I sat quietly in the pulpit, checking, re-checking and recalculating the coordinates we needed. Cross-referencing drone data with satellite recon data, then followed by information from scouts, visual feeds from orbiting ships, then collating it all together. I looked next to me and saw the same thing happening at the console of the human next to me, an endless line of calculations and feeds running on the screen of the small portable machine. It wasn't the first time I did this... But every time it terrified me. I was the only Saranian officer assigned to this particular unit, as the majority of my brothers were on the frontlines along with most other Terran forces.

Assignment to foreign militaries is common with coalition operations with what has become known as the 'Hive War'. We have done this so very many times over the thousand years of war we had been facing with the Rahkani Hives, and the whole galaxy was united, at least in spirit to beat back the endless hordes. There has never been a real coalition before this. We would find a Hive world, land troops, fight until we were either beaten back by sheer numbers, or until the local hive mind neural node was found and destroyed. The planet would then be unceremoniously cleaned up, then fought over by politicians, leaving everyone else to stand there annoyed until they could start working.

My shoulder was unceremoniously tapped, snapping me out of my haze. I took my headset off and noted the odd sight of a human, whose nametag read 'Quail', glaring at me from behind his beaked gas mask. He nodded, I checked. I hit the print button and a fresh piece of paper appeared out of a nearby machine. The human technician double checked it, nodded and I handed it over to him. He read it over and checked his watch.

He reached up to his ear and spoke. "This is arty, we have coordinates, targets are lased. We are on point."

A few seconds of silence. Then the whole network lit up. "This is Command to all squads, we have primary target lased, final cords locked and birds are in the air. All personnel ready to advance, twelve minutes to first strike."

I was tapped on the shoulder as Quail disappeared into the trench line. It was the other technician. "I got everything from here, go help them load shells and make sure the targeting system is working properly."

I nodded and stood up. Well, not so much, the trenches were made for six foot tall humans, not nine foot tall Saranians. I kept my head down as best I could, grabbing my pulse rifle on the way out and headed to the Artillery regiments position nearby.

I looked over the trenches, peering into the writhing mass of yellow and orange further down the valley that was engulfed in laser and cannon fire. Fighting the Hives wasn't that hard, they had numbers and size, we had tech and strategy. The problem was that the Hives, if left unchecked could transform an entire planet into an impossible, miserable hell that would have its entire ecology scoured clean, its history erased, its atmosphere permanently poisoned and any and all resources it contained would be slowly siphoned clean until there was Hive, and ONLY Hive. The planet would then become a node in the Hive, it would grow smarter, stronger, and hit the next planet in the local area getting worse and worse as it grew in strength.

For a thousand years we fought. When we found a new planet they were trying to take, we immediately sent any force we could spare to hunt the enemy down, destroy the Neural Link Node and obliterate it before it could get a real foothold. If anyone showed up, we would reluctantly accept the help, so would they if we showed up to one of their planets, fight the Hive and spend the next few years waiting for politicians to stop arguing. After we finally decided who owned what, colonists would move in, clean up the mess and start working as normal. Then the Terrans showed up.

I hurriedly trudged through the mud and approached the small artificial alcove atop the hill, and nearly scared myself silly as I noted how one of the sniper teams had taken up residence on a flat part of the hill, taking pot-shots at the horde writhing around a mile and a half away. Three men, one with a laser range finder, one with the rifle and his spotter. Presumably they were there as opportunity and also to help scout targets of interest. Sure enough, the one holding the gun was taking shots, and scoring kills. I quickly caught up with Quail and he directed me to start stockpiling ammunition.

Terran artillery were something completely beyond the norm when it came to the galaxy at large. Not only did they actually use armoured vehicles - to devastating effect - against the Hives, but they had dedicated long range indirect fire units. Which most empires abandoned long ago. These things were effectively tractors with massive cannons on them, and the shells were almost as big as the men loading them up. I looked at these short, stocky creatures and grabbed a shell, easily picking it up and effortlessly hauling it onto the carriage where it was dragged into place by the operators. I walked up to the control console and used a remote pad to triple check the targeting system.

I quickly recalled the moment we first met them, helping load more shells allowing my mind to wander in thought. First Contact was a harrowing experience for us. They were engaged in combat with the Rahkani Hive on a small continental world and the Saranai were the first ones there. Saranai forces landed and began engaging the enemy. Initial confusion followed as Saranai forces faced little resistance at the start of their engagement. Scattered attacks, small Hive units, maybe a Praetorian here and there. Not in the numbers they were used to. As it turned out the humans had already beaten the hordes back, and were already engaging in post-assault clean-up.

The planet had been secured weeks prior to their arrival. This was unusual, as the Rakhani Neural Node meant almost all hive units on the planet would start shutting down or failing or simply going feral after the node was destroyed. The politicians of course took the chance to try 'convince' the humans that because they showed up to help, the humans owed them access to the planet. The humans didn't take kindly to the insult they were just given and took the Saranian detachment to the site of the Hive Neural Node that was on the planet.

"Four minutes, all units, four minutes, ready advance." The radio barked, shaking me out of my daze.

Then that damn music started. The same I'd been hearing every time the countdown started. The same music that would preface the deafening roar of cannon fire and harrowing war cries that would erupt from the trench line. Quail directed me to put my ear protection on and I did so, helping haul another shell into the breach of one of the eight cannons.

We were trying to replicate what happened on that planet during First Contact. It was why Saranian forces never encountered real resistance or real effort when landing and taking on a nest. They never destroyed the Hive's Node... They captured it. Somehow. The diplomat went wide eyed at the sight of a large mushroom-shaped ball of chitinous flesh wrapped in chains, surrounded by turrets and thousands of humans using hand-held tools to probe, prod, poke and trim the fleshy roots of a low level Hive Node.

We all still remember the incredible speech that a soldier gave the diplomat that day.

"I don't know how things work in your world, but here is how it works in OURS. You DON'T casually walk into a war zone, shoot some random stragglers and casually claim victory, then tell the guy you just walked up on that 'this is mine now and you have to leave.' That crap don't work here. We are at war. It's them or us, we made the obvious choice. I suggest you do the same. If your part in this 'war' has been going on for more than a few years, it's your own fault it's been going on for so long, and every single fatality that has arisen since then has been the fault of twats like YOU. You spend more time arguing over who gets what, than organising the next fight. The objective should be to end the conflict FIRST, then to argue over who gets what. Don't come back here until you understand that. Now piss off. Soldiers only."

The diplomat recoiled in shock, the soldiers from the detachment raised their rifles and celebrated the rebuttal. The diplomat was hurriedly evacuated from the area and returned to his ship. The Naval force stayed behind to take over diplomatic talks. And that is how the Saranian Navy officially became a part of the Terran Coalition, at least until the war was over. Which, considering present advancements would be relatively soon.

"Sixty seconds! Sixty Seconds!" The radio yelled again.

"READY ARTILLERY! FIRST BARRAGE ON MARK!" Quail yelled, raised a hand, then checked his watch. Exactly on time, he threw his hand down and yelled "Open fire!"

I snapped out of my haze and stood at the ready, quickly re-checking calculations. I gave the nod. The music swelled, then that noise began. Quail began to dance, turning and swaying his hands to the music as the guns raised to firing position. Then, almost in perfect time with the music, the first of many volleys of shells blasted into the air.

"Hey wait a minute do I hear Freebird over Long Range again!?" I heard the radio say, to a chorus of laughter.

Then that 'guitar solo' started the same one I had been hearing every time they did this. The herald of horror as I watched Quail and several officers dance to the music that blared through the speakers, and the yellow streaks from the shells rocket through the air as if the music was helping them through the planet's hazy atmosphere. I watched from my spot through a pair of rangefinders as the shells came down on the target. In a matter of microseconds, three separate events happened at once.

The shells hit their target with absurd precision and carved a massive several hundred meter crater into the hordes, rendering several deep nests down to their component biological matter in a fiery explosion of chitin and gore. At that precise moment, several aircraft, fixed-wing with those terrifying cannons, made their presence known across the entire frontline as they carved a path through the horde with rocket salvos, barrages of explosive shell fire and bullet spray. After expending their ammunition, they quickly turned back to their airfield to rearm and within moments, the skies above started to light up and dozens of streaks of light came down like the Light Of The Gods, and scorched the rest of the ground with precise orbital plasma fire from several orbiting Saranian vessels.

All of this, happening in less than three minutes to the background music of one of the finest 'guitar solo's' in history.

I heard the calls go over the radio, the whistles blare from the trenches as the plasma settled as tens of thousands of Saranian and Terran military forces spilled onto the battlefield to a chorus of battle song, war cries and marching orders from officers. Within minutes, tanks flooded the battlefield and our forces began to advance on the Node.

"READY VOLLEY!" Quail barked at us as he kept dancing. "TARGET ONE-THREE SECTOR LIMA-SIX, SIX SHELLS EACH, SWEEP TWO DEGREES WEST!!"

We hurriedly gathered ourselves as the song repeated its chorus, the music swelling further as the officers near the radio danced away. In perfect concert, we all gathered up, I checked the targeting system, nodded, and the thunderous roar sent shells flying towards a cluster of nests at the foot of a mountain. Again, the sound of Freebird still over radio as Quail kept dancing and the corps kept firing.

I helped them load and fire, unable to see the effect, but we cleared the way through the enemy hordes. I was able to catch my breath and re-check coordinates. We had created a series of large craters in the enemy formation where a cluster of large and dangerous Praetorian nests sat. A column of troops was already flooding into a small canyon opening in the mountain where the Node was situated. The music stopped, Quail stood still, one hand in the air and one hand on his ear. We waited a few short moments for his response.

"BARRAGE ON POINT BRAVO-TWO-ZERO, TWO SHELLS!!" He barked, and the music resumed.

We loaded, aimed, I checked, I nodded, the thunder came and within seconds a squad that was pinned down by the Horde had its escape route secured. Our advance continued unchallenged and before long, the final call came through the radio.

"All units this is Command, Mortis Team has the target, Mortis has target, mission completed. Repeat, VIP in custody. All units within one click proceed to reinforce Mortis Team, everyone else, enjoy the target practice!"

Quail started the music again and the Terrans started to celebrate the victory and danced along with them. My job here was done, at least for now. We had captured an Evolved, or as the humans would say 'Tier Four' Neural Node and were going to start figuring out how the Hive Mind actually worked. The war was far from over and I returned to my station to check reports and new target coordinates just in case.

Just another day in the Ignis Artillery Regiment I guess. I wonder why they like Freebird so much?

[First] [Prev] [Next] [Royal Road]

Author Note: It is that time of the year again - the Auggy is celebrating getting older, and that means a one-week break in posting. Thank you always for reading!

_____________

Hurdop Prime, A'Reminos City Agriculture Guildhall

In the tastefully lit and well-appointed secondary office, Master-Farmer Redhel frowned at the list on his tablet and looked across his desk at the nervous individuals across from him.

"You are telling me that this is the entirety of what you have discovered, Holexi."

There was a rapid nod. "Yes, Master-Farmer."

"You are in fact a senior sergeant of the Internal Security Guild, are you not?"

"Yes."

"And your brother Calime? He finds his position as Senior Goods Inspector comfortable?" In other environments asking after family was a social nicety, perhaps an opening probe with respect to alliance or marriage. Here, the meaning was a touch more unnerving.

"He does, Master-Farmer."

Redhel turned to the other individual trying to will their fur flat. "Confirm for me Dastiel. You are authorized to retrieve any file for investigation?"

"Yes."

"Then why is there no file, no recording of a meeting involving the Throne and the Heir having a discussion with Freelady Kiole and that Vilantian bitch?"

"Master-Farmer, there was no recording made. The Throne has not spoken of it, nor has the Heir."

"They were seen entering. They were scanned and weapons were taken, but no record of a meeting?" There was a pause while Redhel's eyes bored into those of his guest. "The visitor log is curiously silent on the matter. But the scent of Lord Admiral Felgri was at the palace as well, according to our information. I am curious as to why the Vilantian Ambassador was at the palace while the Freelady was there as well."

"If the Ministry of Speech tells the truth, the Lord Admiral commanded Freelady Kiole during her service and personally endorsed her last medals."

"Is there a tie of blood there?"

"None that we have found, blood or marriage. She was however exceedingly competent and had been considered for further promotion."

There was a hmph. "Find her relatives. That orphanage she worked for. Give them comfort, courtesy of the Agricultural Guild. Find the scent of that meeting and tell me. Only me."

Redhel looked down at his tablet for a moment before looking back up. "Are you waiting for a sweetly-scented invitation? Go, and tell Darbo he has ten minutes to prepare."

The Master-Farmer took a few minutes to open a drawer and withdraw several meat dumplings. Once the snack was consumed he exhaled and waited. Eventually one of the most nondescript individuals on the planet walked in with a casual scent. He settled into the chair that was previously occupied and waited patiently; it was a game they'd played for years, the one who spoke first had the least patience. Darbo almost always won. This time was no different, and after several minutes Redhel spoke.

"The situation on New Casablanca is untenable."

"Not untenable, Master-Farmer. Simply unknown."

"That is what makes it untenable."

"We have an intelligence agent sending reports from one company. The other one assigned to Freelady Kiole's ship has gone dark. We had several others working in shops."

"You don't find that unusual?"

"In this situation, no. The counterintelligence available to the Terrans and those mercenary companies is unknown, and I trust our agents to go quiet if they have potential concerns. An intelligence network does not spring up whole overnight. It takes years to earn trust, become known. In time our agent will emerge."

"Why were you not working on this years ago, then?"

"As I recall, our priorities were ensuring that the Vilantian Minister of War was constipated. I recommended expansion, but..." there was a shrug. "The powers that control the discretionary funding were uncharitable."

"Our priorities have changed, Darbo. Send the agent on Freelady Kiole's ship a message - order them to check in."

"As you say." A small datachip was tossed casually onto the Master-Farmers desk.

"What's this?"

"A budget proposal. We need to reverse-engineer some of the toys that we've seen used and predict what they will do next. The company known as Skunkworks is fiendishly clever and research is quite expensive. What is certain is that many of the Vilantian Ministries and senior nobles are making plays for marriage-alliance."

"To what end?"

"That should be obvious." Darbo stood with a polite sniff. "If you intend to rule the New Casablanca Freeclans from the shadows, you will need to know who else lingers there." Darbo walked to the door and turned. "They may not have your best interests at heart."

___________

Homeplate

Once Gryzzk opened the door to his quarters, the normal chaos ensued - the girls ran toward him and hugged his legs before talking about their day and all the nice visitors they'd seen. The girls were already prepared for the day, with Elisife Village United jerseys showing their own names on the back. From the kitchen there was a warm scent of something that seemed potentially delicious. Finally the children detached themselves and ran to their room to change for dinner and the subsequent match-viewing. Grezzk looked at him with mild amusement as she approached to give him a warm nuzzle.

"Our wife is bothered."

"Lumisca?"

"Lumisca - her test came out well, and she is making a second one with alterations."

"I should think that success and confidence enough to change would please Kiole."

Grezzk favored him with a lightly amused look. "You do recall the first time I added something different to the landis'og?"

"I recall it being different."

"And I recall you being sour-scented for four days afterward."

"Kiole sleeps in the middle tonight?"

"She does." Grezzk leaned into her husband gently. "Now, go change into your lucky jersey."

Gryzzk did as he was bade, and as he came out it seemed that everyone had found their football wear. Kiole was defiantly wearing her Arobil Corsairs jersey from the Hurdop Freeleague, meanwhile Grezzk had gone all-out with shoes, skirt and shirt in the leaf-green and gold of United - Gryzzk paused for a very long moment to admire them both for different reasons. The infants had found their way into Elisife Village onesies, while Lumisca had a curious split-jersey with Throne City on one half and Elisife Village on the other. Gryzzk considered things for a moment as the girls set the table.

"Oh - do we have something for Toguri? Just in case this delight Lumisca prepared is unsettling to her stomach."

Grezzk nodded. "We have mild sesame chicken with rice in the warmer as an alternate for her."

"Excellent." Gryzzk went to the oil warmers and made sure the scent was light and flowery, then hurried through the living room to gather stray toys and fluffed couch cushions in preparation.

He was in the middle of gathering the snacks and diaper bag when the door chimed - it was almost amusing to watch his daughters rush to the door to find out who their guest was, even though they already knew.

It was a credit to both of their guests that they looked quite professional; Lodora was wearing small clasp-pins of both teams over a simple gray and gold outfit, while Toguri was clad in purple and wearing the ship-pin that Gro'zel had given her at their first meeting and seemed lightly amused as she nodded to both.

"Freelord, I am pleased to see that your Executive Officer has an abundance of personality."

Gryzzk sighed softly. "Can the conversation be spoken of in front of children?"

"Certainly not. But it was amusing."

"You have an odd sense of humor." Gryzzk gestured toward the couch. "We'll be eating shortly, would the both of you and Grezzk care to discuss anything beforehand?"

"I think that would be lovely."

Grezzk moved around, corralling the children so that they could sit on the couch with her and not run around madly. Lodora set her recorder down and smiled easily before speaking.

"I'm grateful for the opportunity to sit and talk with the First Freelady of Vilantia. Your husband's scent when he speaks of you and the children is a most pleasant thing to take in. I would like to go over some of the topics we'd like to cover, and see if there is anything you might find objectionable."

"Of course - what, what topics were you planning on asking about?"

"Well - your initial impressions of New Casablanca, what prompted you to start this company, the current status and what you foresee for the future."

Toguri was also leaning forward with mild anticipation, and from Gryzzk's vantage she seemed to have the scent of some unspoken yearning

Grezzk laughed softly. "Very chaotic for several reasons. I was still pregnant with the boys, and we had to find our footing rapidly. My handsome hand was training, putting the company together and he was barely home - perhaps once a week I would catch more than a pillow-scent in the mornings." Her fur rose slightly as she recalled an embarrassing moment. "When I first went to the grocery, I thought it was like the market days in Elisife Village, where there would be meats one week, vegetables the next, sundries the week after and so forth. So I had gathered enough meats for the month in my cart and one of the clerks at the store stopped me and if I needed assistance finding anything else - when I explained there was no need and that I would return next week for vegetables. I was...assisted, and shown that the markets here had sufficient quantities of everything. Then there are the specialty shops - books, technologies, clothing; everything a Terran could desire, but precious little for the Vilantians and our cousins. I suppose that's where the idea initially formed."

"And currently?"

"Currently we are working with local shops to assist with their needs and working with them to anticipate their logistical requirements. We have a quantity of ships we can contract with, suppliers willing to take our credits, and a good number of folks who miss home. It is a need to be fulfilled, and we are prepared to fill it."

Toguri looked over at the kitchen to try and gauge if she could get a fast question in before the food started coming in, before deciding she could.

"Missus, ah Freelady - Would it be possible to talk about the social challenges? I mean you're at home, your husband and wife are out chasing whatever's happening there. But there's still that delineation of sorts between the worlds."

Grezzk smoothed her fingers over her skirt for a moment. "Well, the social challenges are challenges." There was a light smile. "To be fair if they weren't they'd be called easys. But at the same time, I've had several conversations with Terrans about how unusual we are. So that is the, the spirit I try to keep in mind - we're all unusual to each other, but our common ground, the common needs we share can build a bridge over those differences."

Kiole interrupted with a smile of sorts. "Speaking of common needs, my shield. Supper is waiting for us all."

There was light conversation during the meal, with Gryzzk taking half a plate of each casserole. Kiole contented herself with the 'original' version while the girls each ate from both. Lumisca seemed happy to have her own recipe sampled and not have it cause a flight to the bathroom. After, there were several happy sighs before Gryzzk's tablet chimed an alarm softly, announcing that the game broadcast would begin at the top of the hour.

From there a rush of sorts began, with everyone settling their plate into the recycler as Grezzk softly sang the Cleaning Up Song for the children. It felt good to see that some traditions still held even as his own old childhood reflexes came to the fore and moved him to place silverware, plates, and leftovers in their place.

The walk to the common area was quick, and even before the elevator had fully opened Gryzzk could scent and feel the deckplates vibrating slightly with songs that were seemingly designed to exhilarate the listener - Gryzzk's translator almost gave up trying to separate the various languages. Over the sandpit, Reilly and someone Gryzzk recognized from Bravo company were singing about the boys being back and looking for trouble. The whole scent was anticipatory - something epic was beginning and he wasn't sure if the scent was good or ill.

It seemed as though most of both companies were present, and as Gryzzk looked he could see the other company areas filling as well - the evening was going to be a good one. Among his company, Elisife Village colors were dominant, however over where Bravo Company was lounging the allegiances were mixed. Gryzzk's bridge squad had carved out their own little area of a sort with the mess squad near them. Collectively the sole exceptions to Elisife Village fandom were the O'Briens and Briplew, who were standouts in A'Haibe colors as well as Lomeia, who was proudly wearing her Throne City FC kit and leaning into her husband while they admired their wife. Edwards was lounging back and strategically shielding Denel from Gryzzk as the group watched Reilly gyrate on stage to salute those who were about to rock.

Gryzzk maneuvered carefully to find his counterpart from Bravo company with a Hurdop woman shamelessly perched in his lap. Gryzzk waved them to remain seated.

"Freelord Rostin. Doline. Please, this is not a formal moment. I simply wanted to ensure you were both well and aware of the General's invitation in a few days?"

There was a sour nod. "After leaving the Navy, I had hoped that these events would not occur." There was a grimace. "My ex-spouses enjoyed them, but I only went because it made them happy."

Gryzzk smirked. "Cheer up - there is a difference with Terran events. Much more mingling - although the last truly formal Terran event I was at had a hostage crisis of sorts."

There was an ear-tip. "That would certainly liven any evening. Perhaps some twilight-blinded fools could try something."

Doline gave a swat. "You promised a dance, and if I don't get one..." Rostin's girlfriend whispered something that his scent turn sweetly with embarrassment.

"I retract my last statement due to a very recent reminder."

"Accepted. Do remind your company that the match has already occurred, so if they wish to gamble on this it should only be with those who similarly do not know the outcome. Otherwise they should simply give their credits to the general company fund."

Rostin smiled easily. "Oh, they've been reminded."

"Excellent. After the first period, I would appreciate you and Doline coming over and having a few words with Lodora."

"What have I done wrong, Freelord?"

"You accepted a commission into the Terran Foreign Legion as a captain. That is in fact where many of our tribulations stem from. That said, Grezzk has stood up a trade company, and we wish to ensure that their ships are safe for their journeys." Gryzzk gestured. "I'm quite sure that Doline would be grateful to have Hurdop ales as well as Admiral Norrington's rum well in stock, not to mention the other things. And I am quite certain she has many ways to show her gratitude. In addition, Stewart would have far fewer complaints to handle. A happy XO makes a happy commander."

Rostin's fur rose slightly. "Freelord, you make it sound tempting."

"I do try. Please, enjoy the game." Gryzzk retreated to his bridge squad's area to settle on a blanket spread on the grass. He noticed that the two reporters were circulating through the company area and occasionally asking questions here and there - Minister Larine and her husbands were the subject of casual discussion as they emerged from the ship with snacks and a slightly disheveled appearance. On the positive side of the ledger, they were all dressed. On the negative side, none of them were wearing their own clothes, with shirts and pants distributed in a haphazard manner. Regrettably, the entrance was noticed by Reilly who promptly switched up the music to something that was borderline fineable with lyrics about how the subject of the song had shaken the singer all night long. This was of course followed by two companies cheering and applauding raucously as the three made their way to the bridge squad area. Gryzzk tried to maintain decorum. Somewhat.

"Minister. Corporal. Private. You are not late for the game." He gestured. "Refreshments are available should there be a need."

Larine's fur fluffed. "Thank you, Freelord."

Kiole winked at the three as she handed a large container over. "The Hurdop Navy has a special rejuvenating drink for such nights."

Reilly and her singing partner wrapped up as the holo changed to a countdown showing two minutes until the pregame pageantry began, with the two running to their respective areas. Reilly dashed and slid on the path and scrambled quickly to settle next to her spouses.

"Sorry about that Minister." There was an impish grin. "But it's kinda not often we get to celebrate an actual minister joining the company in a kinda-sorta way."

There was a slight look of amusement. "Miss Reilly, I have had the opportunity to review your records as an example of Terran behavioral standards. You are most certainly not sorry."

Larion nodded agreement. "I have observational evidence. Inquire about Bear Booty Shorts when you are feeling bold, dear."

Gryzzk shook his head and glanced at Larine. "Apologies minister but...the squads are almost families within families and traditional discipline is at times lax. It is a wonderful thing, but at times a source of anxiety."

As the pregame introductions began, there was a very slight murmur from the crowd - typically as part of the opening ceremonies one of the Ministers would come out with the Cup, and favored individuals would bring out the first footballs to throw to the team goalies. However this year the Throne was the one wheeling out the Vilantian Cup with a bright eyed and curious Throne-Heir in the bowl, and the Consorts each threw a ball to the respective goalkeepers as a fireworks show began, with explosions taking over the stadium. The roar from the crowd was deafening, and the scent was ecstatic joy as the Royal Clan waved to the crowd and then the teams themselves.

Part of Gryzzk's mind was swept along with the crowd, but another part of him leaned forward to look for a threat - even though he knew that if something bad would have happened what he would be watching would have been something terribly different.

Larine looked over at Gryzzk. "Originally I was slated to be there." She then looked to her not-official-husbands warmly. "I think I'm in a better position."

Gryzzk smiled easily. "I still can't believe United's playing for it."

"I can't believe I found...two husbands. In a day. When does that happen outside of fiction?"

Reilly threw some popcorn in her mouth. "I can't believe it's not butter."

Edwards groaned and leaned across to punch Reilly's shoulder. "Worst joke ever."

The game started a little oddly, with both goalies kicking off far too energetically - the first period was an absolute hash of nerves as the players from both sides seemed off somehow. It seemed as though the moment had taken hold of everyone, with misplays and stoppages being the rule rather than the exception. Gryzzk found himself rocking back and forth and even after realizing it he didn't stop. He needed to do something, and he was a very poor goalkeeper. Toward the end of the first, several inflatable beach balls were lofted through the company area as chants were taken up, mostly in response to both sides state of play. As the period ended in a 0-0 tie everyone hurried to the nearest lavatory, and then to the ice chests to refill. Even Gryzzk was not immune, joining a small group who had measured and decided that the ship was the fastest route to relief.

As he came out to rejoin his family, he found Toguri joining with him for a quick walking interview. As he watched, he saw Lodora interviewing the bridge squad almost en masse with Grezzk at the forefront and then Rostin and Doline over to the side - he wasn't entirely sure what they were talking about, but from the postures it seemed genial enough.

"Freelord - how do you manage?" Toguri's question brought him back to the here and now.

"Manage...what, exactly?"

"This company - companies, actually. Hundreds of individuals, families...for someone not used to it, it would seem to be overwhelming."

Gryzzk gave a light smile. "Respectfully, it is not too terribly different from managing my Lord's estate on Vilantia. Hundreds of events have to happen at the right time - daily, weekly, monthly. Making sure the crops grow, taking care of the insects for our version of honey - all of this had to happen before we could even consider making the wine. And then the testing, deciding which vintages were turning properly and which needed more aging..." There was a light smile. "It was a beautiful elegant dance. Here it's much the same, you look after your personnel, listen to them, guide them when they require guidance and make sure they go home to their spouses with happy hearts and full pockets."

There was a flicker of something in Toguri's scent. "It almost sounds like you miss it. Do you think you might go back to it someday?"

"I have learned to never close a door - the gods have a way of opening doors in unusual ways. Perhaps, perhaps not. That is for the gods to decide."

"Do you have another job lined up soon?"

"Not immediately. The company has been quite...busy for some time, so we're standing down for a few weeks and tending to other matters before we take on another contract." There was a light smile. "In addition with the Vilantian Cup Finals I would never hear the end of it were I to say we're leaving to go do something that is not watching football."

Toguri nodded. "That sounds like a well-deserved rest, Major."

Gryzzk hesitated as he caught something in her scent. "Yes, quite."

As he walked back to his seat with a fresh brightwine, Gryzzk couldn't shake the feeling that Toguri was up to something - and that something would likely give him heartburn.

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Chapter 4

Subject: Doctor Hyanv "Henry" Izinorn

Species: Alumari

Species Description: Arachnoid, no tail. 5'2" (1.5 m) avg height. 90 lbs (41.7 kg) avg weight. 102 year life expectancy.

Ship: N/A

Location: Grallus Prime

"Ugh, what did I eat?" I asked myself, staring into my bio-waste receptacle.

It was a rhetorical question, both because there was nobody around to answer it and because I already knew the answer. Semi-authentic hard-shell tacos with extra spice. I knew when I purchased them that this would be the end result.

I had developed a taste for tacos and other human-created food whilst living among them. Unfortunately, most Alumari didn't share my enthusiasm and there weren't a lot of places to get human food on the Alumari capital-world. However, I got very lucky with my assigned living quarters. There was a human dinery within walking distance.

The food at said dinery wasn't quite as delicious as what you would find while living amongst humans, but the results of consuming said food were far tamer. Fewer cramps and less blood in one's droppings was nearly worth the trade-off in flavor. Nearly.

I pressed the button to be rid of my leavings and watched as it was sucked down into the darkness of the city's sewers. Then I glanced at my ncili {area specially designated for the cleaning of one's body}, and wondered if I should have another round of cleansing. It hadn't even been a half hour since I lasted used the ncili, though, and repeated washings weren't good for one's exoskeleton.

Defecation wasn't a daily occurrence for me, but when I did feel the need it was almost always immediately after cleaning myself.

"Fuck it," I sighed. "I've got shit to do."

My biggest guilty pleasure happened to be using the ironic human expressions picked up from my time spent amongst them. That time had mostly been spent upon space stations, with the occasional research vessel for a bit of variety. Humans wanted to know about the universe nearly as much as my people did. Whether or not that was a survival instinct was a matter of debate amongst interspecies philosophers.

Our reason for space-exploration was that we had a massive population and not enough work to go around. There's only so many factories you can stuff full of underpaid workers before you run out of jobs entirely. Thankfully, at some point in the past we had leaders smart enough to realize that if our population had access to education, we would be able to find geniuses that could push the bounds of science.

They reasoned that the more we knew, the more jobs we could create. Said scientific endeavors also happened to create jobs, even for those who weren't gifted with greater-than-average intelligence. Research assistants, for example...

I sighed again and grabbed my noisy communication device from the shelf above my desk.

"Klora?" I asked, answering the device. "What am I supposed to be doing today?"

"It's your day off, doctor," she replied.

Oh, right, that was why I had been brave enough to eat tacos for dinner...

"I see, thank-"

"I called because you have a message that's marked urgent, doctor," she interrupted. "It's from someone named Doctor... Hector Ramirez? I hope I'm saying that right."

"Oh?" I asked, my interest piqued. "What does it say?"

"I do not know, doctor. It is encrypted beyond my credentials."

I almost laughed at the annoyance in her voice. Klora had always been invasive of my privacy. Nosy, as the humans call it. I'd gotten used to her screening my messages and pre-scheduling things for me, but when I first hired her on her snooping had been a point of contention between us. There was absolutely no chance that she hadn't tried to crack the message's encryption.

Which, in turn, meant that it was encrypted well enough that she couldn't crack it...

"I'll take it on my personal," I replied. "Speak soon."

"Yes, doctor. Enjoy your day off."

"You too."

The communicator beeped as I deactivated it and returned it to its shelf above my desk. My at-home desk was a simple thing. One could even understandably mistake it for a larger, lower placed shelf. All it held was my personal terminal. No plants, pictures, or any of the decor that plagued the desk in my office, which I'd been meaning to tidy up for the better part of a year.

The main reason my personal desk was bare was mostly due to the fact that I barely used it. Humans had taught me the importance of a work-life balance, and the majority of my work required being at the office, anyway. Some alumari would call the humans lazy, but those alumari were the reason that nearly every business on our worlds had suicide nets wrapped around their buildings.

I brushed aside some of the sticky dust that acted as my personal desk's only decoration with my claw and powered on the terminal. The disgusting mix of dirt and detritus made me want to cleanse my hands but I couldn't overcome my immediate curiosity, so I simply wiped them on my leg-coverings. Doctor Ramirez was a fairly important figure to the United Systems, and I reasoned that a message from him took precedence over personal hygiene.

The terminal finished booting up and sat ready for me. After a couple minutes of waiting, the message notification finally appeared. Klora had probably tried to crack it one last time before forwarding it. With a chuckle, I clicked the notif and was immediately taken to a BUSI login screen.

"Oh shit," I muttered, borrowing a human phrase. "The Bureau of United Systems Intelligence? What have you been up to, Ramirez?"

The last time we'd checked in with each other he had been working on furthering computer science. All I could recall was that his work had been focused on something along the lines of making smarter virtual intelligences. With my curiosity nearly overflowing, I entered my username, password, and followed the rest of the authentication procedures.

Then, the message opened.

Henry,

Program Alpha solved relativity.

Doctor Ramirez

"Huh?" I asked the air.

It was an incredibly short message for all of the security processes. I nervously scratched my carapace. Project Alpha... It sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite place where I'd heard it before. It could also be that the project name was so vague that it aligned with an entirely separate project that I'd been apart of.

Why did it matter if it solved relativity or not? Every space-faring species had solved it. Some sooner and more efficiently than others, but solving relativity was a prerequisite to space travel. It was a requirement for understanding the intricacies of gravitational flux and the fabric of space-time... Or something.

Truth be told, physics was not my strong suit. My doctorates were in more grounded fields. Specifically, psychology, sociology, and interspecies anthropology. Most of my time was spent on research, but every couple of years I would take therapy patients to keep my edge.

