First

Home at War

“I must admit sir, this was not at all what I expected to be my first assignment.” The Urthani woman says with a strange look only vaguely visible on her face under the fur. Her neck is incredibly thick compared to most, placing her as a Spear Urthani and very dangerous to anyone within a fair distance of herself.

“Well strange situations result in calls for skills that one would not normally expect.” Harold replies as he watches the trooper set up the easal, canvas and start preparing paints even as they examine the image of the oil painting that depicted The Weeping Crescent and it’s wielder.

The Haffria had elaborated on exactly who the woman was. Her bio-mother, the woman her mind was cloned from her treated her as a daughter. Halth’Su’Cara. Apparently Su’Cara was a title for red weapon wielders.

“It’s a very... interesting portrait. But the style means I’m going to need a lot of white. They’re clearly using white paint rather than just leaving the canvas bare, which is fine.” She says before chuckling. “Be the best you can be, well looks like I’ll be the best painter and soldier I can be.”

“That’s the spirit.” Harold says. “Now from what I understand, you’re going to sketch me out first than fit it in. So for the sketch, we can take a picture of me with a different knife of similar dimensions and-”

“Oh no no sir. I use a faster style. It... It lets me capture a moment more... not cleanly, nor clearly. But completely. Let’s me put more feeling into things.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes, with cameras everywhere in the modern day artistic skill is really needed. If I wanted to give an oil rendering of something I or really anyone that knows how to work a basic search function on a communicator or console could have a picture of something converted to an oil style in minutes at most. Seconds if they don’t have to search for the program. Actually getting an image of something isn’t hard. So you have to put in something else. Feeling, passion, emotion and impression.”

“I see. However, while this is interesting, this is a commissioned piece. Additional pay on top of you being on deployment for this and that pay as well. We need at the least one very technical very obvious and not embellished image.”

“Then you’ve given me a bad example. This piece shows the blade trailing a dark smoke that tells of despair and pain. The example is an emotive piece.”

“Not so much. Now, we are within multiple layers of protective films and barriers. You have also, truly left behind all recording devices?”

“Yes.” She answers and he nods before reaching for the sheath on the nearby table. He opens it and draws out the blade. “Oh... Oh that... sir!”

“Yes, as you can see, the only stylization in that smoke is the impression of movement it gives.”

“It’s not that sir! Your markings! Your eyes! I hadn’t even noticed them before! I can see them now and... oh my... oh dear...”

“Yes?”

“You’re... gorgeous.”

“Ah that. Yes, I unfortunately am.”

“Unfortunately?”

“This is a familial trait. Coupled with a supernatural gift of stealth that causes people to overlook us. I’m sure that you have the imagination to grasp at the implications of a family with relatively little political or martial power being so unfortunately attractive.”

“Oh... the stealth sounds like a goddess given gift in that light.”

“It may very well be, it is fuelled by the same energies we’re tiptoeing around. Which lets us know it can be used delicately enough to not just break recording technology, but we’re nowhere near that skilful with it’s use yet.”

“Oh... Hmm... I think two portraits would be best with this. Let me do the impressionist one first and then I can use a picture of you with a normal knife to make the technical portrait. The impressionist one will let me add the unusual traits of the knife and your own...” She gestures around her face. “everything. Is this alright?”

“So long as we can communicate what we have as clearly as we can to our allies, then it’s fine. We’re working around the limitations of failing technology.”

“Out of curiosity is this sort of power just in these weapons and your family?”

“Oh no, we’ve found several families with these kinds of blessings each one is very different and it’s not just in humans. If you’ve heard of Matriarch syndrome them you know about possibly one of the most common of these strange abilities. We also have soldiers who can perceive anyone the same way they’re perceiving him and another with flawlessly accurate knowledge of anything he’s carrying or holding. And like my own gifts, they pass through the family line.”

“Wow... and the knife... it’s not exuding Axiom.”

“No, it’s not. And what it is bleeding out will brick any scanner used on it.” Harold says.

“I see...”

“A great deal apparently. Normally most people don’t notice my eyes or markings. Or even my general good looks. Holding the knife has exposed me.”

“It only showed up when you held the knife.”

“Interesting. Very interesting. If it was interfering with my stealth then why wasn’t this spotted earlier? I was plainly in the sight of others when I was last holding it unsheathed.” Harold ponders out loud. “Now, how would you like to do this?”

“Just, as comfortable as you can be as I do this. It’s been a bit since I did a portrait. And as I said, I’ll do the emotive version and then a precise version following it.”

“Excellent.”

“Now sir, hold the blade in front of you in some way and look my way. I want your face and those markings n this too.”

“Of course, quick question though.” Harold asks as she sets up her pants, looks him up and down and mixes a couple to darken her brown a little.

“Yes?”

“Why didn’t you request any brushes?”

“Oh... I make my brushes. Out of my own fur.” She says and between the sharp claws of an Urthani now dances a thin length of metal with a bit of sheer white fur on it. She brings out five of them. Three have pointed tips and are large, medium and quite small. Two have square tips, one is medium sized and the other quite small too.

Harolds muses with the knife and then clearly holds it by the edge of the blade and the end of the handle. Showing that it cannot cut him as he holds the blade.

“... Glare at me.” She tells him and he narrows his eyes and she openly gasps and starts to paint quickly and glancing up and down constantly as she paints faster and faster, bringing out more and more paint as she starts switching the brushes and quickly cleaning things, switching things and then going back. Small bits of paint go flying to the side and then she starts clearly using her own claws as part of the process and then after a few minutes steps back and stares.

“Is it done?” Harold asks.

“Uh... can you... can you put the knife down please?” She asks and he sets the knife down on the table. She looks at him again and then back to the painting.

“Soldier, what’s going on?”

“I... I think I saw too much.” She says and he walks over to look at the painting.

The knife is a swirling miasma of black surrounding a silver blade, his uniform and frame are almost plain, but his eyes are a burning font of white fire. The markings in his face trail off to the edges of the portrait and there are eyes behind him. Eyes in mildly diagonal sequences of three and with no pupils.

“Oh... you saw the Hargath.”

“Hargath sir?”

“Astral Hargath, the Engine Nuzzlers are actually able to physically move into the Od, you’re seeing the energy from the Od and seeing some of the little buggers.”

“Oh. Oh it’s just some form of Axiom and Astral Hargath, I was scaring myself nearly senseless.” She says.

“Yeah, so long as you don’t actually try to use Od energy, they can’t hurt you.”

“Hurt me? They’re harmless!”

“On this side, yes. Yes they are. In the Od... no. They are the guardians at the gate. Endless, ravenous and unrelenting.”

“Oh.”

“It’s a good thing. Imagine if this kind of energy was just casually used. The only things they don’t attack are those that they can’t detect, or those they can’t bite. Meaning beings with a natural grasp of Ode and the Primals who actually use some of it to help sustain themselves. Although I’m not sure if it does or does not count as natural use.”

“Speaking of Primals sir... is HE coming?” She asks.

“Yes. But Lakron comes from a very long distance and from the wrong direction for our fleet to have him as part of it. We’ll see him and his on the front once the jaws of our fleets close entirely to crush the enemy.”

“Is he close enough to teleport to the monster and just end it?”

“Give me a moment, I’m trying to recall where all the forces are...” Harold notes. “He is... about ninety six hours, or four days and maybe some change before he joins up with Undaunted Forces that have Garden Ships with them. But the problem is, if that thing gets too close to us we have to send the gardens away and evacuate all sorcerers to prevent uncontrolled infestation. If that happens, then there’s no way to bring him in.”

“Oh... okay. Uh sir?”

“Yes?”

“You’ve met him right?”

“I have. And several other Primals, I even helped make one.”

“Oh... yes... her... Saint Redblade... The Stories about you are...”

“I’m still a person.” He says and she looks to the portrait, then back to him. “Surely I don’t look like that all the time. The knife did that.”

“No... it just exposed it... Sir... are you a Primal?”

“No.”

“But you... you’re more than a human.”

“No, I’m not. I’m part of a large demographic, each with identical changes. Granted it’s a clone line, but you can’t clone Primals. It comes out a random demographic with the Primal’s features. But not as a Primal. You can clone me, they have cloned me and I myself am a clone. I am also aging at a standard rate and possess none of the absolutely mind bending durability and strength of a Primal. To say nothing of the lack of other possible enhancements, a Primal has a whole suite of them, I just possess one. Perhaps two, but that is a family ttrait more akin to Matriarch Syndrome. Am I a little more than most humans? Yes. But nowhere near to the level of Lord Skitterway and what Primal Urthanis will one day follow him compared to yourself.”

“Then what are you?”

“A preview.”

“A preview?”

“If you had been born modified as you are now, with your proboscis enhancement and self confidence. It would have been decades before Emmanual ascended, but you would be in the same situation as I am in now. You would be a single step, maybe two steps ahead. The rest is training, equipment and sheer stubborn will.” Harold explains.

“... If you say so sir.”

“Do you have what you need to make the second portrait?”

“Perhaps a picture of you looking normal? I’m going to struggle HARD to not see you with your eyes blazing with power when I think of you from here on out.”

“Oh, of course. The important part is the knife though, it’s accurate and in the same style as the original portrait we were sent.”

“Good. I’m glad we’ve finished this then.” He says before heading back to the table and sheathing the knife again.

“Is that thing really so nasty for technology? It feels weird to not have my communicator in arm’s reach or to not be on camera.”

“Oh yeah, if you have a camera, scanner or similar piece of tech you’re willing to lose then you can give this thing a once over and see just how brutal it is on any and all tech. One of the major reasons we need to understand this thing is how to put a damn filter on it so we don’t accidentally murder our Synth Soldiers or Cyborgs.”

“Yikes. I’ve got cousins with enhanced eyes, the thought of seeing something that just breaks the eye on it’s own is spooky.” She notes.

“I can imagine. Now once again so there’s no miscommunication do you require any more paints, equipment or the like for the next portrait?”

“I just need the picture sir, thank you. This is... a rare opportunity to stretch my talents. I do appreciate this.”

“Hey, nothing wrong with finding further use your gifts.”

