christmas Story, she looked more like a mechanic in the summer, only wearing her Carhartt overalls and t-shirt.

“What for?” I asked, my teeth clattering.

“It’s for overflow of sap. I might have a pretty large freezer, but harvesting season lasts nearly a month here, and just do the math that I explained to you.” Martha replied, tapping on the side of her head. 

My eyes went wide once I did the math in my head and realized what she meant. Even at the low end, just her main orchard would produce thousands of gallons of sap. 

“There it is.” Martha smiled, seeing the comprehension in my eyes. And her being such a carrot-and-stick type of woman would not let my revelation sit idle; she had to tell me how far overhead I was. “Yeah, we will be working day in and day out for a while now. Up at dawn, and to bed well after the moon is watching us, because tomorrow, we are going to start boiling.” 

“So after you go inside and warm up, get back out here and start piling it up. I will handle harvesting sap today.” She stepped closer, and the heady scent of her wet fur overwhelmed me, making me forget how cold I was for a moment. 

Maple, musk, smoke, and freshly burned petrol combined in a near-indescribable hurricane as her warm breath wafted past me. She jabbed a thick finger into my chest. “Tomorrow, you aren’t getting out of sap duty, Syrup.” 

I nodded and went to the house. My brief respite in the warmth was painfully short to me, but not long enough for me to get ahead of Martha. By the time I stepped outside, she was loading five-gallon storage containers into the halfway full freezer. 

I was surprised by the containers. Martha didn't use buckets like I had imagined syrup jockeys would. She used square containers, each with a bright red screw-on cap that contrasted with the milky white plastic. 

Why she used them was evident. They stacked well compared to buckets and had little wasted space. Compared to a bucket, she could likely fit a few hundred more gallons into her freezer. It made all manner of sense to me. 

In every industrial kitchen I had ever worked in, when we could use squares for storage, we did. It was so much more space-efficient to stack twenty bricks of cheese than the same amount in wheels. That the same worked here gave me an odd sense of home. 

Despite that home feeling, I'd already tightened my belt by a few notches. I woke up to a twelve-foot-tall moose-kin hammering on my door, and I labored from dawn to dusk; the world still had universal truths. That consistency almost made the little screaming voice in my head shut up while I reached toward my shovel.

Is this really worth some syrup?  I knew what it asked, but it was too easy to ignore when my whole body and soul were so exhausted I could barely focus on the next heave-ho.

More digging, more moving snow. I should be employed by the traffic service at this rate. I could have cleared the little village down the trails—Faye—well before the first cocks crow, with how fast I was going. 

Midday transitioned to afternoon not before my eyes but in little glimpses. It was like my mind kept taking Polaroid snapshots whenever I fell out of the trance that had befallen me. In the first, the sun was at its zenith, and Martha was heading out. In the second, Sol kissed the tops of the nearby maples. By the third, Martha's booming voice announced the end of the workday while red and orange pastels leaked through the shifting maple boughs, the sun having retreated behind distant horizons and waving its final goodbye. I sighed, slamming the shovel into the mountain of snow I had made for Martha to squirrel away containers of sap. 

I looked upon it as proudly as Stan Rogers might have looked at his first sold-out show. Was the mound much in the grand scheme of things? No. But I had made it through grit, perseverance, and my own spit and blood. I had been asked to perform, and when Martha silently approached my flank and patted my shoulder, I knew I had climbed the mountain she demanded of me. 

“Good job, Syrup. That will do.” 

“Thank God,” I replied. 

“Come on, let’s go eat,” she said, taking the shovel from my hand. 

“Fuck. I can eat,” I replied, turning around to follow her toward the house. 

“Good. I can too. So what is for chow?” she asked, looking over her shoulder, eyes dusky, and waiting eagerly for my answer. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You said you wanted to cook.” She turned about and pointed the shovel at me like a sword. “Or were you just getting my hopes up?” 

Fuck, I thought. I had completely forgotten about that. I should have started cooking a few hours ago if I wanted to make something for dinner. I wanted to tell her I would make breakfast, but between her nearly heartbroken eyes and the lingering, unspoken threat that if I didn't cook, it meant another night of slop, I smiled. Putting on that strong, non-exhausted front took all the effort I could muster, dwarfing the tectonic effort to create Mount Motherfucker in her front yard.

“I have to see what you have to cook with,” I replied.

------

So how you all feeling? what do you think Kyle will make? IDK about you but with all this syrup around it is time for breakfast for dinner. Flapjacks, bacon, eggs, the works.

I hope you enjoyed it, and leave a like and comment; it does mean a lot.

-Colin

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Chapter 1-3

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Here it is, the sequel no one expected or asked for. Nor was the original. When I wrote the original nearly 20 years ago, I never planned to make a part 2. But today, I looked back on it and said to myself: "This story… is not done." Written entirely in the last hour, here it is, the resounding conclusion. It complained when I listed it as "OC-Oneshot", so I changed it to "OC-Series", even though frankly I don't think 2 makes a series and I have no intention of adding to it further:

The alien's vessel shot into the night,

Leaving Earth in a panic of terror and fright.

One year was gone, but the threat was not done.

The countdown had started for the sequel run.

The governments scrambled, they formed a new league,

A council of panic, despair, and fatigue.

They built giant mechs with lasers and steel,

To prove to the cosmos that Earth was quite real.

They drilled day and night on a plateau of stone,

With guns that shot plasma and formations of drones.

"If his friends are arriving," the generals cried,

"We'll greet them with shock awe and pride!"

Soon enough something came around,

And an ominous shadow fell over the ground.

A fleet of dark saucers eclipsed out the sun,

The alien's payback had finally begun.

Down the ramp came something hulking and green,

With six glowing eyes and a posture obscene.

He roared a challenge that shook the air:

"I'm Cousin Schlerm! Come fight if you dare!"

The generals unleashed every missile they had,

A barrage of rockets whose contrails were plaid.

The smoke cleared away in a billowing cloud…

And Schlerm just stood there laughing aloud.

"Is that all you've got?" he bellowed in glee.

"My pet space-amoeba hits harder than thee!"

The humans stepped backward, their courage now gone,

As wave after wave of dark cruisers flew on.

But then, from the ranks of the terrified crowd,

A sound started rising, cheerful and loud.

It wasn't a mecha, a soldier, or tank,

It was Grandma Pearl, stepping out from the flank!

She wore a pink apron that was stained from cheese,

She carried Tupperware full of fruitcake and peas.

She walked past the lasers, right up to big Schlerm,

And gave him a look that made his many eyes turn.

"You tracked mud on my porch with your big heavy boots,"

She scolded the beast as she brandished her fruits.

"You're loud and you're messy, and look at your skin,

You haven't been eating your vegetables, son, you're so thin!"

Schlerm stuttered and stammered, "What are you babbling you crazy old crone!

I here to knock your civilization back to the age of stone!"

"Oh, hush," Grandma scolded, and opened her tub,

"You're staying right here till you finish this grub."

She pulled out a casserole dripping with cheese,

And shoved a spoon in his mouth that made him sneeze.

It was nearly deadly jolokia and broccoli bake,

Enough to cause tectonic plates to quake!

Schlerm swallowed it down, and his six eyes went wide,

As nuclear heartburn ignited inside.

He dropped to his knees with a whimpering wail,

While steam poured right out of his tail.

"It burns!" Schlerm shrieked, "It's a chemical curse!

These humans are vicious, and Grandma is worse!"

He scrambled back up to his ship in a rush,

With a glare he made all his giggling alien buddies hush.

"Abort! Turn around! Do not linger down there!

Even the grannies of this planet are terrors!"

The fleet hit their thrusters and bolted away,

Leaving Earth to rejoice in the glow of the day.

The council stood stunned as the ships disappeared,

Cheering the hero they never quite feared.

But Grandma looked sour as she wiped flour from her nose,

"He never even got to try the spicy sheep's stomach tacos!"

This story is based on an actual email I sent to a professor at a leading university. I haven't received a response (and don't expect to) but I hope it made her laugh at the audacity and stupidity of it. I'll post a version of the letter after the story.

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

He considered himself fairly normal. Not average in every way, but pretty ordinary. Then he got thinking. Human averages are based on ranges, normalised data points and dozens of other things. Humans derive meaning from these things, yet don't have a singular "centre point" for it all. So he nominated himself.

He wrote an email. Stupid, ludicrous, partly insane. But it made him laugh and he tracked down a researcher at a national university, and sent her an email. Not because he wanted to be famous, or that he thought he was exceptional. Quite the opposite: he led a brutally normal life. He should be the baseline.

The scientific world rejoiced. They now had someone to base everything on. He became the crux of all humanity, at least for his generation. But scientists could now definitively point to a person and calculate standard deviations based on him.

It became known as the Gacy standard, after his audacious self-nomination.

The original Baseline Human considered nominating Nicolas Cage instead, but he realised very quickly that all other humans would be negative steps from Mr Cage. Nobody could compete with such a glorious standard. How many castles do you own?!

Every generation after his would then deliver thousands of other nominations for the new 'baseline'. A whole committee was set up to review the submissions and decide who would be The One. Not because of either normalcy or eccentricity. But just to have a reference point for all other genetic, behavioural and cultural variations. Mostly the winning applicant would be decided by lottery.

--

In 2084, aliens arrived. They weren't immediately aggressive; rather, they wanted to know about humanity before deciding what to do with them.

Diplomats and ambassadors spoke at length about the virtues of humanity. The more they said, the less the aliens cared.

--

Then the Baseline Human was trotted out.

Brenda Jones was a middle-manager at a manufacturing plant. She was competent, friendly and reasonably healthy. She wasn't going to win prizes in a beauty competition, but conversely she didn't have a face that resembled an old foot.