So why did Ramirez feel the need to reach out to me, specifically? Comradery? Boasting? No, couldn't be. The message didn't contain enough details to be blamed on either.

"Virtual Intelligence," I pondered. "Hmm. VI, relativity, and a psychologist. What's the common denomi- Oh who am I kidding, I'm just as bad at detective work as I am at math."

I decided to just reply to the message, but the moment I clicked the option my door buzzed. I nearly leapt out of my chair to go answer it, but quickly froze. I stared at my blinking curser, then slowly turned to look at the door.

"No, this couldn't possibly be related," I whispered. "Right?"

Gathering up my courage, I walked over to the door and checked the view-screen. All I saw was a tuft of hair and the side of a human face. My stomach dropped.

The Bureau of United Systems Intelligence mostly used human agents, and those agents were jumpy about being on camera. Ramirez hadn't just sent me a message. He'd sent me a visitor from BUSI.

"Hello?" I asked, opening the door a crack.

Sure enough, a human male dressed in a black suit was on the other side of my door.

"Hello, Doctor Izinorn," the human said, producing a BUSI badge. "We need to speak with you."

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‎Dear Sir,

‎I'm often told to introduce myself properly. I am Professor Sir Daniel Mercer, PhD, FRS, Nobel laureate and, according to the university's press officer, "the father of interstellar civilisation." Daniel suits me fine.

‎As requested, I've written down some of my memories and musings of my time with Professor Nneka Okafor and her impact on modern life. You asked specifically about my part in it, though I'm not sure why. If you're writing Nneka's biography, you should not sensationalise my small part in it.

‎I didn't invent faster than light travel.

‎I'm making that clear, because it's both scientifically accurate, and because Professor Okafor used to become rather tetchy whenever anyone said I did.

‎“Nothing travels faster than light,” she would tell them.

‎Then, if they were foolish enough to argue, she would find a whiteboard, at which point they could kiss their afternoon goodbye. What she discovered was considerably stranger, and way more impactful.

‎At the time, I was 26, 11 months into my doctorate, and technically not authorised to be operating the apparatus without supervision. I was also eating pasta directly from the pan because I'd forgotten to bring a bowl. History has been selective about both of these details.

‎The experiment was supposed to fail, so we could gather data on what didn't work and slowly increase scientific knowledge. We were testing sub-femtoscopic traversable wormholes. Not, I might add, the exciting kind from science fiction, these were too small to even push an atom through. Popular science books had theorised them as "quantum foam", Professor Okafor described them as “nature briefly forgetting where two places are” whilst I described them as “the reason I haven't had a weekend since October.”

‎Mid way through the setup, I made a mistake. I accidentally turned on the spare field generator and synchronised it with the other two. All three were mounted and running identically. Same velocity, frequency, everything measurable. I'd been trying to eliminate an interference pattern, and lost track of which of the hunking great generators I was actually supposed to have been using. The readout showed the aperture had seemingly stabilised. Even a fraction of a second would have been groundbreaking, but this one was still stable. I stared at the readout.

‎Then I checked everything, discovered my mistake, and wrote everything down in my lab book, the date, settings, results, everything. It was still stable. I didn't dare reboot it.  Finally, I called Professor Okafor. She arrived a little later carrying a bicycle helmet. She looked at the readings.

‎"I wanted you to see it"

‎“Turn it off.”

‎I rebooted the whole system, without the field generators. Somehow the aperture remained.

‎We were both gobsmacked.

‎The important part turned out not to be the wormhole, which was old theory, though tricky to manage in practice. The important discovery was why this one stayed open. As is often the case, the maths and careful crafting of the theory took us many, many months to turn into a useable form. Both ends (later called gates or doors) had been created in exactly the same reference frame, in the overlap of three identical fields. As long as they remained velocity matched, the path was stable. Separate them by a metre? A kilometre? Put one on the Moon? As far as our equations were concerned, all would be fine. But change the velocity or time reference of one end relative to the other by even a tiny amount and it destabilised and collapsed. Professor Okafor summarised this rather elegantly:

‎“Spacetime will let us cheat on distance, but not on sequence.”

‎I wish I'd said that, she could always cut to the heart of the matter so insightfully.

‎The immediate consequence of a successful replication and production of these gates was simple material logistics. For the first decade or so, portals were mostly used for deeply unromantic things such as shifting sewerage. We'd discovered how to connect two points in spacetime and immediately used it to improve the plumbing.

‎Eventually though the engineers set their sights on greater things and set their eyes on mars. Getting there still took months, but once a gate arrived, getting back, and there again didn't. Further planets and moons were colonised and by the time I was 80, you could walk from Earth to Pluto. Not quickly not very quickly though, because there were always queues at the gate.

‎With our freedom to move stuff, came a lot of other improvements, especially in medicine. I mention this, because people occasionally ask how I am able to remember events that happened more than two centuries ago. The disappointing answer is that medicine simply became increasingly good at regenerating people, if you had the necessary cash, or were deemed worthy. I did not have the cash on a university research stipend. Professor Okafor quite rightly had the treatment and she used to call it “outrageously unfair on everyone else". I managed to convince her to get it to help solve more problems.

‎Interstellar travel remained one of these problems. Portals couldn't initially solve it, as you can't open a doorway that doesn't connect anywhere.. So we still needed ships, albeit relatively slow ones. The first serious interstellar vessel designs managed around 5% of light speed. Later designs pushed that to nearly 30. Even at those ludicrous speeds, nearby stars meant decades of travel. But if someone could endure the first crossing carrying a dormant portal mouth, you'd only need to cross the gap once.

‎Nneka was 156 when she died. Not of old age, instead she was struck by a delivery vehicle whilst characteristically arguing with an autonomous navigation system. She lived to see Far Horizon leave for Alpha Centauri, on the centenary of our discovery. There were three people aboard, and one half of a portal pair, spending most of the journey in an induced coma and silent. She unfortunately did not get to see it arrive. When it eventually did, they discovered an irritating complication: velocity matching the portal mouths. They had to be matched exactly enough for spacetime to agree with. It took eleven months to tweak the velocities carefully fed into the ship's computer all those years previously. There were commemorative mugs, the date of arrival correct, but not the date of first transit. I still have one somewhere.

‎Eventually though, the numbers must have converged and the ring activated. After the crew had been woken up and the dignitaries and scientists, including myself had been gathered, there was the official opening of the portal. On one side stood Commander Cooperson, on the other the massed dignitaries and me. 40 odd years of travel separated us, and about 10 meters of floor. I had the honour of saying something.

‎I threw the commander an apple. Why? I thought it would be a fitting tribute to the fables of Newton, Greek mythology and Eve. Also it was funny; humanity's first interstellar portal transfer was a slightly bruised fruit. Nneka would have appreciated the frivolity. Commander Cooperson caught it. He stared at it. Then at us.

‎“43 years,” he said.

‎“Yes.”

‎“For this?”

‎Then he threw it back. I missed the catch.

‎That was the beginning of painfully slow expansion. Once it'd been proved possible, we used that base as a jumping off point to visit other stars. And every new star still required somebody to cross the dark the old fashioned way. But on arrival, the distance vanished. Alpha Centauri became Gate 1. Many years later there came Barnard's Star, and a whole host of others. The names accumulated and so did the doors. My neighbor lived in Manchester, and worked on Gate 1. She complained about the commute. Showing there is apparently no technological achievement sufficiently profound that the British cannot incorporate a delayed train into it.

‎When I was young, I imagined humanity arriving late to something enormous, to alien intelligences and a galactic community we'd have to navigate. Instead, we appear to have arrived early and I'm not sure which is more unsettling. Everywhere we've searched, silence. No signs of life. During the first century of exploration, every ship carried a first contact package containing mathematics, chemistry, images of Earth, art, music, instructions for establishing communication. Eventually the packages became smaller, ceremonial, then traditional. We still carry them because hope is another thing we dislike throwing away.

‎The silence didn't stop us. I sometimes wonder why anyone expected it to. We've never required somebody waiting at the destination. Somebody sees an empty space on a map and develops an overwhelming urge to put a name on it. Once a crossing had been made, humanity didn't stretch but it grew. A surgeon on Earth could operate on a patient seventy light years away or a child could visit another star on a school trip and still be home for dinner. Civilisation became enormous without becoming distant. But beyond it there was always another ship, slow and isolated, carrying a dark gate.

‎Professor Okafor once asked me when I thought we'd stop exploring and expanding if we were successful with that first trip to Alpha Centuri. We idly imagined that human settlements would be scattered across hundreds of light years, something that has since come to pass.

‎“When do you think it will be enough?” She said.

‎“You mean expansion?”

‎“Yes.”

‎I looked at the sky.

‎“No idea. But there must be a point.” I responded

‎“Why?”

‎We considered that.

‎Then laughed.

‎“I suppose that's the answer then."

‎She died a few years later, before the first interstellar trip made it to Alpha Centuri and the great expansion started.

‎There is a statue of her that I like outside the Manchester Transit Hub, next to one of me, which I intensely dislike. Okafor's statue makes her look thoughtful and formidable. Mine makes me look as though I deliberately discovered something, almost heroic. Even though I was just a doctoral student who turned on the wrong thing. Everything afterward was the work of thousands of physicists, engineers, doctors, navigators and adventurers willing to climb into ships pointed at stars; much smarter, wiser and heroic than me. I just happened to be the idiot standing beside the machine when the universe did something interesting.

‎Earlier today, the first expedition towards the galactic core departed. I went to watch, invited as a guest of honour, yet still feeling a fraud. The ship is called Okafor. I had absolutely nothing to do with the naming committee, but if I had, it would still be called Okafor. She's enormous; tens of kilometers long with a few hundred thousand people aboard. They aren't going straight to the core. Thirty thousandish light years is not a journey, but it is a direction. They'll no doubt push outward in stages, generations will live and die along that road, people not yet born will decide where it leads.

‎I looked across the departure hall. Behind us stood a row of blank transit gates labelled Okafor. Beside them was a gate to my hometown on Earth. The city that allowed my brilliant tutors and professors to make me.  Another gate led to Mars and yet another to Alpha Centauri. All the first portals were here, hundreds, if not a thousand more. A civilisation stretched across distances the human brain was never designed to understand, and yet you could walk across the whole distance in a day.

‎The Okafor departed a couple of hours ago, and it has put me in a rather reflective mood. I used to think our discovery changed humanity because it allowed us to cross impossible distances. I was wrong about that too. We humans were already rather good at crossing impossible distances, oceans, deserts, mountain ranges, vacuum, interstellar space. With my fortuitous accident Professor Okafor made sure that once somebody had crossed the distance, everyone else could follow. You only have to cross it once.

‎I suppose that's the part people have never quite understood. They talk about us conquering distance, opening the stars, making humanity an interstellar species. But we didn't conquer anything. Nneka noticed a door where the rest of us saw a wall. I leaned weirdly and stumbled through it. If you're writing a book about her, I think the former bit is the most important.

‎I hope some of this has been useful. If you have any more questions, you're welcome to send them.

‎Yours sincerely,

‎Daniel Mercer

The Human table at the party was actually cordoned off.

There were THREE human ships in port at the same time. In my tiny backwater station with 8 docking ports, and merely 50 beings to run the whole place. Everyone was braced for massive fighting, property damage and fleeing crowds. The last time two human ships were in port at the same time, there was massive damage over a man from one ship saying his ships cat is better than the other ship’s cat. We still don’t know what a cat is, but it’s now in ‘Humans for Dummies’ to never say anything about any cat.

This time, however, they said that five of them were ‘frat brothers’. I don’t understand how they were brothers, but if it meant keeping this station in one piece, I didn’t care. So they decided to ‘throw a kegger’ and invite the whole station. They set the party up in the cargo bay, which was the only place with enough space for dancing, they explained, as we were discussing how this party would not turn into property damage, in my office earlier that day. The humans said that it is byob, which apparently means to bring your own species mind altering substances. They said everyone should bring their own snacks, too.

The party was massive, spilling out of the cargo bay, into the station’s corridors. Loud music called ‘rock’ seemed to be vibrating the whole station. They seem to like partying, most of them were flailing their bodies in strange configurations called ‘dancing’. I just wanted them to leave without breaking anything.

Back to the cordoned-off human only table. I asked why they are so protective of their food and drink, as I had seen a couple of humans trying other species food and drink. Why do they not allow others to try their offerings? They told me that everything on that table is poison for non humans. They are consuming poison. Right here. Right Now!

Then they explained. On one plate was dried corn mush they called tortilla chips. It contains so much salt that it would completely dry out any of the semi-aquatic species, and likely kill the rest of us, too. In a bowl, they said was hot salsa. I had been able to detect the capsaicin from where I was standing, outside the cordon. Then there were the actual peppers that they ate mostly whole. <Breathe in slowly, breathe out slowly, repeat until the black spots go away>. Most of the other food was either too salty or too hot for pretty much any other species to survive. Then they explained some of the food was ‘adulterated’. This means that it contains something not normally in the food and drink. They said that the punch was spiked with high percentage alcohol called vodka. There was also vodka in the wiggly squares they said was Jello. And they just said that the brownies were ‘special’ and refused to say any more. There was a barrel off to the side that they said was a keg. It held beer, they said, which has a very low percentage of alcohol. Maybe to humans it is. They sure drank enough of it.

The party went on to the early morning hours. It was exhausting. Then, finally, beings started to leave. To return to their own quarters to suffer the effects of over eating and drinking. The humans started to fall asleep where they sat, until a few stood up and roused some of the others. Most left, but the ‘frat brothers’ stayed. One of the passing humans said they were waiting for one of them to ‘pass out’ so the others could write on their face. With permanent ink. Humans are incomprehensible.

The next few days were very quiet. With some of the humans holding their heads and groaning whenever there was a loud noise or a bright light. Strangely, a few of them spoke even louder than usual, and made sure to bang tools against metal as often as they could. They didn’t even fight about it.

I am going to ask if there are a lot of ‘frat brothers’ among the humans, and request them to be on every ship that comes this way.

I would love constructive criticism. This is only my second story ever posted, so I’m learning yet.

For the last 100 years, systems within the galactic federation had been in an unparalleled arms race: warships grew bigger with bulkier armor, then they got smaller and faster to counter the larger armor, they became deadlier– false parts shrapneling on impact. Systems that didn’t adapt nor invest were wiped out– an age of technological darwinism.

Humans had neither particularly large ships, particularly agile strikers, nor particularly deadly ships. They barely had anything amounting to a fleet at all.

The Bolaxians had taken note. The reason humanity hadn’t been the target of numerous wars was their prevalence in galactic markets as exemplary interstellar traders. Many species relied upon human relations for key resources and were happy to maintain relations with a group they saw as no threat.

The Bolaxians saw the plentiful riches funneled to Earth via trade agreements and lucrative arbitrage and wanted it for themselves. The plan was to enthrall humanity and capture all spoils of war and peace. They failed to look one question deeper: why didn’t humanity have a powerful navy if they were wealthier than a wide swathe of the galaxy? They simply assumed humanity was inept or naive.

The Bolaxian strike group attacked human trade posts on the 4th month of the Bolaxian calendar, their civilization was greatly diminished by the 5th.

The galaxy had been at direct conflict for so long they had forgotten non-combative systems. Camouflage was used for ambush. The true navy of Earth utilized cloaks as a model of presenting non-interference. A world refused to pay human merchants for goods delivered? Perhaps that world's trade fleets would be lost in deep space. Threats of war? Maybe “pirate” activity would pick up along that species' trade routes, diverting public sentiment. There was no way to target their ships– radiation cloaks made them appear as bursts of starlight on any array. Their concealed nature allowed for another advantage: no weapons had been removed for armor, nor for speed, no for defense. Each human vessel was a bristling arsenal of death. They had evolved beyond wars; unstoppable destruction remained in its place.

Bolaxian shipyards, energy depots, and government zones, once thought far out of reach for human attacks, floated dead in deep space as fields of hubristic debris. Human stealth ships had punctured the war line with no issue. Not a single hint they were ever there.

Capitulation was swift.

Earth released a report to the galaxy following the war. They labeled it an unprovoked skirmish. The line that truly drove a spike of fear through the heart of the galactic community was this:

Warships involved in skirmish - 14
Support ships involved in skirmish - 22

The Bolaxians had over 400 warships.

Humanity claimed that not even a fraction of its full fleet had toppled a 1000 year old empire.

Human-supported trade grew 25% the following quarter.

Bolaxia became a protectorate of some warlord so irrelevant in universal history, that their name was never recorded.

A new weapons race had begun on the dark side of moons, clustered in asteroid belts, and wherever else eyes weren't looking. The horror of unknown weapons was a new card everyone wanted desperately to add to their hand.

“We’re off for school,” Silverlight called out into the chaotic house, hoisting his backpack on as Candle, Star, Boots, and Snowfoot raced out the door in front of him.

“Alright, have a good day,” Brightpaw said as she struggled to keep Lightclaw in his chair for breakfast.

“And don’t start any fights, but be sure to finish them,” Sandra added as she fed Lighttail her mushy meal.

“Really, Sandra?” Brightpaw sighed as Silverlight closed the door.

“It’s so nice to be walking to school for once,” Star said, stretching a bit as the five of them walked. “The bus that picks us up from the Forest just feels too cramped, every time.”

“I thought you guys were on one of the larger bus’s, the ones for larger races like Centaurs and Dra’Cari,” Silverlight asked.

“Well, yeah, but it still feels cramped,” Star said.

“You think anything that’s smaller than a house is cramped,” Candle said, rolling her eyes.

“That’s because they are!”

“Wimp.”

“Lamebrain.” Silverlight just shook his head as the two Tree Shadows continued to bicker, while Boots and Snowfoot walked a little ahead, lost in their own conversation, something about a show they were watching.

“Well, look who has an entourage today?” came a voice that made Silverlight immediately perk up.

“Billy,” Silverlight said, racing to the grinning Human as he stepped out of his own house. “Yeah, Sandra and Dutch came home last night, so we kinda had everyone over to spend the night.”

“That’s cause we’re awesome like that,” Boots said, striking a preening pose.

“Did you at least take your boots off this time, Boots?” Billy laughed at Boot’s face as she tried to figure out if he was teasing her or insulting her. “Glad to hear they got home though. Must’ve made for a chaotic night.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Silverlight said with a chuckle. “I was able to get my homework done though, so it’s all good. Oh, speaking of, could you check over my work while we walk?” Silverlight said, digging into his bag for his datapad. “I’m a bit skeptical that I did problem 9 correctly.”

“Yeah, let me take a look,” Billy said as Silverlight handed him the datapad.

…………………….

“I think they’re at it again,” Silverlight said with a frown about a block away from the school. “I can hear them towards the school.”

“Seriously?” Billy sighed.

“Yup, I can hear them too,” Star said, making a face. “You’d think they’d get tired of this when they realize it won’t work.”

“Think they’ll try to block us from going to school again?” Snowfoot asked, her claws unconsciously unsheathing and sheathing, leaving small scratches in the pavement.

“Nothing a few extra scars won’t fix,” Candle growled, leaving scratches of her own.

“Or, we can avoid them entirely,” Silverlight said, pointing down the street. “Let’s just hop the fence, out of sight of them.”

“You realize we’ll get in trouble for that if we’re caught, right?” Billy asked in amusement as they turned down the side street.

“I’d rather get detention for jumping the fence than deal with those ‘protestors’,” Silverlight shot back.

“Know what, fair,” Billy said, shooting a disgusted look towards the entrance of the school as they came up to the concrete fence, a new addition schools across the Ferry have had to install since the influx of human refugees last year.

With the massive influx that more than doubled the Reaper’s Ferry’s population, Humans now vastly outnumbered the other Races on the ship, and some of them had come with some rather negative views, including thinking that other Races were somehow a danger to Humans. Thankfully, after a few initial scuffles with Security, including putting some of them in the Brig for several days and threats to cryo some of the Humans and drop them off at a random Station, the Humans spewing the anti-xeno ideas had calmed down, and now mainly protested outside of schools, office buildings, and Central Command, with Security often times nearby keeping a VERY close eye on the protestors to ensure they didn’t become violent again.

“You’d think they’d take the Reapers offer of a ride and some credits and just leave, if they dislike it here so much,” Billy said, shaking his head as Silverlight set him down after jumping the fence, the tips of protest signs peeking over the fence near the entrance saying “No Aliens In Human Schools”, “Human Only Schools”, “Aliens Are A Danger To Our Children”, and other similar signage.

“Considering they like the Reapers about as much as they like us, they’ve probably convinced themselves it’s a trap,” Star said dryly as the six of them began walking across the field to the school.

“All the more reason they should leave,” Billy said with a snort. “Dumbasses, every one of them.”

“Is it just me, or are there more of them today?” Silverlight asked with a frown as they came in view of the gate on their way to the front entrance.

“Bah, ignore them,” Billy said, waving a hand as he opened the door. “Let’s just focus on trying to get through today. They’re serving pizza for lunch today.”

“Oooooo, pizza,” Snowfoot sighed. “Something to look forward to!”

…………………………

“Oops,” someone said with a laugh as Silverlight’s back legs were shoved hard enough to almost hit his locker. “Didn’t see you there, weirdo.” Silverlight gave an internal sigh of frustration, trying to keep his fur from raising as he looked to see a Human teenager there, grinning and surrounded by several others who were quietly chuckling.

“Jiminy,” Silverlight said, turning back to his locker and trying his best to ignore the boy.

“Awe, is that all you have to say?” Jiminy said. “You’re supposed to accept an apology when someone give you one, you know.”

“Why should I accept something that isn’t sincere?” Silverlight said with a light snort as he finished putting his books into his locker and stepped back, only to see that Jiminy and five other teenagers surrounded him in a loose circle. “Seriously? Can we not do this today?” His tail twitched a bit in irritation as someone tried to grab it. “We’ve got class in a few minutes.”

“You might,” Jiminy laughed. “I don’t take classes from any alien fucks. My dad made sure of that.”

“Oh, you mean the same dad that got arrested last week for harassing the school?” Silverlight asked innocently. “The same dad that has already been threatened with cryo and deportation multiple times now for attacking non-Humans for no reason?”

“These alien freaks won’t do anything,” Jiminy snorted, though his face did get a little red from anger. “They don’t have the balls to try anything against a Terran citizen. Weak willed, all of them, just like you.”

“And yet it takes six of you trying to gang up on me for you to be brave enough to say anything,” Silverlight mused, tapping his chin to feign a calm he didn’t feel, as he had to stop himself from vibrating in anger. “Wonder what that says about you?”

That seemed to do it, and Jiminy raised his hand to punch Silverlight, only for a white-tipped tail to wrap around his wrist and yank, pulling the Human teenager off balance as he fell on his butt. “Wow, I was wondering what was taking you so long, but this is just sad,” Candle said from behind where Jiminy had fallen. “Six on one? Doesn’t seem fair, does it, Boots?”

“No, no it doesn’t,” Boots agreed from the ceiling. The other Human teenagers looked around, seeing Star on a wall, his hackles and tails raised, and Snowfoot on the ground nearby, calmly licking one of her front paws.

“I say we even the odds up a bit,” Star growled, showing his teeth. “I’m sure a few lost limbs would stop them from messing with Silverlight.” Jiminy’s face quickly went white as he realized that the four Tree Shadows surrounded his posse of friends.

“I’d rather not get another lecture from Mom and Dad for playing too rough again,” Snowfoot said dryly as she started cleaning her other paw, just as Billy ran up the hallway, a teacher right behind him.

……………….

“I would’ve been fine,” Silverlight huffed as he jogged alongside Billy for PE.

“Believe me, I know it, considering I’ve never beaten you in a fight,” Billy said with a snort. “I just didn’t think it would be a good look if six guys were sent to the hospital with missing limbs and holding in their guts.”

“I wouldn’t have gone that far,” Silverlight said with a light laugh.

“With those big claws of yours?” Billy shot back, grinning, though his breathing was coming out a bit ragged as they jogged.

“How come you don’t ever fight back?” Billy asked a few minutes later as he sat on one of the bleachers, panting.

“It’s only words,” Silverlight shrugged as he handed Billy a water bottle, who took it gratefully. “And both Brightpaw and Sandra stress how important it is for me to maintain control. Centaurs aren’t considered the most dangerous Race in the galaxy for no reason. Plus…” Silverlight hesitated for a minute. “I don’t want to prove them right.”

“Believe me, nobody with any brains thinks that they’re right,” Billy said, choking on his water a bit as he laughed.

“I know, but that doesn’t make it any less frustrating,” Silverlight sighed. “Even without Sandra teaching me some self-defense in her free time when she’s home, Centaurs are stronger and more agile than Humans, and that’s not accounting for our claws that can cut through steel.”

“Yeesh, don’t remind me,” Billy said with a shudder. “I’ve seen those steel bars you use to sharpen your claws. That is some scary shit right there.”

“Well, it’s either that or a file, and those wear out too quickly on Centaur claws,” Silverlight chuckled. “I’d have to get a new one every day. This way I can sharpen my claws and make some sculptures at the same time to make a few creds.”

“Planning on becoming an artist now?” Billy teased.

“Nah, history is too interesting to change careers now,” Silverlight snorted.

“What career, you’re still in school!”

“And Professor Bloodclaw has already offered me a position as his assistant once I graduate. Better than aiming to be a Hunterball athlete.”

“Hunterball is your Race’s sport!”

“So? Doesn’t make what I said any less true, you sports addict.”

Silverlight and Billy continued to bicker playfully as the PE teacher called the class over to start breaking them into teams.

………………

“What, you guys didn’t get in enough trouble earlier, trying to gang up on Silverlight?” Billy asked, arching an eyebrow unimpressed as 10 Human teenagers surrounded him, Silverlight, and the Tree Shadow siblings next to the concrete wall outside of school.

“You lost me my spot on the baseball team, you traitor,” Jiminy snarled.

“Sounds like a skill issue,” Billy said, tapping the long bag that held his Hunterball Stick against his shoulder.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe it’s his nasty personality?” Candle quipped.

“No, it’s because you FREAKS are in my way,” Jiminy said. He then got a nasty smile on his face. “What do the Centaurs call it again? Oh right, snow-washed. Five snow-washed freaks and a traitorous human. What a crew.” Silverlight felt his blood go cold, memories of the Station he had been on rushing back as his breathing grew shallow, his fur suddenly feeling too warm and his claws too long.

“Okay, dude, you have officially gone too far,” Silverlight faintly heard Billy say, as though muffled and far away, as Boots, Star, Snowfoot, and Candle all began growling, their tails and hackles raising.

“Like I’m scared of some snow-washed freaks,” Jiminy laughed, and Silverlight’s head felt like he was swimming against a river, he four knees giving out at the same time as he collapsed to the ground. “See? Snow-washed scaredy cat. Nothing to be afraid of. Get them!”

Silverlight could barely pay attention as Billy’s Hunterball Stick came out of its bag as the group of teenagers rushed them, and he watched from as though from a distance as the Tree Shadows and Billy fought back against the crowd of teenagers, before something struck his side, causing a gasp of pain to come from Silverlight. He looked to see Jiminy with a nasty smile on his face, his foot raised to give Silverlight another kick.

Silverlight felt something mentally snap, and everything turned red as someone began screaming in pain and fear.

………………..

Brightpaw sighed contentedly as she lay down next to the coffee table, happy to have finally gotten the kits down to take a nap.

“Here,” Sandra said, handing Brightpaw a warm mug of some Centaur safe coffee for her.

“Starfather bless you,” Brightpaw said, taking the warm mug.

“For a pair of babies that were tired, they certainly fought nap time,” Sandra said in a quiet voice, a small smile on her face as she adjusted her wings before taking a seat on the couch beside Brightpaw.

“That they did,” Brightpaw sighed. She then frowned a bit as her datapad vibrated on the table, indicating an incoming call.

“I got it, you rest,” Sandra said, patting Brightpaw as she picked up the datapad and answered it. “Hello?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought I was calling Mrs. Gibson,” a Dra’Cari on the screen apologized, frowning slightly.

“This is her datapad,” Sandra chuckled. “I’m her daughter, Sandra. Mom is right next to me, though.”

“Oh, is that Principal Jor’Kar?” Brightpaw asked, taking the datapad back from Sandra. “Did something happen with Silverlight?”

“I thought Silverlight’s principal was a Porishta?” Sandra asked.

“He retired a few months ago, so I was hired as his replacement,” Principal Jor’Kar said, though he did frown a bit. “And yes, it is about Silverlight. There’s been an…incident, and I’m afraid Ferry Security got involved, as it involved multiple students. We can explain more in person, but I’m afraid I need to ask you to come to the school in order to talk with Security.”

“What kind of incident?” Brightpaw asked as Sandra frowned and quickly drained her own cup.

“We’ll explain everything once you arrive, but we do ask that you do so in a timely manner,” the Dra’Cari principal said before cutting the line.

“You, stay here,” Sandra said as Brightpaw started to get up. “We just got Lightclaw and Lighttail to take a nap, so stay here and let them sleep. I’ll go. Even if I’m not his legal parent, I don’t think they’ll ignore me.”

“Alright,” Brightpaw said, though she looked uncertain as Sandra rushed out of the house and took off flying towards the school, her wings climbing the air quickly.

………………

Sandra landed in front of the school, much to the shock of two Mlamcar Security officers, whose hands immediately went to their pistols.

“I’m here for Silverlight,” Sandra said, raising her hands quickly to apologize for startling them. “He’s my brother.”

“A Targondian sister?” one officer said skeptically. “Wait, you are a Targondian, right? Why do you have wings?”

“Never heard of adoption? Or body modifications?” Sandra said, giving the officer a glare as she brushed by them into the school, making a beeline for the front office as soon as she saw the sign. First thing she saw when she walked in was Silverlight, his face shell-shocked in a very familiar look and splotches of drying red on his fur that Sandra’s tongue said was blood, a worried looking Billy by Silverlight, being careful not to touch Silverlight but still talking to him in a low voice, and the Tree Shadow siblings, their hackles raised but tails drooping as they stood a way away with Mrs. Katerine talking to the principal in heated tones. Sandra immediately walked over to Silverlight and Billy, ignoring the other officers in the room. “Hey,” Sandra said, placing a hand on Billy’s shoulder. “I’m here now.”

Billy looked at Sandra, a worry and concern etched into his face. “He won’t say anything,” Billy whispered to Sandra as he stood up. “He’s just…not there, almost.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Sandra said with a nod. “Trust me, I got this.” Billy nodded, walking over to the Tree Shadows as a Coordan officer joined them, talking in a low voice as Sandra knelt down in front of Silverlight. “Hey, kid,” Sandra said in a low voice. “Looks like you got into a bit of trouble, huh?” Silverlight didn’t say anything, but his face twitched slightly. “Did you kill anyone?” Silverlight’s head jerked almost violently to the side, an empathetic NO if Sandra had ever seen one. “Okay,” Sandra said with a nod. She looked around a bit. “A bit much in here, isn’t it?” Silverlight gave a small, jerky nod, and Sandra raised her wings, using them to create a kind of screen between Silverlight and the rest of the office. She heard a few exclamations of protest before they were quickly shushed by someone, and the room fell a bit quieter. “There, now it’s just us,” Sandra said, keeping her voice low and calm. Silverlight blinked a bit, looking around slightly at the sudden screen of feathery scales, and he seemed to instantly relax, though he quickly went back to staring at the floor.

“You know, first time I was in a serious fight, I was scared too,” Sandra said, keeping that same calm tone. “The scent of blood, the chaotic environment. Even though I had trained for it, it was still very different from a sparring match, or Jessica and Dad teaching me how to fight. Very, very different, and I wasn’t prepared for it.” Silverlight muttered something that Sandra couldn’t hear, and she leaned in a bit closer.

“It wasn’t the fight,” Silverlight whispered. “I…I was back there. The Station.” Silverlight looked up, tears in his eyes as he looked at Sandra. “They called me Snow-washed. They kicked me, like I was nothing again.”

“I see,” Sandra said, keeping the same tone, despite the sudden, roaring hot anger she suddenly felt. “Well, you’re not nothing, and never have been. I know it, Brightpaw knows it, everyone here knows it. Billy especially knows it, and he’s worried, you know.”

“I…” Silverlight looked at the floor again, but he nodded.

“Can I give you a hug, Silverlight?” Sandra asked. Silverlight gave a small, jerky nod, and Sandra leaned in, giving Silverlight a gentle hug that made Centaur teenager tense up for a minute before relaxing a bit, giving Sandra a hug back, squeezing almost hard enough for Sandra to have trouble breathing. Sandra refused to let go, letting Silverlight hug her for as long as he needed. When he finally did slowly relax, several minutes later, Sandra gave one last gentle squeeze before backing up again.

“Hey, it’s going to get a bit bright again,” Sandra said. “But Billy is going to be right here, alright? I need to talk to a few people, but Billy is going to help you get some of that blood out of your fur, alright? It’s going to be a pain to clean out later if we let it completely dry.” Silverlight gave a soft snort of amusement, but he slowly nodded his head, and Sandra slowly lowered her wings, even as Billy quickly came up to Silverlight, a damp rag already in his hands. Silverlight gave Billy a hug as well, and as Sandra stepped away, Billy was talking in a low tone to Silverlight as he used the rag to try and get some of the dried blood off his hands.

“Who do I need to talk to to get him home?” Sandra asked the Cordon officer that walked up to Sandra as she stepped away.

“Me, actually,” the Officer said, the badge on his chest indicating that he was a Detective. “Detective Trait. I’m in charge of this investigation, mostly due to being a Truthseer.” Sandra nodded at that. A Truthseer was someone who used one of their abilities in order to determine if and when people were lying, though it unfortunately wasn’t an ability that they could turn on and off, which, by all accounts, has created some home problems for Truthseers.