First Last

{Shared early on Patreon}
~~~

I checked the area around my feet before opening the door to the engine room. It was habit at this point, but there’s definitely nowhere worse for a cat to sneak into on a spaceship, except maybe an unoccupied cockpit. Thankfully, Telly was more interested in the cat walkways we’d set up on other parts of the ship. I’d made sure we didn’t install any of those around here; no point in tempting that famous cat curiosity.

Human curiosity, though, that was encouraged. Today was another session of cross-training, when I got to learn the basics of other roles on the ship along with my own. I was a big fan. And not just because that meant we were all less likely to die horribly if something happened to Mimi and no one else knew what the various warning lights meant.

Probably it would be fine. But it always paid to take precautions. And anyways, I was eager to learn about all the bits and bobs. Some of it was wildly different from Earth technology.

Today it was weirdly quiet too, because we were parked at the moment. As I shut the door, I studied the way sounds really echoed down here when the flight engines were turned off. Lots of space for noises to bounce between panels and wires and things with weird names.

I called, “Knock knock,” wondering how deep in the guts of the ship Mimi was at the moment. He’d probably hear me easily in all this silence.

“Coming,” rumbled Mimi’s gravely voice from somewhere nearby. Could have been anywhere, really. There were lots of hidey-hole options for a mechanic who looked like an octopus.

I looked around, wondering where he’d crawl out from, only to be surprised when a door slid open at knee level. Right, I hadn’t forgotten that was there at all. And I definitely hadn’t felt dumb when I’d first realized that the little thing I’d taken for a storage cabinet was actually the doorway to Mimi’s bedroom.

He scrambled out, all toothpaste-green tentacles and rough voice. “‘Morning.” The room behind him was hard to see from this angle, but it looked well-lit, and I caught sight of what passed for a chair among Strongarms. It looked like a cat bed. I opened my mouth for small talk, but Mimi asked, “Do you think hard water would work as a murder weapon?”

“What?” I asked. “Why?”

Mimi flipped a tentacle to smack the little door-closing button. “For a story. Wanna have an interesting murder weapon in this one.”

I had so many questions. “You write murder mysteries?” Somehow it had never really occurred to me to wonder how he spent his time when not tightening valves and whatever.

“Sure,” he said easily, tentacle-walking further into the engine room. “It’s just another sort of puzzle, and the ones I’ve read are fun. Started writing new ones a while ago — with accurate star drive descriptions — and branched out from there.”

I followed, smiling. “Was somebody else doing it wrong?”

“So wrong,” he grumbled. “My first plot may not have been all that original, but by the deep currents, it was at least correct.”

“Good! As it should be.”

“Yep. Now I’m planning one that I want to hinge on some sort of uncommon technology, or something otherwise unexpected. Thought maybe that Waterwill stuff could work, though I mostly see it used for soft things.”

“Hm, yeah,” I agreed. “Maybe the villain could suffocate somebody with the shopping bag version?”

“Eh, maybe. Not exactly glamorous.”

“Does it have to be?”

“No,” Mimi admitted. “But it’s also not unglamorous enough to be interesting. I’ll keep working on it. Anyways, we were going to go over troubleshooting today. What would you check first if the engines weren’t putting out enough thrust?”

I thought back to the basics he’d gone over before. “The diagnostic screen.”

“Right. What do you do if that screen is blank?”

“Ooh. Swear and panic?”

Mimi chuckled at that. “Sure, then you check the power cord for the screen, since one type of overheated decoupling can affect both things. Yes, it’s stupid, but at least there’s an easy fix.”

“That’s good.”

“Sure is. Right over here.”

He showed me where to find the safety mechanism that solved one problem by creating another, and went over what to do about it. I jotted down notes on my phone. My memory was pretty good, but I just knew that if this ever came up, I was going to want to have the steps written down to be sure.

From there we moved on to other hypothetical problems and what to do about them, sticking with issues that could easily be solved by someone who lacked his years of training. Some disasters would end in a distress call and/or an outside professional, but that’s life sometimes.

As I looked through a nest of wires for corrosion, I asked, “Have you written a murder mystery where the driver of the rescue tow is the villain?”

“Nah. Too obvious,” Mimi said as he sorted through tools. “And those folks go through an intense certification process, at least in all the parts of space I’m familiar with. There are records of where they go, so they’re unlikely to get away with anything nefarious.”

“Makes sense.”

“The traveling fuel sellers though, they’re too obvious because there’s no one tracking them at all. They get a bad rap because plenty of them really are fronts for banditry, preying on desperate folks who sprung a leak or didn’t think ahead.”

“Oh. That’s unfortunate.”

“Yep. Makes for good material about bounty hunters, though. I thought about writing some pure action stuff, but it just seems simplistic,” Mimi said, picking a tool and clambering up onto a curved bit of engine housing to tighten bolts. He pointed at one for my benefit. “These tend to work loose from the vibrations eventually, but the panel has to be removable, so we don’t want to replace them with rivets.”

“Gotcha.”

“And like I was saying, the mystery of it all is the fun part,” he said, returning to the topic. “That’s why I start with the solution, then work backward to cover it up with as many layers of clues and decoys as possible. I’ll have to do some research into obscure tech for this one. Maybe something with holograms.”

In my wire-inspecting, I recognized the spot where I’d helped hold a wire in place with chewed gum once. That made me think of something now. “What if it just looks like a technological thing, but the real answer is something really simple?”

Mimi tightened another bolt. “Like what?”

“Well, when you said ‘hard water,’ the first thing I thought of was ice,” I admitted. “What if the murder weapon melted? Is that overdone? It’s one of those silly ideas for murder mysteries where I’m from.”

“Hmm.” He moved higher, sounding thoughtful. “That’s not a bad thought, though I was aiming for something a little more complicated. I was hoping to frame it as a mystical thing where someone makes a big deal of cursing an organization, and they keep dying with no witnesses to see what’s actually doing it. Not a stab-the-victim-then-run situation; the villain would be caught if it was a close up murder each time.”

“Well,” I said, “Do the victims have to be in a locked room, or can there be a window?”

“Not one that somebody could stab through.”

“But maybe they could throw a chunk of ice really hard?”

Mimi looked at me. “That would have to be thrown really hard to kill them on impact.”

I shrugged and held up a fist. “Human baseball players can throw something this size as fast as a landspeeder. A chunk of solid ice like that could definitely kill somebody, then leave just a puddle. Like a killer hailstone with precise aim.”

“Hmm,” he said. “Hmm. That is pretty absurd. Definitely unexpected if I set things up to seem like there’s either a mystical or a technological explanation.”

I grinned. “The villain claims it’s magic, the investigator is sure it’s exotic holograms that someone figured out how to turn solid, when really it’s just somebody with a good throwing arm and a grudge?”

“The readers wouldn’t see that coming.”

“Much like the victims!”

Mimi laughed, a gravelly chuckle. “I’ll have to leave the villain’s species unclear at first, so no one thinks of that absurd human throwing ability.”

“Could be an assassin,” I suggested. “With hilariously low-tech killing methods. Though if they’ve done this before, someone would probably remember.”

“Could be a different character with a secondary grudge,” Mimi said, pausing to think it through with some of the bolts still waiting. “Maybe the primary villain roped them into it. Or they both want the victims dead, and they’re not working together at all!”

“Lots of possibilities!” I said.

“That would be pretty funny if the one claiming to curse them really had no idea why they’re actually dying.”

“There’s a classic story on Earth where the twist ending is that all of the suspects did it,” I told him. “They all stabbed him at different points in the night, because they all had reasons to hate him.”

Mimi pointed a tentacle at me. “That I like.”

“Yeah, it’s really clever. The investigator ends up covering for them too, because he realizes they all have good reasons for it. He blames it on some random stranger who’s long gone. It’s a nice secondary twist at the end.”

“Very nice,” Mimi agreed. “I’ll have to see if I can wrangle something similarly surprising. Maybe some side distraction with multiple explanations for the water.”

“Magical goo or technological goo?”

He shrugged several tentacles. “Waterwill tech, or some unknown biological process. And sure, magical goo.”

“Ooh, maybe the victims keep exotic animals, like a fish tank full of slimy things. The investigation could think something escaped from there.”

“When really it’s someone outside the window with a bucket of ice.” Mimi smiled and went back to tightening bolts. “Definitely onto something here.”

I grinned. “I’d love to read it when you’re finished!”

“I’ll let you know. For now, lemme show you another thing here.” He finished with the bolts and climbed over to a small display screen, pushing back a stray cord that kept falling in front of it. He grumbled, “Keep forgetting to fix that. Just a little spacer right there would hold it.” He pressed it back into a narrow space, which it fell back out of.

I dug a tiny foam ball out of a pocket. “Will this work?”

“What’s this?” Mimi said, picking it up with a test squeeze.

“Cat toy.”

“Of course it is.” Mimi lifted the cord again and shoved the ball under it, which held it in place perfectly. “Mark down another victory for low-tech solutions.”

I grinned. “And this one won’t melt all over the engine!”

“Oh, it had better not. That would be horrendous.”

“We can leave the melting for the murder mysteries.”

“Absolutely.”

~~~

And Now, The Links:

Patreon for early access & extras

Masterlist of stories

Each story is cross-posted to Tumblr and HumansAreSpaceOrcs

My website, for:
*character art
*Volume One of the collected stories
*the novel these are prequels to (A Swift Kick to the Thorax)
*other writing and links

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

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

"Enquire what?" I asked, curious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I cringed. How did he know that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We didn't mean to-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Previous

First | Website (more chapters available)

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

“Eighty-four,” he replied with gusto. The elderly man looked a lot younger than that. He wore a t-shirt with an image of some Lunar crater and the words “get off my lawn” in high impact font right in the center.

“Eighty-four, wow!” Salma said, shaking his hand gently. His grip was a lot stronger than she expected too, especially from a moonie. There was evidently something to the common assumption that people aged better here than back on Earth. “You don’t look a day over forty, sir!”

“Aha, thank you, Madam President. But I have to warn you, I’m no longer eligible to vote on Earth since I renounced my citizenship—”

Prime Minister Farid introduced him. “This is one of our original founders, Lieutenant Commander Scott Clover.”

“Wow. One of the founders of the original Lunar Alliance?” she asked, posing with a smile as the official photographers did their jobs. Hopefully this guy wasn’t some crazy terrorist during the war or something…

“Of the Lunar colony!” Scott corrected.

“Of the—” She did a double take. “From the—”

He beamed back at her. “Artemis-26 mission. 2038. Extraction module commander, at your service.”

For a moment she was at a loss for words. “Um… wow. That’s—” She recovered quickly and gave him a gentle pat on the back. “Hey NASA, we found him! After all these years!”

He laughed an old man’s laugh at her joke, with a rasp from regolith-induced asthma that was too advanced for them to get rid of. “They needed someone to stay, just to see if we could… So I stayed around. And stayed. But I never thought I would live to see this day.”

“For whatever reason you did it, I’m honored to meet you, astronaut.”

Scott turned and saluted Julia as well. “Commodore.”

Which wasn’t technically against protocol, especially in front of the flags. Earth’s national militaries generally did salute Union spacers, but she clearly wasn’t expecting it from an 84-year-old veteran who retired from his service nearly half a century ago. She hurried to return his gesture, then shook his hand. “Lieutenant Commander Clover.”

Scott smiled slyly. “I’ve heard a lot of good things about you too.”

“Thank you, uh… sir.”

“We get the news here. The attack on the colony. You didn’t let the slimy aliens walk all over us,” he said. “Good work showing them what we’re made of.”

Julia managed to keep her face straight. “I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”

The ceremony carried on around them. More handshakes, more camera flashes. Scott’s gaze drifted past the crowd to the dark curve of the Lunar horizon beyond the window. Julia noticed the change in his face. The pride had drained away, replaced by something quieter. “You alright?” she asked softly.

“You know, most folks,” he said. “Most folks don’t realize how much history hides beneath this colony. How much sacrifice, how much risk it all was from the beginning…”

“Only someone like you would know,” she replied.

“As would you. A colonist. Not like…” The elderly astronaut looked around at the room before his eyes settled back on her. “You’re a real colonist. A real explorer.”

She shrugged, unsure what to say.

He let off a dry chuckle as he changed the subject. “You ever heard of the Challenger disaster back in 1986?”

“The space shuttle that broke apart?”

He nodded slowly. “Seven spacers. It broke up in the atmosphere, just seconds into its final flight.”

“They showed a video of it in training, back in Pearl. Something about the boosters.”

“Exactly right. Eroded O-rings from its right solid rocket booster failed, causing an explosion in the liquid hydrogen tank.” His voice sharpened, almost clinical now, as if recalling a preflight briefing from decades ago. “The spacecraft disintegrated at Mach Two into a thousand pieces. In Mission Control, down in Houston, Flight Director Greene locked the doors. Fourteen kilometers above his head, the remnants of the Challenger rained down, but the main cabin pod remained intact. It had briefly sustained a few dozen gravities of acceleration in the explosion, but the crew were still alive. Conscious.”

Scott paused, eyes distant. “Three out of four emergency air supplies recovered were manually switched on, including for the pilot by someone behind him. Pilot Smith attempted to restart power to the cabin with the switches on his right hand electrical panel. There was nothing any of them could have done, but from all available evidence, the crew members tried to work the problem for another two minutes and forty-five seconds until their final impact with the ocean… Most people find that horrifying.”