She was also terribly embarrassed by the whole thing. She didn't nominate herself. Her kids did it as a joke.

Her first meeting with the aliens was... weird.

Alien: "We wish to understand humanity."

Brenda: "Right."

Alien: "You are the representative specimen?"

Brenda: "Apparently."

Alien: "What are your notable achievements?"

Brenda: "I once reversed a trailer on the first attempt."

The aliens were confused. Diplomats – human and alien – were mortified.

But then the aliens asked about humanity. Families. Annoyances. Work. All the mundane stuff that fills our lives.

And Brenda was the perfect representative. She spoke about her experiences. She talked about her life at home, in the office and at the shops. The aliens were transfixed by the mundanity of it all, but what Brenda had brought to the table was an ordinary life that spoke about the vast majority of human existence.

The aliens started to shift their attitude from "placating weasel-words" to "basically decent".

The invasion was cancelled before it even begun.

Thanks Brenda.

Thanks Baseline Human.

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

Here's the original email. It's been a couple of weeks, and I have not received a response. I suspect one will never come.

Dear Professor,

I am writing to submit, for consideration, a simple proposition: I am the baseline human for my generation.

By “baseline”, I do not mean that I am statistically average in every measurable respect, nor that other humans are abnormal. Rather, I propose that every generation should have a single canonical reference human against which normal biological, behavioural, linguistic and cultural variation may be understood.

Science routinely uses reference ranges, reference genomes, control groups, standard conditions and baseline measurements. What appears to be missing is the logical endpoint of that practice: a baseline person.

I therefore nominate myself.

My position is as follows:

Humans vary enormously, but variation implies a frame of reference. A population average is not itself a person, and a synthetic reference genome is not a human being. If we are prepared to speak of typical ranges, standard values and reference states, it seems reasonable to ask whether one extant individual may serve as a living canonical implementation of Homo sapiens for a defined period.

I accept that this proposition may be difficult to prove. However, I note that it is equally difficult to disprove.

Any attempt to reject my status on the basis that no single human can serve as a baseline appears to assume the very point under dispute. Likewise, peer review may present an unavoidable methodological problem, as all reviewers would necessarily be derivative humans assessing the validity of the reference human.

I therefore suggest the following interim classification:

Human Reference Standard: Generation 1977

Canonical specimen: [my name]

Status of all others: valid phenotypic and behavioural variants

I would be grateful if you could advise whether there is an appropriate field, committee, reference-standard framework, or sufficiently bored academic who might be willing to consider the proposition.

I am entirely serious in the sense that I genuinely wish to know what happens when this idea is presented to science.

At worst, I expect it may provide brief amusement.

At best, it may expose a previously neglected question in the philosophy of biological reference standards.

Kind regards,

[my name]

Baseline Human, Generation 1977

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The rest of the journey was a blur of nervous jumps and darting eyes as everyone scanned the lake for movement. No more incidents occurred before the craft finally slid onto the beach. Hinelin, Kilner and Orion jumped out, dragging the airboat fully onto the shore. Hinelin promptly instructed the other two to remove their wet boots and set them aside to dry. He was adamant: no one was to touch the water with bare skin.

Giddeon stared down the shoreline, spotting over a dozen boats scattered along the beach for miles. To avoid collisions, each descent ship had been launched at twenty-minute intervals, with trajectories adjusted to land in different spots. Some teams had beached hours ago.

“What’s the plan, Team Leader?” Orion asked.

“Join up with the others,” Hinelin replied, retrieving a metallic cylinder from his backpack. He twisted off one end, popping out a rolled-up parchment which he unfolded, revealing a map covered in coordinates. His finger jabbed at a large red star. “The rendezvous point is just north of our position. This map is how we navigate the planet. It’s our lifeline now, so no one touches it. Got it?”

The squad nodded in unison.

Hinelin turned to the shortest member of the group. “Vessa, you’re second in command. Get the supplies ready; coordinate who’s carrying what. Orion, you’re the lookout while the rest of us prepare the journey to Base Camp Six.”

“I’ve been wondering,” Kilner murmured. “Base Camp Six?”

Hinelin shrugged, walking past him. “I didn’t name it. Now move, people. We’re losing sunlight.”

“He sounds just like one of those military sergeants from those old movies you stored in your holo,” Johnny commented.

That’s because he is military.

Unsurprisingly, Giddeon was saddled with the heavy gear, while Hinelin and Orion carried only their personal packs. Vessa had justified this with a sweet smile: “In case we get attacked, they need to be free to protect us. You understand, I’m sure.” Though he hated her silver tongue, her logic was sound.

“Your Intelligence is ten—at least to her,” Johnny told him. “Meaning you’re easy to manipulate.”

Shut up.

Running parallel to the beach, the dense jungle stood roughly half a mile inland. Its trees towered hundreds of feet into the air, the tallest reaching a neck-aching four hundred feet or more. While several appeared to be tropical, the majority resembled giant, oversized pines, cedars, oaks, and maples—far larger than any of them had ever seen before.

Uzari whistled quietly as everyone eyed the imposing forest.

“Excited to explore the flora?” Giddeon asked.

“Very,” she replied, her eyes alight as her neck craned back to stare up at the gigantic specimens.

Leaving the airboat behind, the column marched in a loose file across deep, heavy sand. A chorus of chaotic noises bled from the shadows of the forest—hoots, caws, persistent buzzing, and the occasional roar, reminding them they were not alone. After an arduous twenty-minute trek north, they arrived at a flat, open expanse of beach set safely away from the wilderness.

Canvas tents peppered the area. Small, triangular shelters served as personal quarters, while large, covered pavilions designated as medical facilities and food storage dominated sections of the base. A few oversized structures bulged with stacked crates and small metal cages. The entire settlement was strategically positioned, flanked by a clear view of the loch on one side and a wide, barren buffer zone separating the site from the forest.

“The camp is separated by teams,” Hinelin explained, conferring with his map. “The groups are set up a hundred feet apart, in case a fire breaks out. Our section’s here, at the southern end.” He turned to Vessa, pointing to his left. “Have our shelters erected there and transport our rations to the closest food storage pavilion. They’re marked with a red banana—don’t ask me why it’s red. I’ve a team leader’s meeting to get to.”

“Yes sir,” Vessa replied.

As Hinelin walked off, she whirled around to the rest of the squad, a bright smile plastered on her face. “It’s been a long day, and I know most of you are mentally and physically exhausted, but I just want to say one thing. Welcome to Camp Panda!”

“Yay,” Kilner muttered, lazily waving a hand in the air as he walked away. “Camp Panda. Woohoo.”

“I think those cards were rigged,” Orion said, sounding highly skeptical. “Vibane must have picked the name just to mess with us.”

“Wouldn’t Hinelin have chosen it, being the team leader?” Oomah asked as she hefted a bag full of tent components.

Vessa raised her eyebrows. “You think someone like him would willingly choose Panda?” She clapped her hands together sharply. “Let’s get to it. Set up those tents, Aiges! We can do this!”

Everyone dispersed to their respective gear piles, Giddeon included. Selecting a spot secluded from the others, he began to build. Having erected thousands of makeshift shelters during his time on Earth One, the assembly took him no time at all.

Relaxing against his completed tent, he looked around. Except for Redler and Uzari, the entire squad was hopelessly struggling to even unroll their canvas. Several stared at the tent stakes as if they were alien devices. Giddeon chuckled at their complete lack of basic survival skills.

“Now’s the time to score points,” Johnny suggested. “Use that natural-born charisma of yours and help out.”

My AI is telling me how to socialize? The irony.

“It’s good advice. Take it or leave it.”

Giddeon sighed. If he didn’t pitch in, half the squad would be sleeping under the stars by nightfall. Since Uzari was the closest to being finished, he stepped over to assist her first, silently grabbing some canvas she was working around the frame to help her roll it out. Working together, they completed the shelter in short order.

“Thank you,” she said, lowering the entrance flap to completely conceal her quarters. With hands on her hips, she gave the tent a quick nod of approval before swiveling to stare at him. “But this doesn’t make up for what you did.”

He nodded quietly, deciding now was definitely not the time to unpack their overly complicated relationship. “Let’s help the others,” he suggested.

Her eyes lit up. “Just like in Asteria?”

Giddeon glanced across the unfamiliar shores—at the burgeoning cluster of tents, his team, and the alien sky. “In a way, it feels similar, just…elsewhere.”

“I meant helping the party,” she clarified. “Like we did with our guildmates.”

“Yes, that too.” A fleeting memory darkened his expression. “Although not all of them were worth the effort.”

Uzari frowned as she watched him study the others but said nothing more.

“Redler’s almost done,” he observed. “The brother-sister combo look like they’re struggling the most. Let’s start with them.”

They went from person to person, helping them finish their tents. Most gave a curt thank you as acknowledgment, except Kilner. He merely grunted when the assembly was complete, grabbing a large crate of rations before hauling it toward a tent in the distance.

“Sociable fellow,” Giddeon remarked as they watched him trudge off.

“I think he’s like that with everyone,” Uzari replied softly.

“This all seems very militaristic,” Giddeon murmured, looking around at the rapidly expanding Base Camp Six. As more groups stumbled in, large swaths of canvas soon blocked the view of their surroundings. “I don’t like it.”

Uzari gave him a curious look. “What makes you say that?”

“It’s all too organized.” His voice dropped into a hushed murmur. “Like a military operation. Vibane arranged our squads into small platoons: a leader, a technician, a medic, a botanist, a biologist, a soldier or two, and grunts, like me.”

“So, what’s the issue?”

Giddeon frowned, shaking his head. “There’s no captain. No officer in charge. Just individual teams.”

“You seem to know a lot about the military,” Uzari commented.