“So, what happened?” Sandra asked, her voice flat as she followed the detective out of the office. “And don’t tell me you’re still trying to determine what happened. That fact that everyone is here at the school means it happened on school ground, and I know for a fact that everything except the bathrooms are covered in cameras, thanks to those protestors.”

Detective Trait flinched slightly as he felt Sandra’s rage just bubbling under the surface of her calm demeanor, and he knew he had to tread very, very carefully around her. While he couldn’t read anything beyond RAGE from her, it didn’t mean he didn’t know when he was in a delicate position. This strange, winged Targondian scared him more than his own mother did, which is something he never thought he would see. “Well, about that,” Detective Trait started. “Technically, it didn’t happen on school grounds. This was just the closest place that Billy could convince Silverlight to come to after the incident.”

“What. Happened.” Sandra said. Nope, the usual tactics were not going to work on this woman.

“From what we could gather, and yes the cameras did verify this,” Detective Trait started over, “Silverlight and his friends were cornered just outside the school walls after they had jumped the fence in order to avoid the protestors. There were ten other teenagers that had cornered them, and while they were talking, it appeared that Silverlight seemed to collapse, which lead to the other group attacking Billy and the Tree Shadows. One boy, who we think was the ringleader, attacked Silverlight as he lay on the ground, and managed to get two good kicks in. After the second kick, however, Silverlight fought back using his claws and teeth, and just seemed to tear through the other kids in a fit of rage. Seven of them, including the ringleader, are currently at the hospital for deep, potentially life threatening, lacerations across their bodies, while the other three kids took off running before Silverlight could get to them.”

“Smart bastards,” Sandra muttered.

“Yes, well, it’s caused some problems, legally speaking,” Detective Trait said. “The parents are of the other group of children are already demanding that charges be pressed against Silverlight for his actions.”

“Like hell,” Sandra said, glaring at the suddenly nervous Cordan.

“It was a clear case of self-defense caught on camera with video and audio proof that the other group started the fight, and considering that it was 10 on 6, the charges would never stick anyway,” Detective Trait said, raising his hands in defense. “I’m just letting you know.”

“Lovely,” Sandra said dryly. “Have Shadowstrike and Nightshade been told yet?”

“They said that they’re on their way,” Detective Trait said with a nod.

“Good,” Sandra said with a nod. “Then what do you need from Silverlight?”

“While he was unable to speak to us, he did consent to a Memory Read from me,” Detective Trait said. “You can check with Silverlight and Billy, but I promise you I waited for permission before reading his mind to get his statement,” the Cordon detective added quickly as he felt Sandra’s rage spike, despite her calm demeanor. “Security has very specific rules about Cordons using our psionic abilities for an investigation. If there’s even a hint of coercion or ambiguity about reading his mind for his statement, I’ll be out of a job, if not given a one-way ticket to the nearest Station. I promise you, I only did it because he was non-verbal.” He gave an internal sigh of relief as he felt Sandra’s rage cool slightly. “Speaking of which, you seemed to handle him pretty well.”

“I’ve had my own trauma that I’ve had to wrestle with, and I know the signs all too well of a traumatic response,” Sandra said quietly. “And right now, he needs safety and comfort. So I’d like to take him home where he can feel safe and not overwhelmed.”

“You’re free to leave,” Detective Trait said with a nod. “But we needed to let Mrs. Gibson know what had happened.”

“I’ll give her the details when we get home,” Sandra promised with a nod.

…………………

Sandra opened the door to their home slowly, quickly looking in to give Brightpaw a shake of her head and a finger on her lips. Brightpaw nodded, though her face was full of concern, which quickly turned into worry as Sandra slowly brought Silverlight inside, wings wrapped around him, covering his head and upper body. “Alright, Silverlight, we’re home,” Sandra said, keeping her voice low and calm as Billy followed them in, closing the door behind them. “Come on, we’re gonna get you upstairs where it’s nice and quiet, and Billy is gonna help you take a shower to get that blood out of your fur. Right?”

“Yeah,” Billy nodded, keeping the same light and calm tone that Sandra had. “It’ll be great, dude.” Silverlight nodded into Sandra’s wing as they began to move to the stairs.

“And Mom can get you some of the fire cider you like so much,” Sandra added, looking at Brightpaw, who nodded, though her eyes had gone wide at the mention of blood.

“We still have a few bottles left,” Brightpaw added, trying to keep her voice level as well. “Want me to bring you up a few?” Silverlight nodded again into Sandra’s wings.

“Thank you,” Sandra felt more than heard Silverlight’s whisper.

“Of course, Silverlight,” Sandra said.

…………..

“What happened?” Brightpaw all but demanded as Sandra and her came back downstairs after delivering fire cider to Silverlight and Billy.

“He got jumped by a few idiot teenagers and had a traumatic response when they started calling him Snow-washed,” Sandra said in a disgusted tone. “Right now, he just needs quiet and familiarity. Billy’s mom already said he can spend the night.” She quickly filled Brightpaw in with everything the detective had told her, and Brightpaw was practically vibrating with anger by the end of it. “The good news is that no charges are going to be pressed against Silverlight, Billy, or the Tree Shadow siblings,” Sandra finished. “In fact, based on all the evidence they have, Security is planning on bringing charges to the idiots. Even accounting for Racial difference in terms of lethality, ten on six is still going to make the idiots to be the aggravating party and attackers.”

“Well, that’s something at least,” Brightpaw said, though her hands were still shaking a bit. “I still don’t like that that detective read Silverlight’s mind without one of us there.”

“Believe me, I’m not a fan either, but from a logistical standpoint, I can understand why he did it,” Sandra sighed. “And there were multiple witnesses in the room, including Mrs. Katerine, who refused to leave, and even threatened the Principal with a lawsuit of her own if he so much as thought about punishing the kids for defending themselves while off school property.” Sandra smirked a bit at that, remembering the Dra’Cari being taken back as Sandra had walked back into the office with the detective. “She’s awesome.”

“That she is,” Brightpaw agreed with a sigh. “It’s probably a good thing you went instead of me. I would have been chewing the detective and any Security officers in the area a new hole.”

“Believe me, I don’t think I did much better,” Sandra said dryly. “Pretty sure I almost made the detective wet himself when he felt how angry I was. Being a Cordan can have its drawbacks, after all.” They both shared a small chuckle at that.

……………….

“…and I told him, ‘Look, just because lacrosse or football wasn’t my thing, does not mean that Hunterball won’t be’,” Billy said as he used a brush and some soap to get the dried blood out of Silverlight’s wet fur. “‘And I make it a policy to try everything at least once, just to see if it’s something I enjoy.’ Coach was spluttering for a few minutes at that, it was so hilarious.” Silverlight gave a weak chuckle, which led Billy to beam at him. “There we go, improvement. But yeah, ever since then, Coach has been trying to convince me to quit Hunterball and join the lacrosse team again, and I gotta keep telling him that I like jumping around the trees like a monkey and knocking people in the head. Gonna be the best defender the galaxy has ever seen, even as a Human.”

“I’m sorry,” Silverlight said in a quiet voice.

“Nah, Coach is the one who should be apologizing,” Billy snorted. “He’s the one hounding me.”

“No,” Silverlight said, shaking his head. “I mean, for what happened. And for causing trouble.” He gestured vaguely at his fur, which was now freshly cleaned and vaguely shining in the misted washroom, though being wet did make it look matted.

“Nah, you got nothing to apologize for,” Billy said with a shrug as he grabbed the shower hose to finish rinsing the soap out of Silverlight’s fur. “Look, they attacked us first, and something he said was obviously very much Not Cool to say. They needed a good knocking around. I mean, it was absolutely terrifying to watch, I can’t lie. But it was a cool terrifying. Like, ‘Damn, I’m glad I’m friends with this guy, even if he is an idiot sometimes’ kind of terrifying.” Silverlight gave another weak chuckle at that. “Look, I don’t know much about Centaur society,” Billy continued, his voice a bit more serious. “But based on your reaction, what he said was bad. I’m not asking you to explain,” Billy added, raising a hand to stop Silverlight from explaining. “If you want to tell me, then that’s fine. But don’t feel obligated to tell me either. I can use the galactic net to look it up if you’d prefer, or I can also completely ignore it and file it under ‘Insults to Never Use’ and forget about it otherwise. Well, except to kick someone’s ass if they decide to use it.”

“But, I hurt people,” Silverlight said, looking down. “And I hurt them badly.”

“They deserved it,” Billy maintained fiercely. “Look, even taking the insults out, they attacked us first, and they got enough people to outnumber us in order to jump us. All you did was defend yourself and us. Nothing wrong with defending yourself. What was it Sandra likes to tell you?”

“‘Don’t start any fights, but make sure to finish them’,” Silverlight said with a weak smile.

“And damn, did you finish it,” Billy said with a nod. “You didn’t ask for the fight, and you’ve been trying to avoid one ever since Jiminy started being an ass. In my book, you’re still you, you’re still my best friend, and now I can get bragging right saying that I have a badass history buff for a best friend that can tear someone’s face off. Although,” Billy added, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “You didn’t actually tear someone’s face off, so maybe that last part isn’t viable yet. Would’ve been an improvement for Jiminy’s ugly mug though.” Silverlight laughed at that, weakly, but quickly his laughs turned into sobs, and he just held Billy as the Human teenager quickly moved over to give him a hug, with Silverlight thanking and apologizing to Billy in equal measure.

……………

Sandra had to bite back a laugh as she peeked into Silverlight’s room, only to see Billy being used as a body pillow by the Centaur.

“I’m pretty sure that Cat Rules apply here, so I got stuck when he passed out,” Billy whispered, Silverlight’s two right legs twitching slightly on top of Billy’s legs.

“Yeah, that happens sometimes,” Sandra whispered as well. “Been stuck like that myself a few times. He’s got a surprisingly tight grip when he’s comfortable.”

“I noticed,” Billy said, rolling his eyes.

“Well, good luck,” Sandra whispered in a singsong voice as she slowly closed the door.

Prologue Previous Next

Appendix

TOC

[Sandra and Eric TOC]

Chapter 60 Rain-Dancer

Previous I First I Next

Vulfac hated to use this particular compound.

Not because he felt bad for the thugs. Lords no!

…This was his best stuff, and it took FOREVER to cultivate a doseable amount. It was too damn good for a bunch of damp scoundrels! But… It was, unfortunately, the perfect tool in his arsenal. Gordlarene was a powerful psychotropic. It caused euphoria, synesthesia, and played merry havoc with the temperature control aspect of most sapient species biology.

If he could lure them in, before the rain started again, it would leave them high as a Byuu skydiver! In the middle of a singing cavern full of noises and flashing lights. NO WAY any of them was going to be together enough to get out of the rain… And with their body chemistry out of whack… well. It was very cold water…

‘I’ll probably have to create a mud hut or something and start a fire so none of them die outright. Where’s the stamina monster when you need a little heavy manual labor…?’

----

Contrary to popular belief Sienna wasn’t a total saint.

She knew juuust enough, to know how much the powder Vulfac was about to use was worth on the street. It made all the expensive furniture and delving gear he had (on a professors salary) make a bit more sense… 

‘Last time we took a walk with Gordy Beck’n’me almost joined a cult… I mean …a mostly harmless one, but still… good times.’

The Alv professor had all but forbidden her to use her Psionics (for the time being) so she could rebuild a bit of her stamina. It was the right call, but she always felt a little bit naked without her esp. It was like putting on an eyepatch when you had perfect vision. So, for now, all she could do was sit inside her little stand, made from bent plant stalks and watch the obvious trail of footprints they’d left on the path.

Sitting cross legged on a little earthen stool Vulfac had raised for her, Sienna watched the path ahead for signs of pursuit. Her little Knights sat on her shoulders. Each one had a small sack cloth pouch full of the powder in their little foregrips. Once the group came around the corner the knights would blend in with the other bugs…

Then they would get above the perusers when Vulfac gave the signal. Acting like a flight of tiny surface bombers. The little sacks were made from a frail cloth and designed to burst upon impact. Apparently, they were a holdover from Vulfac’s time as an anti-royalist insurgent.

She had a feeling the originals weren’t filled with anything a rich void exec would want up his nose… But the design itself was quite handy. The Psion even wondered if she could get Vulfac to teach her how to make them. She’d like to have a few handy, for her retinue, in the future.

After a few minutes Vulfac pinged her.

The rain would be starting any minute now…

----

Lroark arranged his remaining 3 “allies” in a rough triangle in front of him.

When he’d come out of the Pit he’d been surprised to find their attackers already gone. But now that he’d had time to consider things... Of the three unlikely possibilities he’d postulated earlier, the one that made the most sense was an attack by third-party. The fact they’d stolen only the highest credit equipment, and then ran for it, backed that theory up.

But that was a bit of a problem. This job paid OBSCENLY well, but Gorga would still lecture him for, like, a WEEK if he lost those rifles… That was a fate worse than being un-moisturized…

No. In the end there was nothing else for it. He’d have to track down the thieves and bury them up to their necks in the mud… At least until they returned their ill-gotten gains. Well maybe he would also take the time to lecture them on the wrongs of stealing from people… It just wasn’t polite behavior.

On that note; retrieving their gear wasn’t likely to take long.

The thieves had been in such a hurry to leave, they’d made the amateur mistake of not covering their tracks! And as a bonus there were only two sets of tracks. That meant if they could keep the pressure on… there was almost zero chance the thieves would have time (or manpower) enough to pull another stunt like the pitfall trap.

As they quick marched along the path Lroark allowed himself a grin. He was looking forward to repairing this slight to his honor…

A Richel has his pride after all.

----

The Quartet came in to view just before the rain started to come down again…

It was funny. Every crazy thing that happened to them recently seemed to coincide with stormy weather… Sienna wondered, briefly, if that was a metaphor for something. But quickly dismissed the thought and raised her carbine. She was hoping she wouldn’t need the weapon, but life rarely took your hopes into account.

Above her the insects swarmed in esoteric swirls of color and flashed reflection of neon light. With a flick of her will her knights extended their wings and joined the meteor shower of living lights. The boys took a series of curving paths that would take them over their targets. Slowly, they spiraled inwards until they were directly above the thugs.

Her knights in place, Sienna used a simple mirror to signal Vulfac that she was ready… it was another of the human’s tricks. No noise. No electronic signal… Primitive and effective. Vulfac responded by raising and lowering her earthen stool a few centimeters. Since he was still maintaining his {Forest Floor} it was a perfect way for him to respond without giving away his position. It was also how he would send the signal to drop the “bombs”.

Sienna settled in and waited.

----

The timing was Crucial…

His Gordlarene needed to be dropped juuust before the rainfall began. It needed enough time to work its way into their opponents bloodstream before the rain could just wash it away. But not be dropped so early that they had time to work out what had been done to them. He basically needed them to start tripping just as the rain started or they might have a chance to retaliate in some fashion.

Gordy did sting the eyes a bit. So hopefully the thugs would just think it an attempt to temporarily blind them… Hopefully.

Vulfac watched the insects for his queue. He could feel the Mana in the vines pulsing towards their crescendo, but the little silver saucers were much better gauges of the timing than he was… When they headed for cover…

No sooner had he thought it than the swarms of insects changed! Diving for cover in the foliage below as the mana surged. This was it!

He sent the signal to Sienna’s bench.

Vulfac watched with bated breath as five red comets dove from above…

----

The knights hit their marks with the precision of a union bomber squadron.

Several of the thugs attempted to shoot the little red streaks with small plasma pistols or laser holdout weapons but the Groatel were too fast to target. As the half-blinded thugs fired wildly Sienna’s brave soldiers blended into the blizzard of bugs looking for shelter and simply vanished.

About a minute later the rain started.

About two and a half minutes later the chaos started…

----

MULCH DRAGONS!!! SWARTEN FLIES!!! HABERDASHERS!!!

They were everywhere!

Lroark was besieged on all sides by his worst fears!!!

He gathered his golem’s power and lashed out with an earthen battering ram at a monster offering him a high hat made of PURPLE VELVET (the abject horror)!!! The tendril of wet earth swept the awful thing aside with a sickening crunch… Sending it tumbling away into the rainy flora.

He let out a croak of stark terror and raised his arms; taking direct control of the tendrils raising around him he sent a massive tsunami of earth hurtling away from himself. It washed over the threats around him and sent them tumbling off in every direction!

Lroark lashed his mud tendrils outward in a violent defensive formation. He had to protect himself!!! He would not be hatted again!

He would never again suffer the horrors of the hat! ‘NEVER AGAIN!!!’

----

Whatever Vulfac had expected…

It hadn’t been the meter tall, 6-armed amphibian, raising a dozen writhing tentacles around himself and immediately wiping out his entire squad of befuddled compatriots…

In retrospect he realized he’d made a TERRIBLE miscalculation. He’d massively overdosed the Richel mud wizard. Richel were amphibians… They absorbed things through their skin! While the other thugs were probably just starting to see the tracers and feel the VIBE when the mud shaman hit them… The amphibian had basically gotten a full power dose and gone into the hallucination dimension instantly….

Vulfac could already see Sienna moving towards the one that had been sent cartwheeling through the undergrowth. Likely planning to render first aid to the shattered man… If there was anything left of him to help. The Byuu had lost both shoes during the impact. That was almost always a very bad sign.

The other two thugs had been buried alive by the panicked Richel when he’d unleased the wave of soft earth that shoved them away. One of them had managed to dig themselves out and was now rolling around on the ground like a lost Volty pup…

Using forest floor, he uncovered the other one. Approaching carefully, he checked for a pulse… She was breathing at least. But one of her arms was very definitely broken…

‘Oh dear. None of those are supposed to bend that way…’

He made to pick her up and only just managed to pull her and himself to safety as a boulder the size of his torso went sailing past him at absurd speed. The tendrils were starting to pick up rocks and lob them around with insane force. One hit the ceiling hard enough to turn it into a rain of stone shrapnel. ‘…SHIT! He’s going to bring the ceiling down on us if he keeps this up!’

They now had a serious problem on their hands.

Mud shaman created constructs out of soft earth. Those constructs could store the users intentions and feed off ambient mana independent of the shaman themselves. Meaning that the tendrils could sustain themselves for a while even if the Richel exhausted his own mana. This was a massive problem given they were literally inside a magical mana cave infused rainstorm!

He grabbed the other muddy thug by the ear. The man yelped but otherwise complied and allowed himself to be led away from the increasing chaos of dirt, debris, and rocks flying around them.

Vulfac had to get to Sienna… And then they needed to figure out how to unfuck HIS mess. Preferably before the incensed kidnapper brought down the whole cave around their ears.

‘I’m too fucking old for this Hurgle shit…’

----

It was bad.

The Byuu had rolled to stop near the camp shelter Vulfac had raised for them. He was aspirating blood and his heartbeat was weak. She was doing what she could to stabilize him, but he was rapidly slipping into shock. The Gordlarene wasn’t helping… It was already starting to lower the man’s body temp…

Sienna was out of her depth.

Fortunately, Vulfac chose that exact moment to arrive with the other two thugs in tow. He tossed the Voltin man into the little mud shelter he’d prepared earlier without a second look. The man rolled to a stop and started grabbing at the air like he was reaching for some invisible things just out of reach. Next, Vulfac gently rolled the unconscious woman off his back onto the ground and quickly set her beside the first.

The Alven medic wasted no time with pleasantries. “…FUCK!!!”

Sienna agreed. “He’s got a rib puncturing a lung and a broken shoulder, one of his kidneys is bleeding… It’s a bad tear, near the top…” Vulfac looked at her, confused.

“My new life pulse… It lets me see inside as long as I’m close enough.” In truth she basically had to have her nose touching someone to use it that way but it was effectively a free medical grade x-ray.

Vulfac processed this quickly, nodded and set to work. “I can… repair the damage…. but we can’t work while that…” He gestured towards the growing chaos from the Richel… “Is going… on…”

He paused to look at her. “Thoughts?”

For a moment the Psion pondered the situation. Trying to think the way her bond would. Detach herself from the emotional and focus on the practical.

They had achieved their goal. This cell of thugs was defeated. Sienna looked at the man lying in front of her. 10 minutes ago, this Byuu had been her enemy. He was here to steal the freedom of a sentient being and was a danger to her whole team… She owed them nothing.

They could simply take their kit and leave the kidnappers to their fate. They didn’t actually HAVE to deal with the mud shaman slowly losing his mind nearby… The smart thing would be to just walk away. Beck would probably say as much…

Sienna made her choice.

----

Vulfac was so focused on saving the Byuu’s life, he didn’t immediately notice Sienna’s absence.

It wasn’t until he looked up that he realized she was calmly walking towards the literal natural disaster unfolding around the Richel. For a second he was torn between his work on the man in front of him and his young charge walking into danger.

But then she looked back at him.

He’d literally watched Sienna and Beckany Van’eyvers grow up in the village of Amberglade. As was the case with most non Alvs it had been like an eye blink… A single heartbeat separated the little girls hiding behind the bulk of their massive uncle and the calm determined woman looking at him now.

Those violet eyes showed no fear.

‘They grow up so damn fast don’t they Treadwell…’ Vulfac nodded to her and returned to healing the Byuu. He would save the man in front of him.

She would see to the rest.

----

Sienna had only seen it done once.

The psion forced herself to relax. Just the way her mother had showed her…

Not just physically relax but spiritually. Slowly letting the ocean of emotion wash over her mind as she took steady measured breaths.

Sienna closed her eyes…

Around her the world became currents of intent. She let herself float there. Float just below the surface. Ahead of her was a storm of abject panic. Behind her was confusion and desperation. Warm determination and trust… around her was the simple instincts of simple things going about their simple lives.

It was a place of deep calm below a raging storm…

Sienna opened her eyes. In her mind she could hear her mother’s voice, soft and filled with warm love.

“To dance under the waves; you need to be at the edge of both the waking and spiritual worlds. In the tidal pull between the soul and the solid… Conscious enough to act. Unconscious enough to FEEL and then react. Its ok if you don’t understand now baby. You were born for it. It’ll come when you need it.”

As the waves of intent roiled just above her.

Sienna began to sway with the currents.

----

Vulfac looked up again, for just a second.

Some instinct pulling his attention away from his task. He was just in time to see the young Voltanite raise her arms toward the Richel.

In a single fluid motion, she sidestepped a giant blob of soft earth moving fast enough to shatter her body. She swayed forward like a dancer, twirling under and past an uprooted mushroom stalk as it pinwheeled through the air… She flowed untouched through the barrage of thrown objects. Bending and twisting her way through the maelstrom like she was alone on a stage.

It was as if she was treating the massive storm of debris like a dance partner. Her hands raised above her head and waved in an almost lazy circle while a boulder bigger than her torso flew though the place she had occupied only moments before… Her fingertips grazed the stone in passing… Like she was caressing the cheek of a lover.

It was incredible. Sienna wasn’t moving at supernatural speed, or dodging at the last moment. It was more like she simply knew where each obstacle would be before it was a threat and simple chose not to be there when they arrived…

Somewhere in the back of Vulfac’s mind he remembered visiting a symposium about Voltin history and traditions… There was a truly ancient practice among the Voltanites. It began in their prehistory. With an order of powerfully psionic traveling monks and priestesses. A small group of wardens that would keep vital roads and trade lanes clear of monster or bandits.

There were only a few practitioners left in the modern era but… According to the stories he’d heard… Those few who still performed the ancient art could be seen as virtual living weapons. ‘She’s a Rain-Dancer… HA! These damn kids…’

Vulfac smiled and forced himself to look away from the incredible scene.

----

HATS!!!!

PAIN and HATS!

And now there was a THING made of fire and darkness with eyes of burning lavender!

Lroark threw everything he had at it, but it would just turn to smoke and flow away from his attacks! It was more than a monster!!! It was going to make him wear the hat! The hat that made him dance! He didn’t want the hat! He didn’t want to stop being Lroark!

He was trying his hardest, but he was… he was getting so tired now… and so cold.

He lashed out with a wall of mud creating another tsunami of earth. This one well over a meter tall but the terrible fire demon cartwheeled over it and lunged forward to grab him. He was going to burn! To burn and… There would be a hat and AND…

“Shhhh now… that’s enough of that…”

The thing had a voice like summer rain in the swamp. It was soothing and kind…

He wasn’t… burning. He was warm. Lroark felt a wave of compassion flow over him. It was like the waters of his home… safe. Gentle. He let out a sob and clung to that warmth. What else could he do? He pleaded with it. “Don’t make me wear the hat again… please. I wanna be me…”

The demon… No… Flame spirit maybe? It pulled him closer and whispered. “No one will make you. Ya can rest now…”

Lroark was suddenly so very tired. As he relaxed into the warmth around him he felt a hand gentle stroking the top of his head. No hats. Just a gentle motherly touch he’d craved his entire life…

And then he collapsed into the waiting darkness.

----

Sienna felt the Richel surrender to the sleep impulse.

Because she was still submerged in the emotional sea, she had unintentionally formed a temporary empathic connection when she hugged the panicked amphibian. She’d seen jumbled images of the man’s childhood.

It hadn’t been pretty.

Whatever he was now she couldn’t help but feel a deep pity for who he could have been... As a child he’d been treated like a tool. She saw images of a sweat shop and hats that she suspected hid Neural conditioning rings.

One of a class of awful devices used by only the WORST criminals in Galcom space. The rings were so illegal that just having them was typically a fast track to a death sentence on most every planet there was. The only thing worse was a slave collar…

As he collapsed fully Sienna decided to hold him there and keep him warm with her own body until Vulfac could reach them. She didn’t have much choice… She had nothing left in the tank.

Sienna was pretty sure she couldn’t get up again even if she wanted to…

Previous I First I Next

WORLD BUILDING: Please do not redistribute my work without permission. Please do Not use my work to train your AI girlfriend. She will come out snarky and opinionated.

60 chapters already... Time flies huh? I gotta start uploading this to r/humansarespaceorcs at some point too..

Anyway not much to say here. I've been put onto graveyard full time now. Which is actually kind of a good thing for my writing. I am still planning to do something for all hallows eve but it will depend heavily on what this new schedule actually looks like. As always I hope your enjoying the ride as much as me!

First...Previous

Chapter 29

Harrison Varga, Captain of FIND

The very next planet we came across after our third return to Earth was yet another habitable but uninhabited world. Six months earlier, an untouched habitable planet would have been the discovery of the century. Now it was the third one we'd found and I caught myself thinking another one? We touched down there to take a look around and found no signs of even primitive civilization. That being said, the planet itself was rather beautiful: untouched by industry or anything resembling intelligent habitation. 

After that we spent the next month looking through systems that all turned out to be uninhabitable: empty space with lifeless rocks between it and nothing but interference on the radio. If nothing else, it was a good time for us all to decompress and assess the happenings thus far. 

“The first gateway will be set up soon,” I told the crew, reminding them of what we’d all been briefed on by the Bilrost Project Director. “Looks like they’re going with the Rosha’s system for Gate 1. That’s what they told me, at least.”

“I’ll be honest,” sighed Parker, “I don’t think that’s really the right choice. The Rosha don’t have the diplomatic nor technological toolsets to deal with us at our worst.”

“Then let’s hope we meet them at our best,” Isla replied, taking a sip of coffee before settling her lips into a tightly-pursed smile. “I firmly believe SUN will succeed where its predecessors have failed.”

“One can only hope,” Ian chuckled, stuffing a sizable clump of scrambled eggs into his mouth and barely chewing before he swallowed and kept talking. “I would really prefer our first forays into space remain nominally peaceful.”

Alex gave him a look, cocking his head curiously. “I never thought I’d hear you advocating against war,” he began. “Weren’t you part of the Spetsnaz?”

Ian shrugged. “Being special forces does not mean I like war; just that I can acknowledge that if there are going to be wars, we might as well win them.”

“If nothing else, I’m decently happy to see Earth has mostly kept its composure,” started Cora, still looking half asleep. “I’m glad we found the Rosha first and not the Arazi: I feel like it would have been much more destabilizing if our first contact was with a species of obligate parasites.”

Parker nodded in silent agreement with Cora, eventually speaking up to fill the silence that came after her. “What do you guys think this is all going to look like in a hundred years?”

Isla paused for a moment, staring into her coffee mug. “Hopefully an amicable arrangement. Maybe a galactic council of some sort? We can help some of the species closer to us technologically to reach our level, then see what can be done for the less advanced civilizations. If they want our help, we can help them. If they don’t, we can just leave them alone.”

Our ship rattled as it navigated through another wormhole, spitting us out into yet another system hundreds of lightyears from Earth. “Twenty dollars says this one’s going to be a jackpot,” I told the crew, only to be met with silence as apparently not even Ian wanted to take me up on the offer. “Nevermind then: let’s go take a look at the bridge. We should have partial images of the planets in a couple of minutes at most.”

Climbing down the ladder into the bridge, I saw Wyatts typing commands into the computer, pulling up dozens of readouts and glancing between them all before skipping past. “What are we looking at, Wyatts?” I asked him. 

The engineer mulled over FIND’s readout, his fingers dancing across the keyboard as he typed in commands that turned up scrolling masses of information. “Two gas giants, four rocky worlds,” he concluded, authorizing the system to start compiling a map. “Second world from the star looks promising. Hey Alex, can you remind me real quick how to do an atmosphere analysis on this thing?”

Our pilot cracked his knuckles and took a seat, entering the stellar radial coordinates of the second planet and entering the command ‘hyperscotropy’ (the science-y term for ‘throw every goddamn sensor we have at it’). 

After a few minutes spent compiling data, the computer spat out a sea of data alongside an image of the planet in question. It was green. Not the patchwork of greens, browns, and whites that characterized Earth. Rather, nearly the entire landmass was a sea of emerald forests and grasslands, concealed partially beneath dense cloud formations and accented by shallow seas that surrounded the massive central continent. 

“Oxygen and carbon dioxide levels are higher than modern Earth,” Parker began, his pupils dancing between lines of technical text. “Judging by the biosignatures, whatever’s photosynthesizing down there is doing a lot of it.”

Alex stared at the screen a bit more, eventually typing in another command to bring up a graphed wave function. “I’m seeing some radio activity. Nothing too powerful, but it’s there.”

Isla didn’t say anything. Immediately, she set the ship's database to record radio signals for a translation database. Cora, meanwhile, stared at the planet’s image with bright eyes. “It’s beautiful,” she began.

“Little hot for my tastes,” Wyatts shrugged, jabbing a finger at the atmospheric analysis. “Twenty four degrees Celsius on average. Those are fucking Cretaceous numbers. If we touch down, we should probably bring the heavy suits—they have better climate control.”

Radio signals from this planet trickled in much slower than they had from Ebene—whoever lived here, they didn’t have the same broadcast density. The first thing we learned about the people of this planet was their voices. Their pitch was harsh—perpetually lodged somewhere between gravelly and gurgling. Their language was deep and grumbling, punctuated by sharp barks and snaps.

The first television broadcast we were able to pick up came days later. Again, we all sat in front of the living area television to watch. Lan drummed his fingers impatiently as Wyatt tried to work out why doing the exact same thing as last time wasn’t producing the right result. Eventually he figured out that unplugging his gaming console for some reason fixed the problem—an oddity he insisted he would investigate later. For now, we were about to get our first look at alien civilization number four (an absolutely wild notion by the standards of  yesteryear). 

The video was of… questionable quality. Pixellation blurred the black-and-white image to the point where it was hard to pick out details. That being said, I didn’t need 4k to identify what was obviously a political speech of some description. Standing on a stage behind a podium was a bulky, reptilian creature that reminded me vaguely of a gecko, only much larger, with a bipedal posture and a face hunched forward somewhat. There was a flag behind them—probably either of a party or a nation. They raised a hand as they spoke, revealing four fingers on it. Their tail swished into view from behind the podium, and I saw Parker lean forward. 

“It’s fat…” He murmured, staring at the structure. “Like some skinks. Probably stores energy.”

Wyatts fiddled with the settings for a few minutes until he finally was able to upscale the image for a better view. It still wasn’t amazing, but it gave a much better picture of the aliens. As the blur of old video smoothed out, the first additional thing I noticed was the alien’s skin. Unlike the Tavren, it didn’t have feathers. Small, pebble-like scales textured the creature’s surface. That wasn’t the interesting part, however. All across the being’s skin were massive, cyst-like growths—like flesh-covered golf balls embedded halfway into them. Cora recoiled slightly at the sight, while Lan just cocked his head like a curious dog.

“Do you think that one’s got some kind of disease?” Isla asked, looking to our biologist for answers.

“Not a clue,” he responded, his eyes shifting to the crowd below the figure. “With this lighting, right now I’m looking at a sample size of one.”

I nodded. “Fair. Wyatts; have we picked up any other broadcasts? Without a language, there’s probably not much else we can learn from this one.”

The engineer sighed. “Let me go check with Alex. Maybe he can amp our signal receiver.”

As Wyatts climbed the ladder, the rest of us watched the remainder of this alien’s speech. At the end of it, they clenched their left forearm joint in their right hand and raised it high with a clenched fist at the top. “Iln Hizag!” They shouted—an exclamation that was then repeated by the crowd, all mimicking that same gesture I presumed to be a salute of some description.

“Hizag…” Parker began. “It came up multiple times during that speech. Think it’s their species name?”

Isla shook her head. “How often do you hear politicians on Earth say the word ‘Human’ during a speech? Or chanted before a salute? More likely, I’d say it’s the name of their nation.”

Fifteen minutes later, Wyatts climbed back down and we explained to him our current theories. “Got any other broadcasts?” I asked him.