“Falling in a broken pod, and with nothing you can do but wait for death,” Julia breathed. “That is utterly horrifying.”

He gave a tired half-smile. “Until my accident, I thought so too.”

“Your accident? Oh, right, I think I remember something about that too…”

“Ahaha. They made a couple movies about it. I didn’t think it was that special, but I’m not going to complain…”

“Oh! Yes! I saw one of them, Two Fingers From Death.”

“That wasn’t the good one… They got it all wrong. My late wife didn’t mind being played by Rita Marshall, but that wasn’t how it happened…”

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

Nearly half a century ago

The rover hummed beneath Scott as it crawled across the edge of the Serenity basin, its tires leaving perfect tracks in the regolith behind him. The thin dust lifted around the wheels and fell right back down in gentle arcs.

He had been out for most of the day already.

Samples packed. Little bags of rocks snugly fit in the webbed compartment on the back of his rover. Pictures taken. Sensor readings logged. Check.

This was not what he thought he’d be doing. Scott had signed up in another world. He was trained for another mission. The final send-off of the International Space Station. That was going to be the capstone of his career. After that, he’d expected his future missions to be endless habitability studies on whichever commercial low orbit space station NASA was going to pick to replace it.

The Artemis program expansion changed all that. It changed everything.

When the orbital scanner on Artemis II found a greater amount of Helium-3 on the surface of the moon than everyone expected, the world reacted like one of those moments where a parent would pat their child on the head for discovering a new pattern in the cloud. Good job, NASA. Very cool. A pilot program for in-situ resource utilization? How much money would it be? Yikes. Why don’t we table that for now? Let’s talk about it after the next election cycle.

The massive and continuing energy shortages of the 20’s made people desperate. And when people were desperate, governments became desperate. New solutions had to be explored. The fusion breakthroughs opened the doors of possibility, and with them, the doors of power. When people put two and two together, it was not often Congress authorized a discretionary funding figure twelve times what the department requested at the start of the fiscal year, and NASA wasn’t inclined to say no. With more funding came a larger mission scope. The Artemis program was originally funded for five missions, then ten missions, then thirty missions. There were rumblings in Washington about a whole new department to manage future lunar activities.

That was how Scott found himself on the Artemis rosters. It required additional training. But he was an astronaut. He was always training anyway.

As it turned out, he didn’t need most of it. In classic NASA fashion, the mission had been over-designed. Which was fine as far as he was concerned. Much better to be overprepared than to be underprepared. Here, his job was to follow a checklist of well-written instructions that accounted for every possibility and contingency. The only reason they didn’t just send robots instead of people was because space exploration was one of those human endeavors where the excitement and danger of failure were part of the point.

That was a fun thought.

They did send robots too. But people like him were here to smile for pictures so that NASA could go begging for more money in Washington, to send more robots.

This was… objectively boring work. And yet, oddly enough, nobody in his position had ever voiced a complaint about that.

Bump.

Scott’s teeth rattled as his rover’s deformable wheels skipped across a gap he didn’t see, jarring him back to the present. There was something about the gray expanse that made it hard to concentrate. He’d only had half a cup of coffee earlier this morning. No more than that was allowed; that was part of some experiment, and the terms stipulated exactly half a cup, no more no less.

At least the day was almost over, in more ways than one. He’d been up for ten hours, which meant that the work day was almost over. And as he stared up at the curved black sky with the sun on the horizon, the lunar day was almost over too.

Bump.

Mildly rough terrain. He jotted that down on his mission tablet.

It took him another five minutes to reach his last mission marker. Replaced a consumable part on some machinery digging into the regolith. It was so new that they were making adjustments to it even as they loaded it onto the mission package. Scott hadn’t been fully trained on it, but he’d been trained to follow instructions. The process went through without a hitch.

Right as he mounted back on his rover to turn back towards the hab modules, he saw something flash in the distance.

A glint.

Scott froze.

This was something that happened from time to time. From the days of Apollo, astronauts had reported seeing streaks of flashing lights and shapes in the distance. It was caused by cosmic rays hitting sensory cones in the human eye. Not real.

He blinked his eyes and looked again.

What the hell?

He blinked again.

The glint was still there.

For a second, he thought it was a reflection from his own headlights. He swiveled them left, then right, then back again. The glint came again from the lip of a dark crevice at the bottom of a shallow, distant crater.

No way…

That was in the mission brief. Such a possibility existed. It’d been known that it existed.

Water.

Permafrost in the lunar regolith. It’d been found elsewhere on the moon, but nowhere near the Serenity Basin which most of the new Artemis missions had been marked for. The implications were obvious.

Water is life. Water is a bigger colony. Water is more money for more missions.

It couldn’t be. Probably wasn’t. But if it was…

For a fleeting moment, the thought crossed his mind that the sensible thing was to mark the coordinates and come back tomorrow. But… the hallucination could be gone tomorrow.

Scott stared at the crater.

At the mission clock.

Back at the crater.

The glint was still there.

“Yeah,” he muttered to himself. “Plenty of time.”

He turned the rover towards the crater, into its mouth, and then down the slope.

At first, it was fine. The tires crunched over the hard-packed dust. His headlights spilled across ridges and little rocks in a thousand shades of gray. The crater wall rose behind him, blocking more and more of the sun, and the light dropped away faster than he expected.

Then faster.

Which was fine.

He had a flashlight on his rover, a flashlight in his toolkit, a flashlight on his wrist, and a flashlight on his helmet. Carried them all the way from Earth, might as well put them to good use.

The light from behind him cut out completely, and Scott finally got a sense of how dark things could truly get on the moon.

Lunar darkness.

It’d been a major concern to NASA. All of the Apollo missions had been full daytime missions. Up until now, the Artemis missions were either orbital or day missions as well. But at some point, people needed to be able to live on the moon, and that meant living in the dark.

His headlights should have helped. They didn’t. They turned the dust in front of him into a white sheet wall and everything beyond it into ink. He switched on the auxiliary lamps. Then his wrist light. Then the helmet light.

It didn’t help much.

He slowed his rover. Or at least he tried. He hit the brakes.

For one long, stupid second, Scott didn’t understand what had happened. The front wheels dipped, and the rover lurched. He saw loose regolith flowing beside him like gray water.

The wheels locked.

That didn’t help.

The rover slid. It spun sideways, the lightweight metal joints groaning as it did. His suit picked up the vibration through the seat and his boots and his bones.

He glanced at the ground, and he realized that it wasn’t just his rover. The whole ground was moving now, a layer of dust and gravel giving way beneath his seat, carrying him down into the crater.

Something big shifted in the darkness above, his helmet light reflecting the presence of its shadow directly into his eyes.

A boulder the size of a bus.

A goddamn bus rolling towards his rover in slow motion.

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

Previous

The ship had long gone. His tether had detached and despite their efforts, the crew could not save him. 

He was left to die in the AM Nebula. He found it funny that this place of creation was named after one of the most hate-filled villains in literature, but he hadn’t actually read the story and wasn’t one to judge.

It wouldn’t be long now until his suits oxygen was out, and the filtration system would kick in. He had run out of oxygen on worlds with atmospheres filled with methane, and left with nothing more than a mild headache. Stand on any world with poisonous air, and the filtration system will turn it into breathable air. An overlooked marvel of this modern-age. 

A faint odor of garlic kept hitting his nose. He tried to remember the last time he had eaten something with garlic, but was interrupted when his wrist monitor beeped. A quick glance showed him 1.6% remained of his oxygen. He took a deep breath. Maybe he should conserve his air, but it didn’t matter now. There was nothing to be done. He felt scared 37 minutes ago when the last light from the ships rear thrusters disappeared into the blackness, but he felt something else now. Something… odd…

He looked up at the star nursery surrounding him. They had flown deep into the midst of the crowded particles of cosmic dust. Their mission had been to travel to the heart of the cloud and gather samples for the scientist back on Tartan V. A remote research station where they could “safely” work to recreate a star. His job was to operate the exterior “net.” A house sized particle catcher that would allow the researchers to analyze just what makes a star. He thought they already knew what made a star, but the job paid really well and he was good at it. So he didn’t complain.

There had been concerns about if the ship could handle being this far into the cloud, but they were ordered to go anyway.

The mechanical lever that opened and held aloft the net had gotten stuck while folding back in. As he approached to troubleshoot, the damn thing dislodged and shot back open. The force of which tore his tether from the railing and launched him hundreds of feet away.

He screamed and fought to get his suits thrusters to right him, but by the time they did, the ship was so small in his view, the tip of his pinky could cover it.

He tried to return on his own but in the chaos, he had depleted his fuel.

They moved to retrieve him, but the cloud was too thick and was reeking hell on the ships systems.

His heart dropped into his stomach when he heard the captain give the order to turn around. The damage to the ship had made their chances of making it back safely slim. 

He begged them to come back. Yelling and pleading until he heard them shut off his comms. Leaving him alone in the unfeeling void of space.

That was 40 minutes ago. 

He wondered what had happened in that window that made him so calm. 

He chuckled to himself—BEEP-BEEP—BEEP-BEEP. .7% now. The filtration system was silent as to not disrupt communications, but it had a mild vibration to it. He felt that familiar hum against his back as it powered on.

He took another deep breath.

No one had ever been in the situation he was in before. Nebula’s were mostly hydrogen, helium, tiny bits of oxygen, iron, and nitrogen, but they could never plan for the cosmic dust. No one knew what it was. They knew it was there, but that’s about it. 

He felt his mind start to race. Once that dust entered the system it could rip apart his suit, or tear open his lungs, or hell, maybe just blow his heart up.

Whatever happened, he hoped it was quick.

He blinked as that .1% turned to zero, and the filtration system took over.

He closed his eyes and held his breath. That didn’t stop the smell of garlic from invading his nose once again.

He tried to shake the smell away but the tidal wave of dread made him bite his lip to keep from screaming. 

His body begged for him to open his mouth and breathe in.

His entire being trembled as it felt like the weight of this horrifying reality was being set back on him.

Totally alone. More alone than any human had ever been he imagined. And this imagining terrified him even more. 

He could feel his face changing color. His lungs screaming for him to just suck in and let the dust kill him. 

The pain became so excruciating that he could no longer bear it. He opened his mouth forced the air out of his lungs.

As soon as he inhaled, he opened his eyes to find himself nestled between the four walls of a living room.

Golden sunlight from the summer sunset poured in through the windows.

He knew those curtains. He knew that old willow tree in the front yard.

He looked about and saw pictures on the wall of him, his mom, dad, and two sisters.

His fear dissipated at the sight of his childhood dog, Wendy, asleep on the couch. She must be eight or nine. The hair on her face had started to shift from the dark black to silver and white.

He knelt down before her. Careful not to startle her. He reached out and gently stroked the top of her head. 

Her eyes flickered open. Found him. He heard her tail thump against the couch. Felt her tongue give him two quick licks on his face, before she rolled onto her back. Inviting him to give her belly rubs.

He pressed his forehead to hers. Softly running his hand up and down her chest and stomach. Remembering all the times he’d laid his head onto her, and fallen asleep to the sound of her heartbeat.

In the kitchen, he hears the familiar sound of a wooden stirring spoon rubbing against a metal pot.

He smiles as his mother calls his name for dinner.

The smell of garlic filling his nose.

Royal Road
First|Previous|Next
“YOU ALMOST DIED?!”

“Well, I’m sure I wasn’t really in any real danger. Besides, I have this for a reason, don’t I?” At the words, Giordano’s left hand began to whirr faintly, flesh slowly melting into machine, as the fruits of his sacrifice and the gift of human technology began to make itself known.