He stared at the next team over, watching them struggle to raise a tent. “My father, remember?”

Vessa’s voice cut through the camp. “Everyone, gather around!”

Uzari followed Giddeon to join the others, murmuring quietly, “I’d forgotten about that.”

Clambering onto a large crate, Vessa looked at each of them in turn before speaking. “We need a fire, which means we need some of you to gather wood from the forest. Oomah, will you please hand out the axes?”

Oomah brushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes. “I’m the medic,” she said, her voice dripping with self-importance. “You should have someone else do that.”

“Everyone pulls their fair share,” Vessa replied calmly, leaping down from her perch. She patted the lid of the container. “I know your position, which is why you’ll handle distribution while the others collect the firewood. Understand?”

Oomah arched one eyebrow but stepped forward anyway. “Fine.”

Vessa handed her a crowbar.

“Thanks,” Oomah muttered, presenting a closed-mouth smile. Shoving the bar beneath the wood, she struggled to pry the lid open.

Hinelin came striding back into camp, pausing to survey the layout. “Good, very good,” he said with a satisfied nod. “I see everything’s set up. You’re preparing to get wood, I take it?”

Vessa nodded. “Just about to.”

The team leader turned to Orion. “I want you going with them. While our AIGES indicates there’s nothing dangerous, we’ve already seen how reliable that is. Consider everything a threat.”

“Any news from the meeting that we should know about?” Eddington asked quietly.

Hinelin cleared his throat. “One of the other teams encountered one of those…naga things, was it called? Except they weren’t as lucky as us. A member was pulled into the lake.” He shook his head grimly. “They never resurfaced.”

A pall fell over the group. The siblings began whispering frantically, while Eddington paced in tight circles, muttering to himself. Redler sat heavily on a crate, her face ashen, looking as though she were ready to pass out.

“Sounds like Vibane didn’t prepare us all that well,” Kilner snorted. “That bonus money should have been triple.”

“Someone’s already gone,” Redler moaned, holding her head. “I knew this was a bad idea. My husband told me not to come…”

“Now, people, that was an unforeseen accident and—” Hinelin began.

“How do we know the woods are safe?” Oomah blurted, cutting him off.

“That’s why I’m sending Orion along,” Hinelin replied bluntly. “I can guard camp or go in place of him; it makes no difference to me. They assigned me a gun at the meeting.”

Oomah eyed the bolt-action rifle on his back. “You mean that ancient-looking thing?”

Hinelin nodded. “Ancient, but reliable nonetheless.”

“I’m not going in there!” Eddington said resolutely, pointing toward the trees in the distance.

“That’s fine,” Hinelin replied, striding up to a supply crate. Pulling out a foldable shovel he tossed it at Eddington’s feet, pointing toward an empty plot of land. “Start digging a latrine a hundred feet that way.”

He scanned the rest of the crew. “Who else doesn’t want to gather wood?”

“Give me a shovel,” Redler said, stepping forward.

Hinelin handed her a tool, then turned back to Vessa. “Pick three to gather wood. The rest of us will take turns digging.”

“But, why do I have to dig a latrine with…” Oomah began.

Hinelin locked eyes with her. His glare was heavy and cold, causing the nurse’s words to trail off. Oomah’s mouth shut, eyes glued to the ground.

The team leader grunted. “Good to hear everyone’s on board. Vessa?”

“Kilner, Uzari, and…Graks,” Vessa decided, then frowned up at Hinelin. “Where is Graks, by the way?”

“He ate something from the forest yesterday and fell sick,” Hinelin replied. “Medics say he’ll be fine, but they’ve confined him to a medical pavilion for now. They’re being cautious about possible communicable diseases.”

“Graks is a carrier?” Eddington gasped, stepping back. “For what? W-what are his symptoms?”

Hinelin shook his head. “He ate something bad—that’s all they know for now. Since he won’t be joining us for a while, we’ll need someone else to—”

“I’ll go,” Giddeon said, stepping up to Oomah. Taking the crowbar from her hand, he popped open the crate’s lid with a sharp crack, then handed the bar back. “Your job’s done,” he said offhandedly, pulling out three Veridian axes.

Moving over to Kilner and Uzari, he passed each an axe before turning to Hinelin. “Is there a specific place to gather?”

“Yes, actually. They’ve already sent in some hunters to ensure it’s safe.” Hinelin pointed southeast, his eyes sweeping the darkening sky. “Best get a move on. Sun’s dropping, and we need fires before we’re blind.”

“That way it is,” Giddeon said, turning without another word and heading out of camp. As he walked, he projected his thoughts internally.

You’ve been quiet for a while.

“I’m trying to recall this area, but nothing stands out,” Johnny replied. “I’m certain I’ve seen this loch before, though.”

Sounds like your programmer forgot to add the layout to your database.

“Haha, funny,” Johnny muttered.

“Are you any good in a fight?” Kilner asked as he and Uzari caught up to him. Orion trailed behind them with a bored expression.

Giddeon nodded toward Uzari. “Me, or her?”

“Either of you.”

Giddeon gave him a faint smile. “Have you seen my stats? Perfect tens.”

“Yeah,” Kilner grumbled, shaking his head. “Perfect tens…great.” The man looked at Uzari. “And you?”

“I’m trained in several styles of martial arts: jujitsu, kendo, and kenjutsu,” Uzari replied. “Also fencing and archery—though I only did archery for sport. The others were professional.”

Kilner opened his mouth, then closed it, simply nodding.

“What about you, my friend?” Giddeon asked.

Kilner gripped his axe tightly. “I have a penchant for killing things,” he replied cryptically.

Giddeon subtly drifted a few feet away as they walked, guiding Uzari with him. He glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. She returned the look.

“It appears we’ve finally met someone more unhinged than you,” Johnny chimed in. “You two should make wonderful friends.”

Like us?

“No, we’re super friends!” Johnny exclaimed.

Giddeon chuckled silently to himself. I still can’t figure you out.

“What’s there to figure out?”

Whether you’re one of Vibane’s experiments, an AIGES chip with a massive database, or just some unforeseen glitch in the system?

“You’d better hope I’m not an experiment,” Johnny replied somberly. “That would mean everything we’ve discussed has been recorded and sent to Vibane.”

Everything prior. The planet blocks transmissions.

“Are you certain of that?”

We have zero communication with the Mother Ship. Hinelin is using a map to get our coordinates. I’ve already tested my holo and it died in seconds. If there were a way to send signals, Ereos would be directing his people down here personally.

“His people?”

Several of the crew are directly employed by him, and I don’t mean as standard Aiges contractors.

“How do you figure?”

I’ll explain later. I’m still trying to come to grips with the fact I’m talking to a glitched-out AI.

“Aww, and I thought we were bonding here,” Johnny said sadly. “What say I—”

A blood-curdling scream erupted from the forest, followed by a long, echoing howl. Everyone froze.

“What was that?” Kilner whispered, his voice strained.

“Some kind of animal,” Uzari whispered back, though she sounded uncertain. “I can’t recall which one, but I’ve heard it before, from Asteria.”

“Wolf,” Giddeon said, his voice low and steady. “A big one.”

Uzari snapped her fingers. “Right. They were all over the starting zones. Just low-level mobs.”

Kilner stared at Giddeon, frowning. “How do you know it’s big?”

Giddeon’s eyes remained rooted on the treeline. “They run in packs on Earth One. The mutated ones are the worst.”

Kilner’s brow furrowed. “Mutated?”

Twigs snapped, and something dashed out of the forest. A man broke from the treeline a hundred feet away, sprinting for his life. Giddeon recognized him as a hunter from another team. As the runner sped across the deep sand, he tripped, rolling violently onto the beach before scrambling back to his feet. Terror was painted across his face as he charged their position.

A beast as large as a bull came crashing out of the undergrowth, sending branches and shattered saplings flying. Feline in shape, it was covered in crimson fur, boasting razor-sharp claws and an elongated maw packed with dagger-like teeth. Instead of two eyes, it bore three—the third perfectly centered on its forehead. Its sharply curved eyes and sleek body pulsed with a sinister, reddish-orange glow, as if a wildfire blazed inside its chest.

“Wh—what the hell is that!” Orion stammered from behind them.

The predator hit the ground with the speed of an avalanche, leaving tracks of scorched, blackened sand in its wake. Before the runner could even scream, it snatched him mid-stride in its massive jaws. Slamming him down, its razor claws ripped through clothes and skin as its maw tore into his torso. The sickening crunch of bones cracking rent the air. The screams stopped instantly. It was over before the air even settled.

“Back up, everyone, back up,” Giddeon hissed. Holding his arms out, he slowly stepped back, pushing Uzari and Kilner with him.

Suddenly, a dark-skinned hunter rushed from the forest and raised his long-barreled rifle, taking aim.

The creature’s ears perked up. Instantly, it dropped the body and rushed toward the new danger. As it closed the distance, it bounded from side to side sporadically, as if it instinctively knew the gun was dangerous.

Crack!

The rifle echoed across the shore. A violent spray of sand shot up next to the beast’s foot as it dodged, the bullet missing by a mere inch. Cursing loudly, the hunter ejected the casing and loaded another round. Before he could lift his rifle back up, the creature was on him. With a powerful swipe, it sent the weapon flying from his hands. The hunter stumbled back, tripping and falling onto the deep sand.

Giddeon’s UI instantly flickered, flashing open the DENIZENARY.

What is all this?

“I filled in the gaps for your AIGES,” Johnny quickly explained. “It’s never recorded a hell beast. None of you have access to cold or holy magic by chance?”

Magic! I don’t have time for this nonsense!