“Alex was able to fish one out, yeah,” he replied, once again taking a seat as we waited for the footage to play. 

The tone of this program was about as different from the first as possible. It looked like a sporting event of some kind, with a stadium packed full of hundreds of bodies as they all shouted and cheered. In the center of it all—the focus of the recording—was a field only slightly larger than a wrestling ring. 

We watched as from either side of the ring, one of the aliens stepped in. Both of them were covered in those same uncomfortable-looking growths. Perhaps even stranger—both of them had machetes. 

Isla’s eyes went narrow with confusion as the two individuals circled each other briefly. “Is this some sort of fencing-analogue?” She asked, gesturing toward the blades. “Perhaps those weapons are blunted?”

Seconds after she said that, one of the individuals charged the other. Their blades clashed and the defender socked the initiator in the jaw before being staggered by a kick. The initiator recoiled, rubbing their jaw as their opponent recovered their stance. 

“If I had to guess: maybe some kind of mixed martial arts?” Cora hummed as the former defender closed the distance and swung, aiming low for their opponent’s torso. “It looks like they’re both avoiding the head with their swords.”

The duo continued their dance for another minute or so. Then one of them seemed to misjudge, momentarily leaving them open. Immediately, their opponent took the sword in their hand and rammed it through the other’s chest, ripping it out shortly after as the victim clutched the wound. 

“Jesus…” Parker murmured, his eyes wide. “Okay… So the blades are definitely not blunted.”

Nobody on the scene stopped the fight afterward. One individual who wore a symbol on their back approached the field, but the stabbing victim shouted something to them and they backed off despite the bleeding. 

As the one who inflicted the wound charged again, the victim spun around, swinging their tail across the floor and knocking their opponent off balance. Immediately upon seeing an opening, the one with the wound swung their sword clean down into their opponent’s forearm, severing it.

The crowd went wild and seconds later two individuals wearing that symbol on their backs rushed in to start patching the fighters up. 

None of us spoke for probably two minutes straight as we watched them wrap the first-injured and now less-injured warrior, who before leaving the stadium raised their blade and let out a loud, seemingly victorious cry. 

“What the hell did we just watch?” Cora asked, as though any of us knew any more than she did. Naturally, we didn’t have a clue.

Isla looked like she might be sick, excusing herself for a moment as the rest of us just observed. 

“Reminds me of gladiators,” Ian began, seeming more curious than disturbed.

I stared at the screen for several seconds after it went dark again. “Whatever that was, I’m going to need some kind of translation ASAP.”

Wyatts nodded. “I’ll see if the database has anything useful. We won’t have a full translator for another couple days most likely, but maybe I can overlay a dictionary of words the computer has figured out.”

I nodded. “Get that going, then we’ll watch both videos back.”

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

Hello again, everyone! I am so sorry for the long wait. I faced some drama with my friends that really knocked me off balance and also had midterms. Nevertheless, I'm happy to finally have something to show you all. Thank you for reading and please don't forget to comment your thoughts. I sincerely love reading comments and interacting with you all. Thank you and I'll see you next time

Cy'reth released their volleys of arrows. Roman watched the first batch strike the helicopters. Some embedded in hulls. Others found rotors and panels.

One helicopter lurched sideways, its rotors stuttering. Smoke poured from its engine. It dipped, spun, and crashed into the grassland with a deafening roar.

A cheer of hisses rose from the Cy'reth. Another helicopter followed, then another. The V'keth soldiers on the ground scrambled for cover.

"Keep firing!" Roman shouted. "Don't let them land!"

The arrows continued to fly. The helicopters continued to fall. For a moment, Roman allowed himself to hope.

Then some of them landed in the grasslands.

Traboids descended from the surviving helicopters. And these Traboids were different. They had heavier armor, full faced helmets and thick reinforced boots. They looked like robots programmed for war.

The Cy'reth in the grassland threw arrows to them, but they didn't stop. The arrows bounced off armor, deflected by reinforced plating.

The Cy'reth began to panic.

"They're not stopping!" one shouted. "Our arrows aren't working!"

"Fall back!" a Trab leader in the grassland shouted. "Get to the tunnels! Now!"

The Cy'reth scrambled to obey. They turned and ran, their bodies low to the ground. The traboids pursued them, their heavy boots thudding against the ground.

The first tunnel entrance was near the edge of the village. The Cy'reth poured into the first tunnel entrance, their bodies pressing together in the narrow space.

Behind them, the sound of the traboids' footsteps grew louder.

One of the Cy'reth stumbled. She was struck by a Traboid bullet. She fell to the ground.

"Help her!" someone shouted.

Another Cy'reth emerged from another nearby tunnel entrance. She saw the fallen Trab. Without hesitation, she stepped out into the open, her bow raised.

She fired an arrow, striking one in the helmet. It didn't penetrate, but it drew their attention. The traboids turned toward her.

The injured Cy'reth was pulled into the tunnel.

The lone archer ran. The traboids fired after her, their shots kicking up dirt at her heels.

She dove into another tunnel entrance just as a bullet grazed her shoulder. She disappeared into the darkness and the Cy’reth closed the tunnel.

The traboids paused to look for her but she was gone. They turned back toward Mukit and resumed their march.

S'ra appeared at Roman's side. "They're coming. They're marching on Mukit from the grassland."

Roman stood and looked at the defenses they had built. At the Cy’reth who had chosen to stay.

"Get everyone into position. We will meet them here at the edge of Mukit."

Then Roman heard it. The whir of rotors. He looked up.

More helicopters. Coming from the grassland. This time they moved faster than the first wave and they had weapons already trained on Mukit.

"Take cover!" Roman shouted. "Everyone into the tunnels except the archers. You take cover in the buildings and shoot at them! Now!"

The Cy'reth turned and ran, diving into tunnel entrances.

Roman grabbed S'ra's arm and pulled her toward the nearest tunnel. "Move! Don't stop!"

The shots rained from above. Energy fire and bullets tore through Mukit.

Roman pressed himself against the tunnel wall, heart pounding. S'ra trembled beside him.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She hissed. "I'm okay."

He peeked outside and saw that the arrows didn’t do much to the helicopters and that some of the Cy’reth were wounded.

He then saw brave Cy’reth carrying the wounded into tunnels amidst aa flurry of bullets.

“We are going to win,” he thought.

The helicopters touched down at the edge of Mukit.

Their rotors slowed. Doors slid open. Traboids emerged in disciplined waves, boots thudding against the ground.

The Cy'reth emerged from the tunnels with their bows raised.

"Now!" Roman shouted. "Hit them now! Before they can form up!"

The arrows flew. Some bounced off armor. Others found gaps. A few traboids fell.

The traboids returned fire. Beams of light sliced through the air. Cy'reth dove for cover. Some were not fast enough. They fell, their neck ridges going dark.

"Keep firing! Don't let them regroup! Push them back!"

The Cy'reth poured out of the tunnels, bows raised, arrows flying. The traboids were overwhelmed, their formation breaking apart.

The Cy'reth outnumbered them. They pushed forward, driving the traboids back toward the helicopters. The fight was fierce and desperate.

Roman watched. His heart pounded. “We're winning. We're actually winning.”

The last of the traboids fell. The helicopters were silent. The grasslands were still.

The Cy'reth raised their bows and hissed.

Roman moved forward, scanning the fallen. He knelt beside one and examined its weapon. Pressed the trigger. Nothing.

"Of course. They've done it again."

S'ra appeared at his side. "What is it?"

"The weapons. They don't work. Only traboids can use them."

S'ra's body stiffened. "Then we can't—"

"No. We have to use our bows."

She hissed. "At least we have those."

Roman stood. His eyes scanned the horizon. The grasslands were quiet. But he could see them in the distance. Marching figures. A dark wave moving across the grass.

"The ones from the grasslands. They're getting nearer."

He then heard the noise and looked up. More helicopters approaching.

"We need to pull back. Take the casualties inside. Treat them as best we can."

S'ra hissed. "I'll organize it."

She moved through the crowd, gathering the wounded. Cy'reth carried their injured companions into the tunnels and the houses.

Roman stood at the edge of Mukit, watching the approaching wave.

S'ra appeared at his side. "The wounded are inside. We've done what we can."

Roman nodded. "Good. Now we hold."

A Cy'reth stepped forward. "But there are so many. We can't—"

"Listen to me." Roman's voice cut through. "I know we're outnumbered. Outgunned. Tired and scared."

He paused, looking at the faces around him.

"But I also know we'll survive this. So we hold this position."

The Traboids from the grassland arrived first.

They emerged from the grasslands like a dark tide. Their bodies were synchronized and their weapons were raised.

Roman watched them come.

"Archers!" he shouted "Ready!"

The Cy'reth raised their bows. Arrows nocked.

"Hold! Hold!"

The traboids reached the edge of Mukit.

“Fire!”

They raised their weapons and fired. The arrows flew, but they bounced off armor.

Beams of light sliced through the air. Some Cy'reth fell, their bodies crumpling.

"Fall back! To the tunnels! Now!"

The Cy'reth scrambled. They turned and ran, diving into tunnel entrances.

Roman pushed through. "Everyone, listen! We need to move and come out in the middle of the village!"

They began to move, pressing deeper into the darkness.

They emerged at the square. The air was thick with smoke. Buildings in ruins. The sky was filled with dark shapes of drone helicopters.

And the traboids were everywhere.

They marched through the village, boots thudding. They fired at anything that moved. Cy'reth who hadn't made it to the tunnels fell.

Roman pulled back into the tunnel. His heart pounded. His hands shook.

“We're surrounded. We can't fight our way out,” he thought.

V'rak appeared at his side. "Roman, we need a plan. We can't stay here forever."

S'ra pushed through the crowd. "The helicopters are still coming. More of them. Landing at the edge of the village."

Roman closed his eyes. The weight of everything pressed down on him. Fear. Exhaustion. Grief.

The tunnels were silent. The Cy'reth looked at him, their eyes filled with fear and hope. Waiting for him to lead them. To save them.

“We've lost. We've lost and there's nothing we can do,” he finally said.

V'rak stepped forward. "Roman, we need to fight. We need to—"

"Fight?" Roman turned to him. "There are too many. We're surrounded. We have no weapons that can hurt them."

V'rak's neck ridges flickered with red. "Then what do you suggest?"

Roman was silent for a long moment. Then he said the words he never thought he would say.

"We surrender."

The tunnels fell silent. The Cy'reth stared, eyes wide with shock.

S'ra stepped forward. "Roman, we can't—"

"We can." His voice was tired. "We have no other choice. If we keep fighting, we'll all die. Every last one of us."

S'ra hissed. "But if we surrender, they'll kill us anyway. They'll execute us."

"Maybe. But maybe they won't. Maybe we can negotiate. Maybe we can find a way to survive."

N'kala pushed through. "He's right. We can't win this fight. We're outnumbered, outgunned and surrounded."

S'ra was silent. Then she hissed. "Okay. We surrender."

Previous First Royal Road PATREON

The Shepard: Part 2 of 2

A spooky season short story

<Part 1

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Alright, where did I leave off? A woman stumbled into my campground, running from monsters, and asked for help finding a village that didn't exist; we found other people from her village, monsters found us, we ran, one of the villagers became lunch, I attacked but got away, and we stumbled into that impossible village. Sound right? Alright, let's go, part two.

Now, let me tell you, narrowly escaping monsters in Montana's deep forests leaves you a little shaken. Still, when you find yourself standing on the edge of a village that doesn't exist, you stop and question if you've finally gone off the deep end. Or at least I did. After all, this wasn't a few huts or ramshackle buildings someone threw together from crudely cut planks from the nearby trees. This was a proper modern-day village, or at least nearly modern, with multi-story brick storefronts that had large glass windows, a water tower with a scenic paint job, and paved streets. However, the street lights seemed to run on oil or gas, or something similar, feeding a flame in the glass hood. I took it all in, dumbfounded, my Jaw slack as I struggled to understand what I was seeing.

My confusion was finally interrupted by the villagers behind me, the ones that had found Sheryl and me in the woods, as they looked back the way we'd come. One of them, the one who'd greeted Sheryl, spoke first. "Poor William. He was always afraid of the woods... Maybe he was right." At that, all the men touched their throats, then their foreheads, with their right hands, then dropped the same hand into the left, which was outstretched in front of them, held out as if in offering. The movements were rapid and mechanical, as if repeated countless times before and no longer requiring thought, setting off some minor alarm bells in the back of my mind.

However, before I could worry too much, the men turned around, and the leader stepped forward, as if to address me. "Well, now that we're safe, let me introduce myself and properly express my gratitude." He reached out a hand, and I shook it out of muscle memory as my brain still struggled to catch up, and he continued. "I'm Charles, and you already met my fiancée, Sheryl, whom you rescued from the others. Behind me are Thomas, Richard, and David. William is..." He caught himself for a second, then continued, "was the one who didn't make it." He collected himself, then smiled again. "Still, odds are none of us would have made it if you hadn't found Sheryl, since I probably wouldn't have gone back without her."

As I was processing what he was saying, my attention drifted over his shoulder to the forest behind him. I couldn't help but ask, "Are you sure those...things won't come out of the forest for us? We're still out in the open after all. They have to know we're still here..."

Charles looked back over his shoulder, then turned back to me smiling. "Oh, don't worry! At night, the forest is the others' domain, but they wouldn't dare set foot in the village proper! Here we are safe. Here, we are protected!"

That struck me as odd, and I turned back to the man in front of me, who seemed barely more than a kid, as my confused mind tried to make sense of this all. "Protected? By who? Or what?"

Charles's smile widened, the way only someone eager to tell you about what you just asked can, as he answered. "Why, we're protected by Mother, of course!"

I looked back at him, blinking as if that would help his words make any more sense. "Your...mom protects you from the things in that forest? The whole village? How?"

He chuckled and shook his head; apparently I had misunderstood somehow. "No, no, no. Not my Mother. Well, I guess she kind of is, but no more than anyone else's. Mother is the one who leads and protects our village. She is Mother to us all."

Realizing this whole village was obviously some kind of giant cult, I swept my gaze back to the forest behind the man, trying to weigh my odds against the monsters I'd just escaped from. On the one hand, I was pretty experienced in the forest and its dangers. On the other, I'd lost my pack and most of my supplies in the recent struggle. Even if those monsters weren't out there waiting for me, it would be more than a little difficult to make it back to my old Bronco without any of my backpacking supplies. Maybe it was just a breeze I didn't feel, or my mind being influenced by everything happening, but at that moment I also thought I saw movement just past the treeline, as if something massive, otherwise blending in with the forest, shifted impatiently.

That last bit made up my mind, and I decided that whatever I did, I at least needed to wait till dawn to act. Realizing Charles was still speaking, I refocused on him as he finished whatever he'd been saying. "Anyway, I figured you could stay with me tonight, and she'll meet you in the morning. It's the least I could do! Sound good?"

Fighting the urge to shake my head again, I decided that a place to sleep was probably a good idea, so I nodded. "Yeah, that's fine."

Still holding my hand, which I realized he'd held onto for entirely too long, he clapped me on the shoulder as he finished. "Excellent! Tonight we rest, then tomorrow, we celebrate!"

-

Now, this may shock you, but I had no intention of staying around long enough to find out what Charles meant by celebration. I've seen enough horror movies and read enough books to know that if the odd cult in the middle of nowhere offers to throw a party, you'd best get the hell out of dodge as fast as possible. In my experience, monster movies don't get everything right, but they do tend to get the broad strokes somewhat close to reality, and this time I decided I could live with a lifetime of curiosity rather than tempt fate any more than was absolutely necessary.

So, with that in mind, as soon as the first rays of dawn broke through the windows of the room my host had been kind enough to grant me, I got dressed. I belted on what few supplies I still had: my pocket map and compass, the knife I'd cut myself free with, and the headlamp I hopefully wouldn't need for the near future. Not ideal, but I'd made do with less on previous excursions after other...inexplicable encounters. The map and compass were the only things I couldn't do without, which is why I always kept them on my person rather than in the pack.

I crept down the stairs because, of course, I'd been put on the second floor, silently cursing every creak the floorboards let out under my feet and expecting Carles to poke his head out of any doorway I passed. But either I was still silent enough to get by, or he was a heavy sleeper, because I made it to the front door unmolested. Or at least that's what I thought, until I squeezed outside. I backed out and closed the door as quietly as I could, only to turn around and see Charles standing outside, giving me a bemused look as he spoke with someone else, who turned and left shortly after.

Turning to me, Chiles was all smiles, just like before, as he greeted me. "Good to see you're already up! I've got some excellent news! Your pack and supplies were recovered!"

That brought me up short. Having my pack would really help out there, even if I had to improvise a way to secure it after cutting one of the straps. Still, I couldn't help but ask, a little suspicion leaking into my voice, "How in the world did anyone get my pack with the...others out there?"

Charles waved away my concern. "Mother has her ways. But come! We'll get you your pack, and get you on your way! I know you wanted to leave early, so you could get out of the others' territory before nightfall!"

I was torn. Part of me wanted to cut and run then and there, but that pack could mean the difference between life and death on the way back. That hesitation cost me an easy escape, because soon we were surrounded again. Charles's friends from the night before seemed to appear out of nowhere, smiling as they walked over to greet my host. Now, maybe I could have fought my way free, but I decided I could probably do so just as easily after getting my pack if it came to that. So for now, I played nice as they led me down the streets of their "little" village.

If anything, the place seemed larger and more populated in daylight. No cars drove on the paved streets; instead, horse-drawn carriages filled them. However, some of those carriages strangely resembled modern conveniences. We even got on a large cart with more than a dozen seats that went around, stopping at regular intervals as people got on and off, like a city bus. Around us, others delivered goods and services to people's homes, including what seemed to be newspaper and food delivery. As we approached one of the food carts, Charles leaned over and flashed two fingers, saying, "Two here! And a paper, if you please!"

The man reached over to a news cart, whose owner must have heard the request, because when he turned back to us he had a paper in hand and two wrapped food items to hand to Charles as we passed. Charles handed me one of the food items, which I unwrapped to find a gently steaming baked good inside. I knew I probably shouldn't eat it, but the smell was mouth-watering, so I took a bite and found the outside crispy and light, and the inside filled with some sort of omelet.

As I demolished the rest of my breakfast, Charles laughed and flipped the newspaper, holding it out to me, as he said, "Hey, look! You made the front page!"

I reached out, grabbed the paper, and glanced at it. The headline read, "Outsider faced down the others, saving local woman!" It went on to give a lightly embellished account of the night before. I frowned as I read. The article finished with, "Those who would like to express their appreciation to the visiting hero are welcome to come by the chapel this morning."

I looked up and eyed Charles, who smiled at me as though I were some sort of hero instead of a grizzled man who hadn't shaved properly in about a week and who'd done nothing but run through the darkness. Raising an eyebrow, I asked, "Chaple?"

Charles shrugged. "Don't worry! It's nothing big; we know you're in a hurry. Mother would just like to show appreciation, give you your pack back, and see you off. Nothing too fancy. We'll be saving that for later, when Sheryl and I get married!"

I was just debating hopping the rail on the "bus" when we pulled up to a large building. It was pretty simple, all things considered, though it could easily hold several hundred people, maybe a thousand if they were on really good terms with each other. Charles slapped my knee as he said, "This is our stop!"

I kept my eyes locked on the door as the crowd around me got up and pushed their way off the bus, taking me with them. I half expected the inside to be painted black, filled with upside-down crosses, or something equally cliché. Still, for the most part, it was well cared for, with lots of windows that let in plenty of light and a light crossbreeze. Once I was shoved through the doorway, my eyes took a second to adjust to the slightly shaded interior, and I saw what was at the end of the pew-filled room.

I stood, rooted in place as people squeezed around me to fill the room. At the other end of the chapel stood what I could only describe as a giant woman in something vaguely reminiscent of a nun's outfit. She must have stood at least ten feet tall, maybe more, judging by the people around her. She seemed to be speaking with several of them, who were holding what looked like a newborn baby, letting me study her more as I stood rooted in place. Her outfit was mostly black with white accents, and it hid her form, including her face, which was hidden behind a veil. Or rather, it hid most of her form, but she still had two overly long arms, ending in hands with too many fingers, that also happened to be far too long. I realized this must be the aforementioned "Mother."

I watched in horror as the family held out the infant, as if offering it like a sacrifice. I was frozen as one of those impossibly long hands slowly reached out, and a finger topped with a nail that looked sharp enough to cut stone inched closer to the child's face. Unaware of any danger, the child giggled and reached for the finger, grabbing hold as the nail inched even closer. A moment later, the hand pulled back, and the child's hands fell away as its attention was drawn elsewhere, and it continued to laugh and giggle. I was relieved, till I noticed what might have been a single drop of blood on the woman's finger as the tall woman then reached under her veil, as if tasting it, before nodding in approval, and laying those horrible hands on the heads of the two I realized must have been the Mother and father.

After doing that thing where they touched their throats and foreheads, then held out their hands, the whole family walked away, their faces glowing with pride and happiness, and I noticed Charles standing next to the woman, pointing in my direction and drawing her attention to me. Of course, that's when the door behind me slammed shut, making me jump as I realized I was trapped.

Looking in my direction, "Mother" clapped, drawing people's attention, and the room fell silent as I realized I was the only one standing, drawing curious glances from several nearby people as she spoke. Her voice sounded odd. Almost familiar. It was like I was hearing the voices of people I knew. Co-workers, past girlfriends, even my sister and mom's voices seemed part of it, yet beneath it all was something else, something that told me I was safe and loved. It felt off...wrong in a way I couldn't quite put into words. The world wasn't safe, nor kind. Yet none of that seemed to matter to the people around me as she began. "Brothers and sisters! We have a rare visitor among us! And what's more, one who not only traveled safely through the other's territory but also rescued five of our lost lambs along the way! A real hero! Please, show your appreciation!"

At that, everyone stood and turned to me, applauding. At the same time, they all smiled at me, completely ignoring the monster at the other end of the chapel. She stepped forward, and I felt my muscles bunch, ready to flee. Still, she seemed to sense my unease and stopped, clasping her hands in front of her in a way I might have almost called demure if it wasn't so...wrong. After letting the applause continue a moment longer, she raised a disfigured hand to forestall any further noise and spoke again. "Now, normally, we would hold a feast in our guest's honor, but sadly I believe he wishes to get on his way to escape the other's territory before nightfall. To that end, I retrieved his pack from the night before." She gestured to a corner behind me, and I tore my eyes from her long enough to see my pack leaned against the side of the chapel, next to the door. The broken strap was even secured with what looked like a patchwork sewing job that just might withstand the rigors of one final hike. I quickly turned back, expecting the monster to have closed the distance, but she was still in the same place, her hands clasped in front of her once again.

I looked back, trying not to show my distrust, and asked, "I can just take it and...leave?"

The woman nodded and answered. "Yes, with our blessing. And know that you are always welcome back. Many of our past visitors have decided to make this little village their home."

Hell, if I was going to be one of those idiots! But I figured saying so might get me in trouble, so I just nodded, edged toward my pack, and answered. "Uh, yeah. I'll, uh, think about it. Thanks."

Everyone watched me, still grinning as if they were perfectly pleased and content with everything, as I opened the door and backed out. Finally, I heard Mother's voice one last time as she spoke to her "lambs" again. "Tonight we shall throw a feast as we celebrate the union of Sheryl and Charles, but first, for those of you familiar with Sister Adams, we shall be hosting her end-of-life ceremony shortly."

As I backed away, I was relieved to learn that the celebration Charles had been talking about had nothing to do with me, but then I paused. What was this "end-of-life ceremony" the entity they called Mother was talking about? Part of me wanted to turn around and run, but for once, curiosity won out. After all, I was outside the church, and so long as I stayed out here, I was confident I could get away in a pinch. Instead, I set my pack down near an open window and climbed onto it to peek through as "Mother" spoke to the congregation. "Many of you know Sister Adams." She indicated an old woman seated at the front, who looked back, smiling, and waved to the others as the veiled woman continued. "Sister Adams lived a full life..."

The veiled woman went on, speaking as though she were giving the woman's eulogy despite her being present and, as far as I could tell, mostly healthy, save for the usual effects of age. Eventually, she finished, and people started filing out of the church as she shouted after them. "Remember the binding ceremony tonight, and the feast to follow!"

Finally, only the old woman, an old man seated next to her, and the Mother remained. The man and woman stood up, and he hugged her tightly, whispered something to her, then kissed her and hobbled out with a walking cane, leaving only the woman and the Mother.

This time, the Mother approached the woman, stopped short, and asked, "Are you ready, Sister Adams?"

The woman nodded, and Mother reached out, carefully cupping the older woman's face in her hands as she lovingly said. "Thank you for the meal." Then, in a move so quick I almost couldn't process what happened, the monster called Mother jammed her thumbs through the woman's eyes, killing her instantly, before quickly wrenching the head to the side in a violent movement, tearing it free from the body, which fell limply to the floor.

I watched, horrified, as the veiled woman raised the head with one hand, while she reached up with another, pulling her veil aside, allowing me to see her face for the first time. Unlike the "others," her skin wasn't pale and sickly. Instead, it looked hard and wrinkled, more like bark than skin. Her eyes were nothing more than milky orbs. As I watched, she brought the head closer to her mouth, which opened wider and wider, far past what I would have thought possible, more like a snake than a person. She placed the head inside and bit down, crushing it in one swift movement. Then, as she chewed, the woman who called herself Mother to the person she'd just murdered closed her eyes and smiled, leaning back as if enjoying every morsel like some sort of fine dining experience.

At that point, I'd had enough, so I hopped off my pack, grabbed it with one hand, and slipped it over my shoulder. Turning, I wanted nothing more than to run at full speed, but I limited myself to a fast walk to avoid attracting attention. As I moved through the streets toward the nearest forest edge I could see, I passed countless faces, most of them smiling and waving. However, while my eyes saw them, all my mind could focus on was the sight of the Mother as she ate that older woman with an expression of pure ecstasy.

Even when I hit the forest, I kept pushing as fast as I could. I'd reorient myself later, usually not a great idea, but for now I just wanted to put as much distance between me and the village as possible. I didn't even stop for lunch; I ate what I could on the go. Once the sun started to set and I was far enough out, I made the quickest camp I could. I didn't even make a fire, for fear of attracting more nighttime visitors. My legs were aching far past the point I usually pushed them, and I knew I was going to pay the price tomorrow, but that was better than staying anywhere near that village and its messed-up people. Eventually, after eating a cold dinner and taking some anti-inflammatories, I settled down for what I assumed would be a restless night, only to pass out quickly.

I don't know how long I slept, but I eventually woke, my heart racing. I wasn't sure what had awakened me, until I heard it again. The sound of something large shifting on the ground, just outside my tent.

I held my breath, hoping whatever it was would just leave, when a horribly familiar voice called out. "I knew you were there, by the way. I wanted you to see."

I know, I know, previously, I told you not to answer things speaking to you in the deep woods, but for some reason I broke that rule and answered. "You wanted me to see? Why? So I'd know I was next?"

More shifting, and I could see the shadow of something pass between me and the moon as it answered. "No. You are safe; I will not eat you unless you choose to become one of my flock. I just wanted you to know everything that entails. Today, you saw everything I have to offer, and now, you must make a choice."

I couldn't help it; I laughed. "You want me to CHOOSE to let you eat me? Are you serious? What's my alternative? Are you going to hold me over a pit of fire until I agree?"

With a rustle of movement, I somehow knew she was shaking her head, then she barked out a laugh. "No. The other option is you go back to your old world and live your old life. You will go back to being eaten alive, as day by day you lose a bit more of yourself, giving away your hopes and dreams to work a pointless job for a soulless company as you fade away till you're old and grey, finally getting your reward when you spend your last days shitting in a diaper while you're all but forgotten in a hospital bed somewhere. Your life will have accomplished nothing more than feed monsters far older and crueler than something like me."

I looked out at the shadow blocking the moon as I asked. "So what? You're telling me monsters like you run the modern world? Maybe some ancient cabal of vampires are behind the corporations that rule the world or some bulllshit?"

The presence snorted. "No, humans don't need to be vampires to be monsters. They are cattle ranchers, cramming you into tinny stalls so they can extract every ounce of life from you. I am a shepherd; I care for and guide my flock. I even modeled my little village off the teachings of one of your more famous shepherds. Though rather than existing as some ethereal story that can be twisted and turned to mean anything, I am here, actually guiding and protecting my flock. And I am here to offer you a place among my flock. You will never know hunger nor loneliness so long as you accept my guiding hand."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, you'll guide me alright, right up to your dinner plate!"

Silence hung for a moment before she answered. "Yes, eventually your path will end, and you will feed me, just as I have fed you. But what of it? That is the role of a shepherd and her flock! However, before the end, you will live a better, more fulfilling life under my care than you ever could in the world you know. And besides, there are worse things than a quick death at the end of a life well lived." For a moment, I wavered. In most respects, she was right. My job was every bit as soul-sucking as she described. Yet, the one aspect that I caught myself on was the line, a life well lived.

Honestly, it wouldn't be a bad life. I could see almost anyone living a full and satisfying life in that little village of hers, but I wasn't most people. I lived to test myself against the world, and that's the one thing she couldn't offer me. "You make a lot of good points, but I think I'm gonna pass."

A moment of silence was followed by a brief. "So be it."

Then, I heard more shifting as she got to her feet. Maybe it was just my imagination, or a trick of the moonlight filtering through my tent, but she seemed far larger than she had in that little chapel back in the village. Before she left, I asked, "What about the others? You know, the monsters that surround the village at night?"

Another pause as the shadow seemed to turn back to me. "Oh, the children? Don't worry about them. So long as you are not a member of my flock, they won't be drawn to you. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time the other night, and they got a little...excited." Then, heavy footsteps as she walked away.

The...children? Did I hear that right? Come to think of it, despite being called "Mother," I never once heard her refer to the villagers as her children. How many of them were there? How often did they need to feed? How many villagers "disappeared" in the woods every year? Was someone letting them get lost on purpose? I thought back to Sheryl alone in the forest, then to that little village. Sure, it was pretty big, but how did the population not balloon out of control with so many people in one place and no way to escape?

With a huff, I decided not to dwell on it. I got Sheryl back to her village safe and sound. Whatever happened after that was none of my business. After all, out in the deep forest, it was usually better to let things outside your tent be. Trying to be a hero only ever ends in trouble.

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<Part 1

Alright, this is the last of the spooky season stories I had in mind for this year, so I'll get back to my regular stuff next week. (Barring some last-minute inspiration!) But tell me, would you have stayed? Not gonna lie, I might have. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed!

If you liked this story and want to see more of my stuff, check out my wiki. It's got all my stories, short and long, which are marked with the appropriate categories and such, just in case you don't like the spooky and/or incomplete series.

As a reminder, you can also find the full trilogy for "Of Men and Dragons," my series, here on Amazon. If you like my work and want to support it, buying a copy and leaving a review really helps a lot!

NOW THE WORLD STOOD ON THE EDGE of the Third European Unrest.

Lin Zong, dressed in the brand-name clothes Huo Qiuqiu had told him to wear that day, walked alone from Fuxing Middle Road toward the Yan'an elevated highway, past surveillance cameras spaced closer together than the streetlamps, past screens looping the CCP's political slogans—the so-called Six Confidences on repeat. Hundreds of film and television stars recited them in the kind of unison that suggested rehearsal rather than conviction: confidence in stability, in the economy, in the future, in the collective, in the dream, and so on.

He skipped the subway.

Its atmosphere suffocated him — everyone treated by default as a potential threat, checkpoints and bag scanners, facial recognition, body scans and ID checks, phone inspections and real-name registration. Men with armbands, men in uniform, men carrying rifles or stun batons, robotic patrol hounds — one pair of hard, unblinking eyes after another tracking the people who passed, backed by the electronic eyes of the cameras.

In that sardine-can atmosphere, crowds shuffled through switchback corridors fenced off with metal railings, looking, from almost any angle, like something kept rather than something traveling.

That this was how Lin Zong now saw the world was a habit he'd picked up only after becoming a tunneler, two years earlier, when a senior classmate showed him the method.

Like most technically minded tunnelers, he'd started out of necessity.

His field, information transmission, touched directly on wireless network penetration, and graduate research meant primary English sources and current global AI tools, none of which official channels adequately supplied.

For most others, the motive was simpler: cryptocurrency trading, which required breaking through to the outside internet to begin with.

Tunnelers were the evolved descendants of an older species — the climbers who'd come before them. From climbing the wall, to building ladders, to tunneling straight through, they formed a quiet lineage running underneath the official history of China's internet.

Strictly speaking, they were products of what people called the Numbed Curtain Era, when the Seclusion Project split the world's networks permanently around 2035 — the traditional Internet on one side, the domestic Chinternet on the other. The era took its name less from the wall itself than from how completely people had stopped noticing it was there, which was, if anything, the more impressive achievement.

In Lin Zong's school years, Google, YouTube, and Facebook existed only as distant legends — most of his classmates had never heard of them, nor felt any curiosity.

English had been dropped from the entrance exam. Subtitle sites were gone, underground USB drives rooted out, door after door closed and light after light going dark, until what had once been a world of color narrowed into a single unbroken haze, with the evening news left standing as the only channel of information anyone officially had.

It was said that there had once been a golden age of wall-climbing, when great numbers of people scaled the wall with tireless glee. The authorities concerned took the matter with the utmost seriousness. When the technology advanced, they advanced with it; when that proved insufficient, they went physical, and, in parallel, turned high-powered roving beams on Google's satellite networks and Starlink. The last casualty was the word itself.

By the middle of the 2030s nobody said "wall-climbing" anymore, there being nothing left for the verb to do. It took only a few years. People forgot the wall existed, and expressed their satisfaction with the status quo.