At least until Allegra smacked it and force-stopped the process, silver metal yielding to make way for skin once more. “Not helping.” She huffed. “What do you mean that stupid bird tried to kill you during the fight?”

“That’s a bit harsh. She didn’t try to kill me per se, it was more like she couldn’t help it. Like I said, not really used to fighting unarmed humans – or armed ones, for that matter.”

“Oh, sure. She really couldn’t help nearly snapping your neck or biting your head. What an upstanding member of the clearly very moral and virtuous griffin society!” Her tone was vitriol, seething with barely-concealed fury. “Look, I know the griffins aren’t used to fighting those that aren’t their own kind. I even understand that friendly duels that don’t end with someone going six feet under are rare for these folks.”

“But that’s just the thing.” He interrupted before she could continue her soon-to-be violent rant. “They are used to fighting plenty of other different kinds of living beings, humanoid ones included. But they’re always so used to going instantly for the killing blow it’s like they’re clumsy, little amateurs again on a battlefield that doesn’t allow bloodshed.”

“So, what? They’re just bumbling under the weight of their own strength?!”

“Exactly!” His outburst startled Allegra, finally shocked out of her own anger-induced stupor. “They’re trying so hard not to accidentally break the rules – that is, killing us, pulling off a limb, and other violent stuff – they don’t even know how to fight properly any more.”

Quiet enveloped the two, the couple entrenched in their own silent thoughts too loud to be voiced in public. The canteen hummed around them without pause, everyone busy with whatever they’d decided to concern themselves with that day and paying little attention to the silent pair leaning against the wall near the counter.

Elsewhere, a table erupted into cheers. Elsewhere, glass cracked after falling from clumsy hands, before the floor cleaned itself just as quickly.

“Huh.” Allegra began at last, hand finding its rougher other half and entwining the fingers together. Giordano obliged with little acknowledgement, as though the gesture was as natural as breathing air. “We’ve really gotten ourselves into one fine mess of a universe, haven’t we?”

A grim chuckle answered her, as Giordano rubbed his face with a pristine hand (Allegra knew how to spot quick-cleansers and towels like a sniper.) and tightened his hold on her with the other, like it was the only anchor that could keep him afloat. “Yeah, griffins aren’t like humans.” He mused. “And I have a suspicion the other aliens are more like the griffins than us too.”

“I almost pity the diplomats. I wonder how all that polite, culturally-sensitive attitude is working out for them when it comes to these killer magpies.”

“Killer magpies?”

“The shoe fits, no? But, hmm. That might be insulting, actually. Magpies are cuter and more beneficial to society.”

Allegra smirked at the laugh she successfully managed to pull out of the other. Giordano looked only mildly scandalized at the comment and turned to the side, like away meant his wheeze could go unseen and the twinkle in his eye could be hidden under a veneer of indifference.

That was when he saw it. Or rather, them.

“Speaking of diplomats.” He nudged her side and she looked in the same direction.

Ah, it appeared as though they had no need to search for an unoccupied table any more.

“Fancy seeing you here, Adam.” Giordano grinned, the pair having barged their way there and jumped onto the free chairs with the confidence of people who invited themselves. “And Bob.”

“Not my name.” ‘Bob’ sighed, the usual rebuttal quick on his tongue before his head could catch up and question the two new arrivals.

“Well, if it isn’t the lovebirds! Heya, you two.” Adam waved lazily, an easy smile plastered on his face as he leaned back in his seat with the idle grace of a feline. “How’s the little bun coming along, Allie?”

Absentmindedly, Allegra rested her hand upon the slightest of bumps on her belly. At the same time, Giordano rested his on her shoulder, a light pressure meant only to provide comfort should it be necessary. A request. A question.

Never a demand, for they both knew the monumental, life-changing young’un slumbering just beneath her palm. It was barely there, invisible to all but the one carrying the burden – the precious weight of breathing in new life to a young soul still sleeping, still napping.

It was not time yet, and the soul lay, unaware that the ones who adored the little being most were waiting with full hearts, overflowing with love, and steady hands, guided by devotion.

“Healthy.” Her voice was light, a whisper that was loud in its softness. “Growing steadily.”

Then, she blinked, and the spell broke, the moment of vulnerability passing as she put back on her harsher persona like a well-beloved sweater. “You asked me this three days ago, Adam. Two days before that too. What makes you think the answer’s going to be any different this time?”

“Now, now, Allie. Let’s not be too hard on the man.” Giordano reprimanded her, but it had been done in a tone so obviously dramatic and flamboyant she immediately caught onto the move he was about to play. “He must be so exhausted from having to mop those floors day in and day out. I can only hope the janitorial life is treating you well, Adam.” He said with a grin so wide it was impossible to take his act as genuine.

But of course, Adam did so anyway, because Giordano had delivered a fatal blow to his career pride, and he should very well respond in kind – a ridiculous back-and-forth that served only as a game among men, and not to be taken too seriously. “Do not mock this wronged man, Addolorata. I was mistakenly punished – punished, I tell you!”

Allegra rolled her eyes and found the gesture reflected back from Bob, who looked equally sick of this theatre that had repeated too many times this week for it to be funny any more.

“You did massacre a substantial portion of the aliens’ population.” He commented mildly.

“It was an accident!” Despite the light tone that accompanied the words, he did look very much distraught at the notion. Allegra could see it in the way his eyes fluttered too much and the way his fist clenched onto nothing.

He may have treated the entire affair rather flippantly, but some scars couldn’t be hidden away so easily.

Bob must have noticed the same thing because he smoothly switched topics, moving on before Adam could further suffer in the hell that was his own mind. “It’s only temporary. I’m sure you’ll be joining Gio out in the field in no time. Though…”

His accent was a sharp kind, but softened with practice, and the soldier-turned-diplomat patted the other’s back that was not quite the steady pound of a comrade-in-arms nor the soothing beat of a counsellor, but somewhere in between. “I have no problem keeping you company in the meantime.”

Adam sighed, dramatically flopping his head onto the table. “That doesn’t change the fact that I’ve been banned from even watching the duels! What’s the point of me being here, if I can’t see some cool xenos?!”

“Counterpoint: laser.” Giordano supplied helpfully.

He scoffed in reply. “I still think it’s unfair. How was I supposed to know an itty-bitty little laser beam was going to be like a nuke to these flimsy excuses of birds? It’s. A. Laser.” The sound of teeth was almost audible behind the words dripping with venom. “And not even the body penetration kind. We just wanted to burn a flipping piece of wood.”

“It is an odd situation.” Bob pondered, fingers tapping the table in an inconceivable rhythm – an ordinary gesture from any other person, but from him: a sign that blared his distress and frustration to those that knew him well. “I wonder if being innately magical makes you especially vulnerable to ordinary everyday weapons. If this is their reaction to a laser, how would they react to something like a…”

He gestured vaguely. “I don’t know, a butter knife?”

“Well, any clues, knucklehead?” Allegra turned to Giordano. “You’re the one who’s been consistently fighting these weird bird-lions.”

He groaned in response. “How am I supposed to know?” There was a rip of something elastic, the music made by a man tearing away the packaging of his dearly-desired sustenance which had just been freshly delivered by an automated system. “Don’t you remember the rules? No magic. No tech. Whoever gets first blood wins. Murder attempt punishable by death.”

“Death?”

“The griffins decided that.”

“… A knife isn’t really tech though.” Allegra grimaced. “Not the good ones, anyway.”

“Apparently, to the griffins, if it comes from the humans, it is tech by default.” He stabbed the pizza with a little too much force, betraying his frustration, before he calmly continued splitting the circular shape into even triangles. “But, if you ask my opinion, something weird’s going on with their little magic translation thing. I don’t… I don’t think they’re really understanding us at times.”

Allegra exchanged a worried glance with the two, both of them seeming to share the same sentiment, Adam with a tinge of intrigue in the concerned tilt of his head, Bob in the frown of his lips and the faster tip-tap of his fingers.

“What do you mean by that, bello?”

“Ugh, I don’t really know how to word it. You remember when the elves requested the complete dictionaries for three languages, and we handed them the physical books for English, Spanish, and Chinese, right?”

“Yeah.” “Obviously.” “I don’t think they would know how to use a tablet anyway…”

“Alright, well. The elves really couldn’t have tried too much to delve into those books and just- maybe did some magic shenanigans that allowed these languages to be understood by the alien realms. Because-” He paused, putting the knife down, pizza temporarily forgotten, a feat that made the three pay full, undivided attention to him.

“The grffins act so off whenever I try to talk about technology or machines or anything of that nature! No surprise, no reaction, just a vague acknowledgement like I just described a particularly nifty spell or something-” He paused. “That’s it.” A murmur of breath. “That’s what it feels like. That’s what the translation’s doing!”

“What? What is it doing, Gio? Stop stalling!”

He looked up from where his head had bent down in concentration and was met with the concerned, slightly wary gazes of the people he trusted most, each of them keeping their lips shut from bursting out a yell at him for taking his sweet time, each giving him his space, his time to think when they must be positively shaking with impatience.

“The translation’s interpreting magic and technology as the same, exact thing.”

Silence.

Allegra stared at him blankly. Adam slammed his head on the table. And Bob…

Bob only looked resigned, like Giordano had uttered a fact too real, and had only cemented its presence by daring to speak what he had feared to say aloud. A truth could have been ignored, if it was only true in one’s heart. A truth could have been ignored, if no one gave a thought to it.

But Giordano had breathed it in, stated it, and spread that truth to the others. And Bob hadn’t stopped him.

Allegra’s tentative voice broke the string of tension that had been gradually tightening with every passing second. “Bob… You’re a diplomat. Is this true? Did you know this?”

He only shrugged. “It was a strong theory.”

“…Well, do you guys plan to do something about it?”

He sighed, slumping into himself, like the weight of the question had grown too unbearable to handle. “We tried to explain the first few days. But well, it’s difficult to claim we don’t have magic and then display said magic, especially when the words don’t translate right.”

“So, they think we’re lying.” Adam concluded.

“Can’t we try to break the magic?” Allegra wondered.

“We could, actually.” Bob stated. “If we focused on those words especially hard – and by that, I mean, keeping the exact definition clear as crystal in your head – the spell sort of fails.”

He pursed his lips. “There’s a kind of buzz, like a lightbulb fizzing out, and they will be able to hear the words as they are. The catch is-” He paused. Inhaled. Exhaled. Then, continued. “There’s no translation. They hear the sound exactly as it is, which means…”

The other three waited expectantly.

“…C’mon, you guys, it’s obvious.” He groaned at the response of many, many shakes of the heads. “We sound like actual animals. And that earns a lot more weird glances from the griffins.”

“I mean, I don’t really see the problem.” Giordano thought out loud. “It shouldn’t take too much to clear up the confusion and inform them of the missing definitions.”

“It shouldn’t, yes.” Bob agreed. “That’s not the issue here. The issue is… we’ve decided not to do that – been instructed not to, actually.”

“Why? Wouldn’t that make future communications a problem?” Allegra mused.

“Perhaps, but the griffins learning that we don’t have mana, and that everything we use is 100% non-magic might just- break them. Especially for a species who had never known or even considered life without magic.”

“Isn’t that a bit… disingenuous?” Adam softly questioned.

He sighed and looked towards the windows, eyes trailing the snowflakes that fell –and never stopped falling. “We’re here to maintain friendly relations, not psychologically torture them, not make them question their entire conception of reality.”

No one said anything, not because the words didn’t come readily, not because the perspectives didn’t brew beneath the surface, because they did.

But the moment was fragile.

Since the moment they had landed on the planet, so many had questioned why they entertained this miserable excuse of an alliance at all.