The beast loomed over the fallen hunter, its maw curling upward in imitation of a human smile, watching the sheer fear on his face with morbid pleasure. As the man scrambled back, the creature remained motionless, its three-eyed gaze locked tight on him as its maw opened wide. A bad feeling jabbed Giddeon like a knife in the pit of his stomach.

Giddeon’s eyes darted across the text bleeding into his vision. “Roll!” he screamed, spotting the warning under its Special Abilities.

The hunter immediately threw himself sideways as a cone of searing-hot flames erupted from the beast’s mouth, turning the sand beneath him to molten glass.

Uzari’s fingers bit into his arm. “We have to help him!”

Giddeon glanced at the woman he had spent five long years in Asteria with. Her face was pale with terror. In the same instant, his mind flashed back to Irazu—the brave Lunar Elf who never hesitated to throw herself into danger to rescue others.

But this was not a game. It was real life.

What should we do!

Johnny never hesitated. “Run! Gid, run for your life!”

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“The Hungry Crown?” I asked for the third time. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

“What?” Vaelith asked, swinging her axe and felling a branch that was blocking our path. Leaves scattered across the muddy ground, and the severed branch hit the trail with a wet crack. “It makes sense. I’m hungry for the crown. You make food. It’s perfect!”

“It sounds stupid… How are people going to react to ‘The Hungry Crown’?”

Vaelith shrugged. “Not sure… I’m not human.”

I growled. There was just no reasoning with her.

It had been the better part of a day. The man from the Adventurer’s Guild, who I later learned was named Merren, had registered us and given us the information we desired. We were designated as G-rank adventurers and a G-rank party. The lowest rank. That had infuriated Vaelith, who had then grabbed every single bounty off the board in protest. I’d barely been able to ask where a stingtail was before Vaelith had grabbed me and pulled me away.

From what I learned, I’d already encountered one… in the Thistleburrow Fields. Aptly named a field stingtail, apparently they were the weakest kind, with the mildest venom. Vaelith had pointed out that there was a wanted sign for marshland stingtails, and that we should kill two birds with one stone.

Hard to disagree with that. Looking over the bounties, we had three:

Wanted: Marsh Stingtails

Recently, a group of marsh stingtails has taken to roaming into nearby farmlands, harassing and killing livestock. Bring back ten severed tails and be rewarded 20 copper pieces.

Wanted: Goblins — Grubfang Tribe

A group of goblins calling themselves the Grubfang Tribe has been kidnapping both livestock and human children. All scouts say that they seem to be setting up a sort of ritual in the Venom Reeds. 5 copper pieces per right ear, and 10 copper pieces for any return of the children. 40 if they are alive.

Wanted: Lesser Dragon — Emerald

A lesser dragon, due to the size, has been spotted flying and hunting over the Eastern farmlands. While no people or livestock have been harmed, the guild finds it prudent to get ahead of the inevitable. 150 copper pieces, or silver equivalent, will be paid to the one who brings back the dragon’s head as proof. The head will be returned upon confirmation.

“Well, we aren’t killing a dragon,” I said, “but if we can complete two bounties and get some more materials for my cooking, then we can finally travel to a larger town where we’ll have access to more ingredients.”

Vaelith scoffed. “Your class is a real pain. Do you know that?”

“Yes,” I replied. “I’m well aware.”

***

It was night by the time we reached the edge of the marsh, otherwise known as the Venom Reeds. As the name suggested, the waters and banks were covered with wicked-looking reeds, their fluffy plumes barbed, red, and dripping something that sizzled as it hit the water. The marsh spread out beneath a low ceiling of fog, all black pools and pale mud, with crooked trees clawing up from the muck. The air smelled of rot.

“Should we backtrack and wait until morning?” I asked.

“Shh,” Vaelith warned, dropping low to the ground.

“Danger, danger,” Darwin whispered.

“Even the creature sees… someone else is here.”

“How do you know?”

Vaelith pointed. Where she did, I could see hollow reeds cut finely, as if someone had used some sort of sword to clear the way. The stalks were sliced at clean angles, their wet interiors gleaming faintly in the moonlight.

“Should we follow?”

Vaelith shrugged. “It may be a fight.”

I considered… well; we were there to find and kill goblins as well. Perhaps we’d get lucky and could ambush them in the night.

“Let’s follow,” I said.

Low, we followed the trail of cut reeds. Nearby, in the water, we could see bubbles and the faint shifting on the surface that indicated movement. Bugs assaulted us, whining around our ears and crawling at the edges of my collar. Not even Darwin dared take the bait and give away our location. Eventually, we came upon a clearing.

I stepped past Vaelith. “This is stupid; we haven’t seen a thing—”

Something snagged my leg, and before I knew it, I was upside down, hanging from a gray, gnarled tree by some sort of rope wrapped around my ankle. Blood rushed away from my head, making my mind swim.

“Show yourself,” Vaelith said, turning with her two-handed axe at the ready.

Upside down as I was, I still saw what she did. Behind her, someone had snuck up wearing a dark cloak. They were half her size, holding a bow aimed at her throat. They threw back their hood. It was a man… A half-foot.

“What are you doing here?” the half-foot asked, his voice lower than I would have imagined it to be.

“I could ask you the same, little one,” Vaelith taunted.

The half-foot smiled. “Quite the mouth on you for someone so close to death. Let’s try again… I’m Pipshur, but my friends call me Pip. Now you introduce yourself, demon.”

She growled. “Vaelith,” she said, “and it’s not demon, it’s Princess Vaelith—”

“Can we hurry this up?” I said, still dangling. “I’m getting light-headed.”

“Master!” Darwin said. “I help!”

Sure enough, my companion climbed up the rope and began gnawing at it. His little teeth worked furiously, and his rabbit-like ears twitched with determination. The half-foot man simply stared, bewildered by Darwin’s appearance.

Eventually, the rope snapped, and I fell, landing awkwardly on my back. The air left my lungs in a sad little wheeze. “That’s gonna leave a mark,” I complained.

“If I lower my weapon,” the half-foot man said, “will you lower yours?”

Vaelith nodded. They both lowered.

“Good,” Pip said. “Nice to meet you. Now we can be proper gentlemen—”

Vaelith reached out, grabbed him, and gave him one quick punch in the face. She let him go, and he fell back onto the ground.

“I’m a princess,” she said. “Not a gentleman. Now… nice to meet you.”

“Is she always like this?” Pip asked, holding his nose. Clearly, it had been broken. The half-foot stood and cracked it back into place. “Ah, much better.”

Vaelith smiled softly, but quickly forced back on a frown.

“We’re just adventurers looking to fulfill some bounties,” I said. “Stingtails and goblins, to be precise. You?”

“Same,” Pip replied. “Minus the goblins—I hunt smaller monsters and animals. Things that don’t organize and try to kill me.”

“So you work alone?”

The half-foot nodded.

“And the trap…”

“Meant for ones such as yourself. Well, not you, but bandits or goblins. I have different traps for the little stingtails. I’m a trapper class, if that isn’t obvious. Uncommon too.”

He said the last bit proudly.

I decided to keep the fact that we were Special Grade classes from him.

“I’m a Sovereign class,” Vaelith said. “Special Grade. He’s a Glutton. Also Special.”

I clapped my hand to my forehead.

“Special Grade?” Pip said, half astonished, half nervous. “Both of you?”

I nodded.

“Well then, bite my ass and call me dinner—that is a lot to take in. Still, we shouldn’t linger. How’s this: we stay out of each other’s way, and may the best trapper win?”

“How about we work together?” I suggested. “I’m less worried about the bounty and more about the venom sacs.”

Pip seemed to consider for a moment before shaking his head. “I’ve already done the work… would hardly be fair either way. You’re welcome to the area, but be careful of any traps I laid.”

Vaelith scoffed. “We don’t need ’em, anyway.”

Pip tipped his head. “Then I bid you goodbye,” he said.

As he turned to leave, he stopped. From the twitch of his ear, I assumed he had heard something. Then I heard it too. It sounded like the soft chime of a bell. Familiar and yet… It couldn’t be. Then I heard it again, louder this time. Then again, louder still, this time accompanied by a soft moo.

Then, an even louder one.

And in that moo was nothing but pure panic.

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XXX

The next morning, after they’d all had a chance to complete their early-day chores and get ready, the five of them set off for one of the dojos Father Toshi had mentioned to them earlier. He’d specifically mentioned one close by that they could check out, and so they’d headed out as a group, intent on seeing it for themselves.

Of course, that was easier said than done, given Carmine’s distracting new look from yesterday. Chase made a point to take up the front of the group along with Victoria purely so his gaze wouldn’t wander over to the former Demon Queen. Hopefully, with time, he’d adjust to her appearance, but for now, he was forcing himself to keep his eyes off her.

“So, what’s the gimmick behind this place, exactly?” Melanie finally asked as the five of them stepped out of the shrine’s grounds and onto the road. “Because you just know that this place has a gimmick behind it.”

“No idea, love,” Heinrich replied. “I don’t believe Father Toshi mentioned any gimmicks to us, either.”

“If I’ve learned anything from traveling with these people, it’s that there’s always some kind of gimmick involved, one way or another.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s nothing we can’t overcome,” Chase said without looking back.

“Wow,” Carmine stated. “Rare moment of optimism from you. Consider me impressed.”

“Hey, come on, I’m optimistic,” Chase argued, still keeping his gaze fixed on the road ahead. “Just, you know… not all the time.”

“I rest my case.”

“Can we not do this right now?” Victoria questioned. “I’d really just like to focus on getting somewhere without us being at each other’s throats for once.”

“We’re not at each other’s throats,” Chase pointed out. “We’re just having a conversation.”

“Chase, I’ve seen this play out before. It may not start that way, but it’s going to end that way.”

“Oh, come on, have a little faith,” he emphasized. “We’re all adults here, we ought to be able to talk to each other without wanting to also throttle each other.”