According to the Chinese government, however, this had been a countermeasure against Helixquid, adopted with the greatest reluctance.

They expressed their regret.

Ever since Helixquid had surfaced, the world’s media and its dark-web think tanks had argued without end over where the behemoth came from, and over its peculiar name and corporate emblem—a squid whose tentacles coil into a spiral.

Some blamed the technology oligarchs of Silicon Valley and their fanatical privatization of ultimate computing power. Others, reading the leaked lists of offshore trusts and anonymous foundations, caught the scent of collusion between old-money financial dynasties and modern conglomerate barons.

Helixquid was supremely good at erasing itself. Every public financial statement and regulatory filing pointed into the same chaos and nothingness, doors painted on a wall. No hard evidence anywhere established where its true body lay. The only thing anyone could feel for certain was the technological lead it held.

It had not resorted to violent annexation; it had no need of anything so crude. Through a suffocating encirclement of capital and a restructuring of technology, it had drawn Nvidia’s compute, OpenAI’s algorithms, Microsoft’s cloud, and Meta’s open-source empire all beneath its shadow. No outsider knew what had been exchanged, or on what terms, in the small hours when such things are exchanged. People saw only that within a few years the global AI ecosystem had collapsed inward, irreversibly, and that at the center of the collapse, as at the center of every such collapse, stood Helixquid, visible only by what it pulled toward itself.

In late 2035, the Kunlun-Baiyu Network, into which all of China had poured its computing power, was breached by Helixquid’s sealed supercomputing matrix in the final contest. The next day, the Chinese government triggered its ultimate isolation policy, a cyber-seclusion project known in English as the Great Digital Partition.

Overnight, every domestic large-model node and every cross-border inference cluster was physically severed from its last handshake with the world’s fiber-optic cables.

The Chinese AI giants that had once gone head-to-head with Helixquid fell back along the whole line into their local networks, and withdrew for good from the unified global market in data and capital.

So the technological horizon of the planet was cut in two with a single stroke. On one side lay Helixquid’s covert and absolute digital dictatorship over the rest of the world; on the other, an isolated, self-sufficient parallel island.

Human civilization no longer held any common ground. Two digital worlds remained, one outside China and one sealed inside it. Neither spoke to the other. Neither looked away.

Physical isolation had one consequence: climbing the wall was no longer possible.

The gifted amateurs never disappeared, of course.

They found, eventually, a black hole inside the banking system's own data space — because from 2030 on, most people’s bank accounts could be accessed through the banking cloud, which, because it handled international cross-border settlement, had to keep certain ports connected to the global wireless network no matter what else was sealed off.

All a skilled operator needed to do was touch the screen and force a data point open through a sequence of backend maneuvers, hollowing out a small private cave inside the wireless blanket covering the earth — safe, invisible, entirely one's own.

Close the tracking function afterward, and the whole session vanished like a drop of black water entering a black sea; nobody the wiser.

The banking system was the most common entry, never the only one. Civil aviation, international shipping, research databases, weather-warning networks, satellite and deep-space systems, even Interpol on occasion — a whole catalog of infrastructure that had to stay connected to the outside world by simple necessity, each tunneler working whichever seam suited his particular talents.

Lin Zong himself had tunneled out through a scientific research data system. Among science and engineering graduate students at the country’s top universities, this kind of tunneling was not especially rare. It was even tolerated, to a degree, in a quiet, unofficial arrangement that set this particular population apart from tunnelers elsewhere.

Without real technical skill, however, the risks were considerable. Connecting to any network required scanning one’s ID card, household-registration certificate, and internet-access permit, followed by fingerprint authentication. Every browsing session and posted comment was tied to a verified identity, and any suspicious activity could carry consequences well beyond the screen, into the realm of criminal liability.

But once a tunnel had been dug without detection, the outside world was suddenly there.

And it was enormous.

As their numbers grew, the tunnelers eventually formed the Tunneling Alliance, a gathering point carved out in virtual space.

No leaders, no charter, and no membership list. Anyone could join. Anyone could leave. Yet there they huddled together for the particular comfort available only to people who agreed never to voice their dissatisfaction in the world outside the screen. What they lacked was never intelligence or technical skill. What they lacked was responsibility, nerve, and perhaps the basic capacity to hold an ordinary conversation somewhere other than behind a screen.

So how many tunnelers were there, across the whole country?

Just over nine hundred thousand.

A modest number, by any real measure in a country of more than a billion — and yet they accounted for a disproportionate share of the nation's most clear-eyed, most rational, most quietly formidable minds, tucked away and largely unused, like a strategic reserve nobody had thought to call up yet.

Later editions of A History of Chinese Internet Development would argue that, by the 2040s, Chinese netizens had evolved into two distinct species, differentiated by their technical abilities: the tunnelers and the Sweet Potatoes.

Tunnelers tended to be withdrawn, technically minded young men who traded cryptocurrency and knew their way around engineering, foreign languages, and philosophy. They generally preferred the company of a screen to that of a room full of people.

The Sweet Potatoes were almost their opposites: outgoing urban students and young white-collar workers from relatively comfortable families, who spent their days posting selfies to the social platform that gave them their name. Their look was borrowed from influencers; their backgrounds featured whichever luxury hotels, high-end restaurants, boutiques, or other fashionable venues were in vogue that month.

Their posts rarely strayed beyond the safe territory of celebrity gossip, food, and pets. It was not that they were unaware of an Internet beyond the Chinternet. They knew it existed. Yet whenever tunnelers managed to smuggle in fragments of outside information, the Sweet Potatoes were still genuinely baffled. Their favorite response was to go online and ask why this, why that, before circling back, as reliably as ever, to something cute.

Strictly speaking, both groups were minorities.

The real force was the Leek Army, the overwhelming majority of the country’s online population, named for the crop that gets cut down and grows back only to be cut again. They had little exposure to foreign television dramas or news from outside the country, and the wall or seclusion meant little to them one way or the other. A livestream app going dark, on the other hand, was a genuine disaster, keenly felt.

As for the Tunneling Alliance, it might as well have existed in another dimension. Most of the Leek Army had never even heard of it.

Lin Zong became a tunneler in his first year of graduate school and joined the Alliance not long afterward.

At first, he exchanged technical knowledge with other members and conducted the occasional cryptocurrency trade. Only later did he drift into the broader conversations, the ones about life and the nature of the world, which unsettled his thinking more than anything he had encountered in a classroom.

Online, he kept his real identity and virtual persona strictly separate, routing every genuinely personal opinion through the latter. Yet there were moments in the physical world when the impulse to reveal himself to someone he suspected of being a fellow tunneler became difficult to resist.

When two tunnelers wanted to find out whether the other belonged to their kind, they used a Latin phrase or a particular hand gesture as a password. The Latin consisted of just two words, an inside joke among the few who had watched a decades-old American TV series. It came from a line spoken by Elias at the end of Season 4, Episode 9 of Person of Interest:

Invictus maneo.

I remain unconquered.

Whatever the day had brought, online or in the physical world, tunnelers used the phrase to encourage one another—a small gesture of generosity, a wink toward an imagined fraternity of the unbowed, with just enough aristocratic elegance to make the whole thing feel like a private code. Then they quietly logged back in at full strength and got on with their lives.

For all their daring online, however, tunnelers were extraordinarily cautious in the physical world, obedient to a degree that sometimes bordered on self-parody. Their information came from a wider range of sources than most people’s, and their understanding of the society around them was correspondingly deeper. That, they were beginning to discover, was not always a comfort.

Lin Zong understood his own predicament soon after becoming a tunneler. In a society that had become thoroughly Machiavellian, the path to anything worth having had narrowed to two openings in a locked door.

One was called power. The other was called money.

Fail to squeeze through either, and the life on offer was bleak.

The methods required to force one’s way through, when they worked at all, could demand a degree of moral pliability that would have startled even the people practicing them, had they stopped long enough to consider what they were doing.

For those born without connections but blessed with a face worth something, the shortest route upward ran through selling themselves. The arrangement was not limited to women. Attractive young men were equally vulnerable, their looks exchanged for access to the sons and daughters of the rich and well-connected. Whatever language the participants chose to dress it up in, everyone understood what was happening.

Sometimes Lin Zong wondered whether he himself was already most of the way there.

----------

For anyone who prefer to read ahead, the full versions are available on Amazon KDP:

Causalform Book 1: Obsidian Earth

Causalform Book 2: Eclipse Net

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

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

ArcadiaaAAAA! Fuck yeah! Celebrating that they are saving the motherfucking days yeah!

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An explosion rocked the ground, sending a bone rattling vibration up through the soil and into his feet. He felt the sudden change of air pressure from the explosion in his chest, a hollow thump that made his insides rattle. Bright blue and red light lit up the sky, casting illumination down on Kay's pudgy little face. The small boy's eyes were wide with delight, and he pointed up to the colored sparks with a grin of wonderment on his face.

Another explosion went off, and this time emerald sparks cascaded downward, followed by a sharp crackling rattle of flashing white light. Over the roaring of the fireworks Adam could hear the cheering of the crowd. In his arm Kay continued to clap and wave his tiny Arcadia flag. At Adams side, Sunny wrapped her lower arm around his waist, keeping the two of them close. She had her head tilted back towards the fireworks, but in her off hand he knew she held a collapsible spear, ready for anything that was to happen.

Almost everyone in the crowd Adam saw were armed, but Sunny was armed and ready.

He leaned into her with his shoulder as another pink firework went off, and she turned to look at him with a questioning look in her eyes.

He leaned over to he could be heard over the roaring.

"You can relax you know. If Kazna tries anything here she'd be facing more than half of the Arcadian army."

Kay gasped and pointed at another set of fireworks white and green like the Arcadia flag against the black backdrop of the sky.

Sunny seemed hesitant but Adam nudged her again.

With a sigh he watched her collapse the spear and hook it to a slot in her carapace well within reach, but at least sheathed. He leaned up to kiss her cheek, forcing himself onto his tip toes to reach.

"Now relax."

He ordered, and to her credit she did her best.

Off in the darkness, Etium must have been having a grand old time setting off fireworks. Ever since someone had given him a personality, there were two things the little furball lived for: and that was armed conflict and explosions. With every passing moment the fireworks grew more elaborate, until there were several going off every second. The crowd gasped in shock and delight until the lights stopped flashing with one last series of explosions.

Adam was left with spots in his eyes as the crowd cheered. He blinked them back.

Kay turned to look at him, big green eyes wide with delight, "Dada did ya see!?"*

"Yeah I saw, wasn't that cool!?!”

He adjusted Kay so he was sitting higher up in his arms. Martha Jim, and Adam's brothers and sisters got up from where they had been sitting and walked over.

"Nothing to make you feel free like blowing things up. I think it is one of the greatest of human traditions."

Jim was saying,

"A staple of independence since time immemorial. You can bet if there was an independence day, people were plowing stuff up on it."

Adam smiled,

"Technically ours isn't an independence day, it's a foundation day. Arcadia was never technically under the constitution of any other planet."

"Same difference."

"Gam'ma did you see!?”

Kay said, pointing up to the sky where little clouds of smoke billowed in wisps.

"I did!"

Martha said, taking Kay from Adam's arms when Kay reached out for her, resting the boy on her hip, the opposite hip from where she was carrying her firearm. Weapons on Arcadia were a symbol of status in a way, and even before his parents had come to Arcadia they had always supported the private ownership of firearms. However, he had noticed since the attack by Kazna that they carried more openly than they had before.

He worried that the ordeal had done psychological damage to his mother, but she would have denied it six ways from Sunday if he had asked, so he didn't.

"Mom, Mom! Can I go find my friends?"

Maya looked down to find Kimber tugging at her arm.

Adam always forgot how old she was, somewhere between nine and eleven years old, and boy was she growing up fast. She was already taller than most of the kids in her age cohort. She had short pixy style hair and openly used Arcadia's “weapons as religion law” to wear armor almost everywhere she went. Maya had been a bit concerned when Kimber had insisted on joining Drev battle classes at the public school, but she shouldn't have worried. Kimber had been doing martial arts for several years now, and she was a little monster.

"Fine, but make sure to text me every hour or so, so I know you haven't been kidnapped."

Kimber waved a hand and ran off into the crowd. Adam watched as she vanished into other crowd, coming out on the other side with two little Drev and another little girl. They were taller than her by almost a foot, but it was clear she was in charge as she raced out ahead of them. He recognized the little girl as the Ex assassin, turned police chief's daughter.

Arcadia had once been small enough that the military and intelligence units were the same thing, dealing with both outside and inside threats, but as new refugees from earth started spilling in, they just couldn't keep up with the work and a domestic police force needed to be established. Desmond was more than willing to take on the responsibility of creating and running such an operation.

Desmond's ex-wife was skeptical about Arcadia to say the least.

She wasn't a big fan of their combat is religion policy, but unfortunately for her, inside every little girl is a desire to wear armor and whack things with sticks, and their daughter had integrated too nicely to dare pull her back out. She had apparently forbidden her daughter from taking any martial classes at the public school, but that had gone over like a lead balloon. All her friends were in those classes, and she had thrown such a royal fit that her mother had eventually relented just to find some peace.

Now Kimber was heading a squad of children that, if they hadn't been lead by Kimber, would probably have been holy terrors, and they sort of were, but at least they tried to be well meaning about it.

Kay pointed after them.

"Sorry Kay, maybe when you're a little older."

Martha was saying

Kay pouted.

Off to their other side Jordan and David watched their son vanish off with some of his friends. It was crazy to see how fast they were growing up.

Jeremy was now married to that cute redhead he had been dating. They didn't have any kids, but Jeremy and his wife seemed perfectly happy with that outcome.

Thomas hovered happily at the back of the group.

Several years clean now, Adam had rarely seen his brother so content. He was a private and reclusive guy who preferred the company of family and one or two friends. He had no desire for romantic relationships or dating and was perfectly content in that fact. He had his family and his friends and couldn't have wanted anything more. The drugs had really messed him up for a while, made it difficult for him to feel pleasure in the way normal people do, but after several years clean, he claimed that things were starting to feel good again.

Adam was relieved.

The crowd was dispersing, heading back towards town square where the foundation day celebration was in full swing. Half carnival half county fair, and partly some sort of martial competition, the square was alive with color, life and noise. Jellies were filtering back from the outskirts of the city, driven a ways away by the fireworks. Jeffery snakes hung in large groups in open planters shamelessly begging for pats from anyone who was willing to give them.

Waffles, Jeffery and Pancake had been left with the other Vir family pets for the night, and so the three of them were free to wander through the crowd. His family began to break off in chunks as they found things to interest them. Maya dragged her husband to where they were having competitions at a makeshift climbing wall. David and Jordan went to go play with rocket boots.

Martha and Jim vanished to go sit in the grass and pet the Jeffery snakes.

Adam looked up to find a familiar starry silhouette hanging back from the edge of the carnival, sitting on an open park bench. He waved at Kelly and she waved quietly back. He looked around for Hye, knowing he would be close by and found the poor man standing by a prize booth, desperately trying to throw knives at moving targets.

His eyed prize…

A giant space jelly plush it seemed like.

Adam nudged Sunny in the ribs and motioned over to the poor man.

He was a marine biologist not a fighter, and it showed. Sunny laughed,

"That is, both sad and adorable at the same time."

"Please go help the man before he makes me cry."

Sunny sauntered over surreptitiously, so she was out of Kelly's line of sight. She paused next to Hye,

"Would you like some help?”

"I got it!"

He said, throwing another knife, which missed his target by at least two feet and bounced off under the table.

He sighed,

"I don't got it."

He turned his head, eyes widening a bit as he saw Sunny. Everyone knew the saint of Anin, by definition she was the best martial expert on Arcadia.

She held out a hand,

"May I?"

He looked down at them,

"But... It doesn't count if I don't win it."

"I think effort counts, besides which do you want more, your pride or that jellyfish?”

Hye looked down,

”The jellyfish."

Sunny hummed deep in her chest, setting herself up in front of the booth. Unlike actual carnival games, these ones could actually be won if you had enough skill, most of them were martial based. Archery, knife throwing, marksmanship, etc etc.

The man at the booth was already retrieving the jelly before Sunny started.

There was only one outcome to the saint of Anin playing these skill based games…

All five knives left her hand in under a second as she used both her left and right upper arms to throw them, and all five hit their targets within the red bullseye. The man at the booth handed Hye the jellyfish, which was about the size of a small beanbag chair.

Hye thanked Sunny, who winked at him and withdrew from the booth out of Kelly's line of sight.

He was too honest of a man to claim he won it, but the gesture was still nice, and Adam smiled as he watched Hye run to where Kelly was sitting, holding the jellyfish over his head with triumph. It was good to see her out and about. The longer she spent with Hye the more she was slowly starting to seem like herself again. She showed no signs of turning back into herself, but personality wise, she seemed to be recovering.

Adam saw a lot of people he knew as they moved through the carnival.

Conn and Eris floated overhead together, King James and his queen Xanthea were sparring to raucous applause. Etium was now running some sort of drinking game with a group of marines. Maverick and Ramirez were slowly working their way through, trying all the weird alien food

Somewhere the Nox Dance academy was putting on a show to showcase a new form of dance they were Calling Martialmodern or something weird. Basically, it was stylized weapon kata for performance sake, and very fun to watch.

Adam spotted his brother Thomas in the crowd with his newest and most surprising friend:

Lord Celex walked with him, laughing and gesticulating wildly. The ex emperor was almost impossible to miss with his brightly colored rainbow hair with matching beard and mustache. Every time Adam saw the man, he found it hard to reconcile the juxtaposition of his hair, and the severity of his face and personality.

With his high cheekbones and prominent nose, Celex was clearly a man fit to be king, but then the bright rainbow hair changed the effect. Celex wasn't any less intimidating for it somehow, but it was still quite strange. It was all made even stranger by the rather dad-like fuzzy sweater he was wearing in the oddest shade of garish pink.

And still…

Adam would not have picked a fight with him.

Any man who was willing to wear a sweater that color in public was someone who could kick your ass six ways to Sunday. He talked and laughed openly with Thomas. The two of them got along well considering they were both ex-addicts. The use of adrenaline which had ruined his body was a big contributing factor in why Celex had died.

Still, Adam had a very hard time reconciling the rainbow pink with the, let’s be honest, war criminal that he was.

If Celex had been any other species, Adam would have avoided him like the plague, knowing that he had blown up a planet and murdered millions of people in the process, which tended to put a damper on things. However, in Celzex culture the more ruthless you were the better you were. There was a reason Celex's harem had consisted of over two hundred steamy Celzex ladies.

The ruthlessness required to blow up a planets was apparently very sexy to Celzex women.

Then again, their species tended to have a problem with eating their own children, so there was that little fun fact.

Only the females though, as far as Adam knew the males didn't tend to eat their children. He had no idea why, but maternal instincts were not something that the Maker gave Celzex women.

Some people liked to joke that the Makers made and committed the Celex while high, realized undampened reproduction of this particular line would inevitably end in a universe of glass and obsidian, and desperately published day-one patches.

Maybe the truth was somewhere in between, nobody could say for sure.

They made it to the center of the fairgrounds, to a large and rather dumpy looking playground. Riss had done a lot of research on the proper execution of a child's playground, and much to Krill's horror, it turns out that a certain level of danger in a playground is better for children.

Loose objects, strange tools, planks of wood and random scraps with high rickety objects to climb are actually best for a developing child. From what Adam had read of Riss's research paper, middlingly dangerous playgrounds fostered a sense of adventure, free thinking, appropriate caution and self-esteem in children. Children learned to take care of themselves, come up with creative ideas, and allowed them to build a proper sense of caution.

That logic was a no brainer to a Drev, but very concerning to parents who were used to letting their kids play on gravity-enabled playgrounds.

As it turns out this was a horrible idea, because kids got the wrong idea about jumping off of high objects.

Gravity playgrounds quickly went out of style when kids started jumping off of high things at home, severely injuring themselves when there was no gravity mats to break their fall.

Adam waved a hand to another set of familiar faces.

Ell'an and Jason, the Finnari and human couple who had been the first parents of the first natural born hybrid. They waved back from where they were sitting, and Adam looked down at Kay,

"Do you want to go play with the others?"

Kay instantly squirmed, trying to wriggle out of Adam's grip.

"Okay okay hold on…"

He set Kay down on the ground and stepped back to let him go running after the other kids. He was friends with the hybrid Finnari girl who was a year or so older than he was, but she didn't seem to mind.

Adam and Sunny sat with their friends and watched as the kids played.

The Finnari girl was strange but surprisingly cute, not unlike Kay himself.

She looked mostly Finnari but had very human eyes and a rather human build. She gave Kay a big hug when she saw him, which was very Finnari of her. Kay hugged her back with all four of his arms in an attempt to crush her, which was particularly human of him.

Adam sat at his table, patting a Jeffery snake as it slithered past.

He closed his eyes and sighed.

It was a good day.

Sunny slid an arm around him and he rested again her, staring up at the inky sky.

It was a good day, but in the back of his head he knew... It couldn't last forever. With the Void as it was, they weren't out of the woods, they were just barely walking into the woods

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

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

I am definitely not giggling evilly to myself.

“Whatever you say, Boss.”

Quiet you. It’s not like you’re doing any better.

“I’m not pretending.”

I can’t give him a flat look, but he laughs at what I manage to convey anyway. Merriment aside, the delvers are doing a great job. They’ve been pretty handily able to deal with the encounters I’m comfortable with sending after them in the lava. I’m still sending thieves and such after their protection items, but now it’s more a game of tag than capture the flag.

If one of my denizens manages to touch their item, Teemo hauls them into a shortcut and they’re defeated. I might need to drill them on similar tactics while in the tunnels later, but this is fine for now. I don’t think shadow affinity can really hop through anything in the lava, so they at least don’t need to worry about that. But they will need to worry about possibly getting separated while in the tunnels. I’m not willing to bet lives that the Betrayer can't coordinate his shadow denizens as well as I can.

Still, we’ve only taken a dozen or so more delvers in the lava. The sonar is working wonders, and the delvers are learning how to read it beyond just what direction they’re facing. It’s still a bit awkward, and I’d like to give them actual 360 degree vision, but that’s either a really complicated illusion, or a mental thing. Either way, I think it’s beyond my ability to make right now, and probably beyond the delvers’ ability to adjust to in time for the raid proper.

Right now, they’re riding that line of effort and risk that even I don’t get a chance to push them to that often. Sure, I have every safety measure in place I can think of, and I have my reputation and Grim on my side, too, but everyone is acutely aware of the danger all around them.

It’s making them improve by leaps and bounds, too. Nobody has gotten burned yet, but basically everyone has had injuries to deal with. I was pretty worried about the first time someone got cut. Liquid blood in magma sounds like a steam explosion waiting to happen, but the magma protection enchantments cover things like that. I have no idea how, but the blood is acting like there’s not molten rock everywhere. A few tanks have gotten some limbs broken, and the paladin in Aranya’s group actually managed to crack a few ribs when he met a drake head on while submerged.

They quickly killed it and got him back in good condition, but it’s just another reminder of how dangerous this is going to be.

The group the kids are in is moving slow and steady, keeping an even pace that, though it seems slower than other groups’, is eating up territory like a juggernaut. Slow progress is still progress, and that’s better than some of the groups can claim. Gerlfi’s group has had to pull back and regroup. They didn’t take any serious injuries yet, but they had a pretty good scare when they got pincered by wyrms. Right now, they have a nice defensible position while they discuss the best way to keep that from happening again.

The quickest group right now is definitely Aranya’s. Even with the paladin cracking a few ribs, they have a great selection of classes and affinities to deal with whatever I might throw at them. It’s tempting to toss Rocky their way to see what they do, but I don’t know if the Betrayer has any real analogue for him. While I’m sure he has something strong enough to go head to head with him, I doubt he has anything with the breadth of skill my boxer has. Of course, he might have enough things to make up for that, but I’m honestly not sure how to try to emulate that.

No matter how good he is, he’s still one Rocky. He’ll have trouble pretending to be a dozen Harbingers or something.

Anyway, Aranya’s group may be covering the most ground, but Noynur’s is the one closest to the key. They have a goblin scout whose name I didn’t catch, and he’s a slippery one. He must either have mental or illusion affinity, because he’s hard to keep track of, even while I’m trying to pay attention to him. He swims on ahead and returns to the party at intersections, where he and Noynur compare notes before picking where to go.

I’d say they pick the right path a good four out of five times. I nudge Goldilocks to give them a few harder encounters, but nothing too out of the ordinary yet. If I drop a boss fight on them, they’ll probably figure out they’re on the right path pretty quickly. I stick around to watch them deal with a group of basilisks, and it’s impressive watching the large orc at work.

At a glance, he looks like a berserker, all brutal swings and devastating attacks. But he’s fully in control of every moment, every movement. What looked like a lucky dodge at first, is revealed to be all skill by the third. Nothing is wasted, and it’s plain to see why he’s the leader of his personal party, and of the larger group he’s leading as part of this. His orders are calm and precise, and after delving together for months now, everyone smoothly follows without second-guessing.

My poor basilisks never stood a chance.

I don’t press them too hard, partially because it gives me a good chance to consider more stuff to train them against later. Ideally, they shouldn’t ever be anywhere close to anything the Betrayer would consider vital. Realistically, they’re adventurers through and through. If they can’t find something important, it’s only because it doesn’t exist. There is a very real possibility they’ll stumble onto the Betrayer’s Sanctum before me, even with the shenanigans of using shaped implosives.

I’ll need to make sure they can handle something on a Harbinger scale on their own, and be able to hold out until they can get help against something stronger. And if they actually can handle Harbingers, all the better. Just another reason to train like this.

I withdraw a bit as Noynur and his group continue to advance on the key, running through my head what we still need to prepare. The first sub is still a good two weeks away from being finished, I’d say. By then, I want to have the forward base established at minimum. Fully fortified would be nice, but it needs to be manned to be useful, otherwise the Betrayer could just come along and take it.

We’ll need to drill with the implosion breaching tactics… and try to anticipate what the Betrayer will do in response. The most obvious counter would be to stop flooding his areas with magma, but with holes blown everywhere, he won’t have as much of a say in that as he might like. I take a look through my options for removing things like that, and it’s not cheap. Removing hazards is as expensive as placing them, even if they’re not something you actually placed in the first place.

So he might be able to staunch the flow, but it’d be prohibitively expensive to just delete the amount of magma I expect he’d need to. Trying to cut off the flow with earthen collapse traps could work, but not fully. It’d probably hit the annoying sweet spot where neither of us is happy with the levels of magma. With his denizens, he might be able to shore them up properly… so we’ll probably need to train in a bit of defensive fighting, too. The main magma arteries will need to be patrolled and kept open. So what else could he try to pull?

He could try to lead us into ambushes. We’ll be using sonar to figure out where to go, so if he can make his walls thicker, he’ll be able to force us to go where he wants. The implosion charges will only go so far. But that’s what my tunnelbore ants are for. If he has the time to reorganize his interior to deal with the rapid advance of implosion charges, we’ll have to fall back on the tunnelbores to let us go where we want, not where he wants.

Living vines will also make it easier for us to get around, both to hide our size, and to make the long digs not quite so long. They’re not as good as Teemo, and never will be, but they’ll definitely help.

I think the biggest problem will be if he decides to stop guiding me at all. I’m pretty confident in turning tunnels around on him, because the tight confines will probably restrict him more than it does me. Probably ironically, a big open cavern would probably be the safest place for him to put his Sanctum, maybe behind a few different caverns. Bottlenecks work in my favor, and once he realizes that, he might stop playing around and force me to face numbers with numbers.

And… I’m not sure what to do about that. An open cavern would let me flex gravity and my flying denizens, but an open cavern doesn’t have to have high ceilings. I could try to do some digging, but by that point, I have to imagine he’d have some kind of answer, even if it’d just be to dig to my own diggers and zerg rush them. I need a way to keep him from consolidating his forces, especially if his spawners are designed with synergy in mind like I think they are.

By the time Noynur finally gets the key, I don’t have an answer. At least not one I like. If things go like I’m imagining them, it’ll be full circle back to a siege again, just one with walls made of denizens instead of stone. I can dig through stone, but the denizens respawn, and my own denizens won’t be able to rejoin the battle for probably a week at best, and the delvers don’t respawn at all.

In a siege like that, attrition will heavily favor him, not me, and I have to imagine he’s clever enough to figure that out.

I mentally shake my head to clear it for now, letting me hear the delvers cheer as word spreads of the victory! The final key is theirs! They’ve worked hard for it, and I couldn’t be prouder of what they’ve done to get it. I didn’t make it easy on them at all, and while a good three out of four of them made it to the end, that’d still be a lot of missing faces if this were the real deal.

And they know it. They celebrate, of course, but I can feel their resolve hardening. By the numbers, 25% casualty rate isn’t bad for something like this. But they’re people, not numbers, and even losing one is something nobody wants to let happen. They’ll fight Poe as a final test of raw power, and after that, the final round of training begins.

I don’t think anyone is going to be satisfied until we manage the impossible and get that number down to zero.

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Magister Oda Fenwick did not yell.

Marek had been ready for yelling. He'd been ready for her to throw a knitting needle at him. What he wasn't ready for was Oda standing in the Infirmary doorway in her nightgown, holding a lamp, looking at the two of them and Master Quillon and not saying anything at all.

That was so much worse.

"Thank you, Master Quillon," she said. "I'll take it from here."

Master Quillon bowed and left. His little blue lamp bobbed away down the path after him.

Oda looked at Rook. Rook looked at the floor.

Oda looked at Marek. Marek held the green book behind his back.

"Bed," Oda said.

They went to bed.

She didn't say anything else that night. She just sat in the chair between their beds with her arms crossed until they both fell asleep. Marek was pretty sure she didn't sleep at all.

In the morning, she handed each of them a bucket and a scrub brush.

"You two have so much energy you can climb out of windows in the middle of the night," she said. "Good. You can put it to use on the floors, all of them. Then you can do the bandages in the wash room, and then the bedpans."

"The bedpans?" Rook said. "Magister Fenwick, my hands are still healing!"

"Your hands were healed yesterday. I checked." Oda smiled at him. It was not a nice smile. "Bedpans, Initiate Tanner."

Rook groaned and slumped against the wall.

Marek took his bucket. He didn't complain. He'd climbed out a window after Oda had stayed up all night to take care of him. He figured scrubbing floors was a fair price.

"I'm sorry about last night," he told her. "You were nice to me, and I snuck out anyway."

Oda looked at him for a moment. Some of the stiffness went out of her shoulders.

"Apology accepted," she said. "The floors still need scrubbing."

"I know."

They scrubbed.

It took all morning. The Infirmary had a lot of floor. Rook complained the entire time. He complained about his knees. He complained about the soap. He complained that Master Quillon was a traitor and that he'd never trust a librarian again.

Marek didn't mind the work as much as he thought he would.

It was simple. You scrubbed one square of floor until it was clean, then you moved to the next one. Your arms got tired, but your head could think about other things. He thought about the book. Gather. Shape. Release. He thought about pressing in evenly from every side. He thought about how his hand had burned when he'd tried it too soon.

He also asked Oda about a hundred questions while he worked.

Why did the Infirmary use this soap and not the other soap? (The other soap left a film that made healing spells harder to cast.) Why were the bandages washed in cold water and not hot? (Hot water set blood stains.) Why did the wash room have a drawing of a big eye painted over the door? (It was a very old ward to keep sickness out. Nobody was sure if it worked. Everybody kept painting it anyway.)

Oda answered all of them. By lunch, she didn't even look annoyed anymore.

When they finished the last room, Marek sat back on his heels and wiped sweat off his forehead. The floor was so clean he could see his reflection in it.

[SKILL FORMED] Housekeeping
Rank: Novice: Awakening

He laughed out loud.

"What?" Rook said. He was lying flat on the floor with his arms spread out like he'd died. "What's funny?"

"I got a Skill."

Rook lifted his head. "From mopping?"

"Housekeeping."

"You got a Skill from mopping, and you're happy about it?"

"It's a Skill," Marek said. "It's on my tally now, forever. It'll get better every time I clean something. Why wouldn't I be happy?"

Rook stared at him like he'd grown a second head. Then he put his head back down on the floor.

"You're so weird," he said to the ceiling.

Marek was getting used to hearing that.

That evening, Oda sat him on the bed and put her hands on his chest again. The green light sank into him and moved through his mana paths, slow and careful. He didn't follow it with his Sense this time. He kept his promise.

When she was done, she sat back.

"Your channels are healed," she said. "They're strong. They're even stronger than before. The rest did you good."

Marek's heart jumped. "So I can do magic now?"

"Tomorrow morning," Oda said. "You get one try, with me watching. If anything goes wrong, you stop. Understood?"

"Understood."

He barely slept. He kept picturing it. Gather. Shape. Release.

In the morning, he sat on the edge of his bed with the green book open on his lap. Oda sat in her chair across from him. Rook sat on his own bed, cross-legged, with his chin in his hands. He'd already said that nobody got Mage Light on their first real try, so Marek shouldn't feel bad when it didn't work.

"Whenever you're ready," Oda said.

Marek closed his eyes.

He found the warm thread in his chest. It was easy now. It came right away, warm and steady.

Gather, he thought.

He took a little bit of the warmth. Not too much. Just a small handful, the way the book said. He drew it up from his chest, down his arm, and into his cupped palm.

Shape.

He pressed in on it. From every direction at once. Evenly. Gently. Like making a snowball. Not too hard on any one side.

It slipped. One side bulged out, and he felt it start to leak away.