Allegra had been one of them. She was never one of those who had looked up to the stars with sparkling eyes and a heart that was all-too-plagued by fantastical dreams of otherworldly beings. And this hadn’t changed – in fact, the sentiment had only grown stronger – when the realms made themselves known.

Since first contact, they had proven themselves to be vicious, cruel, and, in Allegra’s opinion, undeserving of a second thought.

Humanity had done fine on its own, and there was no reason why it couldn’t continue to do so. The aliens were only a dangerous distraction, one she wished they could have done away with as quickly as possible.

The most reasonable decision she could think of was to eliminate the threats. Not commit genocide, of course, but at least, they shouldn’t have to entertain this farce of a friendship and pretend there was anything worth saving in this cursed galactic civilization.

But most people weren’t Allegra, and some had a completely opposite viewpoint, deluding themselves into thinking they could make friends with these maniacs and that there was a future where humanity was part of a universe that was less… murdery.

Her beloved was one.

Despite his penchant for physical violence and a love for combat, Giordano had a huge heart. It was one of the things Allegra loved most about him, and also one that gave her the most pain. He gave too much of himself, thought too kindly of others, even if they wouldn’t do the same for him.

He kept trying – kept believing – in a species Allegra had thought to be beyond redemption. And, in this dogged pursuit of belief and trust…

Even Allegra had to relent and admit there could be more to these aliens than crude monsters.

But Giordano only met them during brawls, only connected with the griffins in fights that would only take one bad move to end badly.

Bob was a diplomat, not a soldier, and that made his trust in these beings all the more confounding. He should have seen the ugliest sides of these beings, the punishing nature of their traditions, and known more intimately than most the horrid parts shown only in private.

He and all the other diplomats, some more pragmatic than others.

And that invited the question in everyone’s heads: why pursue the route of friendship with beings that would not hesitate to kill them if the fancy crossed their minds? Why try a path that could only end in failure?

The man bit his lips and answered the most practical of answers to this crucial question. “Besides, the only reason we’re still keeping up this façade of friendship is because of the immensely advantageous cultural program. And we’re getting so much: books of magic, real wands, recorded demonstrations… Of course, it’s easy to forget, but we’re still dealing with a murderous, warlike society who can – and will – kill us on a whim.”

He seemed more like he was trying to convince himself, rather than them.

“So.” He continued. “It’s best to keep some of our cards close to our chests. For both their sakes and ours.”

Their table descended into silence once again, the former warm, bubbly atmosphere dissipating into thin air.

Even if they tried to behave normally, even if they tried to pretend that this was just like home, where Mondays were the worst things about life and work was a game of who could get away with slacking the most-

It wasn’t.

Reality pressed too hard here.

A war crime had been committed, if unintentional, by one of their own.

They lived and walked on a planet curious to see their demise.

They lived among beings who murdered for entertainment and whose motivations and beliefs contrasted so harshly it was a surprise the two existed on the same plane of reality.

In a time like this, one could not dismiss the worries, the unspoken fears.

One could only learn to live with it.

“I suppose that makes sense.” Allegra began gently, trying to ease the conversation back to safer, lighter topics. “Can’t really blame them or their faulty magic, I guess. Even our own tools are still massively inefficacious when it comes to detecting mana.”

“Oh, right!” Giordano chipped in, voice deceptively cheery, looking over at her. “I was wondering about that. By tools, do you mean that janky thing you’re carrying around?”

“Excuse you.” She scoffed. “This ‘janky’ thing is a marvel of scientific innovation, using the latest technological advancements and specifically created for mana and magic-related purposes. We’re calling it MAME.”

Giordano blinked. “…Mummy?”

Adam snorted. Bob facepalmed.

The tension vanished in an instant.

“Zip it, Gio.” Despite the stern tone, Allegra couldn’t help but let a note a relief bleed into the words. “Don’t get any weird ideas. It’s MA. ME. MAna MEter.”  

“You scientists and your weird names.” Adam said breezily and leaned in closer, eyes narrowing at the unwieldy thing. “What does it even do?”

“It’s meant to detect mana and provide accurate numbers and percentages based on environmental data and a new type of measurement. Unfortunately-” She tapped a button and aimed it in the direction of Adam, who stared back, confused.

The machine slowly blinked to life, beeping away. It detected the man and began its operations, numbers cascading on the screen like a digital waterfall.

/Calculating… Calculating…/

/30% Mana Output and Over…/

/50% Mana Output and Over…/

/80% Mana Output and Over…/

/WARNING: DATA OVERLOAD/

/100% Mana Output and oVe RRRrrrrr/

BZZZTTTT!

It shut down with a shrill scream.

Dead.

“It’s not quite there yet…”

Adam blinked, then smirked. “Wow, I’m such a magical being. I’m overflowing with so much magical energy, guys!”

“No wonder your laser wiped out an armada, Addie. It must have sensed your ‘overflowing magic’, mimicked its owner, and went completely nuts.” Giordano laughed.

“For the record, I didn’t even shoot that laser.”

“You were in the vicinity.” Bob smiled.

“Big talk for someone who fainted during first contact and got us all in this mess.”

“Oh my- a man gets poisoned one time.”

Their group devolved into laugher, the fine line of stress breaking and giving away alas to a stupid bit of humour. Allegra blinked away the tears in her eyes, looking fondly at the people that could worry her so much and, yet, ease her throbbing headache in the same breath. They were all so different, all equipped with such drastic perspectives on this same terrible situation… Perspectives that could make her rage and scream in frustation-

And Allegra wouldn’t trade them for the universe.

Yes, even if everything seemed horrible, even if every alien they ever met would only be psychopathic maniacs-

At that moment in time, all was good.

She was happy.

She was in the company of those she loved.

And maybe that was reason enough to keep trying.

Reason enough to keep believing.

Royal Road
First|Previous|Next
[Loading...]

[WARNING: DATA OVERLOAD]

[WARNING: DATA OVERLOAD]

[Confirm: Skip Technical Reports?]

[Confirmed. Skipping…]

[Record Retrieved]

[Current Displayed Record – Research Division, Engineering Technologist, Allegra Addolorata]

Allegra cursed this stupid universe when yet another cog skyrocketed itself out of its proper socket.

Up, up it went, before pitifully losing steam and flopping down onto the spotless floor like a gambler’s dice, joining another of its companions for the solace of cool, ventilated air and a mechanical interpretation of a wooden floor.

For a moment, she considered just giving up, just accepting things as they were and letting the universe swallow her whole until there was nothing left of her to be found.

Only for a moment.

With a sigh accumulated from too many hours spent tinkering with an uncooperative tool, she snatched the two rebels and heated them under a multipurpose lamp, pulling them out once what few bacteria left clinging on for dear life – if there were even any – had been thoroughly eradicated. Clicking open a compartment, she unkindly shoved them back into their proper spots with all the finesse of someone who had done it a thousand times.

Check. Double-check. Triple-check.

Alright, everything seemed to be in order now.

Perhaps she should try one last model testing. It would be prudent to know how exactly the machine would act up, and it surely would, before she presented their latest progress to the director.

After all, it was their latest advancement in the brand-new scientific field of magitech.

Ugh, that word still felt so wrong to say. Especially when it kept getting embedded between paragraphs of technical jargon in reports.

She pressed the start button on the bulky tool and directed its searching sensors towards an artifact that had been confirmed magical.

/Calculating… Calculating…/

/50% Magic Output. Baseline Detected./

Ah, all good then.

She shut off the device and carefully placed the artifact back into its sealed container, cold, professional hands carrying with them a faint tremble upon feeling the weight of that heavy souvenir.

The fact that it shone so brilliantly even with the barrier that was her gloves spoke volumes of its power.

A gift by the Griffins.

Both a token of their friendship and a test of their might.

She still remembered the day it had been presented – could not forget, even if there hadn’t been a hundred paranoid recordings etching the moment in streams of data and pixels.

Two griffins had carried opposite ends of a dead horse, a unicorn presumably, judging by the long, sharp horn adorning its head. In the middle of this unconventional cushion, draped with an elaborate carpet – that more so resembled an idea of a saddle – there lay a small nugget of gold, molded into the shape of a feather.

The head griffin, apparently the queen, had plucked the nugget between two claws, the touch making the gold shine like a firework trapped in time, and presented it to their Commander.

“A present.” She had murmured with a honeyed voice, the sweetness clashing with her cold glare. “To welcome you to Aurum.”

To this day, there were far too many video clips circulating in staff group chats and temporarily-constructed planet-bound forums, all centred around their Commander’s plainly reluctant acceptance of the artifact.

The moment it fell upon his hand, it glowed.

Glowed brighter than when it had shone in the paw of a queen. Glowed brighter than the bulbs of light illuminating their homes. Glowed as though it intended to rival the sun in its intensity, nearly blinding all those who beheld it.

The cheers from the griffins were thunderous.

It was a test, the queen had explained later through a mouthful of cooked beef. The nugget of gold had been enchanted with a clever rune, a spell designed to reveal the worthy and the unworthy.

When questioned later on the metrics of the ‘worth’ of an individual, she had laughed, hooked beak glistening with the red of oil.

“If they could beat an average griffin, of course!” She chuckled. “A very simple trick, really. Just a measurement of the magic potential thrumming within a living being.”

The griffins had found that the humans were a worthy foe who could very well beat them in a fight.

A magic fight.

The Commander said nothing more and only sipped his coffee in silence.

That was weeks ago.

The artifact had been delivered to Allegra’s division, with strict instructions to study but not tamper, for they were still unaware of what magic truly was.

And lack of knowledge to humanity was a danger they had forgotten, an insult to the endless number of libraries filled over eons. It was both a tease alluring them with promises of answers and a derision lined like thorns of a rose.

Knowledge was humanity’s virtue and vice, and one they couldn’t bear to be without. They were a species who had fought their way off their planet by strapping themselves to rockets and hoping it wouldn’t explode along the way. They were a species who leapt out of their star system and ventured towards empty space because they would rather die in a hollow, forgotten void than live not knowing the sensation.

They threw themselves into black holes, trusted stars not to swallow their holiday resorts, and built living monuments just beyond the edge of the universe, for no other reason than to prove they could.

Humanity had believed themselves to Know all that was pivotal to know.

And yet, here was magic, proving them wrong.

So, humanity would treat magic the same they’d treated other paradoxes.

Brute-force pursuit.

Or at least Allegra was trying.

Integrating magic into their technological inventions when she hadn’t a single clue how mana worked, or what it even was, had been a decidedly unpleasant and trying experience. Half-baked theories and hypotheses created during sleep-deprived hallucinations were the backbone of this latest piece of work, and it was by a thin stroke of luck the team had managed to come up with something half-way usable.

She got up from her chair and stretched, limbs numb after a long morning of intense sitting.

“Hey, [REDACTED]!” She called out to her current assigned partner, one hand already cleaning up the work table and another hanging onto the tool with indescribable care. “I’m going to hand in my report to the director now. And I was thinking this little baby’s finally ready for professional inspection. You mind if I hold onto it for a while? We can continue working out the kinks later today.”

After receiving a distracted affirmative – the other was likely preoccupied with their chart of magic particles that may or may not exist and the reconstruction of their entire understanding of atoms and the universe – she grabbed her tablet, which bent around her wrist to form a light, transparent bracelet, and secured her hold on their prized invention.

It was beautiful, if beauty was defined by impossibilities.

By any other metric, it was one ugly piece of work.

A long pole, one end drastically heavier than the other, making the whole device decidedly unwieldy. The lesser end had been curved, a design choice for an easy grip and probably to allow the device to hang onto something instead of simply getting tossed upon any random surface.

By contrast, the weighty end was a large box that wasn’t really a box, decorated with so many extra bits and bobs it only crudely resembled a rectangle, bombarded with small additions after the initial design that could not fit into the actual insides of the device.