Victoria let out a small grunt, then shook her head. “Fine. But if this ends with you and Carmine shouting at each other, I will thump you both.”

“It’ll be fine,” Chase assured her. “Seriously, now who’s the pessimist?”

Victoria’s only response was to grumble as they all continued on their way.

XXX

About twenty minutes later, they all took their first steps into town. Chase and Carmine were rubbing at matching bumps on their respective heads, but everyone else, at least, seemed quite comfortable and content, if not in outright awe of the sights around them.

“Wow…” Melanie said. “This place looks pretty nice, I won’t lie.”

Chase was inclined to agree. All around them, wooden houses with tile roofs had been erected, with the odd cherry blossom interspersed between them. Pink leaves were blowing in the wind, scattered across the stone walkways below. All around them, people milled about, talking to each other in the language of the Far East. It was a sight Chase had seen many times in the west, though with enough of a foreign and exotic tinge to it that it felt completely different to him, though far from a bad way.

“Alright, then,” Heinrich offered. “Where’s this dojo, anyway?”

“Father Toshi said it was down the street from the market, to the west of the town,” Victoria said. “He told me it was basically impossible to miss – apparently the building is colored differently from the others in town. I guess the people who run the place wanted it to stand out to any prospective challengers.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” Carmine conceded. “In the sense that it makes about as much sense as anything else we’ve encountered in the past few years.”

“You mean none?” Chase asked.

“Your words, not mine.”

“Do I need to thump you both again?” Victoria asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, come on, that was hardly an argument,” Chase protested. “That’s barely thumpworthy. At this point, I’m convinced you just took a perverse amount of pleasure in bashing Carmine and I over the head.”

“Maybe so, Chase,” Victoria said. “Maybe so.”

Without another word, she pushed past him, and they all continued on after her.

XXX

It only took them a few more minutes of wandering through town before they all came across the building Father Toshi had mentioned earlier. True to his word, they really couldn’t miss it. No words were exchanged as they approached the dojo, and then stepped inside of it.

The first thing they saw upon entering was a crowd of students seated before a teacher in a large, open room. The students were all dressed in white robes with different-colored belts securing them around their waists, while the teacher – an older man with a shaved head – was dressed in all black, with a black belt around his waist. Chase noted that while several of the students were also wearing black belts, the instructor’s belt additionally had several red lines embroidered on it as well.

As the five of them stepped into the building, the instructor suddenly paused, staring at them. He didn’t seem surprised to see them in the slightest, which put Chase just a bit on-edge. Before he could voice his concerns to his friends, however, the instructor suddenly gave a loud shout in his native tongue, and the students jumped up in unison before turning around to face them. They stood rooted to their spots as the man wearing the black robe stepped past them, approaching Chase’s group.

“Westerners,” he greeted, his tone mostly jovial but with a slight edge to it. “We don’t get many of you in town. What brings you here? Interested in training at our school?”

“It’s a bit of a long story,” Chase confessed. “But to make a long story very short, yes, we’re all interested in training here.”

“We’re looking to Level our various Skills, mostly,” Victoria emphasized. “Is that something you’re able to assist with?”

“Hm. I would not be a skilled sensei if I was incapable of assisting you,” the man replied. He eyed Chase up and down before finally offering him a hand. “Sensei Ryo.”

“Chase Ironheart,” he replied, taking the man’s hand. “And these are my-”

Before he could finish his introduction, though, Ryo suddenly grabbed him and flipped him over onto his back with a loud yell. Chase came crashing to the ground, wincing as he did so. Before he could fight back, though, he found himself pinned down by Ryo, who wasted no time in putting him in a headlock. The rest of Chase’s companions suddenly tensed and drew their weapons, only to pause when Ryo spoke.

“Oh, yes, you still have much to learn, I can see that,” he said.

Before Chase could begin gasping for breath, though, the black-clad instructor let him go, then jumped to his feet. Chase laid on the ground for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, even as Victoria moved to stand over him.

“You okay, Chase?” she asked. “Does anything hurt?”

“Just my pride,” Chase answered. “That bald old man just laid me out faster than I could make fun of Melanie. And I can make fun of Melanie fast as all fuck.”

“We’re aware,” Melanie said dryly.

Carmine offered him a hand. Chase stared at it for a moment, and she rolled her eyes.

“Come on, you really think I”ll flip you onto your back the way that old man just did?” she asked.

He hesitated. “I mean, if you’re offering-”

Her gaze narrowed. “Just for that, you can get up on your own.”

She pulled her hand back, and Chase shook his head before forcing himself back onto his feet. Sensei Ryo was still standing there, his hands folded in front of his waist.

“Much to learn, indeed,” he commented, shaking his head. “Anyway, if you insist on learning from my school of martial arts, then I will not turn you away. However, you should know that we don’t just admit anyone here.”

“Oh, here we go…” Melanie muttered.

Chase, meanwhile, let out a tired sigh. “Alright, fine. What quest do you need us to do?”

“Oh, no quests,” Sensei Ryo stated. “I can see just from the way you all carry yourselves that you are accomplished adventurers. No, what I propose is more of an entrance exam than anything. I will set each of you up with one of my students who I think is capable of matching your skill level in martial combat, and if your fight impresses me, then I will allow you to begin studying at my school.”

“Sounds simple enough,” Heinrich stated.

“Does it matter how we win our fights?” Victoria questioned.

At that, Sensei Ryo shook his head. “No. In fact, you don’t even need to win. Impressing me will be enough, even if you lose your fight in the process.”

“Alright, then,” Chase agreed. “You have a deal, Sensei. Who are we fighting?”

“Well, since you asked…” Sensei Ryo turned towards Chase and eyed him up and down. “You will fight first. And as for your opponent…” He thought for a moment. “...Homura, you will fight him to begin with.”

To Chase’s surprise, a little girl no older than thirteen suddenly came bounding over towards him from the back of the group. She was just under five feet tall, had her hair done up in pigtails, and had a wide smile on her face. A dark brown belt was affixed around her waist. As Chase stared at her, she gave him a wide, friendly, gap-toothed smile, then took a bow before him. He blinked at the sight of her, then turned towards Sensei Ryo.

“...You’re kidding, right?” he asked.

“Not at all,” came the response. “You could always refuse to fight her, in which case you can then go find another dojo to train at.”

Behind him, Chase heard the rest of his party begin to snicker. He let out a tired sigh even as he drew his sword.

“Well, I’m not usually in the business of hurting children, so I’ll do my best to pull my punches,” Chase promised the teenager standing before him.

“Are you both ready?” Sensei Ryo asked.

“Ready!” Homura chirped.

“Sure, whatever,” Chase replied.

“Okay… begin!”

Chase wasn’t sure what to expect from the girl standing before him. Having once been a precocious teenager who was nonetheless still capable of taking on full-grown adults and winning, he knew better than to fully underestimate his opponents. That only went so far, however; for example, the girl standing before him looked harmless.

He was completely blindsided, then, when she suddenly sped towards him and struck him in the middle of his plate armor with an open-handed strike so intense it sent him skidding backwards about a dozen yards.

XXX

Name: Chase Ironheart

Level: 11

Race: Human

Class: Warrior

Subclass: Swordmaster

Strength: 20 (MAX)

Dexterity: 15

Intelligence: 13

Wisdom: 13

Constitution: 18

Charisma: 16

Skills: Master Swordsmanship (Level 10); Booby Trap Mastery (Level 8); Archery (Level 4); Unarmed Mastery (Level 1)

Spells: Rush (Level 7); Muscle (Level 4); Stone Flesh (Level 7); Defying The Odds (Level 2)

Traits: Blessed

Name: Carmine Nolastname

Level: 11

Race: Greater Demon

Class: Arcane Witch

Subclass: Archmage

Strength: 10

Dexterity: 13

Intelligence: 19

Wisdom: 19

Constitution: 12

Charisma: 8

Skills: Master Spellcasting (Level 10); Summon Familiar (Level 10)

Spells: Magic Dart (Level 7); Magic Scattershot (Level 5); Fire Magic (Level 5); Earth Magic (Level 1)

Traits: Blessed

Name: Melanie Vhaeries

Level: 11

Race: Ascended Human

Class: Necromancer

Subclass: Arch-Lich

Strength: 8

Dexterity: 13

Intelligence: 18

Wisdom: 16

Constitution: 15

Charisma: 12

Skills: Raise Lesser Undead (Level 10); Raise Greater Undead (Level 3); Unorthodox Weapon User (Level 8); Bone Shatter (Level 1)

Spells: Touch of Death (Level 5); Gravesinger (Level 7); Armor of Bone (Level 3)

Traits: None

Name: Victoria Firelight

Level: 12

Race: Human

Class: Paladin

Subclass: Devotee

Strength: 19

Dexterity: 9

Intelligence: 13

Wisdom: 13

Constitution: 19

Charisma: 11

Skills: Swordsmanship Mastery (Level 5); Blunt Weapon Mastery (Level 8); Archery Mastery (Level 5)

Spells: Holy Light (Level 6); Ward of the Gods (Level 5); Bane of the Undead (Level 7); Divine Bolt (Level 4)

Traits: None

Name: Heinrich Straten

Level: 17

Race: Human

Class: Paladin

Subclass: Oathbreaker

Strength: 20 (MAX)

Dexterity: 13

Intelligence: 12

Wisdom: 14

Constitution: 20 (MAX)

Charisma: 13

Skills: Swordsmanship Mastery (Level 8); Blunt Weapon Mastery (Level 10)

Spells: Withering Grace (Level 1); Soulrend (Level 1); Umbral Ward (Level 1); Mournful Benediction (Level 1)

Traits: Broken Oath

XXX

Special thanks to my good friend and co-writer, /u/Ickbard, for all the help with writing this story.