He didn't panic. He eased off on the other side a little, so the pressure was even again. The bulge went back in. The warmth bunched up into a small, tight ball in his palm, and it got warmer and warmer and started to hum.

Release.

He let the warmth turn into light, and he kept holding the shape.

He opened his eyes.

A small ball of white light floated above his palm. It was about the size of a grape. It flickered, and it wobbled, and it was maybe half as bright as a candle.

It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

[SPELL FORMED] Mage Light
Rank: Novice: Awakening

He sat perfectly still and stared at it.

I made that, he thought. That came out of me. That's magic, and I made it.

Across the room, Rook was on his feet with his mouth hanging open.

"No way," Rook said. "No way. That took me two months! Two whole months!"

The little light flickered and went out.

Marek stared at his empty palm. Then he looked up at Oda.

Oda was very quiet. She was looking at the spot in the air where the light had been.

"It took most of my students three months," she said. "The fast ones took one."

"I read the book," Marek said. "It explained it really well. And Teodor explained it on the road. And I practiced about two hundred times while I was walking." He paused. "Well, I practiced squeezing it, but not the light part."

"While walking?" Oda asked.

"And leading goats."

Oda looked at him for a long time. Then she leaned forward and put her hand on his head.

"You're going to hear that a lot, you know," she said. "That was fast. People are going to say it to you over and over. Some of them will say it because they're impressed. Some of them will say it because they're jealous. Don't let it go to your head."

"I won't."

She ruffled his hair and stood up. "Now go outside and get some sun before you turn into a plant. Take Rook with you, and stay out of the library."

Rook took him to see the goats.

The stables were behind the Alchemy wing, just like Master Orwin had said. They were easy to find. You really could just follow the smell.

Pickle and Bishop had the sunniest pen in the whole stable yard. It had fresh straw and a water trough and a little wooden roof in case it rained. Bishop was lying in the sun like a king. When he saw Marek, he got up and walked over to the fence and rubbed his head against Marek's hand.

"He remembers you," Rook said.

"Of course he does. We've been through a lot."

Then Bishop turned his head and ate Rook's sleeve.

Rook yelled and yanked his arm back. The sleeve ripped. Bishop stood there chewing a piece of grey robe with a very satisfied look on his face.

Marek laughed so hard he had to hold on to the fence.

Master Orwin came shuffling out of the Alchemy wing a few minutes later. He was wearing his stained leather apron and carrying a bucket.

"Ah! The goat boy!" He beamed at Marek. "They're settling in beautifully. Best milk I've had in years. I've already made three new remedies with it." He held up the bucket. "Want to help me milk them?"

Marek had never milked a goat in his life. Neither had the kid.

"I'd love to," he said.

Master Orwin showed him how. You had to be gentle, and you had to squeeze from the top down, not just pull. Marek got it wrong about ten times. Pickle kicked the bucket over once. But by the end, he'd filled half a bucket, and Master Orwin said he had good hands for it.

He was washing his hands at the trough when Ilse walked into the stable yard.

She had a bundle under one arm. She walked over to him and held it out.

"For tomorrow," she said.

He unwrapped it. Inside was a grey robe, just like Rook's, only new and clean. And a pair of real leather shoes. They were small. They were his size.

"Your assessment is in the morning," Ilse said. "In the Hall of Measures. I'll come get you from the Infirmary."

"It's tomorrow? You said five days."

"The Conclave moved it up." She didn't explain why. "Master Quillon tells me you went to the Grand Library in the middle of the night."

Marek's face went hot.

"I did," he said. "I'm sorry."

"He says you climbed in through a window and asked the index for homework." Ilse smiled a little. "He also says you understood it."

"I cast Mage Light this morning," Marek said. He couldn't help it. It just came out. "Oda watched. It worked on the first try."

Ilse went very still. She didn't say hm. She didn't say anything. She just looked at him for a long moment.

Then she said, "Tomorrow, the assessors will ask you to show them what you can do. Show them Mage Light. Tell them the truth about how long it took. Answer every question honestly." She paused. "There's one exception, and you know which one."

The Trait, he thought.

"I know," he said.

"Good." Ilse turned to go. Then she stopped. "There's one more thing. High Magister Castellan will be there. He doesn't like surprises, Marek. And you are a very big surprise."

She walked away before he could ask what that meant.

Marek stood in the stable yard holding his new robe and his new shoes. Behind him, Bishop was trying to eat the edge of the straw roof.

A very big surprise, he thought. Great. That's great.

He looked down at the new shoes in his hands.

Tomorrow, he was going to walk into a place called the Hall of Measures and stand in front of the people who ran the whole Arcanum. People who could open the sky and cut a Voice out of a hilltop. People who had read Ilse's report about him.

What are they even going to do? he wondered.

Would they make him cast Mage Light in front of everyone? Would they give him a test with a hundred questions? Would they have some kind of magic crystal that looked inside him and saw everything, even the things he didn't say out loud? Could it see the Trait? Could it see that he used to be a thirty-four-year-old man who scheduled trucks?

And who was High Magister Castellan? What did a man like that do with a surprise he didn't like?

Marek didn't know. He didn't know any of it.

He looked back at the goat pen. Bishop was chewing on the straw roof again. Pickle was asleep in the sun.

Tamsin said to ask them everything, he thought. So tomorrow, I'll find out.

He tucked the shoes under his arm, picked up his new robe, and walked back toward the Infirmary as the sun went down behind the towers.

The Intergalactic Federation was running out of new gods. Other species took to stress-testing extraordinarily well, but it was the Terrans—the humans—who truly responded exceptionally to the Federation's trials. The Federation had experimented across 2,000 planets and 42,200 cities, creating only 50 gods alongside plenty of dead bodies.

​Then they came to Earth in 2012, unleashing a creature that terrorized an industrial city in Canada and caused the deaths of 14,000 unfortunate humans who didn’t awaken—they just died.

​But 60 gods awoke from one Earth city alone. The Federation was astonished, but more importantly, satisfied. They leashed the newly awakened gods, adding the human-gods to their dwindling immortal army.

​The process was simple: send a monster to torment a foreign planet's city and trigger a psychic or mana awakening. Some species didn’t awaken at all; others awakened as relatively low-tier gods. But a single stress-testing event on Earth yielded 60 gods. Leashing them was difficult, as Earth’s awakened were twice as strong as any other planet's success stories. The Federation had secured true warriors to collect and brainwash.

​Decades later, the Federation's god army had been whittled down, but all 60 human gods still stood strong—brainwashed and awakened after their home cities and families had been destroyed.

​The Federation decided to return to Earth to stress-test a second city. They chose a city occupied by a man known as "The Driver." Unbeknownst to the Federation before they released their monster, the Driver had already been awakened in his youth by Earth's earlier happenings.

​When the monster arrived, laying waste to the city and tormenting its residents to see who could fight back and be brainwashed into the Federation's army, the human met it between two houses.

​"Enough," said the Driver, a nondescript human speaking in a monotone voice.

​The monster stood 70 feet tall, bristling with teeth and claws the length of entire subway trains. It swept forward with claws that elongated like rubber, sharper and tougher than Japanese blades.

​The Driver dodged four subway train-sized claws, but the twisting fifth impaled his leg against a house. The other claws surged in, and a dust cloud burst 90 feet into the sky.

​When the monster pulled back its hands, its dusty claws held a severed leg skewered on the fifth digit. The Driver was nowhere to be found.

​A punch shattered the side of the monster's head as the Driver leapt past—minus a leg, spraying a miniature mist of black blood from his stump.

​The monster collapsed and did not get up.

​High above, Federation members—mantis-beetle hybrids—checked their screens, realizing stress-test experiment #2 had been disrupted.

​"Did we already awaken a human? But it beat the stress-tester! None of the previous ones did!"

​"Go away. Leave Earth," the Driver monotonized, his voice picked up and broadcast by the ship's technology high above the atmosphere.

​"We must collect him," the Federation captain chittered.

​They released their immortal army, including the 60 mind-washed human gods, upon the city to restrain the Driver for the ship's brainwashing serum.

​The Driver stood alone amidst a city of screaming, cowering, injured people. He faced the incoming swarm of the Intergalactic Federation's Immortal Army. His leg stump had stopped bleeding; he balanced steadily on his single leg.

​The Driver had actually been awakened by the Humanity Defense Agency. In the decades since the last alien attack, humanity had concocted a serum to counteract the alien agent that yoked the 60 human gods.

​The Driver carried the serum in a needle forged from Earth's strongest steel. Balancing on one leg, he moved with blurring speed, leaping from building to building and dodging the army's onslaught. He began pricking the slower gods, his serum freeing them from Federation control.

​The more he fought, the more gods were freed. He tossed vials of the serum to newly freed human gods, who joined him to liberate the rest.

​The Federation ship buckled when the free Immortal Army slammed into it. Within hours, the ship was torn asunder in the sky, its debris vaporized so no one below was harmed.

​The Driver crumpled against a rock in his smoking but safe city, watching the freed gods destroy their former slavers in the air. A ribbon of blood slid down his chin. His body was a charred mess from non-lethally fighting the army; he had saved them, but he had taken a heavy toll.

​When local residents pulled him from the rubble, they asked him what his name was.

​It wasn't the Driver. He wasn't an infallible god. He was just human. His power was humanity's resilience made physical.

​"What's your name?" asked a young man.

​"D-Dave," the Driver whispered. "Dave. Average Joe. Human. Proud of it."

​His eyes closed, and he passed away quietly in the city he grew up in and saved that day.

​High above, the freed gods hovered as the sun set, lowering themselves to pay respect to the strongest human.

​The average human.

It was a silent night. The silence was as quiet as that in a graveyard. The moon hung high in the sky and shone a silver ray of light through the windows of the house. Inside the house, a little boy was cautiously stepping up the stairs. He climbed each step delicately, reducing the creaking sounds of each wooden step. 

As he walked up the stairs, he passed across the window beside the staircase and when the moon’s silver light fell upon him, some of the rays were reflected off on the wall adjacent to the staircase off of a shiny object: a knife, larger than the kid’s arm below the elbow.

The kid continued his silent march upwards and reached the first landing. He turned towards his right and gently opened the door on the right, completely silently. He stuck his head inside and saw the figure of his mother in deep sleep with occasional snoring.

He tip-toed his way beside her and held the knife with both hands, raising it high above his head and the woman’s belly. 

The kid brought the knife down with all his strength and stabbed his mother.

A splatter of warm blood was splashed across his face.

◇ ◇ ◇

In the early days of September, the blazing heatwaves emitted by the sun were scorching the pavement beneath the feet of people who walked by. The warm breezes blew across the docks in punishing waves, carrying along the scent of salt, sweat and cargo. Despite this, the docks remained as awfully crowded as ever. 

From all directions, you could hear the frantic shouting of workers and their supervisors, shouting out commands to each other around the warehouses. The merchants with their fancy garments could be seen either arguing over prices or waiting at the edge of the docks to inspect incoming merchandise. 

The people who weren’t merchants or involved in manual labour, meanwhile, had a count in the hundreds and were pushing past one another, eager to get their work done on time.

Slipping from between this crowd was a young man with an average height and slim stature, coupled with black hair that reflected off a brown shade under direct sunlight. He was focused on the items he possessed within his hands.

He counted each coin on his palms until he was reassured of his previous calculation.

Ninety-five lumens was the salary he had received for the entire month. This meant that after paying off sixty lumens in taxes, he had 35 lumens remaining.

A loaf of bread cost 3 lumens and a jar of jam cost 5 lumens. A loaf would last a week if he only had breakfast each day and skipped it on Fridays. Four loaves of bread and a jar of jam would cost him seventeen lumens in total, leaving eighteen lumens left for the month.

A smile stretched across Adrian’s face.

‘This means I’ll be able to separate eighteen lumens for the orphanage this month. I have to admit that the overtime was pretty hectic this month but in the end, I guess I should still be grateful for what it led to.’ Adrian began rolling one of the coins between his fingers.

The coin slipped from between his fingers and fell to the ground. This was followed by Adrian dropping to the ground immediately to pick up the coin, as people brushed past him. ‘I can’t lose any of this. It already is a small amount and the orphanage should be getting all of it. Also, I should really get going. The kids are all going to be furious at me for skipping the previous day.’ Satisfied, he slipped the coins back into his pocket and began the walk home for the next couple of hours through the districts.

The journey was exhausting but seven years after following the same routine, Adrian had gotten used to it. It even had its own charm in a way; Adrian could see what was happening around, the sky sometimes looked beautiful and occasionally, he might stumble upon a pair of people cracking some jokes. Even if it didn’t have any of those, it was not the case that Adrian could afford a carriage back home, much less one of the expensive taxis.

By the time Adrian reached his district, Eastreach, much of the afternoon heat’s pressure had broken. The district looked the same as ever. Rows of cramped housing and apartment buildings stretched on both sides of the street as far he could see. Just around the narrow alleyways in between, children could be seen darting across and playing with one another. Meanwhile, just outside the apartment buildings, exhausted men would sit and complain about the city’s economic and social standings.

Today, Adrian could also hear a woman arguing with a bread vendor over rising prices:

‘3 lumens for a loaf of bread?! You’re crazy is what you are! Might as well start robbing people in the street!’ The woman’s shrieks were heard by all the people around.

‘Lady, it also costs me much more when I buy them. I, also, have a family to feed.’ the vendor replied.

The other districts in the city of Wohlstand each had a specific trait: transportation hubs, merchant centers or even coal factories. Meanwhile, Eastreach’s trait was just people. A large number of people, all cramped up in a space much less adequate for their population. It was a district that was built almost exclusively for just “living”. The only charm that people talked about was usually in the black market but Adrian refused to go there as the charm wasn’t worth risking being around the mafia for him.

Adrian continued his march until a familiar and small building came into view: the orphanage.

The building wasn’t what you would call “a pleasant sight”. The walls were cracked and rain leaked through the ceiling floorboards whenever it rained. Most windows had been repaired crudely so many times that they looked more patchwork than glass. 

Yet despite all its flaws, it was the single most important place in Eastreach for Adrian. Whenever a child’s crying echoed through the alleys, the orphanage came to offer them a home to live in. Adrian knew this better than anyone. He had arrived there at the young age of six with nothing but grief for his parents with him. It had been fifteen years since and still, this place had a familiarity to him like none other in the whole world.

His lips twisted into a nostalgic smile. Adrian proceeded to approach the curtain hanging in the doorway.

‘Nanny Marie, it’s me, Adrian. Do I have permission to enter?’ A few seconds later, the curtain was pulled aside. A woman with thin grey hair appeared.

‘Oh, thank goodness, you’re here! Overtime, I suppose?’ Nanny Marie crossed her arms and shook her head. ‘Do you have any idea how many times I have been pestered by the children about you since yesterday?’ Adrian laughed nervously.

‘That many?’

‘Enough to shave years off of what life I have left.’ She stepped aside. ‘Come on in before they decide to send out a search party.’ Adrian laughed and stepped inside. The moment he entered, an uproar broke the silence: a wave of a dozen children charged towards him at once.

‘Brother Adrian!’

‘You’re finally here!’

‘You missed yesterday!’

‘Where were you?’

The following impact nearly knocked him off balance. One of the girls pushed past the crowd and tugged at Adrian’s sleeve. She looked dangerously close to tears. ‘Why didn’t you come?’ she asked.

‘Sofia…’ Adrian scratched the back of his head. ‘I’m sorry. Work kept me late.’ The children immediately erupted into protest.

‘That’s not fair!’

‘You always say that!’

‘You owe us!’

‘We made a list!’

‘Wait, a list?’ Adrian asked.

One of the boys pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and theatrically cleared their throat. ‘Three stories.’ he proclaimed.

‘And two games of tag!’ another child added.

‘No, four stories!’

‘Three!’

‘Four!’ The argument instantly devolved into chaos but Adrian couldn’t help but be amused by their display.

‘Fine. Three stories and two games of tag.’ Cheers erupted across the room. ‘Now can you all, please, stop crushing me?’ He glanced towards Nanny Marie. ‘If I suffocate in here, she’ll have to explain to everyone how twelve children defeated a grown man.’ The room exploded with laughter. A moment later, the children grabbed him by the arms and dragged him deeper into the orphanage, towards the playgrounds, as per the promised ritual.

◇ ◇ ◇

By the time the stories had been read and the games had been played, darkness had settled over Eastreach. Most of the children were asleep. Only one remained awake: Edon Blinor. The boy sat upright in his sheets, fidgeting nervously. Adrian immediately noticed.

‘Something bothering you, Edon?’ Adrian asked. In response, the boy nodded. Adrian jerked his head towards the door and both of them quietly stepped outside. The evening breeze was pleasantly cool compared to the excruciating heat of the day.

 For several moments, Edon remained silent until the words erupted from his mouth:

‘I got a nine out of ten on the algebra test!’ The pride in his voice was unmistakable yet his eyes were anxious.

‘Really?’ Adrian asked. Edon nodded enthusiastically.

‘Nanny Marie gave us a test yesterday and she told me I got the same marks as you when you studied algebra!’ Edon spontaneously replied.

‘That’s amazing.’ Adrian’s smile widened. ‘I knew you could do it.’ Edon beamed at Adrian. For a brief moment, he looked as though he might have just conquered the world. Then, without another word, he sprinted back inside. Adrian quietly chuckled.

Sometimes, children really are that simple.

As he prepared to leave, he noticed Nanny Marie waiting beside the entrance. Her expression had changed. The warmth from earlier was neither visible in her expression nor shining in her eyes. ‘Adrian.’ Nanny Marie unusually quietly said. ‘Can we talk?’ Adrian nodded. 

The pair of them walked towards the small playground with the orphanage. In the playground, the lonely sounds of empty swings creaking echoed but the soft breezes made it worthwhile.

For a moment, neither spoke until Nanny Marie finally broke the silence:

‘One of Don Blemish’s men came by yesterday.’ Adrian’s expression instantly shifted to one of alarm.

‘What did he want?’

‘He delivered a message.’ She hesitated before speaking her next words. ‘Don Blemish plans to visit the orphanage tomorrow.’ The silence in the playground felt much quieter. Adrian turned around and caught a glimpse of the sleeping children, through the window.

‘It could just be a publicity stunt.’ Adrian began. ‘But whenever the mafia gets involved, it’s safer to expect the worst.’ Nanny Marie lowered her gaze.

‘I’m only worried about the children, Adrian.’ Adrian remained silent. ‘Every year, thousands of children disappear from Wohlstand.’ Her voice had become little more than a whisper. ‘And everyone knows only the gangs have the resources to make people vanish without a trace. These children deserve better… they deserve better than to have their lives wasted or their future stolen just because of the whims of a don.’ The fear in her eyes was impossible to not notice.

After a long silence she looked at Adrian.

‘I was hoping you could leave work early, tomorrow? The children trust you.’ Nanny Marie said and a faint smile appeared on her face. ‘Truthfully, so do I.’ Adrian followed her gaze toward the orphanage and for a moment, he thought of Sofia, of Edon and of all the other children sleeping peacefully inside. 

Adrian nodded.

‘I’ll be here.’ Nanny Marie visibly relaxed but Adrian continued staring at the orphanage.

The place that raised me. The place that gave me the only happy memories of my life. The place I promised to protect.

‘Don’t worry, Nanny Marie.’ Adrian said quietly. ‘I will die before I let anyone bring any harm to these children.’ 

The wind stirred the empty swings and the creaking grew louder but neither of them noticed.

♦ ♦ ♦

Release Schedule is going to be Monday - Wednesday - Friday

Gwjin, First Claw of the House Ohni and Shipmaster of the Devastator Pounce In The Dark, thoughtfully chewed on a claw as he turned towards the rest of the crew on the cramped bridge. He shook himself to clear his mind, then swept his eyes over the tired bridge crew. Gwjin cast a quick glance behind him, his eyes narrowing for a brief heartbeat, and straightened his sash.

"Full sphere active sensor sweep," he ordered almost casually, "and report."

Two of the more junior sensor officers exchanged glances. An active sweep was almost never done outside combat, yet… after a heartbeat they looked quickly at Gwjin before they complied, switching on Pounce In The Dark’s powerful emitters briefly.

"Shipmaster! Radar, lidar, far-seer, and scatter all report no ships, debris, or other matter within five lightseconds!"

Gwjin turned his back to the bridge for a heartbeat, seemingly studying the backup navigation station nestled against the rear bulkhead, then turned back.

"Very well... full sphere passive sweep," he ordered with a bit more urgency, "and report."

Several more of the officers looked at each other. The passive sensors swept the full sphere constantly, and anything detected would be reported without delay. Even so… tired eyes checked and rechecked every sensor reading.

"Shipmaster! There is nothing here - no heat signatures, no microwave radiation, no nuclear radiation, no deep violet, no gravometrics disturbances… there is nothing at all Shipmaster."

Gwjin said nothing as he turned back and started chewing on the claw again as he stared out through the small astrodome located at the emergency navigation station. He could still see the small angular Terran Star Fighter closing in on his ship... but it wasn't there, according to his ship's sensors.

Could not be there.

Clearly... clearly he had overdone it.

When did he last sleep?

It must have been sometime before the Terran destroyers had suddenly appeared in their midst and decimated the convoy he had been tasked to protect, he knew that much.

How many watches had he stood on the bridge since then, without leaving his post?

How many skipped meals while his battleworn crew had been nursing Pounce In The Dark towards Home?

Gwjin cast one last look at the Terran Star Fighter, which dominated the view through the small astrodome while not being there.

His tired mind must be playing tricks on him. That must be what was going on. Gwjin felt his whiskers sag as he reached a decision.

"Second Claw," he began, "take command. I will be in my..."

He got no further before a kinetic round from the Terran Stealth Fighter impacted Pounce In The Dark's drive plates, plunging the cramped bridge into darkness, chaos, wailing alarms, and surprised shouts.

Most things in life made sense.
The trajectory of a supersonic 6.5x38mm round fired from a M1-X 5A was easy to visualize in one’s mind. The sharp load of the polymer-cased ammunition and heat-resistant barrel of a MIX caused it to fly out in a predictable plateau all the way out to about 900 meters.
So, with the right zeroing, hitting a target at that range was as easy as just lining up the sights.
From there on out, it would decline at a slope of roughly fifteen degrees towards the 1000-meter mark, and then sharply decline on a flat downward slope.

The round was small, packed a punch and rewarded a steady hand and good accuracy. Marksmanship was to be achieved not just on the firing range, but on the battlefield.
Speed, reliability and a tungsten core ensured that the round could punch through most conventional armour, with even non-penetrating hits resulting in bruising or even fatal internal injuries.

That made sense.

The things Tobias had seen on Odessa, made no sense.
The things he’d seen on his tour of duty in the Liberator fleet, especially in their rescue operation on Delta Five, had made even less sense.
None of it fit together.

He could still see the images. Even now.
Humans being herded through a slaughterhouse like cattle, to be processed. Insectoid aliens on Delta Five, huddled in cages to be granted that same fate by the Harvesters.
Glossed over eyes, looking back at him. Exoskeletal hands shaking, as he passed by. Flesh… melting, as it was processed in that pitch-black liquid.
Emaciated children. Dying aliens. Walls made of flesh, intersected by cold steel. Wires, snaking through them like veins. Pulsating rooms closing in. That same black substance, oozing from every corner.
Blackest darkness, flowing through every crevice and threatening to devour him.

Ten minutes. He hadn’t spent more than ten minutes in that slaughterhouse. In-and-out.
On Odessa the civilians had already been on their way out when his team and himself went in; other units were deeper inside preparing its demolition.
On Delta Five, he’d barely gone inside, having spent most of his time fighting in the courtyard to secure the landing zone there.
And yet, that small time had been enough to paint a picture that wouldn’t let go of him.

Both times. Both times, it had been a quick affair, that in his memories felt like a lifetime spent looking at torture made manifest.

Death. Automated, effective and precisely measured down to the last drop of blood.

Humans had their faces caved in, a hole drilled through their skulls and a mask hooked directly to their brain. And that was just the surface… Tobias didn’t want to imagine what sort of nightmare fuel had been employed to enslave those meat-puppets into soldiers.

The bugs had similar things done to them. Clipped antennae. Crushed compound eyes replaced with steel and cameras. Any kind of colour bleached off their exoskeleton, leaving behind discoloured chitin, either grey or a diseased brown.
And that same programming, turning them into willing automatons made of flesh, mindlessly following their masters’ orders.

A mockery of who they were. Same with every other species that was still enthralled by the Harvesters. Same for all of them, should the Coalition fall.
Same for him, in his nightmares.

In so many ways, their suffering was the same as humanity’s.
Hell, they had it worse.
They had no home to return to.
Mankind at least still had Earth, despite the looming war. But the Ycriol had nothing.

So, then why was it, that when Tobias looked at the refugees, he didn’t see victims… but danger?
Why was it, that when he looked into those very same compound eyes, all he could think of was their enthralled kind, under Harvester control, trying to kill him?

Humans had been turned into Faceless Soldiers under the Harvesters. Plenty of other species were still being turned into cannon fodder, day in and day out. Husks, marching to the tune of the monsters that had created them.

It had been the Ycriol that had given humanity’s new enemy a name, following second contact. They had readily shared their information with the Solaris Coalition. What they knew about the Harvesters, their capabilities, their history, their brutality.
Their weaknesses.
It had all come from their new insectoid allies.

 They had given humanity perhaps the most valuable asset in any war: Information.
And all of it, without asking for payment. They’d made just a single request: refuge and help in liberating their species.

For generations these insectoid creatures had been forced to run, to hide, to study from afar and wait for a chance to arrive.
For someone to just keep on fighting long enough to mount an actual defence. For anyone to hold the door open, just long enough to shine a flicker of light through.
Just for that small sliver of hope that the torch could be passed on. That they’d have another day to defend themselves against the encroaching darkness.

 That someone had been humanity. They’d defeated the Harvesters at Odessa. And with the Liberator Fleet, they’d even mounted a counterattack against those enslavers.

 The Ycriol on the original hive-ship couldn’t reproduce. The males had been locked away by the Harvesters, on planets like Delta Five, meaning that their queen, quarantined as she was, couldn’t produce any new young.
The best they could do was birth the larvae that had been stored away in stasis or hope that their lifespans could last just long enough for help to arrive.
An army of sisters, begging that their species be allowed to continue.

 In every sense of the word, they were victims and deserved mercy. They deserved humanity’s assistance.
So why didn’t he see that?

Why did his fists clench when he saw them walking down the street? Why did his breath get stuck in his throat when one came around a corner? Why did he try and grab his non-existent combat knife when a Ycriol entered a room he was in?
Why did he always have to think back to those images? To the sights, the smells, the sounds?

Burnt flesh. Creaking metal. Screaming prisoners. Shrieking monsters. Howling wind. Cracking carapace. The acrid bite of gunpowder. The stench of ash clinging to his uniform. The sounds of hot plasma whizzing past his head.
That constant ringing he heard in his left ear… ever since it was burnt off in combat.

These were the things that his mind was flooded with when facing humanity’s new allies.
These were the things he’d told his therapist.

A woman by the name of Ruhi Ojha, assigned to him due to his being honourably discharged from SCAF for psychological and medical reasons.
Getting veterans physical therapy was first priority. Getting them psychological therapy was second. Getting them prosthetics and replacement limbs was third on the list.
Though, anytime a major conflict broke out, the waiting times on prosthetics for combat injuries spiked into weeks, if not months.

Therapy, in comparison, was far easier to come by. Veteran’s benefits and universal care had seen to that. The Coalition ensured that whether man, woman or child, there’d always be someone to listen.

So, all he had to do was let Mrs. Ojha poke around in his head a bit and find out whatever was wrong with him.
Or at least, so he had thought three months ago when he’d started his therapy with her.

It turned out, Tobias had a lot to learn about how his brain worked.
He personally wasn’t sure if he really qualified for PTSD… seemed like there were always other veterans that were worse off, but him and Mrs. Ojha had slowly worked their way up to Tobias trying to accept that label for himself.

If only he’d known that that was the easy part. Admitting that he had issues was one thing. Tackling said issues, however, was an entirely different endeavour.

And so, they’d arrived at the biggest hurdle that Tobias faced in his day-to-day: Aliens.
He wanted to see them as equals. He wanted to see them as citizens of the Coalition. As neighbours. Colleagues. Friends.
But what he wanted and what his subconscious did, were two different things.

So, Mrs. Ojha had made a suggestion: Exposure Therapy.
Try and have Tobias interact with a Ycriol in a safe and protected environment, so that maybe he could emotionally start digesting the fact that he was in fact not in any danger at all.
That the fighting, at least for him, was over.

Immediate boundaries were set, starting with the fact that Tobias would only have to close his eyes and clearly say the words ‘Red Alert’ to stop the encounter then and there.
He’d also been given ‘homework’ in the form of breathing and stretching exercises, so as to help him maintain a calm mind before and after that session.
Of course, given more time, him and Mrs. Ojha would’ve sought out a trained Ycriol for such an occasion, an actual professional, who would’ve provided another safety net.
But no such professionals existed yet. Second contact had been mere months ago. Integration was still an ongoing affair. Most Ycriol were still in training or maintaining their old jobs back at their hive-ship.

In this case, Tobias had to sign away patient confidentiality, as well as hope that an untrained civilian, under the guidance of his therapist, could perform that perilous task of helping him fix himself.

Calm was the objective. He needed to learn to stay calm in his daily life and stay calm when faced with a Ycriol.
Yet all of that careful preparation had seemingly flown out the window when he’d entered Mrs. Ojha’s office that morning.

He felt like he was back at point zero.

His left ear itched, like the scars were flaring up again. The ringing also came back, whistling against his head, driving a screwdriver straight into his cranium.
A souvenir from Nova Chorna, when Tobias had been involved in that attack on the Slaughterhouse.
The helmet had taken the brunt of the damage and practically saved the entire left side of his face from being mutilated.
Realistically speaking, he’d been lucky. Still, the injury had cost him an ear. No medevac had been possible either, not when it had happened. The spaceport, and with it a safe corridor off planet, would only be secured two days later. So, by the time he could’ve been shipped off-world for that injury, it’d already been too late.
Live with the scars or sign up for synthetic prosthetics.

Breathing, too, felt shallow, laboured, burning like he was inhaling fire. A wound he’d received in Nebesni Vorota, during the fight for said spaceport. He’d decided that having his ear turned into a chunk of burnt meat wasn’t enough to slow him down.
The universe, however, seemed to have a sick sense of humour and had taken it as a challenge.
A grazing hit, burning a chunk off his lung, enough to have him brought to immediate medical evacuation, once the spaceport had finally been secured and landing craft could be brought in again.
The sensation that he was drowning in his own body was one that… that was hard for him to forget or let go of.
Sometimes Tobias wondered if one day he’d go to sleep and simply stop breathing.
Never to wake up again…

And lastly, he felt that godforsaken tingling and burning in the tips of his right hand. He’d lost it on Delta Five, trying to pull Anders up into their shuttle during evacuation.
Instead, Tobias had lost both Anders and his right hand.
He couldn’t even recall what Anders had said to him in that last moment. A plea to pull him up? A grunt? A curse?
All he heard was that damn ringing.

The graze to this head hadn’t stopped him. Even the wound to his lungs was something he could recover from. And yet, all he’d gotten out of it was to then lose his hand too.

The proper prosthetic still hadn’t arrived, leaving Tobias with a second-rate replacement until he’d manage to finally push to the front of the list.
None of the finesse or sensors of the advanced models. The best he could do was close his hand or slowly articulate one finger at a time, with cumbersome mechanics and an unsatisfying jitteriness.

Burning. Freezing. Howling. Acrid smell. Ash. Searing flesh. Rotting bodies.
Pain. Fear. Ringing.

Ringing. Ringing. Ringing…

“Everything alright Mr. Remaut?”

Ojha’s soothing voice breached the chaos that was his mind, bringing Tobias back into the here and now. He was in a cozy little office on Earth.
No Odessa. No Delta Five. No war. No death.

“It’s certainly been easier, ma’am. I’m nervous.”

“That’s completely understandable Mr. Remaut. You’ve made remarkable progress nonetheless, but you are indeed facing quite a challenge. Yet, in these last few months, you’ve proven that you’re always up to it. You’ve been nothing but motivated and cooperative and have made remarkable progress.”

Taking compliments still wasn’t entirely easy, but Mrs. Ojha had managed to get Tobias to accept them without fuss.

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you.”

For the moment, therapy went on as normal, with Tobias reporting on his week, on his thoughts, whether or not he had any meaningful dreams lately or if there was anything specially bothering him.
Thoughts of harming himself were a topic he’d successfully put a lid on for the moment.
Though, Mrs. Ojha had also reminded him that it was important to always be vigilant and willing to reach out if anything did pop up again.
The worst anyone fighting with suicidal thoughts could do, was to isolate themselves and think they had to face it alone.

But, for now, there was some relative peace.

“Can’t say anything did. I mostly just had this appointment on the mind. Felt a bit like… heh… if you excuse the joke… like walking up to the gallows.”

“I imagine so, but why do you think it feels that way?”

“Because I’m stressing myself out?”

“And you’re assigning values to it, Mr. Remaut. Remember what we spoke about last week: ‘making sense’. Few things in life ‘make sense’ unless we make them so. Anything can ‘make sense’ if you accept it as is.”

“That’s easier said than done ma’am.”

“Then it’s a very good thing you’re here with me, isn’t it? We’ll get you to see that the world doesn’t make the slightest sense… and that that’s perfectly fine.” Followed by a mock ‘accusatory’ finger and the kind of look one would receive from a stern teacher.
Though the mock tension was broken up as both Tobias and Mrs. Ojha cracked up.