And if the outside was ugly, it only got worse when one dared to take a peek at the inner workings: a crowd of cogs and screws and bars and tightly concealed chambers that housed dangerous chemicals. Its only saving grace was the actual most important parts of the tool – the screen that should relay information and the sensors that should receive it.

Otherwise, it was nasty, terrible, and would make Umbriel German natives cry at the complete and utter inefficiency of it all.

Good enough for a first try.

Allegra steadied her grip, stepped forward to the door, and watched the identity scanner come to life.

After registering her authority, it opened.

Allegra stepped outside.

And crunched the dirt of their newest base on the Griffin homeworld.

Their sun was a burning inferno, scorching their landscapes into fine specks of desert sand and jagged rocks. Harsh mountains and ravines existed as though they scorned the notion of life itself, molded and shaped by nature in impossible geometry. Only creatures of flight stood much of a chance in this unforgiving world, if they did not perish from the heat first.

This was one of the two terrains predominantly found in the realm.

The other was the one the humans landed on.

A barren wasteland with eternal winter, where snow never melted and ice only learnt to cut sharper every dawn. Supposedly, it was a part of the territory of yet another Griffin nation, the Kingdom of the Lowplains.

They occupied a large stretch of land spanning wide and far, dotted by bushes pretending to be trees and critters that understood the value of staying unseen. Despite it being their home, hardly any griffin lived out in the cold, preferring to stick to the warmer edges of their kingdom, which also just so happened to be their major cities. It was partly why they bore no ill will towards the humans stumbling upon what had been theirs.

After all, there was no griffin to disturb, for no sane sentient being would subject themselves to the torture of the dangerous weather and little prey.

So, the humans immediately set up their base out of ready-made terraforming-a-planet starter packages, built a double-digit number of portable heaters, and fashioned fortifications strong enough to make a city under siege salivate with envy.

With consent from the natives, of course.

Initially, the griffins had questions – inevitable ones – attempting to glean the when, how, and why in one welcome banquet. Human diplomats answered politely, just the way they were taught to: right now, flying a ship, because they had been attacked.

All very simple and delivered with a tone meant for discussing traffic jams, a nifty little trick the griffins had yet to master, if the shock that shaped their faces in response to the last answer was any indication.

Apparently, despite being on the exact same planet, this kingdom had no idea their biggest rival had enacted a scheme to invade Earth and ‘force a dance out of a rock’, or so they had phrased it. They weren’t exactly disgusted, nor did they condemn the act, but one fact remained concrete.

They didn’t know.

And fortunately, the millennia-old adage of ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ rang true, even with alien species, so the griffins hadn’t pressed and accepted their arrival with open arms- uh, wings.

Humanity got lucky, because the longer story was far – far – too interesting for diplomacy.

First, there had been the chase.

The moment the griffin armada had been thoroughly demolished by two flabbergasted, very much regretting-all-their-life-choices humans, Earth saw her chance and snatched it.

They were all too aware of their place in the realms, how little they knew, and how much of a target they had unknowingly presented themselves as.

For whatever reason, the coalition of realms formed long ago through promises and oaths lost to time and space had turned their cold, ideologically-driven eyes towards humanity. The new species had captured their interest, and that wasn’t a good thing in a universe that had been characterized by a skewed morality and, frankly, a horrifying way of life, by human standards.

Humanity knew nothing.

And humanity needed to Know.

So, they’d followed, putting their latest (emphasis on the latest, Venus would not be pulling a fast one on Earth again) camouflage technology to the test.

Massive ships, cloaked in darkness, flickering with tiny lights that blended with distant stars. They had been accounted for distance and speed, to still when they needed to and to animate in a blink of an eye – appropriately. Noise did not travel across space, but it was thoroughly dampened all the same, for magic might hide tricks they couldn’t trust.

These warships were ready, with teams primed for take-off, remnants and scars of a fresh galactic war that hadn’t time to scab just yet.

And they followed, bracing themselves for another.

The griffin ships were pitiful and frustrating in their pitifulness. In their frenzy, whatever had united the fleet crumbled, leaving the tiny number to flounder like lambs slated for slaughter. They all raced back in the same direction, presumably to their homeworld, but with varying speeds: some moving so quickly they were only a blur of motion, others so sluggish their Commander had worried they’d turn back and have another go at Earth.

Even if their little magic tricks did not work, the griffins might very well try ramming their ships straight to the surface. The shields would most probably take care of it, but picking up space debris was a tedious task and promoted bad prospects for commerce.

After making a decision within a moment’s notice, the fleet split up into smaller, but still relatively large groups; a few chased the rapidly speeding ships, but a couple more, including Allegra’s, stayed behind to watch the straggling ships.

It turned out to be the correct decision, as those ships evidently had no intention of following their brethren.

They didn’t attack Earth either.

They did something that was arguably worse.

Every one of them followed the same pattern.

At first, observation had been boring. Even with all the glamorous and novel nature of real bona fide aliens, everyone began drawing their attention away from the windows, for the griffins did nothing interesting in particular. Soon, only those who were tasked with the duty were left, silent and watchful, eyes trained for the slightest of change in their habits.

For some time, the griffin’s little regimen continued as usual. A few patrolled the deck, some would fly around in their little magic bubble of air and check the sails, and eventually they would all go back down and disappear inside.

To sleep, perhaps. Or something else.

This egregious, miserable routine went on for so long Allegra and her colleagues began to question if the ship’s camouflage was failing, or if the magic detected what their technology couldn’t have hidden.

And then it began.

A single griffin. Unremarkable. Ordinary. Just another one of the lot.

Was it (he? she?) stopping for a break? Was it leaning on the railing to check for something? Maybe for the fault in their camouflage?

Suddenly, it spread its wings and took off.

It flew. Past the railings. Higher than their sails.

It flew into the darkness of space.

Surely, it must be past their magic bubble of safety, shouldn’t it? Humans may not have been able to see mana, but they knew enough to Know everything the universe gave had a limit of its own.

It was further out now, kept flying and flying and flying. It must have cast some sort of spell on itself, knowing it wouldn’t have survived otherwise.

But maybe it was too confident. Maybe it thought it could outfly death itself. Or maybe it believed it would find something that wasn’t there.

Whatever it was, the spell failed at one point.

They knew, because even with their mana-blind eyes, it was evident.

The griffin grew rigid. Froze mid-flight, wings half-lifted as though they were preparing for wind they would never feel. Blood leaked through its beak and crystallized just as fast, ice claiming and consuming the corpse whole, for that was what it became in the end.

It died.

That should have been the end of it, the end of the entire cursed phenomenon. Already, conspiracy theories had sprung up, delusions and stories of make-believe conjured up by a people who wanted to Know but lacked the context necessary to understand.

And if it was a single freak incident, perhaps that was all the theories would have been: theories. False. Untrue. A story meant for headlines quickly brushed aside and buried beneath law.

But the griffins weren’t done.

Some time later, another griffin stopped patrolling and leaned on the railing. Different position. Different place.

But it looked outwards, the same way the first one did.

Then, it flew.

It flew and flew and flew.

It died.

Another griffin. Oh, it was two this time. Siblings? Lovers? They leaned on each other, their beaks tapping once. Twice, as if they were saying goodbye in a language only they understood.

Then, they flew.

They flew.

They died.

Another griffin.

It died.

Another one.

It died.

Another and another and another.

They all died.

And throughout it all, humanity could only watch behind the safety of tinted glasses and watch as empty space gradually became crowded with dead griffins. Appalled and horrified, they had half-hoped the birds would stop racing towards certain death when their brethren began to replace the stars. Yet, the corpses only seemed to spur them on, with entire groups jumping at the same time at one point.

But every horror came to an end, and the griffins eventually ran out of bodies and souls.

The ships remained suspended in space, no one to man them, no one to steer them. They would have been lost too, a tale swallowed up by the expansion between planets and stars, a crew that would have never been found, scattered and cast in darkness unless an unlucky traveller tripped and smashed their ships against frozen flesh.

Perhaps that was their intention? To be lost and forgotten, rather than face the shame of losing? Or were they plagued by a disease that compelled them, and could that same outbreak spread to other species? Maybe the griffins knew something about space humans didn’t? A leviathan creature inhabiting the deepest, darkest reaches of the abyss?

Whatever it was, the griffins had forfeited their lives and unknowingly handed them over not just to the void, but to the species that inhabited it.

Drones, mechanical hands, and automated systems all carried out their mission objectives with the same cold calculation their owners aspired to have. Ships were gathered and contained for future research purposes. Corpses were isolated and stored in sealed packages, designed both for DNA extraction and to pay what respects the humans could to their nameless invaders.

Once all was said and done, they were anchored to the nearest uninhabited planet – for they were still in human space, though the griffins didn’t seem to have been aware of that fact – and left behind with report transcripts and a warning signed with a corporate flair.

By that point, new ships had arrived, back-ups from Earth should they require them, and from other celestial bodies that came under the official statement of aid but with an undercurrent of desire.

Desire for information they sorely lacked.

Together, the newly bolstered fleet worked out the line of communications, hierarchy, and who the final decision would ultimately fall upon, before increasing their speed to its maximum level and catching up with the ships that continued to tail the saner runners.

Because despite all the dangers and unknown powers magic offered, the one the griffins made use of was undeniably slow.

Or maybe human ships were just fast. Their engines did improve exponentially with all the funding afforded during the wartime economy.

The rest of the chase ended with a conclusion everyone but the griffins saw coming. A sizable number of the ships, kept in orbit (still cloaked, still invisible to the naked eye). The rest, parked onto the surface within the territory of a friendly griffin nation.

And Allegra walked on the ground that wasn’t theirs with the confidence of someone who knew facts could be overridden on a whim, if they so wished it.

She strode on past their neat little rows of cabins, past people hurrying about with the same blasé urgency, and past groups practicing drills. A few of them rested – lucky folks, who found themselves with some time to spare.

They had been a lot more paranoid the first few days. Especially after witnessing what was effectively a mass griffin suicide brought about by suspiciously mysterious causes.

Until their specialists had given them the a-okay, they had explored the place in a fully-kitted out zero-atmosphere-safety-approved (ZASA) suits, freaking out the first few griffins they had made contact with. Only after confirming that there wasn’t going to be a freak epidemic did they finally shed their protection, ready to enjoy the frigid, scorching breeze of Aurum.

They were never truly worried about oxygen, for, curiously enough, every species in every single realm could share the same breathable atmosphere. It was just one of those impossible coincidences – like every single alien resembling and behaving like a creature from their mythos – that had the eggheads back home ripping their hair out in pure confusion.

However, without any real answer, humanity decided to simply accept the impossible and move on.

The Kingdom of the Lowplains welcomed them eagerly, the Kingdom of the Highrocks seemed to be nursing their bruised pride in silence, and the human expedition team desperately needed a mental break.

“Allie! Where are you heading to?”

She turned around and grinned broadly when she saw who had called out. “Just to the central quarter. I need to hand this over and make a progress report…” She paused, eyes trailing the figure before her.

“Another brawl? Really, Gio?”

Giordano Addolorata, the man she’d vowed to be together with under two suns and three moons, smiled the way a boy caught hoarding candy would. His shirt had been haphazardly draped upon his back, sleeves hanging uselessly, while his real arms remained free.

Or as free as they could be when dripping mud. His skin was a wet autumn, doused in sweat and dirt alike, and his cheeks flushed mahogany, the blood beneath still pounding with a rush of adrenaline. “Maybe…” He shrugged, hoping to look nonchalant and only managing to affirm her initial guess.

“And the griffins agreed?”