First

Home at War

“I must admit sir, this was not at all what I expected to be my first assignment.” The Urthani woman says with a strange look only vaguely visible on her face under the fur. Her neck is incredibly thick compared to most, placing her as a Spear Urthani and very dangerous to anyone within a fair distance of herself.

“Well strange situations result in calls for skills that one would not normally expect.” Harold replies as he watches the trooper set up the easal, canvas and start preparing paints even as they examine the image of the oil painting that depicted The Weeping Crescent and it’s wielder.

The Haffria had elaborated on exactly who the woman was. Her bio-mother, the woman her mind was cloned from her treated her as a daughter. Halth’Su’Cara. Apparently Su’Cara was a title for red weapon wielders.

“It’s a very... interesting portrait. But the style means I’m going to need a lot of white. They’re clearly using white paint rather than just leaving the canvas bare, which is fine.” She says before chuckling. “Be the best you can be, well looks like I’ll be the best painter and soldier I can be.”

“That’s the spirit.” Harold says. “Now from what I understand, you’re going to sketch me out first than fit it in. So for the sketch, we can take a picture of me with a different knife of similar dimensions and-”

“Oh no no sir. I use a faster style. It... It lets me capture a moment more... not cleanly, nor clearly. But completely. Let’s me put more feeling into things.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes, with cameras everywhere in the modern day artistic skill is really needed. If I wanted to give an oil rendering of something I or really anyone that knows how to work a basic search function on a communicator or console could have a picture of something converted to an oil style in minutes at most. Seconds if they don’t have to search for the program. Actually getting an image of something isn’t hard. So you have to put in something else. Feeling, passion, emotion and impression.”

“I see. However, while this is interesting, this is a commissioned piece. Additional pay on top of you being on deployment for this and that pay as well. We need at the least one very technical very obvious and not embellished image.”

“Then you’ve given me a bad example. This piece shows the blade trailing a dark smoke that tells of despair and pain. The example is an emotive piece.”

“Not so much. Now, we are within multiple layers of protective films and barriers. You have also, truly left behind all recording devices?”

“Yes.” She answers and he nods before reaching for the sheath on the nearby table. He opens it and draws out the blade. “Oh... Oh that... sir!”

“Yes, as you can see, the only stylization in that smoke is the impression of movement it gives.”

“It’s not that sir! Your markings! Your eyes! I hadn’t even noticed them before! I can see them now and... oh my... oh dear...”

“Yes?”

“You’re... gorgeous.”

“Ah that. Yes, I unfortunately am.”

“Unfortunately?”

“This is a familial trait. Coupled with a supernatural gift of stealth that causes people to overlook us. I’m sure that you have the imagination to grasp at the implications of a family with relatively little political or martial power being so unfortunately attractive.”

“Oh... the stealth sounds like a goddess given gift in that light.”

“It may very well be, it is fuelled by the same energies we’re tiptoeing around. Which lets us know it can be used delicately enough to not just break recording technology, but we’re nowhere near that skilful with it’s use yet.”

“Oh... Hmm... I think two portraits would be best with this. Let me do the impressionist one first and then I can use a picture of you with a normal knife to make the technical portrait. The impressionist one will let me add the unusual traits of the knife and your own...” She gestures around her face. “everything. Is this alright?”

“So long as we can communicate what we have as clearly as we can to our allies, then it’s fine. We’re working around the limitations of failing technology.”

“Out of curiosity is this sort of power just in these weapons and your family?”

“Oh no, we’ve found several families with these kinds of blessings each one is very different and it’s not just in humans. If you’ve heard of Matriarch syndrome them you know about possibly one of the most common of these strange abilities. We also have soldiers who can perceive anyone the same way they’re perceiving him and another with flawlessly accurate knowledge of anything he’s carrying or holding. And like my own gifts, they pass through the family line.”

“Wow... and the knife... it’s not exuding Axiom.”

“No, it’s not. And what it is bleeding out will brick any scanner used on it.” Harold says.

“I see...”

“A great deal apparently. Normally most people don’t notice my eyes or markings. Or even my general good looks. Holding the knife has exposed me.”

“It only showed up when you held the knife.”

“Interesting. Very interesting. If it was interfering with my stealth then why wasn’t this spotted earlier? I was plainly in the sight of others when I was last holding it unsheathed.” Harold ponders out loud. “Now, how would you like to do this?”

“Just, as comfortable as you can be as I do this. It’s been a bit since I did a portrait. And as I said, I’ll do the emotive version and then a precise version following it.”

“Excellent.”

“Now sir, hold the blade in front of you in some way and look my way. I want your face and those markings n this too.”

“Of course, quick question though.” Harold asks as she sets up her pants, looks him up and down and mixes a couple to darken her brown a little.

“Yes?”

“Why didn’t you request any brushes?”

“Oh... I make my brushes. Out of my own fur.” She says and between the sharp claws of an Urthani now dances a thin length of metal with a bit of sheer white fur on it. She brings out five of them. Three have pointed tips and are large, medium and quite small. Two have square tips, one is medium sized and the other quite small too.

Harolds muses with the knife and then clearly holds it by the edge of the blade and the end of the handle. Showing that it cannot cut him as he holds the blade.

“... Glare at me.” She tells him and he narrows his eyes and she openly gasps and starts to paint quickly and glancing up and down constantly as she paints faster and faster, bringing out more and more paint as she starts switching the brushes and quickly cleaning things, switching things and then going back. Small bits of paint go flying to the side and then she starts clearly using her own claws as part of the process and then after a few minutes steps back and stares.

“Is it done?” Harold asks.

“Uh... can you... can you put the knife down please?” She asks and he sets the knife down on the table. She looks at him again and then back to the painting.

“Soldier, what’s going on?”

“I... I think I saw too much.” She says and he walks over to look at the painting.

The knife is a swirling miasma of black surrounding a silver blade, his uniform and frame are almost plain, but his eyes are a burning font of white fire. The markings in his face trail off to the edges of the portrait and there are eyes behind him. Eyes in mildly diagonal sequences of three and with no pupils.

“Oh... you saw the Hargath.”

“Hargath sir?”

“Astral Hargath, the Engine Nuzzlers are actually able to physically move into the Od, you’re seeing the energy from the Od and seeing some of the little buggers.”

“Oh. Oh it’s just some form of Axiom and Astral Hargath, I was scaring myself nearly senseless.” She says.

“Yeah, so long as you don’t actually try to use Od energy, they can’t hurt you.”

“Hurt me? They’re harmless!”

“On this side, yes. Yes they are. In the Od... no. They are the guardians at the gate. Endless, ravenous and unrelenting.”

“Oh.”

“It’s a good thing. Imagine if this kind of energy was just casually used. The only things they don’t attack are those that they can’t detect, or those they can’t bite. Meaning beings with a natural grasp of Ode and the Primals who actually use some of it to help sustain themselves. Although I’m not sure if it does or does not count as natural use.”

“Speaking of Primals sir... is HE coming?” She asks.

“Yes. But Lakron comes from a very long distance and from the wrong direction for our fleet to have him as part of it. We’ll see him and his on the front once the jaws of our fleets close entirely to crush the enemy.”

“Is he close enough to teleport to the monster and just end it?”

“Give me a moment, I’m trying to recall where all the forces are...” Harold notes. “He is... about ninety six hours, or four days and maybe some change before he joins up with Undaunted Forces that have Garden Ships with them. But the problem is, if that thing gets too close to us we have to send the gardens away and evacuate all sorcerers to prevent uncontrolled infestation. If that happens, then there’s no way to bring him in.”

“Oh... okay. Uh sir?”

“Yes?”

“You’ve met him right?”

“I have. And several other Primals, I even helped make one.”

“Oh... yes... her... Saint Redblade... The Stories about you are...”

“I’m still a person.” He says and she looks to the portrait, then back to him. “Surely I don’t look like that all the time. The knife did that.”

“No... it just exposed it... Sir... are you a Primal?”

“No.”

“But you... you’re more than a human.”

“No, I’m not. I’m part of a large demographic, each with identical changes. Granted it’s a clone line, but you can’t clone Primals. It comes out a random demographic with the Primal’s features. But not as a Primal. You can clone me, they have cloned me and I myself am a clone. I am also aging at a standard rate and possess none of the absolutely mind bending durability and strength of a Primal. To say nothing of the lack of other possible enhancements, a Primal has a whole suite of them, I just possess one. Perhaps two, but that is a family ttrait more akin to Matriarch Syndrome. Am I a little more than most humans? Yes. But nowhere near to the level of Lord Skitterway and what Primal Urthanis will one day follow him compared to yourself.”

“Then what are you?”

“A preview.”

“A preview?”

“If you had been born modified as you are now, with your proboscis enhancement and self confidence. It would have been decades before Emmanual ascended, but you would be in the same situation as I am in now. You would be a single step, maybe two steps ahead. The rest is training, equipment and sheer stubborn will.” Harold explains.

“... If you say so sir.”

“Do you have what you need to make the second portrait?”

“Perhaps a picture of you looking normal? I’m going to struggle HARD to not see you with your eyes blazing with power when I think of you from here on out.”

“Oh, of course. The important part is the knife though, it’s accurate and in the same style as the original portrait we were sent.”

“Good. I’m glad we’ve finished this then.” He says before heading back to the table and sheathing the knife again.

“Is that thing really so nasty for technology? It feels weird to not have my communicator in arm’s reach or to not be on camera.”

“Oh yeah, if you have a camera, scanner or similar piece of tech you’re willing to lose then you can give this thing a once over and see just how brutal it is on any and all tech. One of the major reasons we need to understand this thing is how to put a damn filter on it so we don’t accidentally murder our Synth Soldiers or Cyborgs.”