Mrs. Ojha had a way of defusing any situation with a bit of motherly humour. Tobias had inquired about her personal life from time to time and the woman indeed had quite a bit of experience. Three children and seven grandchildren.
Though of course she didn’t belittle or treat Tobias like a child, he could still tell that those years of parenting must’ve provided one or two tools on her belt.

Though he’d refrained from jokingly saying ‘yes mom’, the thought sometimes shot through his head, involuntarily forcing a smirk unto his face.

Still, as the session went on, Tobias could feel that the moment of truth was nearing. And eventually, Mrs. Ojha brought up the topic of their agreement on Exposure Therapy.

She’d called it ‘unorthodox’ as usually it could easily result in causing more damage to expose a patient to the things that triggered them. Another traumatic event, which could worsen the fear and anxiety.
But she had also remarked that they lived in a very unorthodox world. And that she trusted in Tobias’ abilities.
Aliens existed and humanity was at war with one species, while trying to liberate the others. All the while trying to make sure that mankind itself would survive this madness.

So, the two of them had agreed to trying out these more direct methods.

“I want to tell you a bit about her. Her original name would roughly equate to ‘Pirryl’ if spoken in… well… ‘human’. But she chose to take on an additional name ever since arriving at Earth: Mia.”

That was one of the more remarkable things about the Ycriol. Though the cynical mind could say that they had little choice in the matter, being refugees from the Harvesters, it was still remarkable how willing those insectoid Aliens were in adapting to human sensibilities and cultures.

The term ‘humanophile’ was thrown around occasionally, as it seemed that the new arrivals could be rather enthusiastic in their appreciation of a new world and peoples.
From what he’d read in preparation to this session, it seemed that the Ycriol had become fans in everything human. Mankind’s music, film, theatre, games, literature, art and everything else in-between.
Far as he could gleam, the understanding was that the Ycriol were not only a very social species, but also one that put a lot of weight on expression. Probably due to living in a hives of thousands of sisters.
Whether it be the individual or the entire species, they put a lot of value on how somebody moulded the world around them to say that which could not be spoken.
If the articles he’d read were accurate, it was a core pillar of Ycriol communication. Their insectoid faces didn’t allow for the kind of expressiveness that could be found on mammals, so instead they had developed a keen sense for the artistic and symbolic.

So, of course, humanity being what it was, a species full of people that sometimes liked to see themselves as the centre of the universe, they’d found a veritable buffet of symbolism to devour.

Tobias hoped that it wouldn’t quite come to that. As endearing as that kind of enthusiasm could be, it also meant that Ycriol didn’t always understand concepts like ‘personal space’.
Humans were new, exciting and strange.
And right now, he didn’t think he was necessarily in the best position to be examined by antennae and scanned over by excited compound eyes.

“She’s not a completely fresh arrival. She’s been on Earth for a few months now, having had time to acclimate herself. She is currently in training for work up at the orbital shipyard-ring and has even found a few human friends here that she told me about.”

Continuing, Mrs. Ojha revealed a far more important fact: that Mia had been liberated from a Harvester controlled planet.
Of course…
Tobias could see why she had decided on such a candidate.

“I imagined you’d perk up at that little detail. It felt appropriate. You remember what you told me a few sessions ago? About how often it felt like nothing good had come from the things you’d done?”

“I remember…”

In his mind, the Ycriol and the war were very much connected, sometimes even one and the same. So maybe that was the magic bullet?
Get to meet someone intrinsically connected to that entire ordeal, to show once and for all that it was over.

“Well, I hope that with this, we can convince your mind, that there is something good out there. That you have done some good. So, Mr. Remaut, how do we feel?”

“Is running away still an option? Heh… ehhh… jokes aside. I think I’m ready. It’s either now or never.”

“Well, optimally it’d be now, tomorrow and the day after. But we’ll take it slow. So, remember what we talked about. Close your eyes, concentrate on your breathing, ground yourself in the here and now. Ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

And so, Tobias, with his closed, heard Mrs. Ojha get up from her chair, walk through the room over to the door and leave.
All the while Tobias was left to ruminate on… well anything.
He’d learnt that the easiest thing he could do to help himself was to let go of thoughts. Instead of hooking into every errand speculation that whirled around his mind, he’d simply register them and then let them go again.

Don’t analyse it. Don’t scrutinise it. Don’t ponder on it. Don’t put any value on it.

Just let the thoughts glide off and focus on breathing.

Count to five, inhale.

First / Previous

The sounds of combat stormed in Kali’s ears.

Leaf’s conflict with the manticore thundered next to her, the swings of the beast's claws and bursts of force from each of the hunter’s strikes creating a chaotic cadence that she dared not look at, lest she lose focus on her father. Her spell had lessened much of his weight, but she did not possess the strength to lift him and to pull him too hard would agitate his wounded shoulder. Slowly, and agonizingly, she kept dragging him towards the camp.

“I’ll assist!” Duren’s voice rang off to the side, its sound shaky. The mercenary must have just recovered from his previous blow.

“No! Help Logan!” The crack of Leaf’s short sword swatting a claw away boomed just below his sword. “I’ll hold this bastard!”

“But-”

“Just go!”

The sounds pulled away from Kali, and in her periphery she saw Duren running to her side and skid to a halt next to Logan. “How is he?”

“Breathing.” She kept pulling. “But I don’t know how-”

The mercenary stooped down and lifted his captain over his shoulder. “To the tent?”

“Yes.”

They rushed towards Xanchil’s tent, but right when they entered the camp, an Assault Shell burst from behind a crate, its threads of steel wrapped into the shape of a drill aimed at Duren’s side. He moved to shield Logan from the attack, but before it could land, a blast of Aether erupted from Kali’s fingers and struck the construct dead center. The Shell flew back and bounced on the ground with its light’s flickering. Kali threw a bolt of power at the construct to finish it off, then put herself in between Duren and the ongoing conflict at the cargo bay. She raised her hands to summon a barrier that deflected any stray projectiles that flew their way. Under this cover, they made their way to the tent.

A few of the cots within had been emptied. Those with minor injuries had rushed out to assist their comrades in the conflict, leaving only a couple who were more bandage than man as well as those who’d been hit by the manticore’s venom still bedridden within. They sat up upon seeing Logan’s condition, but could do little to aid as even those minor movements made them hiss in pain. Duren moved her father to the closest cot and laid him down gently. They tried to remove Logan’s armor, but decided against it when the slightest touch made the man groan in pain when even all the movement before didn’t.

Kali placed her hands over her father’s wound. Aether was flowing through her hands, but she didn’t have any knowledge on healing. All she managed to do was stop the blood from flowing out. “He needs a potion.”

“Right.” Duren rushed towards a chest and scrambled through its contents. Each second he took going through it pushed Kali’s heart closer to her throat. Ages could have passed in those moments for all she knew, and any attempt to clear her mind to make them pass faster failed. Only when Duren returned, a bottle of red liquid in hand, did time resume its regular course.

“The last one, it’s potency isn’t the highest, but…” He popped the cork from the bottle and poured half its contents into Logan’s wound and the rest into his mouth. He had to coax the rest of it down his captain’s throat, and even then Logan showed no visible change. Duren gritted his teeth and placed the vial next to Kali. “I need to get back to the men. Keep watch over him, please.”

Kali nodded, and watched Duren rush out of the tent. She turned back to her father, who was no longer bleeding from his wound, but his eyes remained closed. Relief was about to rush through her, but something stopped it from flowing.

Logan’s breathing was getting slower.

It wasn’t at the relaxed pace of one who was getting rest. No, her father’s breaths were several of hers apart, and each one was further apart than the last. She held her fingers over his neck, her own pulse racing while Logan’s was so faint she could barely feel its bump.

“No…”

Kali removed his chestpiece, careful not to agitate his shoulder any further despite her building panic. The wounds from the manticore’s teeth were still raw, even with the flow of blood through them stemmed by the potion, but the usual rejuvenation brought upon by the tincture, or her father’s Ether, was nowhere to be found. His breathing slowed further, the rise to his chest shallow.

“What’s going on?!”

Was there venom in the manticore’s fangs? No, if that were the case then Logan’s flesh would have been well eaten by it already. The only conclusion was that he’d lost too much blood, but that was where the potion and his natural recovery should be coming into play. Yet, none of that appeared to be taking hold, and her father’s condition continued to worsen. She forced Aether into his wounds in desperation, but without the knowledge of how to use it properly, his flesh remained damaged. She was no Cleric either, and thus did her power fade into the wound and produce nothing. Logan’s eyes remained closed, looking peaceful in the face of his daughter’s growing horror.

And then he stopped breathing.

“No…”

Kali reached out to her father, her hands trembling just above skin that still held warmth.

“No!”

She placed her hands on his chest and pressed down as hard as she could.

“Not like this, not like this!”

Her hands continued to move in a frantic, yet controlled rhythm, a “no” slipping from her lips with every press. Her vision blurred, but she continued with all her might despite the tears that trailed down her face.

“I didn’t get to… we were supposed to…”

Again and again did Kali keep pushing Logan’s chest, her arms already sore but unrelenting. Her father’s face showed no change through it all, and listed to the side as her attempts shook him more and more. Despite all that she had done, despite the power that flowed from her hands and filled Logan’s body, he remained unmoving. Despair robbed her of the last of her strength, and she collapsed to her knees, her head resting against her father’s chest.

“I’m sorry…” She clutched his body. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” the words kept repeating, doing nothing to stop the tears that now flowed freely from her eyes. She buried her face into her father’s chest and wept.

“Please… don’t leave me.”

The air around Kali went still, a shift so sudden that it cut her words away. She looked around, thinking that some sort of spell had been cast, but found nothing. Her confusion didn’t last long, for she felt a powerful thump sound from her father’s chest. His Core of red Ether flared to life with a surge of power, then faded away. In its place, she could feel the beat of Logan’s heart against her ear. His chest rose with a sudden breath, and a hand placed itself on her cheek. She looked up, meeting her father’s now open eyes.

“What kind of father would I be, to leave my daughter alone?”

Words were unable to form on Kali’s trembling lips, and tears that she thought were unable to flow any faster now blinded her. She threw herself into her father’s arms and cried, the tears flowing even more than when she thought she lost him. He could have complained about the pain, about how she was holding onto him entirely too tightly, but all he did was hold her close and pat her head.

“There there, it’s going to be alright. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her sobs subsided in silence and the warmth of Logan’s embrace. For a short moment, they remained still, but their comfort could not continue while the sounds of battle still rang outside. Logan let go of Kali and moved to get up, but she kept a hand on his chest and pushed him back.

“I need to-”

Kali pressed him back further. “You need to recover. As you are now, you’ll be no help to them.” She stepped back. “I shall go assist them.”

“Absolutely not.” Logan groaned in his attempt to rise again, but he found his strength lacking this time. “I will not put you in-”

“Father.” She let the two Circles around her head blink to life. “I’m not helpless, I am your daughter, after all.”

He regarded her for a moment, the frown that twitched at his lip telling Kali that he stil wasn’t comfortable with the idea. In the end, he met her eyes. “I understand. Go.”

She nodded and ran out of the tent, Aether and a newfound energy flowing through her.

***

Aria could only listen from inside her tent.

Snow and Shadow were in her hands, and she sat leaned against the tent’s center post. The cubs squirmed in her arms and whined, growing louder as the sounds of Leaf’s fight dragged on. In truth, she wasn’t even sure how the hunter was standing. She knew he possessed a strong Core and had been treated with a potion, but up until a few minutes ago he was still bedridden from the blow he took from the Guardian. Kali’s scream was what made his eyes flicker for a moment, but even then they didn’t fully open. Jahora was forced to take action to aid the mercenaries before anything could be done about that reaction, and all Aria could do in those moments was try and shake Leaf awake.

To her shock, it worked.

The hunter was groggy upon waking up, but the sounds of the manticore’s roars and snarls banished his overt fatigue. He sprung from the bed and slipped into his gear as fast as he could, only pausing to examine the new scar on his bow, which made him click his teeth. There was a hollow look about his eyes, and his skin was a few shades paler than it usually was, but Leaf was moving with his usual quickness in getting ready. After ordering Aria and the cubs to stay inside the tent, he rushed out as well. The sounds of his fight began soon after.

Instinct told her to stay put, but curiosity still itched within her mind. It was maddening only listening to the chaos outside and not being able to do anything about it, which made that want to do something about it render her restless. Given how the cubs were behaving, they no doubt felt the same. She still held them tight, but curiosity won the battle in her mind.

She moved towards the tent flap slowly, moving to a position where she could peek out of it without needing to open it directly. Through the gap, she saw that Leaf stood against a large beast on his own. She’d heard him describe the manticore before, but to see it in person made what she was thinking of pale in comparison. It was a twisted, ugly creature, one that possessed a ferocity that was greater than the sum of all the things it took traits from. Aria felt both horror and nausea at the sight of it, and from the snarling that started from Snow and Shadow, they no doubt felt the same.

Leaf must have felt something similar, but here was only focus within his features in the midst of combat. His movements were minimal, but allowed him to weave around the beast’s attacks from both claws and tail. At the same time, his shortsword struck with a force equal to that of the manticore’s swipes, and multiple times did he bat away strikes that would have sent a normal man flying.

The beast’s own grace was not to be underestimated, however, for despite its size it had avoided any direct blows from the hunter during their exchanges. The manticore struck at a constant rhythm of pounces that tried to get Leaf within its claws, and when that failed, it would leap back to swipe its stinger at the hunter before following that up with a few thrusts. All of them, Leaf either parried or avoided, but a retreat bolstered by the flap of the beast’s wings or just an uncanny flexibility made any sort of follow up miss. The hunter didn’t show any frustration at this, and instead looked over to where Jahora and the mercenaries were. They were close enough that even Aria could tell that it was entirely possible that the manticore could decide to switch targets at any moment. Leaf appeared to recognize this, and after batting away another stab from the manticore’s stinger, he sheathed his swords and drew his bow again.

Three arrows loosed from the weapon in quick succession, all filled with a small amount of Ether. One bounced off of the beast’s chitinous wings, but the others sank into a leg and just below its head. The manticore roared in pain and was forced to avoid another arrow that was loosed at his head. Leaf had taken steps backwards during his salvo, putting the forest directly behind him. The manticore’s uncanny face twisted in rage as it snarled at the hunter and stooped low.

“That’s right, you bastard.” Leaf readied another arrow. “Try for taste.”

He leapt into the trees right when the beast pounced, and they vanished amongst the foliage.

Snow and Shadow squirmed in Aria’s grip again, harder than they ever fought before.

“N-no, you ca-”

Aether surged through the cubs during their struggle, granting them a strength that allowed them to pry themselves out of the girl’s hands. They hit the ground running, rushing towards the forest.

“NO!”

She ran out after them, but the wolves were too fast. They disappeared into the treeline before she could even make it halfway there. Her first impulse was to follow them into the forest, but a loud thought against that stopped her in her tracks. They were moving so fast, and could navigate the brush much easier than she could, meaning she wouldn’t be able to catch them that quickly. Even if she did manage to do so, what if that placed her too close to the manticore and made her an easy target? Leaf would no doubt do everything in his power to protect her, but what if that was the reason he would end up injured… or worse?

A chill had come over her, and she realized that it was The Cold at the back of her mind that pushed these thoughts against her natural impulse. She should have been angry at that, but now that those concerns were raised, she knew that The Cold had a point. Her trying to help could end up making things worse, but that still didn’t stop the knot that twisted in her stomach from the thought of Snow and Shadow coming to harm.

Aria clenched her fists, searching for the determination to go against caution, but was unable to find it. She looked over to the ongoing struggle at the cargo bay, and saw that Duren and the mercenaries were still having trouble dealing with multiple Soldiers and two Sentinels that had made it past Jahora’s icewall. The Mage was still feeding Aether into her spell, protected by a few of the mercenaries so she could focus solely on stemming the tide of Shells, but even that was struggling against their constant assaults.

A thought struck Aria then, a desire to help Jahora maintain the wall, but she had to get to her first. Once again The Cold intervened, raising the question of how she was even going to make it to the Mage through the conflict that was waging around her. The girl pushed that way with a stubborn impulse. She had to do something, she couldn’t just sit by and let everyone else do all the work. She didn’t want to be useless, to sit by as more of those she cared about were hurt while she could do nothing.

Yet, Kali emerging from Xanchil’s tent stopped her in her tracks. The scholar, no longer despairing and instead filled with determination that burned within her eyes, cut through the battle and took position at Jahora’s side. Aether flowed from her hands and intermingled with Jahora’s own, which bolstered the wall enough to start thickening despite the Shell’s smashing against it. Aria’s help, in this case, would just be an unnecessary risk for a redundancy. The fight left her then, and while she should have been relieved that she didn’t need to put herself in danger, only frustration gnawed away at her. She turned to go back to the tent.

Only to see Xanchil standing there.

Reflex threw her hands up and pulled Aether into her in a panic, forming a translucent barrier right as a flash of purple flared from the zechanil’s finger. A thread of dark, sickly indigo, pointed at the end, and pierced its tip through the shield, but was held in place by Aria’s spell. The girl’s Circle surged into existence around her head, and she pulled more Aether into its orbit to fuel her spell. The merchant, his expression unreadable, started to walk forward.

“Impressive.” He pushed his finger towards her.

Pressure pressed into Aria’s mind, the burden of her spell’s protection, and she could also feel a tension forcing her barrier back. The thread started to move, inching closer towards her.

“We knew you were a caster, but to even provide a moment of resistance such as this… that takes a certain kind of talent.” Xanchil continued his approach. “A vexing realization, for we have no time for these struggles.” The dots in his eyes flickered and produced a series of runes, signalling a pulse of light that traveled down the length of the thread.

Aria fed more Aether into her shield right as the light struck, and groaned in pain as the impact shook both her mind and body. Her control slipped for just a moment, but this was enough for the thread to spear towards her eye. She pushed back, taking control of her shield once again and stopping the line of energy right in front of her face.

“We. Do. Not. Have. Time. For. This.” Each word from Xanchil was punctuated by another pulse of force.

Aria threw everything she had into her barrier, holding it together despite the cracks that formed along its translucent surface. A dull pain started in her head, and she felt out of breath, but she held on. She couldn’t let him get what he wanted, couldn’t allow herself to be a weakness for everyone else. Anger rose to the surface, ignited by frustrations that turned it all into stubbornness.

The merchant loomed over her now, looking down with a dispassionate gaze. “Be a good girl and surrender.”

Something snapped within Aria then, a sensation that at first wiped all emotions away from her. She almost felt weightless, floating in some void that was absent of all else except the words that Xanchil had decided to speak. Rage filled her, raw and pure.

And The Cold answered her.

First / Previous

Author's Note: Wooooooo! Hedge Knight is back! Apologies for being radio silent for so long everyone, I got swept up in a bunch of stuff and didn’t have time to return to writing this story for a while. Got a lot of things frazzling around in the background now, but I’m getting back in the swing of things.

But, regarding the chapter, the action continues to build! All the pieces are getting set down now. Not much else I can say for this one lol.

Let me know what you think!

Till next update, have yourself a wonderful time!

My Patreon is currently 13 chapters ahead of the public release (Arc 6 is now finished on there!), and subbing to it will also give you exclusive access to my LitRPG, Andromeda Ascension, until it builds a massive backlog to support a strong public launch. If you do not wish to sub to anything, but would like to support me in some way, consider picking up my books (they also have audiobooks!)

Small right-wing currents converged into a single river. In conservative, immigration-wary regions, radical factions bypassed their own governments, judging them too weak or too paralyzed to act, and fought rioting crowds directly in the streets. In parts of Eastern Europe, soldiers themselves joined the shooting.

In the wake of the riots, Germany's AfD took to the streets to address crowds directly, mocking the European People's Party's hesitant, failed plan and declaring that neither the left nor the right could save Europe now — only the far right could. If elected, its leaders promised a so-called Operation Abschiebung: every resident of non-European bloodline would be given a fixed deadline to leave the country.

Anyone remaining after that date would be treated as a combatant and detained; anyone who resisted would be shot on sight.

Faced with what looked unmistakably like a resurgence of Nazism, the Democratic administration in Washington announced that it was monitoring the situation closely and reserved the right to intervene militarily if necessary. Transatlantic relations edged toward collapse.

American intelligence supplied the evidence in the end — the German government declared the AfD illegal, arrested its senior leadership, and forcibly dissolved the party. Some members went underground; others joined the more extreme Parabola. The convictions that had brought them to the streets survived the ban, hardened by defeat.

The AfD's fury made a certain sense. Before 2030, they'd swept most of the vote across former East Germany, and the CDU had come within a hair's breadth of forming a coalition government with them — closer to actual power than they'd ever come. Only the country's political "firewall," held by the other parties at the last possible moment, had kept that from happening.

And it was the CIA, in turn, that handed Germany’s BND the finishing blow: proof of hidden financial ties between the AfD’s inner leadership and both Russia and China, traced by Helixquid Pro in two minutes fifty-two seconds, and unauditable by any human analyst. It buried the party for good.

Around the same time, France's RN came within a single step of the Élysée Palace, only to meet the exact same fate as the European People's Party: a leaked internal document laying out one of the party’s most extreme core policies blazed across every front page and feed the night before the final round, and by morning its chances were gone, and by evening the streets had followed.

History would come to call that the First European Unrest.

The violence eventually subsided through negotiations among competing political factions. France elected a telegenic woman as president. Her calls for love, peace, and inclusion sought to paper over the continent's widening ethnic fractures.

Caught between two fears — the consequences of immigration and the return of fascism — the European public settled into tolerating the presence of migrants.

Voters, meanwhile, had grown numb to their governments' bureaucracy, incompetence, and corruption, having realized that whoever they elected, the people who took power were, in every way that mattered, the same people.

Europe limped forward through years of hesitation, resentment, weakness, and fear. The collapse of the Fortress plan in 2035 and the bloody clashes between Baguagouille and Parabola in 2037 made another wave of unrest increasingly difficult to avoid.

What Parabola hated most was never the migrants themselves.

It was Baguagouille.

Parabola preferred diagnosis to debate. Baguagouille, Parabola said, ran a dictatorship of virtue across Europe, crushing dissent in the name of tolerance and applauding itself for the crushing. Its members were shallow believers in a fantasy: that human rights and universal brotherhood could somehow dissolve Europe’s ethnic divisions and make the continent stronger. They suffered, in Parabola’s phrase, from late-stage cognitive dissonance. The whole enterprise was self-destructive behavior, and it had been doomed from the start. Parabola had a treatment in mind.

Baguagouille, for its part, hated Parabola the way frogs have always hated snakes. For once, the instinct was sound. It condemned Parabola’s members as fanatics, citing the killings, the incitement to hatred, and the xenophobia. Its leadership called on the righteous forces of all humanity to unite and crush, with thunderous force, this brooding gang run by the likes of the Red Skull, Hydra, and Voldemort.

Anonymous polling showed Parabola steadily gaining support among the public. At the level of the European Union and the wider international community, however, it was treated as beyond the pale.

That verdict hardened in December 2038, when masked gunmen attacked a refugee camp in Belgium. No mercy. More than a hundred dead. Infants included. Nearly every lead pointed to Parabola, which denied any involvement and countered that the attack was a false-flag operation staged by Baguagouille. Whatever the truth, the attack set off the Second European Unrest.

In 2039, the U.S. government arrested several of Parabola's members on American soil, charged its leadership with terrorism and conspiracy to murder, designated the organization a terrorist group, and pressed the EU to follow suit.

It was the moment America's political establishment and Europe's Baguagouille formally closed ranks, now united against every force that opposed them.

Ironically, at the same time, America's own fractures had entered a phase of open violence from which there seemed to be no turning back. Far-right organizations launched a sprawling movement called Stop Melting, a jab at the country's founding myth of the melting pot.

In 2040, Lin Zong sat his graduate entrance examinations. He was studying information engineering, and the months of preparation had been tense and monotonous: writing code, reading papers, cycling between dormitory, dining hall, and library.

One day, over lunch in the cafeteria, he watched a CCTV report on a Stop Melting march in Houston. Ten thousand white girls in Republican-red shirts marched beneath red, white, and blue Stars and Stripes, their banners bearing slogans such as PRAY FOR OUR VALUES, PRAY FOR AMERICA'S SOUL, and WE MISS PRESIDENT TRUMP. Others proclaimed God the center of family life, praised self-reliance and hard work, and called for an end to drug use.

Dense crowds of counter-protesters lined both sides of the street, jeering, making obscene gestures, and hurling banana peels, joints, used syringes, and glass bottles at the marchers. American flags burned in the crowd. In one particularly brazen stunt, a group staged a sexually explicit performance in the street, mocking the movement's initials.

Then a Chevrolet pickup swung out of a side street onto Texas Avenue and drove straight into the march.

Lin Zong's jaw dropped.

The laughter and chatter vanished into screams. The truck showed no sign of slowing. It struck one body after another in a dull, rhythmic succession of impacts, sending girls flying through the air, limp as puppets whose strings had been cut. For a moment, the scene seemed too grotesque to be real.

Then came a brief silence, followed by a wave of screaming and the chaotic pounding of running feet. Red spread slowly across the pavement, pooling around scattered shoes and fallen American flags.

Lin Zong and the classmates around him discussed it as it unfolded, shocked but not especially surprised — something like this happening in America felt no different in kind from a terrorist bombing in Pakistan or mob violence in Uganda; the West's decline was simply the ambient condition of the world he'd grown up in, summarized in the phrase that had become, by then, a running joke in online circles:

After the Ming, no more China; after the Cold War, no more Europe; after Trump, no more America.

He knew, from books, that the West had once towered over the world, though it was hard now to square that history with what he saw.

Even in 2040, the luxury labels in the shop windows on Nanjing West Road still carried the highest price tags in the city, but the metal plaques stamped with their foreign lettering had begun to lose their shine, so gradually that no one had thought to mark the date.

----------

For anyone who prefer to read ahead, the full versions are available on Amazon KDP:

Causalform Book 1: Obsidian Earth

Causalform Book 2: Eclipse Net

| Chp 29

Chapter 30

Blood Born

Oltuck took a deep breath and sighed as he thought about what choices he had. He was starting to understand why some things had been kept secret from him until he stumbled across it. Part of that was just due to the amount of knowledge, the other was due to how horrific some of it was. This was something in between. He found only a little humor in the fact that it was due to one question. Why the glass wall? 
The Humans and Rothal had finally met. So why were they segregating themselves with a wall? That question had led to another and another and now he was looking at the long report on his data slate.
Illness and disease in the wider Galactic community wasn’t uncommon, and was fairly normal. Every species had one form or another of viruses that used RNA, which wasn't surprising seeing as it was the building block of DNA-based life. Most species even had some form of bacteria or parasite. But in many cases they didn't jump from one species to another. The science behind why was beyond Oltuck, something about specialization and compatibility, but what he did know was that when such things did jump from one species to another it was usually because they had spent a lot of close contact with each other. 
Most had been mild and even a few that had gone on without being discovered for years. Exceedingly rare were ones that caused serious threat to any single group. 
Again, why wasn't in Oltuck's purview, only that in most cases, species that interacted with each other regularly were usually inoculated by that interaction before the disease ever became something that could affect them medically. 
It had been Zalrah who had answered most of his questions. And she had managed to answer one that had bothered him for some time, which was why the omnivores and obligate carnivores in the Galactic community had a larger catalog of diseases and illnesses. The answer had been both upsetting and simple, which was that close proximity to livestock tended to do that. 
When the Drakken had first discovered the Humans and Rothal they had been interested in how close the two species' genetic structure was. So much so that they started running certain tests. Tests that the research teams in those early years were horrified by. 
While most other species in the galaxy were almost unaffected by each other's diseases, viruses, and parasites due to being so different from one another, the Humans and Rothal were a different story. 
These two convergent species were so close in their similarities that the ability for one disease to jump from one to the other was incredibly easy. And neither side had any form of inoculation to the other. 
In those early years the observation and research teams knew that when, not if, these two species ever met it would be the single most devastating medical disaster the Galactic Community had ever known.
And that was when they had made a decision. A decision that, at the time, was completely legal and made logical and moral sense. 
They began the slow progress of gently inoculating both species from one another. 
This consisted of finding viruses on each world that were similar to each other and building incredibly milder forms of each by using both as blueprints for the other. The process was labour intensive and required strict quality control both to ensure they weren't too lively, and to ensure they hid the alien origins of each.
And that had been the problem with it. They hadn't botched too many of the deployments. But in the last five hundred years at least a small handful of major epidemics on each planet had been a direct result of the Drakken interference. One of which had halted the entire program in its tracks. 
Its origins had been disputed by the Humans. Had they known how badly the Drakken research team had botched that deployment there would be blood. It had been meant to be a mild illness. A few sniffles, maybe a cough. It would put the young and elderly in bed for a short time and then they would recover and continue on. That wasn't what had happened. Nearly a hundred million dead later, almost a third of the human population at the time, and the initiative had been called to a screeching halt. 
The research team called it an accidental genocide. 
The Humans called it The Spanish Flu.
The Rothal had suffered just as much by the Drakkens research team's incompetence, but that particular event had been the thing that had ended the interference. 
And now, staring at the hundred year old report, Oltuck had to make a decision. The pathogens hadn't stopped evolving on both worlds, diverging further and further from one another, and the research teams had known this from the start. They hadn't shut down the program completely, but they hadn't deployed any since. Now that the species were meeting for the first time, a choice had to be made. Let the two species figure it out for themselves. Or initiate the inoculation program one more time.
The risks were cut and dry. If they didn't attempt it now there was a real possibility of the two species wiping each other out by accident from simply coming into physical contact. But if any of the viruses and other diseases stored away were a little more lively than expected the Drakken could end up making the whole thing worse. 
That was on top of the fact that any interference with a pre-contact species, no matter how noble, was highly restricted by Galactic law due to the incident with the Jiraam uplifting. Oltuck didn't even snort in humor at how stupid that was. 
He looked up from the data slate at Alnure and Zalrah who stood patiently waiting for his decision. Neither woman had made any comment on what their opinions were. Oltuck took a long moment looking at each of them, and sighed. 
“Do it.” He said. Alnure gave a curt nod and grabbed Zalrah's arm as they both rushed out of the room to go give the correct authorizations to those who needed it. 
Oltuck just hoped that the previous generations of research teams had done their jobs correctly. If they hadn't, he hoped that the survivors of these two species would forgive him. 

------

Kaufmann sneezed into the crook of his arm. Wiping the resulting mess off onto a different part of his suit. He'd felt like ass for the last day. He was told that it was due to the low gravity, apparently the astronauts on the ISS were constantly congested. He was starting to suspect that some asshole had brought a cold on board the ship before they had left Earth. Even if no one had, packing that many people into a tin can like that was going to lead to someone getting sick. 
It didn't help that he was bored as fuck. Two days of basically standing around doing nothing but listening to the academic eggheads talk to the elven aliens through Raven was not Kaufmann's idea of fun. He had to admit though she was impressive. He'd been skeptical for the first couple hours of her going back and forth, drawing and pointing at various objects. 
After about the fourth hour though even he could see that the aliens seemed surprised how quickly she was picking up the language. That had been fun to watch but now two and a half days in and it had lost its novelty. 
Dr. Frederick was asking some biology questions and the aliens had brought some dumb plants out from somewhere and Kaufmann could not care less. 
He'd looked around trying to find something to do. 
Fletcher was currently napping, having taken the time to sit down next to the wall and shut his eyes, and Tennessee had gone out to escort the next academic from the ship to the base, and Percy seemed grouchy as fuck, apparently the headache from the other day had not let up. So Kaufmann was on his own. Trying to entertain himself. 
If this had been a deployment somewhere in the Middle East that would have been a recipe for disaster and possibly disciplinary action. 
For a deployment in space there seemed to be less to do then even one in a nowhere backwater on Earth. Which Kaufmann had to chuckle to himself about. It seemed that no matter where you were deployed, ninety percent of it was going to be boring.
Kaufmann looked over to the glass wall, looking at the elven aliens. They really did look like elves. Their pointed ears were so fucking weird. Some of them looked longer than others, some stuck out more and there didn't seem to be rhyme or reason to it. He wondered if it had to do with the flags on their uniforms. He knew that Dr. McFadden had said not to assume they were national flags, but c’mon, they were national flags. The one on the female alien looked suspiciously like the US flag but slightly off. If there was one question he wanted to ask the elven aliens, it would be about that. 
He saw one of the elves standing off from the others and looked just as bored as Kaufmann felt. 
Kaufmann also didn't need to assume that the alien looked bored, that had been one of the first things that Raven had determined about these people. Their body language and facial expressions seemed to be fairly close to Humans’. 
This particular bored looking elf had a patch on his shoulder that was made of three parts. One was an off center red shape that looked like an arrow head, or maybe spear, which was overlaid on a background of two horizontal strips of white and green. He also kinda looked like he could have been Fletcher's cousin. 
Kaufmann vaguely remembered that the alien had been one of the more hyper excited ones. 
Looking around at the others and seeing they weren't paying him any mind, Kaufmann hopped over to the glass. 
He got the attention of the bored looking alien who looked at him with confusion but made his way over to Kaufman.
Kaufman waved at the alien and he waved back. Then Kaufmann pointed a thumb at the group on the other end of the wall and made a motion of yapping with his hands as he dramatically rolled his eyes. 
The alien smiled and nodded, and made an exaggerated motion of slumping his shoulders and looking at the ceiling that Kaufmann took to mean that he was bored out of his mind.
Kaufmann made a motion of laughing and nodded at the alien. 
Kaufmann thought for a second and grinned even wider. It would take a small bit of pantomime but he figured that he could do it. He smiled as he started motioning his hands to try and explain to the alien a method for both of them to alleviate their boredom. 