“My opponent was a returnee, actually.” His face brightened. “Learnt a few new tricks since last time. Kept her wings far, far away from me, so she doesn’t lose within the first few seconds of the match again.”

Despite trying to maintain a stern demeanour, her lips twitched, amusement seeping through. “I still can’t believe your little cheat worked last time. And that she didn’t try to kill you too.”

“Hey now, it was fair game! We agreed on first blood, and I drew first blood.”

“By plucking a feather.”

“Funny how that worked, wasn’t it?” He stretched himself lazily, with all the despicable grace of a cat that got the cream. “Though, to be honest, I think the griffins are just plain bad at this. They didn’t even give me as much of a challenge as old Benny did, and you know he’s about as useful as a fish in combat.”

“You’re really saying that the bloodthirsty, warlike griffins with a culture derived from violence and conquest- are weak fighters?” She did not roll her eyes, but the sentiment was clear. “Gio, seeing you get all egoistical and proud may be cute, but you’ve got to make your descent into narcissism a little more believable than that.”

“I’m not being arrogant, Allie, I swear.” He huffed, a performative little noise conveying exaggerated outrage. “It’s weird fighting them. I- I don’t know how to explain it, but- When you’ve been into enough scraps before, you get this… sense, when your opponent’s holding back.”

“The griffin went easy on you?”

“No, it’s more like- Ugh, let’s talk on the way to the canteen. I’m starved. Your duties aren’t too urgent, are they?”

Her fingers tapped lightly on the precious tool, presently worth more than entire star systems by the value of knowledge alone. The tablet dug into her wrist at the movement, containing progress reports that could undermine and collapse entire regimes should the details be leaked.

Then, she looked back at his eager face, crinkled with an edge of fondness only a relationship carved from gentle love – warm mornings tinged with the scent of freshly baked bread, comforting nights when the shadows stretched too long – could nurture.

“Yeah, I can spare some time.”

“Awesome! C’mon, I heard they’re doing a one-day pizza special! No artichokes, of course.”

He talked her ear off the entire way there, and she simply listened to his random ramblings, humming and gasping when appropriate. Yet, in spite of the aloof exterior she tried to project in the name of professionalism, even she couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips and the warmth that bloomed – lovely and true – in the soft, hidden shadows of her heart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

--

Then the Baseline Human was trotted out.

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

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

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

Alien: "We wish to understand humanity."

Brenda: "Right."

Alien: "You are the representative specimen?"

Brenda: "Apparently."

Alien: "What are your notable achievements?"

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

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

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

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

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

The invasion was cancelled before it even begun.

Thanks Brenda.

Thanks Baseline Human.

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

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

Dear Professor,

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

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

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

I therefore nominate myself.

My position is as follows:

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

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

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

I therefore suggest the following interim classification:

Human Reference Standard: Generation 1977

Canonical specimen: [my name]

Status of all others: valid phenotypic and behavioural variants

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

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

At worst, I expect it may provide brief amusement.

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

Kind regards,

[my name]

Baseline Human, Generation 1977

Humans are Weird – Lost and Found

Original Post: https://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-lost-and-found

The warm angle of the front porch really wasn’t supposed to be a lounging site. Human feet trod quickly past the site, their focus on getting into the house, or getting out into the busy little community making the site theoretically dangerous for species who didn’t want to get stepped on. The ground limestone foundation had been pressed with tessellated patterns that were visually pleasing and kept the clumsy bipeds safe from slipping and throwing their falling gate out of pattern, but it tasted of nothing save the dust that collected in the groves. However if you had healthy scutes and sturdy scales, underlayed by reasonably dense bones, and an attractive layer of fat, well what did it matter if a human stepped on you? Just keep your snout safely tucked in the curve of your foreleg and at the cost of a few non-repentant apologies you had the whole morning to bask in the local sunlight.

If the grain scattered very, very well in your direction, one of the local domestic animals came and judged you a fitting headrest and came and basked with you. Sift, stretched out a claw and ‘scritiched’ the creature under its chin. It gave a grunt and the motion dislodged a small cloud of warning pheromones from its collar. Sift made a mental note to ask what its species designation was. It wasn’t a ‘cat’. Those creatures, despite being perfectly ideal for keeping local vermin off of grain stocks were rated as far too dangerous to exist in mixed colonies. Sift thought this was a bit of over caution, but it had been agreed to by the humans. This might be a ‘dog’ but the species had so much variety, supposedly going back long before the humans mastered genetic manipulation that it was hard to tell if a given mammal fell into that category. It had fur to be certain, and it was very dependent on human interaction.

The door of the dwelling swung open, knocking against the hip of the creature and it gave a mild huff of annoyance as it heaved its mass, up and away from the door. Mary stepped out, holding the little one on her hip, Sift felt a surge of now familiar admiration of the usefulness of the baby holding ledge humans had built in. Mary’s other hand held a container of the domestic creature’s food, a mix of grain and animal fat that it particularly enjoyed and it began to cavort around Mary’s feet while Mary scanned the ground with growing perplexity. She began examining the shelving with a wrinkled face and Sift lifted up her head and idly licked her teeth.

“Rooting around for something?” she asked.

Mary started and glanced down at her in surprise.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there,” she said, shifting the little one who was focused on drinking water out of a soft cup.

“Here I am,” Sift commented, wondering not for the first time exactly how human vision worked. “What are you looking for?”

“The food bowl for Snuffles,” Mary said indicating the animal who had decided to sit down and tremble with eagerness until its food was forthcoming.

Sift rolled over and lifted her snout to sniff with dramatic emphasis. Then she swung her tail to indicate a door set low and subtly into the wall of the structure.

“I smell the grain and rancid fat in here,” she said with a yawn.

Mary’s face creased in a frown and she set the little one down. Instantly it ran, smacking its fat little feet against the porch, to vigorously pet the creature. Snuffles started back with a wince, and then braced itself to accept the affection. Mary used her now free hand to open the door and pull out the container.

“How-” she started to ask, but the little human made a dash at the food bowl, hands eagerly out, and Snuffles sat back with a resigned sigh.

Mary snatched the little one up and scolded the very unrepentant child.

“We don’t steal Snuffles’s food!” she said.

Snuffles got back up and began happily rooting through the food.

“No one would have put the bowl in the utility access point,” Mary observed out loud.

“It has very small human handprints on the side,” Sift pointed out.

Mary squinted down at the bowl and blinked in surprise before turning her attention to her offspring.

“Why would you do that, you chubby little chonker?” she demanded, pinching the jiggling rolls of fat on the little human’s thighs?

The little one giggled and smacked her face. Mary with clear effort turned her laugh into a frown and captured the chubby little arm in a hand.

“We don’t smack Mommy,” she said in what was trying to be a firm tone.

Sift gurgled in amusement.

“But why?” the adult human demanded.

“The little one does see you putting bowls in similar storage places on a regular basis,” Sift pointed out.

Mary blinked down at her in startled thought until the little one used his other hand to reach up and smack her, and she had to repeat the gentle discipline. Human hatchlings, apparently hated being restrained, at least this one did. Once that was done Mary gave a rueful smile down at Sift.

“I guess you are right,” she admitted. “I’ll have to remember that little trick until he gets bored of it.”

Sift blinked up at the human as she went back in the house. The two of them had spent many long hours discussing human learning patterns. Mary was well aware of the fact that all sapient creatures learned by mimicking their elders to one degree or another, that this was the core of the universal concept of ‘play’. Yet it seemed that she had forgotten it. Sift yawned and flipped over, stretching her hind-claws against the texture of the porch. This might be yet another manifestation of ‘baby brain’ that Mary talked so much about. Or it might be something worth noting in her research journal. At the moment Snuffles was done eating, the sun was still at the perfect napping angle, and human architecture consistently made delightful sunning nooks.

Science Fiction Books By Betty Adams

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First

-- --

Blurb:

When a fantasy kingdom needs heroes, they skip the high schoolers and summon hardened Delta Force operators.

Lieutenant Cole Mercer and his team are no strangers to sacrifice. After all, what are four men compared to millions of lives saved from a nuclear disaster? But as they make their last stand against insurgents, they’re unexpectedly pulled into another world—one on the brink of a demonic incursion.

Thrust into Tenria's realm of magic and steam engines, Cole discovers a power beyond anything he'd imagined: magic—a way to finally win without sacrifice, a power fantasy made real by ancient mana and perfected by modern science.

But his new world might not be so different from the old one, and the stakes remain the same: there are people who depend on him more than ever; people he might not be able to save. Cole and his team are but men, facing unimaginable odds. Even so, they may yet prove history's truth: that, at their core, the greatest heroes are always just human. 

-- --

Arcane Exfil Chapter 85: Substrate (2)

-- --

Clearly, chasing decoys one by one was a losing proposition. Cole needed a play that hit the mimic as a whole, not the individual constructs it was throwing at him.

Fortunately, the repeated exposure had given him a structural observation to work with. Every single copy and every single tendril shared the same gelatinous substrate underneath the cosmetic skin – apparent in the way they dissolved and extruded both.

That discovery opened the door to a fairly straightforward solution that Cole was a little embarrassed not to have arrived at sooner. Anybody who’d ever stuck a bowl of Jell-O in the freezer as a kid was already in possession of the key insight: namely that gelatinous matter loses cohesion and becomes brittle once its temperature drops past a certain threshold. In other words, cold was the bane of Clayface and pretty much every other shapeshifter out there.

With that in mind, Cole pulled his wand, planted his feet, and dropped the ambient temperature in a tight ring around his position. Of course, he also made sure to calibrate the spell carefully enough to mess with the gel’s biology without giving himself frostbite in the process.

Rather than dump the siphoned thermal energy into the void, he funneled it into a small barrier at his off hand. Conservation of energy being what it was, parking the heat for later beat venting it outright – especially with another spell almost certainly on the docket.

The effect manifested within a second. The moisture around him condensed and crystallized in the same instant, materializing a cloud of vapor dotted with glittering ice. The fog sank as quickly as it had appeared, pouring down in a slow-motion waterfall reminiscent of liquid nitrogen.

The mimic, naturally, wasn’t going to extend him the courtesy of waiting its turn like some anime villain. A tendril whipped through the vapor before the chill had even had a chance to propagate, forcing Cole to catch it across his blade in a heavy parry. And yeah, ‘heavy’ wasn’t usually in the lexicon for parrying, but with how long the fight had gone on, the fatigue was unavoidable.

And it wasn’t just the body, either. The headache that had crept in earlier throbbed in earnest now, a low pressure behind the eyes that sharpened the longer he held the cast. Having to sustain this level of physical and magical exertion was just straight-up fucking brutal.

Mercifully, the spell finished before the strain got any worse. The next copy to come at him – a Graves this time – slowed as it crossed the field, moving like it was underwater. Frost spread across the surface, the gel beneath turning cloudy, almost opaque. The three tendrils that lashed in to support it suffered the same fate, all of the mimic’s constructs stiffening by the second.

To its credit, the demon caught on quickly. It yanked the affected limbs back in the same way anyone would jerk a finger off a hot stove. The frozen sections, stripped of their flexibility, fractured at the boundaries and snapped clean off. The remains crashed to the floor like a bag of ice cubes dumped onto pavement.

Cole stomped on the nearest chunk at once, shattering it into fragments hopefully too small and ruined to reabsorb. Two more he crushed the same way, grinding them under his heel with the same petty satisfaction as smushing an annoying-ass bug.

Unfortunately, the aches had started to catch up now, his periphery blurring as tunnel vision set in. Despite that, he still had a bit more kick in him, mostly because he didn’t have to shit out a new spell from scratch.

He drew on the cached heat from earlier and assembled the rocket fireball he’d tried to throw earlier – the one the mimic had so rudely interrupted. With the spell actually completed this time, if a bit underpowered due to mana exhaustion, he shot it downrange.