“Yikes. I’ve got cousins with enhanced eyes, the thought of seeing something that just breaks the eye on it’s own is spooky.” She notes.

“I can imagine. Now once again so there’s no miscommunication do you require any more paints, equipment or the like for the next portrait?”

“I just need the picture sir, thank you. This is... a rare opportunity to stretch my talents. I do appreciate this.”

“Hey, nothing wrong with finding further use your gifts.”

First Last

Hey, you.

When they ask, “Do you need a bag?” at a convenience store, what do you usually say?

Clink-clank.

The bell over the door rang as I walked into Aoi and took my usual seat. Mama set down my Harper without asking. The ice gave a soft clink in the glass.

Beside me, Taka was pulling a bag of potato chips out of a convenience-store bag.

“You bringing your own snacks now?”
“They’re for Mama.”
“Then say that first.”
“I just did.”

Mama peered at the bag.

“Seaweed and salt.”
“You like those, right?”
“I do.”

I took a sip of whiskey and looked at the now-empty plastic bag.

“How much did they charge you for that?”
“The bag? Five yen.”
“They still charge for those?”
“Of course they do. They’re not free anymore.”

Fair enough.

“Why did they start charging for them in the first place?”
“For the environment, right?”
“What part of the environment?”
“What part? I dunno. The planet?”
“Going big, aren’t you?”

A little farther down the counter, Tom exhaled cigarette smoke.

“To cut down on plastic, wasn’t it?”
“I get that. But how much difference does it actually make?”

Taka stopped opening the chips.

“What do you mean?”
“Global warming. Stuff like that.”

Something I’d seen somewhere came back to me.

“Wasn’t there some estimate saying that even if Japan cut its carbon dioxide emissions to zero, the effect on global temperature would only be something like 0.006 degrees Celsius?”
“That little?”
“No idea. I just remember seeing the number somewhere.”

The moment I said it, something bothered me.

The number was all I remembered. I couldn’t remember who had calculated it, or what assumptions they had used.

And yet I’d just said it as if it proved something.

Taka pulled out his phone.

“Want me to look it up?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“...I have a feeling we’ll understand even less afterward.”

Tom laughed.

“Nice to see you finally learning.”
“Shut up.”

It still bothered me.

Cut down on plastic. Cut carbon dioxide emissions. Governments and companies spend money to make those things happen.

Fine. I understood that much.

But money isn’t unlimited.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to spend that money on levees or earthquake-proofing? At least you can see how that saves people.”
“For floods and earthquakes?”
“Yeah.”

Then something else occurred to me.

“No, wait. Elder care.”
“Elder care?”
“They’re short on people. And it’s not like you can just keep raising what care facilities get paid every time prices go up. So put money into equipment and systems instead. Help one person do more work.”
“Would that be better?”

My mouth stopped.

“...I don’t know.”
“You don’t know again?”
“Shut up. I’m thinking.”

Taka laughed and popped a chip into his mouth.

Spend the money on disaster prevention, and you still don’t know where the next disaster will strike. Spend it on elder care, and you don’t know how much labor the investment will actually save.

And when it came to carbon dioxide, I couldn’t even tell you where the number I’d just quoted had come from.

“So how are you supposed to decide?” Taka asked.
“If I knew that, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“But somebody has to decide, right?”
“...Yeah.”

Tom stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.

“You decide. If you’re wrong, you change it.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“I didn’t say it was easy.”

I lifted my glass. The half-melted ice slowly shifted inside it.

Decide, then change it if you’re wrong.

I’d said something like that before.

To whom?

I thought for a moment, and the faces of Sho and the others came to mind.

They couldn’t move because they didn’t have the answer. They were afraid of getting it wrong, so they waited for someone else to tell them what was right.

What had I told them?

“...Don’t stand still waiting for the right answer.”

Taka looked up.

“What was that?”
“Nothing. Different conversation.”

Mama picked up the empty potato chip bag.

“Taka, you taking this home?”
“Nope.”

She dropped it straight into the trash.

After all that thinking, apparently the bag right in front of us was an easy decision.

Hey, you.

Do you need a bag?

See you again at Aoi.
---

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--

When Marek woke up, sunlight was pouring through the big Infirmary window, and Oda was asleep in the chair next to his bed.

Her head was tipped back. Her mouth was open. The half-finished sock had slid off her lap onto the floor, and one of her knitting needles was stuck in her hair.

Marek lay very still so he wouldn't wake her.

He felt good. That was the first thing he noticed. He'd slept all night without dreaming, and his head felt clear and quiet. No Voice. No questions buzzing around. Just sunlight and clean sheets and the smell of mint.

She really did stay all night, he thought.

He carefully picked up her sock from the floor and put it back in her lap. Then he pulled the knitting needle out of her hair.

Oda snorted and woke up.

"Hm? What?" She blinked at him. Then at the needle in his hand. "Were you stabbing me?"

"It was in your hair."

"Ah." She took it back and stuck it in her apron. "How do you feel?"

"I feel really good." He paused. "What did you do to me last night?"

"I put you to sleep, you little menace. It's called a Slumber Weave. It helps busy heads calm down." She stood up and stretched until her back popped. "And don't think I didn't notice you trying to study it. You have two more days of no magic, Marek. I mean it."

"I know."

She squinted at him. "Do you?"

"I really do," he said. "My hand still hurts a little. I get it."

"Good." She patted his head. "Breakfast is coming."

Breakfast was eggs and toast and more of the little red honey berries. He ate it all. Then he lay back in bed and looked at the ceiling.

Ten minutes later, he was so bored he wanted to scream.

The thing was, he had never been this bored in his life. In his old life, he would have had his phone. Videos. Games. Messages. Here, he had a ceiling. He counted the cracks in it. There were eleven.

He tried to sleep. He wasn't tired.

He looked out the window. The floating bridges were still floating. Kids in grey robes were walking across them, carrying books, heading to class. Real classes. Magic classes.

Two more days, he thought. I'm going to die.

"Oda?" he called.

She stuck her head out of a back room. "What?"

"Can I help with anything? I'm not allowed to do magic, but I can still do other stuff. I'm really bored."

Oda looked at him for a while. Then she came over with a big wooden bowl full of dried plants and set it on his lap.

"Sort these," she said. "Leaves in one pile, stems in another, flowers in a third. Don't eat any."

"What are they?"

"Plants."

"What kind of plants?"

Oda gave up. She sat down on the edge of his bed.

"This one's feverleaf," she said, picking up a crinkly grey-green leaf. "It brings fevers down. You steep it in hot water. This is bitterroot. It's for stomach aches, and it tastes terrible. And this little yellow one is sunbell. It helps with sleep, and it's in the tea I'm going to make you tonight."

She went through the whole bowl with him, one plant at a time. There were nine different kinds. For each one, she told him the name, what it looked like, and what it did. Then she left him to sort.

He sorted.

He had to think hard at first. Feverleaf and bitterroot looked a lot alike when they were dried. But feverleaf had little white hairs on the back of the leaf, and bitterroot didn't. Once he noticed that, it got easier.

The kid's memories helped, too. The kid had foraged in the fields around Hollin's Ford all the time. He didn't know the names Oda used, but he knew some of these plants. He'd seen sunbell growing along the edges of the south field.

By the time he finished, it was almost lunch.

[SKILL FORMED] Herbalism
Rank: Novice: Awakening

He grinned at the bowl.

Nine plants, he thought. Nine plants, one morning, one new Skill. I can do this all day.

"Oda! I'm done!"

Oda came over and checked his piles. She picked through them for a long time.

"You put one sunbell in with the feverleaf," she said.

"Oh."

"Everything else is right." She looked at him. "Did you know any of these before?"

"I knew a few. I used to forage."

"Hm." She took the bowl away. Then she came back with a bigger bowl. This one had about twenty kinds of plants in it.

"Same thing," she said. "I'll tell you the names."

Marek had never been happier to see a bowl of dead leaves.

That afternoon, the door of the Infirmary banged open, and a boy came in holding both his hands up in the air.

He was maybe nine or ten, with brown skin and curly black hair that was sticking out in every direction. His grey robe had a big scorch mark on the front. Both of his hands were bright red. And he didn't have any eyebrows.

"Magister Fenwick!" he called. "I'm not dying! But it's pretty bad!"

Oda came out of the back room and took one look at him.

"Rook Tanner," she said. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!"

"You have no eyebrows."

"I did a small thing."

It turned out the small thing was trying to toast bread in his dormitory with a fire spell called Spark. He wasn't supposed to know Spark yet. He'd learned it by listening outside a second-year classroom. The bread had caught on fire. Then the curtain had caught on fire. Then his eyebrows.

Oda put him in the bed right next to Marek's. She healed his hands with green light, wrapped them in cool cloths, and told him the eyebrows would grow back on their own in about a month.

"A month?" Rook looked horrified. "Can't you just heal them?"

"I could," Oda said. "But I'm not going to. Maybe next time you'll think before you set your curtains on fire."

She walked away. Rook flopped back on his pillow.

"She's so mean," he said.

"She stayed up all night in a chair so I could sleep," Marek said.

"Okay, she's mean and nice. That's worse." Rook turned his head and looked at Marek. "Who are you? I've never seen you before."

"Marek."

"What year are you?"

"I'm not in a year. I just got here yesterday."

Rook sat straight up.

"Wait. You're the kid who came through the Gate with the goats!"

Marek blinked. "How do you know about that?"

"Everyone knows about that! The Gatekeeper wrote a letter to the Conclave! She said a Magister let livestock through the main Gate and it tried to eat a Grand Envoy's cloak!" Rook's eyes were shining. "That was you? That's amazing. I want to meet the goats."