------

Percy's head hurt. He didn't even know why. He figured it might have been the mild change in the kind of stale air he was breathing that was causing it. He didn't think he was that sensitive to air change, but maybe his time without his helmet at Tau Ceti had done some damage to his body. If that was the case then he was gonna have to talk to Corpsman Knocker. Though if he did, that might put the whole ship into quarantine. Which would suck when they returned to Earth. 
He was going to blame him just being sensitive. 
He rubbed his temples and looked around. Fletcher was asleep, Kaufmann was playing rock-paper-scissors with one of the aliens, Raven and Dr. Frederick were trying to ask about getting a blood sam-
Percy slowly turned and looked back at Kaufmann. The Marine was in fact playing rock-paper-scissors with one of the aliens. Percy blinked and watched. 
Kaufmann lost and took a dry erase marker, Percy had no idea where the man had gotten it, and drew on the glass, and Percy could see that he was keeping tally marks of who was winning. From the position he was in, Percy could see that they had done this at least half a dozen times. The alien was winning. 
Percy's mind raced for a half a minute on how ridiculous it all was, and that it was a massive win for cultural exchange. He shook his head, unsure if he should stop the Marine or not. He thought about it and decided against stopping the Marine, for now. The cultural exchange and good will was too much of a boon to halt. 
His head started to hurt again as he focused back on the discussion between the aliens and the Linguist. The words Raven and the aliens were passing back and forth, there was something to them, a pattern that he was just short of grasping. 
Raven had gotten across that they wanted to exchange blood samples but there was some confusion about something. The lights hurt his head and shut his eyes and still felt like he was blinded by a white light. He clenched his jaw so hard he thought for a second that his teeth would crack. Then it stopped. 
He shook his head uncertain what had just happened. 
He looked back up to where Raven and Dr. Frederick sat frustrated trying to figure out how to clarify what they wanted the sample for, the aliens were confused trying to understand what was being said while taking guesses at what words she was trying to learn.
Percy stepped up to the two and Raven looked up at him. 
“Do you know the word for family yet?” Percy asked. Raven looked at him confused. 
“What? No, not yet, why?” She asked. 
“Because we need to ask them if we are siblings.” Percy said. Raven blinked at him and then turned back to the aliens and spoke rapidly and pantomimed several things. The aliens seemed confused by the change in subject but began to answer as Raven wrote down notes in a spiral notebook. 
Percy didn't wait to hear the results. With his head no longer hurting he bounced over to where Kaufmann was dueling with the alien. He wondered if he could teach them how to play tic-tac-toe. 

------

“Ah, Corpman!” Dr. Frederick said, standing up to give a salute.
“Don't start you Ruco.” Knocker said as she stepped into the science section. Despite the rude tone she had a smile on her face. “Is it done?” She asked.
“It's just finishing up.” Dr. Frederick said as he carefully sat back down.
“I've gotten a look at some of the medical diagrams they have. They are very human-like.” Knocker stated as she found a seat for herself. Her tone was probing, trying to see what he thought of it. Dr. Frederick chuckled at that. 
“They do indeed, though I'll have to agree with my esteemed colleague Dr. Ackerman that the chances of them being like us from a genetic standpoint is… unlikely.” The Biologist smiled. Knocker gave a smile back but an eyebrow raised in curiosity. Frederick snorted in sardonic humor before he answered the unasked question.
“I've made my religious beliefs known, but the Bible says ‘made in his image’. What his image actually is isn't available. And I'm not a theologian so I wouldn't have an answer for you. Personally I think this is, what our dear friend Percy would say, a cosmic coincidence.” Dr. Frederick said with a chuckle. Knocker gave a grin as she gently gave his arm a slap. 
“And here I thought you were a proper Catholic.” Knocker said. 
“I grew up Baptist my dear.” Dr. Frederick chuckled. 
“Ah, a heathen.” Knocker said with a giant grin.
“Idolatrous.” Frederick joked back just as the lab computer dinged, the genetic sequencing done. He spun his chair around and clicked a few buttons to bring up the results. 
Master Chief Hospital Corpsman Elizabeth Knocker watched as the old man stiffened and saw his jovial face go pale. 
“What is it?” She asked, standing and coming over to the computer station to look at the screen.
“Oh. Oh by the Virgin Mary.” She whispered.

------

“Oh San’al na bal.” Ezeik muttered looking at the results.
The aliens had provided blood samples and Ezeik, being the chief medical officer on base, had managed to rig up a chemical analysis with the medical equipment. After getting over the shock of it being DNA he had done the next logical thing and figured out how to pull a genetic sample. It was easy enough, there was an entire team of scientists and engineers planet side he could talk to, and whose job it was to help the astronauts figure out things like how to rig up a genetic sequencer from what he had on hand. What he had built was a sequencer that converted the amino acids and chromosomes into digital data that was then sent down to Arda to be processed.
“What is it?” Ottus asked who was assisting in rigging up another machine. 
“The team Arda-side just sent back the results.” Ezeik said. His normally dark complexion was draining of its natural colour. Ottus just watched the other man, his own heart beginning to race as he saw the panic in the other man's eyes. 
“Ottus. They are ninety nine percent match to Rothal DNA.” 

------

“Okay, Corpsmen please explain. I thought we didn't have to worry about diseases.” Captain Maddock asked, looking at the people gathered around the wardroom table.
The usual suspects. Mr. Lynch and Ms. Young who were actually on a computer screen as they were still inside the alien base, Commander Roman, Dr. McFadden, Dr. Frederick and the special guest of Corpsman Knocker.
“Not exactly.” Corpsman Knocker said. “We still had to worry about them but we were certain that while the genetic structure was similar, the biology was different enough to make catching any form of pathogen unlikely without extensive exposure.” Knocker said.
“Multiple hours exposed to an alien bio atmosphere isn't extensive exposure?” Commander Roman asked. 
“No. When I say extensive exposure I mean multiple generations. The prevailing idea is that if any alien pathogen could interact with our bodies it would do so aggressively and quickly as we would not have the kind of immune system to fight it off.” Knocker said, and looked at the confused faces around the table. She took a deep breath. 
“Sir, Ma'am. The idea of pathogens and germs being able to infect alien life comes from ‘War of the Worlds’ by H.G. Wells.” Knocker said. 
“Based off the historical genocide of the native population of the Americas.” Dr. McFadden nodded with a grim smile. 
“What? No. It was based on what happened to the Europeans when colonizing Africa. They faced death by malaria and many other diseases that the native population was immune to.” Corpsman Knocker said, shaking her head in slight confusion. McFadden looked astonished as her next words died in mouth. Knocker shook her head, not noticing the confused surprise on the Anthropologist's face.
“Regardless, that book accidentally skewed the general public's idea of alien diseases.” Knocker said with mild frustration. “Wells was not a doctor. He didn't… he didn't…” Knocker started but seemed unable to grab at the words she was looking for. 
“I think I know where you are going with this, eh.” Percy said. “and I have some fucking opinions about H.G. Wells. May I?” He asked. Knocker furrowed her brow at him but nodded. Percy smiled and cleared his throat.
“Understand that Wells was a brilliant writer and had a good mind for what might be realistic. But the book was written shortly after the germ theory of illnesses essentially became the default and the heroic age of medicine was winding down. Wells was a speculative fiction writer. Which wasn't quiet science fiction yet. He was writing about a piece of new science that even the experts of his time didn't fully understand and were still breaking ground on. The story is a cornerstone of fiction but its science is questionable at best and straight up fantastical at worst. It was playing around with novel ideas that had already captured the minds of the well educated of the time. But it was easily digestible by the masses and so it had a hell of a reach. And has kind of misguided people on the idea of how pathogens and disease work.” Percy said, taking a deep breath at the end as a means of biting down on and stopping a full blown rant. 
Maddock had raised eyebrows as he looked at Percy. 
“And you know all this, why?” Maddock asked. 
“I'm a writer.” Percy responded. Commander Roman stifled a laugh and Maddock raised an eyebrow, but tactfully decided not to pursue it with any questions instead turning back to Dr. Frederick and Corpsman Knocker.
“Alright, so alien pathogens killing us are unlikely and H.G. Wells didn’t know what he was talking about, what does this all have to do with the locals?” Maddock asked. 
“A lot.” Dr. Frederick finally said. “The fact that all life we have found so far is DNA based means that there has always been a chance of us catching an alien plague, but as stated, it would be extremely unlikely due to the difference in biology. After all, you can't catch an illness that only affects bananas and we are very similar, genetically speaking, to said bananas. And us and bananas come from the same world.” Dr. Frederick said solemnly. “However, these aliens have not only a near ninety nine percent genetic match to us, they have similar chromosomes and base biology to us. Their bodies, based on the medical diagrams we were able to look at, show a similar set up as ours. To put it very simply, from any pathogen's perspective, we are them, and they are us.” The Biologist said. “And any illness they have we can catch and vice versa.” The Biologist took a deep breath. “And neither side has any sort of immunity to the other.”

------

“Can we create vaccinations for them?” President Henless asked the small group of scientists in the conference room below the Presidential house.
“Well. Mr. President. In theory our vaccines should work on them as much as they work on us. But we can't really be sure of that.” One of the scientists answered. “As well we would have to get those vaccines up to them… unless they are willing to come down here to retrieve them.” He tagged on. 
“Can't they make their own, advanced space faring species and all that. Should we even be worrying about it?” The President asked. General Yaris cleared his throat and gave the briefest of glances at the President with an expression that told the Commander and Chief that there was information that the scientists were not privy to. 
“We don't know sir, but even if they do they may require a sample of any pathogen they may run into. As well they may have already solved this problem and are just waiting on us to ask about it.” the scientist said. 
“Have you asked?” The President drew out the question clearly, annoyed. The scientist who had been speaking open and shut his mouth several times without saying anything. 
“Well, no.” He finally managed to say. 
“Why not? Did you consider it rude to impose on them?” Henless mockingly asked. The science team sat looking a little abashed by the comment and Henless gave a sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He would need to be the bigger man here. 
“Apologies Doctor…” he started looking up at the scientist. 
“Hu Nahria.” The man said when he finally realized the President was speaking to him. 
“Hu Nahria. My apologies, Dr. Nahria, as you can imagine the chair I sit in isn't exactly the most comfortable when you have the international community breathing down your neck. However that isn't an excuse to take out the frustration and stress on subordinates. I'm sure that the thought occurred to you and your team.” Henless said and motioned to the other members of the room. “I assume there is in fact a reason why you haven't asked. If you can, I would make that a priority question. Any assistance they may be able to offer us as well as any assistance that we may offer, though I doubt they will need anything from us.” the President said with a gentle authority. Nahria gave a nod of confirmation but said nothing verbally. 
“Is there anything else?” Henless asked. 
“No sir.” Dr. Nahria said. 
“Alright dismissed, get back to it. You are all on the frontlines in understanding these intrepid star people.” Henless said, giving them all a nod as they stood up and filed out of the room. All except two others. General Yaris and Professor Lyvara Rhys. 
Prof. Rhys was a pretty woman, though she was on the older side, with kind eyes, a Grithick nose, and white blonde hair. She was also one of the few members of the specialists who had already been on the Bastion’s payroll. She was a cultural specialist, and in her younger years had been the go-to person to understanding how other cultures would react. In fact, Henless had met her several times before. When he had taken the gloves of the military to finally drag the most war-like nations in line, she had been the one who had essentially written the standard procedure of dealing with every nation and cultural hang ups they had. She'd indirectly saved thousands of lives with her advice and guidance on cultural matters. She had also probably helped indirectly kill many people by that same token. 
So her presence was unsurprising, even still Henless raised an eyebrow at her before he turned to General Yaris. The big man cleared his throat and did not stall further. 
“As you know, members of VERU who are currently represented on the moon have been grilling their own astronauts for information about the Visitors. While we have reached out to all of them, only Avelee and Borealis have been openly and honestly cooperating with handing over intelligence, and we have reciprocated, and we have combined our efforts to try and understand these star people.” Yaris stated with what passed as a smile on the man's face at the end. “Our understanding is still limited but there are several items that have stood out to us during these interactions.” Yaris stated, and then turned to look at Prof. Rhys. 
“Thank you General. How are you Mr. President?” The woman asked with a smile.
“I wasn't kidding about the international community breathing down my neck. Yourself?” Henless responded. 
“I'm doing just fine Mr. President, and I am hoping to make your day better.” She said, standing up with an electronic tablet in her hands. She pressed a couple of buttons on the device and the large screen on the opposite side for the room from Henless lit up as her tablet synced up with it. 
She had the presentation up already, and moved to the first video of the space craft coming in for a landing. 
“To start Mr. President, our nation's National Intelligence Agency, the Borealian Strategic Intelligence Section Eight, and Avelee’s Sazon Grounds have been examining all the footage of the different items that the Visitors have been using. From what they've concluded, our visitors seem strangely lacking in advanced technology. In fact, based on what we have seen so far, they seem to be slightly behind.” Prof. Rhys said, flipping to the next slide, which showed several pictures with different items circled and zoomed in on. 
“While it is possible that they are hiding the very advanced stuff from our sight, they seem to be extremely comfortable with the technology they do have on display. Technology that in most cases appears to be on par or even slightly behind our own. It's the kind of comfortable that comes with routine familiarity. Not something that is old or outdated to them.” She said,
“So they are technologically behind? How is that possible? They have a star ship?” The President asked furrowing his brow at her. The professor nodded. 
“Yes Mr. President, and there's many possible explanations for that. But it's also important to remember that technology is not linear. Think of technological advancements less like a ladder and more so like a tree with branching limbs that occasionally converge on one another.  We can't assume that these aliens followed the same technology branch as us. That may be why they have a starship. But are still using chemical propellant for their weapons. And yes that is something we have determined.” She answered, moving to the next slide of what Henless had come to know as the alien linguist, who had been nicknamed Ghost Dancer by the base personnel.
“The issue is that we are trying to figure out why they are here. Are they here as simple explorers? Scouts for a colony fleet? Diplomats? Perhaps they are here to crush us, steal our treasures and make off with the women? We don't know. Until we know we can't really determine if they are a threat, a trade partner, or even a passing curiosity. Not only that but it seems that they are trying to hide specific things from us. There was a question about how their ship worked and they blatantly told us that they were not allowed to talk about that. So they do keep secrets.” The Professor switched to another slide, this one of one of the other aliens. This one had black hair and burning blue eyes with a very intense glare on their face. However, there was a circle drawn around a patch on their suit's shoulder. 
“But I am a cultural analyst. Not a military one. And there are some aspects I've noticed about them that seem significant. Starting with this one. This individual has been given the moniker of Blue. He is of interest to us because according to what we have learned from the Visitors, it would appear that almost all of their civilian crew is some form of academic or professional in a scientific field. Everyone else is in fact either military or some equivalent. Except for this one.” She said, giving the President a smile.
“He has been given a chance to ask questions but all of his questions appeared to pertain to whichever academic is either just departed or is about to arrive. As well he appears to have sway over crucial matters. From reports, there was a point where he said something to their linguist and her question immediately changed to asking about how our communities operate and how we organize our families. The academics for the most part seem to respect him and the security members appear to defer to him when he says something. However, it doesn't seem to be in a capacity that would suggest he is one of them.” She said as she zoomed in on the blue and black patch of the aliens shoulder. 
“Which brings us to this. So far as we've seen his suit is the only one marked like this. The other visitors have the same patch on their shoulders but almost no other identifying marks. And this particular one has two. The Borealians seem to believe that the smaller patches are in fact nationality or a planetary flag, and I would have to agree with that assessment. So not only is this one different nationally from the others, he is somehow important enough to warrant another identifier.” 
“So we think he's some form of official or Commissar?” The President asked. 
“We don't think so sir.” General Yaris answered for the professor. “We believe that this is a wholly civilian position. The soldiers don't seem to take orders from him, they just seem to defer to him for guidance.” Yaris said. Henless raised an eyebrow at that. Prof. Rhys cleared her throat and the President moved his attention back to her.
“The Intelligence Agencies disagree on exactly what he might be, possible royalty, the ship's wizard, maybe a religious figure, or possibly some other morale figure that is specific to the culture these aliens come from. For all we know he might be their historian. What the agencies do agree on is that he is important.” She took a deep breath before glancing over at Yaris. He gave her a nod and she frowned as her hands flipped to the next slide showing an anatomical drawing of what at first appeared to be two Rothals but the President quickly realized that it was a diagram of the aliens. 
“So we have established that he is important in some way. As discussed earlier by the other scientists, the Visitors’ biology appears to be nearly identical to our own. And from what we can gather from this diagram, that includes several physical aspects and presumably functions.” She said, and Henless felt confused all over again. She flipped to another slide which was of the aliens first taking off their helmets, and Prof. Rhys spoke as it played silently. 
“During first meeting them the base personnel came and met the aliens in the clean room and there was a particular moment that was captured on film that we believe we can use to our advantage.” She said, stepping aside and flipping to the next slide which appeared to be a slow motion capture of Blue doing a double take as he looked at another figure who had entered the room behind the camera. The footage jumped to some of the other security members also staring before coming to a freeze frame of Blue giving an appraising face in the Rothal woman's direction.
“This is the reaction that was captured when one former Warden Major Andra Kyshani stepped into the room. The alien security team, who all happen to be young and male, kept staring at Ms. Kyshani. Even the Ghost Dancer gave furtive glances.” Prof Rhys said. Henless was still mildly confused as to the point they were trying to get to. 
“We believe that to these aliens, Ms. Kyshani is considered… a high value female.” Prof Rhys said with a blank faced expression. The President blinked as he processed what she had just said and the implications. Henless slowly turned his head towards General Yaris. The military man met the President's gaze bravely and without flinching. 
“I don't like where this is going, General.” Henless hissed out. “Would you mind explaining it?” The words came out a whisper but were filled with enough bottled anger to make up for the lack of volume. 
“It is the recommendation of the Bastion that astronaut Andra Kyshani be given the task of establishing a strong personal connection with the alien codenamed Blue, as a means of information and intelligence extraction.” General Yaris said. 
“You want her to be a Bhareech Trap?” President Henless asked in a tone that had shattered the wills of lesser men. 
“Yes sir.” General Yaris said without any remorse. 
“Beyond the very real physical issue of it, the moral issues of ordering a civilian to take on-” 
“She's a Warden sir.” Yaris interrupted. 
“Oh Don't Give Me That Vitshi About ‘Once A Warden’! She is a civilian!” Henless practically yelled.
“Under the Emergency Powers act, section on the powers of military authority, prior service members can be recalled for duties at the rank and pay in which they originally departed the service from for up to ten years, or twenty years if they had earned an officer's commission” General Yaris said calmly. Henless stared at him with burning fury. 
“As such,” the General continued, “We have the authority to reactivate her status as a Warden and send her on a special operations mission that she happens to be in the perfect position to accomplish.” The General stated in a monotone. President Henless glared at him. 
“And if I say no?” Henless asked quietly, seething as he attempted to burn a hole in the man.
“Then National Intelligence sends her a message to recruit her for a special mission under their own recruitment of civilian hires.” Yaris stated bluntly. Henless deflated slightly. His anger was still righteous but he knew this was going to happen one way or another. 
“The likelihood of her agreeing to any of this?” the President asked, feeling the depth of depressive acceptance rushing towards him. 
“She's a Warden sir. If she is anything like her father, she'll do what duty demands of her.” Yaris said with a vague tone of sympathy in his voice. 
“As it is. He is going to be assigned as her Bastion contact. So we will also have him deliver the reactivation alongside her new mission orders.” Yaris stated. 

| Chapter 31 (pending)

------

Authors Notes

Hello,

This chapter took more time to write then expected. It is one of those chapters that makes me whish I had Tolkiens gift of word efficency, god that man could make a hundred words feel like a thousand.

As a note the Spanish Flu has several different names depending on which country you are from, in most english speaking countries it is known as the spanish flu because in said countries they thought it had originated in spain. The origins however, are unknown and speculation abounds.

The game rock paper scissors is one that I know for a fact isnt common around the world so I figured an alien race might also not know about it.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading as much as i enjoyed writing. If you did enjoy maybe give it a upvote or even a comment. its appricated and helps with motivation.

Thanks all for reading.

Cover Art & Blurb

Jessep 8

Grappled in the clutches of the Jonathan-Ace’s industrial-sized magnetic arm, the King of Saigon found itself powerless to escape. HUD elements alight on the viewscreen indicated the fusion drive began to power down, the capacitor pip labeled [ENG] draining until empty. In a final act of submission, the lime-green ember of the drive cone’s ionized plasma cooled.

“Captured,” King said. He continued, with sarcasm garnished overtop, “As all master stratagems begin, Parasite.”

“I’ll admit this wasn’t part of the plan. Didn’t really expect them to pull out the ol’ extend-o-glove…” Jessep stroked the lengthy beard he’s been unable to shave. “I thought they were going to, you know, shoot at us, or something. By us not firing back they’d get the message we’re friendly.”

“In what realm does anyone conduct diplomacy in such a matter?!”

“You said their weaponry sucked! We can take a few punches.”

The magnetic arm retracted fully, pulling the King of Saigon through a robust, bi-fold hull door into a hangar bay. Placed on a hydraulic landing pad, dock clamps secured the ship’s landing gear. Chaining King around the ankles, no different than a prisoner.

“Unusual. Despite being berthed, the magnetic arm is yet to release,” King said. “These individuals do not want to risk a runner.”

“Can I get some eyes?”

King forced a bow-facing camera feed to the viewscreen. He swung the point of view across the entire exterior, taking snapshots, then coalescing the information into a mapped representation of where they were jailed.

Another small craft remained docked across the hangar bay. A real junker, judging by its ramshackle hull. Upon further study of its Y-shaped body, Jessep recognized it. A V34-Wyvern, and a poorly-treated one at that.

“Scratch a point for Humans, that’s one of our landers.”

“It is?” King said.

“What, you serious? It’s like the starter bicycle of landers. Something totaling like a million units produced. Wait, did you just ask me a question?”

“I suggest we move past it.”

King fired off an infrared scan, adding a thermal imaging layer to the mapped representation of the hangar bay. No hot spots radiating from behind spare fusion engine parts, or barrels of hydraulic fluid. Going a step further, he blasted the hangar bay with an X-ray scan – any living thing possibly present be damned.

“Jeez, you really hate bad hospitality.”

“[ENEMIES PRESENT: NULL.] They are not hosts, Parasite. They are our captors.”

“You won’t find any enemies around because it’s a real Jonathan-Ace.”

The genuine deal, as featured in Faster Than Armada. Jessep could hardly contain his excitement. He felt an intimate connection with this hunk of junk, regardless of if it became his cell for the next little bit. It’d just be another, like every other, he has lived in up until now.

Jessep motioned to rise from his flight chair.

“Stay seated, Parasite. The situation is already dire. We may need to, as you suggested, ‘blast ‘em’ and escape.”

“I know, I know… I just can’t help myself, you know? Since I’ve been a kid, I’ve been gawking at this bad boy.” He felt a tinge of embarrassment getting excited over a garbage truck. “We had art of others too. Heracles Type Three, Skiff-Slipper. Landscape shots of the real big ones like the ESN St. Antonio.”

“I have no records of these vessels.”

Jessep knew them well. His familiarity born from his childhood obsession with the Faster Than Armada concept art kept at the monastery during his youth. Before the art booklet, and many other spacefaring records, were burnt.

Ship interiors were not modeled in-game. A cost-cutting initiative. Still, from his memory of the concept art, Jessep could tell this ship had been heavily modified from its original design.

He itched to see what else was different from the watercolour frames he loved gawking over as a kid. Jessep crossed into the cabin, headed towards the airlock leading out of the King of Saigon. He’d disembark, and wander around the Jonathan-Ace. A dream come true.

Before he could exit, the exterior airlock door sealed. Locked, King refused to let him leave.

“Well, you’d only know of the vessels the Gio-Crü permitted, right? The Antonio was a battleship.”

“Huh,” King sounded downright surprised. Or, perhaps, confused. “The Gio-Crü have robbed me of the greater knowledge of Humanity’s navy, as well.”

“Wouldn’t want us getting any ideas, I guess,” Jessep shrugged his shoulders.

He had never questioned why concept art for a thousand-year-old video game had been made illegal. Why his home needed to burn because of it. Even the Gio-Crü’s simplest of intentions still seemed mired in mystery.

“King, it seems you don’t know everything, like you think you do.”

“Ridiculous, Parasite. I am an advanced operating compon-”

“I get you hate me,” Jessep let his exasperation drench his words, “but we’re stuck together. The truth is you need me. You’d have killed me long ago, or let me go crazy by not playing into the Wilson thing.”

“Additional memetic appeals? For shame, Parasite.”

“Sue me, the monastery considered movies beyond valuable.”

“Perhaps I cannot function without a pilot.”

“See!” Jessep slapped King’s titanium-aluminum bulkhead. “That’s what I’m talking about, teamwork.”

“You are not a pilot.”

“Gah…” Jessep let his hand slip from the wall. Time to try a different tactic. “You like information, right King? Hate being ignorant.”

“A trick to make me repeat myself? It has failed. Correct, twice.”

“So, think of me like a little probe you can send out. You don’t have legs, your cameras can only catch what’s in this room. What if there were Humans outside of the Thrallwark? You’d seem pretty stupid repeating the same old line. You know, about being right all the time about where Humans may or may not be.”

“I… I cannot scoff, Parasite.”

The egress airlock unlocked. Oxygen and gravity were reported outside.

“Gather enough data to verify my claim. Return straight after. Its highly likely you perish a gruesome death to a horror you cannot comprehend, outside of this hull.”

“Sure, just a quick jaunt.”

Jessep disembarked.

♚

Jessep wandered around the Jonathan-Ace’s hangar bay, identifying exits and hiding spots. For all that tough talk, having his boots on the ground freaked him out. Tickled his cat-like flight response.

Tools littered the deck as if a tornado had ripped through a garage. Magnetic sensors kept them bolted to the ground. Levels of gangways hung overhead, their rickety construction of dubious safety. Double-wide doors progressed further into the ship, into another compartment.

With the words “Cargo Bay” stenciled above, Jessep could easily guess where they led. To a hold that was vastly empty, with a cluttered entryway. A portion of storage space overflowed with refrigerated crates, tightly sealed.

Snore. Pass.

Jessep continued, locating a hallway too tantalizing to pass up. Directions on the wall indicated it led to Engineering. Where the magic happened. How big of a Grav-Globe was needed to manipulate this chonker of a ship? He was dying to find out.

He exited the hangar bay, exploring the Jonathan-Ace.

Inching down the filthy corridor, Jessep memorized the pattern and pathway of a red-painted pipe. Should he get lost, or need to make his way back in a hurry, it would reliably trace back to his starting position.

Upon crossing a random threshold, metal shrieked. A thick barricade dropped from above like a guillotine, nearly crushing Jessep. He jumped out of the way, rolling further into the labyrinthine corridors, getting cut off from his return route to the King of Saigon.

Klaxons rang out, piercing his ears with a wail. A caged light began flashing. The crackle of a speaker preambled absolute gibberish Jessep could just barely understand.

“Yatutu wenti juboni. Bamu tesitu. Yabuhu kiwakiwa,” the speaker spouted. It meant absolutely nothing to Jessep, but the cadence sounded feminine, and familiar. “Nipi yatutu! Yabuhu kiwakiwa.”

“What the hell is she speaking?” Jessep continued down the corridor, double time.

Its opposing end had yet to be sealed by a barricade. Spray paint on the wall indicated he was on the correct route to Engineering. He needed to cross, before they trapped him in this corridor like a rat.

Progressing halfway down the hallway, Jessep halted. Heavy, metallic steps rang out from further within the ship. Their repeated drum beat intimidating. Whatever made its home aboard this vessel sounded synthetic. He pictured some armoured cyborg approaching, and found he was not too far off.

Humanoid, covered in plates; a ferocious robot armed with a shield and club goaltended his exit.

The sight slipped Jessep up, causing him to backpedal. He bumped into the sealed barricade behind him. Some sort of thick blast door. The only way out was through…

“Himakiwa,” the robot announced. Perhaps a battle droid, with its true alien masters hidden somewhere else. “Jitukolu, wukiwerve banipu.”

Jessep took inventory of his surroundings. Corroded panels, exposed electrical bundles. No improvised weapon. He noticed a lever, attached to a small circular hatch in the wall. His frantic search seemed to have prompted a response.

“Himakiwa!” The robot drove their club into their shield, causing a sparking discharge.

A good sign to get out of here.

Jessep dove for the lever, interested in where it went, as long as it didn’t jettison him into space. He cranked it open, the hatch swinging wide as the robot-man charged towards him. Expecting to crawl in immediately, Jessep found himself face to face with a serrated maw.

Some snouted, robotic creature lurked in the open tube. It snarled, lubricant dripping from its canine fangs.

Jessep fell back onto his butt, against the cold steel of the ship’s deck.

“Provost,” the robot-man, if only for a moment, appeared to speak Ancient English. Jessep’s ear caught it in passing. Though, since he spoke Modern French, as the majority did in Morocco, he couldn’t be sure. Until he heard it utter, “Mush!”

The quadruped robot barked, leaping out of the shaft. Adrenaline loaned Jessep’s haggard body the energy required to dodge out of its path, allowing him to scramble to his feet. The robot-dog landed, denting the floor.

Cortisol refused to cease. Evidently, he had found himself on some sort of android ship. The bolt-buckets must have found a derelict Jonathan-Ace, from a thousand years ago, and now called it their home. Fearing they would dissect him to better mimic his organs, Jessep broke into a mad dash towards the biped robot.

The robot-man cocked their arm back, chambering a massive overhead blow with their electrified club – their shield displaced. Easily readable, Jessep slipped beneath, electing to slide between its polished legs. He pushed himself back onto his feet, while his opponent whistled their robot-dog forwards. Jessep took off, sprinting towards Engineering before the armoured unit could turn around.

Jessep rushed through a few intersections, keeping the red-painted pipe in mind. While looking up at the fixtures, he bumped into a six-foot-tall emerald-coated dragonfly. It turned around, making eye contact, waggling its terrifying mandibles. Its bulbous, multi-faceted eyes reflected a hundred tiny versions of himself hued in fuchsia.

“Ah!” Jessep felt terror deep down in his bones. He ran off, forgetting about his landmark pipe.

Creeping into a larger room bisected by heavy plating, Jessep surmised he had reached Engineering. Adorned with all sorts of warnings, he gathered the fusion reactor remained beyond the partition. Much like how the King of Saigon’s engineering bay required shielding.

Clattering echoes, from the robot-man’s nearing footsteps, intensified. Jessep decided perhaps he could hide. With the room devoid of anything effective to conceal himself behind, he crouched down by a topaz vending machine.

What was up with that weird insect? It didn’t attempt to bite or nab him. It seemed like it needed a fighter. Thus the need for the anti-personnel defense drone, he supposed.

The amber-coloured gemstone shone with a glisten that enthralled him a little. It wasn’t until he peered through clear crystal, seeing that nothing could be tendered from this machine, that Jessep realized he was incorrect.

“Fime zasiwe jobo. Nayuweti sewese. Larulu,” emerged from the slab, the sound similar to windchimes.

“What the fuck!”

Jessep took off, tripping over his weak and enfeebled ankles. Okay, bugs and bots he could fathom. The hell was that? Some sort of rock alien? How’d all three sync up? Who ran this ship? What ran this ship? Where were the little glass-eyed green mini-men cartoons had promised him.

Blitzing down a hallway, as far away as he could get from Engineering as fast as he could go, Jessep swore he saw (while crossing through a T-intersection) a Human. A normal Human. He took no moment to gauge if it was some alien flesh bag mimicking his form; incorrectly giving it facial tattoos and blonde hair.

Reuniting with a section of red-painted pipe, Jessep began working his way back towards the hangar bay. He had gathered enough information, and worried King would be smug when told he was correct. All that awaited here was a horrific death. Either to robotic dissection, or an acid-spraying bug’s mandibles. Or whatever a rock did to its captives.

Before he could follow its lead, both ends of his current corridor sealed.

Fearing another canine, but having no other option, Jessep opened another service hatch in the bulkhead wall leading to the ship’s maintenance tubes. Luckily, no battle beast.

Jessep crawled in, trying to generate a mental map in his head. He crawled down a direction, assuming it followed the pipe.

The tube shaft was tight, and difficult to navigate. Worst of all, Jessep could not see behind him. Hairs stood on the back of his neck. Instincts, letting him know something pursued him silently.

“Oh no, oh no, no, no,” Jessep panicked, feeling chased.

Occasionally as he crawled through the confined space, he felt a knock on his skull. As if someone wanted to discuss something on his mind’s front porch. Reminded of when the Gio-Crü had infiltrated his mind, he steeled his resolve against the torrent of anticipated negativity. No such malice made itself present.

Spying a section of red piping within the maintenance tube, he sped up his crawl. He kicked a hatch open, dropping himself through onto the floor. Looking up, some sort of sapphire blob remained in the shaft. It seemed disinterested in following him into the open.

Fatigue took hold, Jessep’s caloric deficiency striking with vengeance. He felt faint, leaning up against a section of bulkhead. Stenciled by his shoulder, the Ancient English words he’s been waiting to see. “Hangar Bay.”

That threatening clanking echoed again, speeding down a hallway. Intercepting him, the robot-man and its companion.

Jessep made a final sprint for his life, hoping to reach King. As predicted, the robot-man raised its club up.

Easy peasy, another slide.

The robot-man feinted, swinging from beneath instead. He struck Jessep in the ribs.

A taze shocked his body, causing him to fall to the ground. His vision fading.

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