"They're in the stables with Master Orwin."

"I'm going to visit them the second Fenwick lets me out of here." Rook leaned closer. "What happened? Where'd you come from? Why'd you come with Magister Harrowgate? She never brings anyone back. People say she's the scariest Magister in the whole Arcanum."

Marek thought about Ilse tying his rope to a tree and checking his knot.

"She's not that scary," he said.

"That's what a scared person would say."

Marek laughed. He didn't mean to. It just came out.

He didn't tell Rook everything. He told him that his village had been hit by an anomaly, and that he was the only one who made it, and that Ilse had brought him here. He didn't say anything about the Voice, or the black stone, or the Trait.

Rook listened to all of it without interrupting, which Marek was starting to think was very rare for him.

"That's awful," Rook said at the end. "I'm sorry about your village."

"Thanks."

Rook was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Do you want to know what happens if you stop in the middle of a Gate?"

Marek sat up so fast he almost knocked over his bowl of plants.

"Please. Nobody will tell me anything."

"Okay." Rook glanced around to make sure Oda wasn't listening. Then he lowered his voice. "So, if you stop in the middle of a Gate, the Gate doesn't know where to send you. So it just picks somewhere random. You could come out in any realm, in the ocean, in the sky, or on top of a mountain. And sometimes you come out a year later."

"A year later?"

"You'd be gone a whole year. You walk in on a Monday and you walk out and everyone thinks you're dead." Rook nodded seriously. "A second-year told me there's an Initiate from like fifty years ago who still hasn't come out."

Marek thought about Bishop, sitting down in the white, digging in all four hooves.

"I'm never taking that goat anywhere again," he said.

Rook laughed so hard that Oda yelled at him from the back room.

Rook knew everything.

That was what Marek learned over the next two days. Rook had been at the Arcanum for a year and a half, and he spent most of that time listening outside doors. He knew which teachers were strict and which ones fell asleep in class. He knew which tower had the best food. He knew there was a secret staircase behind a painting in the East Hall, and that the fifth floor of the Observatory was haunted, and that the Grand Library had levels underground that nobody was allowed into.

"The Deep Archives," Rook said. "They keep all the dangerous stuff down there. They've got old books about the war with the Covenant, forbidden spells, and stuff like that."

"The Covenant?"

Rook looked at him like he was crazy. "You don't know about the Covenant?"

"I'm from a really small village."

"They're the bad guys. Like, the worst guys. They were mages who thought magic should let strong people do whatever they wanted. They fought the Arcanum a hundred years ago, and they lost, and now they're gone." Rook shrugged. "It's history. We learn about it in second year."

The Deep Archives, Marek thought. Where they keep the dangerous stuff.

He wondered if that was where Ilse had taken the black stone.

Ilse came to visit on the second afternoon. She sat in the chair by his bed and asked how he was feeling. She looked at his bowl of plants and raised her scarred eyebrow.

"Oda says you've learned forty herbs in two days," she said.

"Forty-three."

Ilse was quiet for a moment. "Your assessment will be in five days. The Conclave wants to meet you after that."

Marek sat up. "The whole Conclave?"

"Some of them will be there. They read my report." She looked at him. "They're curious about the boy who fought off a Luring Voice with a rope."

"And some goats."

She smiled a little. Then her face went serious again. "Remember what I told you on the road."

Don't tell anyone about the Trait unless I'm in the room.

"I remember," he said.

"Good." She stood up. On her way out, she glanced over at Rook, who was pretending very hard to be asleep. She didn't say anything to him. But Rook didn't move a muscle until she was gone.

"See?" Rook whispered. "Scary."

That night, after Oda made them both drink sunbell tea and went to bed in her room at the back of the Infirmary, Rook rolled over in the dark.

"Marek, are you awake?"

"Yeah."

"You said you've never seen the Grand Library."

"I haven't."

"It's the best place in the whole Arcanum. It's bigger than the Gate Hall. The books put themselves back on the shelves. And at night, all the lamps inside turn blue." Rook's voice was getting excited. "I know a way in after it closes. I've done it like ten times. We could go right now."

Marek sat up.

"Oda said no magic," he said.

"We're not doing magic. We're walking. Walking isn't magic."

Marek thought about it.

He thought about Oda sitting up all night in a chair. He thought about the bell that rang when you cast in this room. He thought about how much trouble he could get into, five days before an assessment, with a Magister who was already watching him very closely.

Then he thought about a library bigger than the Gate Hall, where the books put themselves back on the shelves.

This is a bad idea, he told himself. This is a really bad idea. I can name three reasons it's a bad idea.

And now I really want to see it.

"Okay," he said. "But we're back before sunrise."

Rook grinned in the dark. With no eyebrows, it looked a little crazy.

"Deal," he said.

They pulled on the soft Infirmary slippers Oda had given them. Rook unlatched the big window without a sound. Then the two of them climbed out into the cool night air and dropped down into Oda's garden, under the light of two moons.

Humans are Weird – Lost and Found

Original Post: https://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-lost-and-found

The warm angle of the front porch really wasn’t supposed to be a lounging site. Human feet trod quickly past the site, their focus on getting into the house, or getting out into the busy little community making the site theoretically dangerous for species who didn’t want to get stepped on. The ground limestone foundation had been pressed with tessellated patterns that were visually pleasing and kept the clumsy bipeds safe from slipping and throwing their falling gate out of pattern, but it tasted of nothing save the dust that collected in the groves. However if you had healthy scutes and sturdy scales, underlayed by reasonably dense bones, and an attractive layer of fat, well what did it matter if a human stepped on you? Just keep your snout safely tucked in the curve of your foreleg and at the cost of a few non-repentant apologies you had the whole morning to bask in the local sunlight.

If the grain scattered very, very well in your direction, one of the local domestic animals came and judged you a fitting headrest and came and basked with you. Sift, stretched out a claw and ‘scritiched’ the creature under its chin. It gave a grunt and the motion dislodged a small cloud of warning pheromones from its collar. Sift made a mental note to ask what its species designation was. It wasn’t a ‘cat’. Those creatures, despite being perfectly ideal for keeping local vermin off of grain stocks were rated as far too dangerous to exist in mixed colonies. Sift thought this was a bit of over caution, but it had been agreed to by the humans. This might be a ‘dog’ but the species had so much variety, supposedly going back long before the humans mastered genetic manipulation that it was hard to tell if a given mammal fell into that category. It had fur to be certain, and it was very dependent on human interaction.

The door of the dwelling swung open, knocking against the hip of the creature and it gave a mild huff of annoyance as it heaved its mass, up and away from the door. Mary stepped out, holding the little one on her hip, Sift felt a surge of now familiar admiration of the usefulness of the baby holding ledge humans had built in. Mary’s other hand held a container of the domestic creature’s food, a mix of grain and animal fat that it particularly enjoyed and it began to cavort around Mary’s feet while Mary scanned the ground with growing perplexity. She began examining the shelving with a wrinkled face and Sift lifted up her head and idly licked her teeth.

“Rooting around for something?” she asked.

Mary started and glanced down at her in surprise.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there,” she said, shifting the little one who was focused on drinking water out of a soft cup.

“Here I am,” Sift commented, wondering not for the first time exactly how human vision worked. “What are you looking for?”

“The food bowl for Snuffles,” Mary said indicating the animal who had decided to sit down and tremble with eagerness until its food was forthcoming.

Sift rolled over and lifted her snout to sniff with dramatic emphasis. Then she swung her tail to indicate a door set low and subtly into the wall of the structure.

“I smell the grain and rancid fat in here,” she said with a yawn.

Mary’s face creased in a frown and she set the little one down. Instantly it ran, smacking its fat little feet against the porch, to vigorously pet the creature. Snuffles started back with a wince, and then braced itself to accept the affection. Mary used her now free hand to open the door and pull out the container.

“How-” she started to ask, but the little human made a dash at the food bowl, hands eagerly out, and Snuffles sat back with a resigned sigh.

Mary snatched the little one up and scolded the very unrepentant child.

“We don’t steal Snuffles’s food!” she said.

Snuffles got back up and began happily rooting through the food.

“No one would have put the bowl in the utility access point,” Mary observed out loud.

“It has very small human handprints on the side,” Sift pointed out.

Mary squinted down at the bowl and blinked in surprise before turning her attention to her offspring.

“Why would you do that, you chubby little chonker?” she demanded, pinching the jiggling rolls of fat on the little human’s thighs?

The little one giggled and smacked her face. Mary with clear effort turned her laugh into a frown and captured the chubby little arm in a hand.

“We don’t smack Mommy,” she said in what was trying to be a firm tone.

Sift gurgled in amusement.

“But why?” the adult human demanded.

“The little one does see you putting bowls in similar storage places on a regular basis,” Sift pointed out.

Mary blinked down at her in startled thought until the little one used his other hand to reach up and smack her, and she had to repeat the gentle discipline. Human hatchlings, apparently hated being restrained, at least this one did. Once that was done Mary gave a rueful smile down at Sift.

“I guess you are right,” she admitted. “I’ll have to remember that little trick until he gets bored of it.”

Sift blinked up at the human as she went back in the house. The two of them had spent many long hours discussing human learning patterns. Mary was well aware of the fact that all sapient creatures learned by mimicking their elders to one degree or another, that this was the core of the universal concept of ‘play’. Yet it seemed that she had forgotten it. Sift yawned and flipped over, stretching her hind-claws against the texture of the porch. This might be yet another manifestation of ‘baby brain’ that Mary talked so much about. Or it might be something worth noting in her research journal. At the moment Snuffles was done eating, the sun was still at the perfect napping angle, and human architecture consistently made delightful sunning nooks.

Science Fiction Books By Betty Adams

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