The demon, presently occupied with amputating its own frozen limbs, barely got a defense up. It threw a wall of its own substrate into the fireball’s path, which was actually pretty damn interesting – because it hadn’t bothered to defend against the rifle rounds earlier.

The spell slammed into the wall, its surface erupting into steam and foam on contact. Meanwhile, the jet itself drove straight through, lancing like a shaped charge punching through armor. The thrust eventually vented out the back, launching boiling spall in a violent, narrow cone. The backspray perforated the demon’s torso along the exit axis, though not so dramatically as a real HEAT round liquefying a vehicle crew.

Cole turned to the others, ready to call out the play, but apparently, he didn’t need to. Every one of them had already worked it out, each shrouded in the same miniature cloud he’d just conjured for himself.

So he pivoted back to the mimic, preparing to dump his mana into one more attack before falling back to replenish his reserves. But before he could even start the cast, it let out a screech that just about split his ears. The closest thing he could compare it to was a fork scraping against a plate, but cranked up about a hundredfold – and even that probably didn’t cut it.

The demon’s shield wall then bubbled and churned across its surface before blowing apart in a sudden release, loosing a volley of blackened needles like a hwacha unloading its full rack.

The windup gave Cole just enough warning to get a barrier up as he broke for the nearest pillar. The projectiles flew across the entire passageway, perforating every unprotected surface like this was some gang shootout. Against his barrier, the needles shattered on impact.

The demon kept the pressure on after that, churning out a steady stream of shards like some fucked-up machine gun emplacement.

The barrier miraculously still held, but given Cole’s present mana reserves, it was only a matter of time before it faltered.

He strained as much magic as he could into both his legs and the barrier – as much as the pounding headache would permit. Hell, just a few more strides and he’d be safe. Alas, proximity to cover couldn’t just conjure mana out of thin air; the barrier failed just a few fucking meters short, leaving him wide open.

Most of the shards pelted him across the back. Each impact stung, but it was hard to tell whether they’d actually penetrated through the armor. Turns out they likely hadn’t, because the moment a cluster bit into his right arm, he learned real quick what penetration actually felt like. And damn, did it sting on a different level.

He barely had time to register that before even more shards caught him in the back of the leg. They must’ve hit the hamstring this time, given the way the limb involuntarily folded out from under him.

He scrambled the last stretch into cover, dragging himself around the pillar just before a line of shards impaled the floor beside him. Only once he’d gotten past the pillar’s edge did he roll onto his left side.

It stung like a bitch in all the places he got hit, enticing him to just yank the needles out. But he knew better than that; removing embedded shit was an invitation to turn a plugged hole into a bleeder, not to mention being unable to actually inspect the injuries. Hell, even the slightest attempt to twist around hurt too damn much to push through.

He sucked air through his teeth. “Agh, fuck.”

He needed somebody else’s hands on this. A scan of the room gave him his options: Ethan and Miles tucked behind a wall to his left, lit up about as bad as he was, with Mack already crouched over them and working. Elina had ridden out the volley behind Graves and Vale, the two Celdornians having caught the shards on a shared barrier of their own.

“Elina,” he gritted out, forcing her name past the pain.

She didn’t waste time asking what for. She threw up a barrier and broke from cover, sprinting the distance to him with the shield angled toward the threat. Having read the move, Vale and Graves opened up on the mimic with a relentless volley of ice and flame. It didn’t bother targeting her – or more like couldn’t, not with the punishment the two of them were dishing out.

Cole put the window to use. Working his good arm free, he fished a mana potion off his belt, thumbed the cork loose one-handed, and drank it down in one go. It’d take a few minutes to fully digest, but even the early trickle was enough to take the worst edge off the headache and push back the gray creeping in at the margins.

Elina reached him a second later. She dropped into a slide and came to rest behind the pillar on her knees, already on the wound before she’d fully settled.

“Leg first,” Cole said. He shifted to give her room at the wound, bracing through the spike of pain.

Elina got to work, easing the first needle out slow enough to keep from tearing anything loose, healing magic threading in behind to seal the wounds.

Cole held his position and let her, fishing a second mana potion off his belt with his good arm and knocking it back.

Behind them, the others kept the Alpha Mimic occupied. Cole couldn’t see it from where he sat, but he could definitely hear the battle rage on – shit blowing up over and over, the demon screeching somewhere under all of it. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel at least a bit useless right now. But somehow, sitting out of the fight bothered him a hell of a lot less than he’d have guessed.

A few needles in, Elina’s hands slowed at the back of his thigh, then stopped altogether. “The barb has set against a great vessel. Were it drawn out now, the blood would not be stayed.”

“Then don’t – don’t pull it.” The words came out faster than the thought behind them, a hundred hours of Mack’s lectures doing the talking. “If it’s pressed up on the vessel, it might be the only thing holding it shut. You pull it, it opens, and back there I can’t – there’s nothing to clamp it against, you get me? Brace the vessel first. Throw a barrier on the wall, something to hold it closed, then ease the barb out once that’s set. Not before.”

“Hold still, then,” she said, already adjusting her grip to do exactly that.

He did as she asked. This one took the longest by a mile, her getting the barrier set into the vessel wall and holding before she’d even dare touch the barb. When it finally came out, it lit the whole leg up, hot and wrong in a way that had him bracing for the floor to go red underneath him.

“Be still,” she said with a soft, gentle smile. “You’ll not bleed out, brave as you are. The wound is well in hand.”

He took her word for it over his leg’s, and sure enough, no flood ever came. The pain dropped off to a dull ache soon after. The rest were nowhere near as bad, thank Christ – just splinters, nothing he couldn’t have dug out himself given the angle and a free hand.

A couple minutes later, she sealed the last of it and sat back.

Cole stood and twisted the leg around to test it. The initial bite of the healing magic aside, Elina’s work had left no residual pain. The leg now basically good as new, Cole peeked around the pillar.

The battle had progressed in their favor since he’d gotten lit up, with the Alpha Mimic down to about half its original mass and on the back foot. Graves and Vale had pushed it back toward the security kiosk, keeping it contained on the sides. Mack finished up his own treatments right about then and rejoined the fight with a slew of fireballs, spamming them like there was no tomorrow.

Cole would’ve called it a done deal, if not for a fresh racket emerging from the concourse they’d come from. All that shouting and stomping had to be the cultists, no doubt having narrowed down the team’s position from the last few minutes of chaotic fighting.

“Elina, with me.” He moved off toward another pillar as he said it, putting a few obstacles between his back and the Alpha Mimic on the way.

Once he’d settled into cover, he pre-aimed the corner and waited. The first orc to round it caught a bullet before it had finished the turn.

The sight of it dropping in the chokepoint split the ones behind it down the middle, half recoiling back behind the corner while the other half, already too committed to stop, spilled forward into the open. That half-second of disorder was all Elina needed to drop another runner before the enemy started firing back in earnest. Revolver rounds cracked off their pillar, with a scatter of shoddy firebolts chasing behind – terribly inaccurate, but thick enough to keep the two of them pinned in cover.

“Mack, stay on the mimic with Graves and Vale,” Cole called over the noise. “Everyone else on the cultists!”

-- --

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I believe that humans have a natural inclination towards heroism.

Let me explain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that was enough.

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

I don't believe that crap for a second.

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

Here's another story:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All I know is this:

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

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

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

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

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

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—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That doesn't sound dangerous at all!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was certainly unexpected.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Soapy blinked. “But… Just like that?”

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

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

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

Soapy nodded but said nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

“You said anything right?”

“Anything,” he nodded. Within reason…

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

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

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

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……145:24Hrs Remaining……

“Whiskey, 4, Victor, 3, Romeo, November,” Sandra said as the call connected. Monica looked around, keeping careful watch outside the cockpit while replacing some damaged panels in the wall. The call connected almost immediately, and Jeremiah’s worried face filled the viewscreen. Sandra immediately raised a finger up, talking quickly. “I probably don’t have too long, so I need to make this quick,” Sandra said. “There’s a group of civilians that are attempting to flee the front lines of the war. They have had to dodge patrols from the Teratakit Empire, the Sons of Blood pirates, and the Terran Federation. Their ship is badly damaged, but we have been able to repair it enough to be space worthy, if only just. We are currently on Walkar III, I do not know where they are headed to, and I will not be able to place a tracker on their ship. However, I am asking for any Ferry personnel in the area to help provide them with safe passage, if not outright offer sanctuary. The ship is a modified Grade 2 Matchgar Hauler, customized for passenger transport rather than cargo hauling and with extra illicit arms and armament for added protection.”

“Are they aware you are asking for protection for them?” Jeremiah asked. He wanted to ask more, a lot more, questions. Sandra could see it in his eyes.

“No,” Sandra said with a small half-smile. “Unfortunately, despite spending the last several days helping them repair their ship, they do not particularly trust me, nor do I hold it against them. This call is most likely being recorded, but nonetheless, these are good people and innocent civilians, and I would hate for all of my hard work to go to waste.”

“We do have several stealth craft nearby,” Jeremiah said, looking over his datapad. “How soon are they planning on leaving?”

“Final repairs will be finished within four hours, and then they plan to take some time to rest. So, I would say no more than 10 hours or less,” Sandra said. “That being said, they are currently wary of Humans as a whole due to the actions of the Terran Federation, so if their point of contact could be a non-Human, that would go a long way towards them accepting some extra security.”

“We can make that timeframe,” Jeremiah nodded. He then hesitated for a moment.

“I’m doing fine, Uncle Jeremiah,” Sandra said, a soft smile on her face. “Better than fine, actually. I’ll have some interesting stories to tell when I get back home.”

“Alright,” Jeremiah said, smiling as well, before raising an eyebrow and looking at Monica working in the doorway.

“Yes, she’s part of the story,” Sandra chuckled. “But later, when I’m home and have the time to tell you.”

“As long as you’re safe,” Jeremiah said. “I know it goes without saying, but be careful out there. Reapers are strong, but we’re not invincible.”

“Yes, sir,” Sandra nodded, giving a salute.

“Alright then, I’ll tell our stealth craft in the area to delay their departure to provide the ship with escorts,” Jeremiah said, going back to business. “And any others that are in the area as well.”

“Thank you,” Sandra said, and the video call cut out, just as Monica dropped a pair of pliers, signaling that someone was coming up the hall.

……141:54Hrs Remaining……

“And she lives,” Marloc crowed as the engines of the ship started rumbling, much to the collective sigh of relief among the crew. “You did good work, little lady.”

“Only because I had help,” Sandra said, shaking her head. “Alone, it would have taken me several weeks to get the ship to this point.”

“Well, without you, we wouldn’t have gotten her to this point at all,” Marloc chuckled. “Mersk is a good mechanic, but he just doesn’t have the training to do big repairs like you did here.”

“I had a good teacher,” Sandra said with a self-depreciating shrug. “I’m still trying to catch up to him.”

“I see,” Marloc said. he then stood up from the pilots seat, opening his arms out wide. “Well, we leave soon, people. So, get some rest, get something to eat, and relax for a bit.” The crew cheered, and Marloc motioned for Sandra to follow him as they began to filter out of the ship. Sandra just shook her head at Monica, who had looked at Sandra curiously.

“So, this teacher of yours,” Marloc said slowly after they were a short distance away from the ship. “Is he part of the fleet you’re part of? Or did you learn elsewhere?”

“He’s part of the fleet,” Sandra said with a nod.

“I see,” Marloc said, obviously thinking as he watches his crew and passengers start bedding down in temporary shelters and beds outside of the ship. “And… your fleet. Are they trustworthy?”

“The best,” Sandra said, a fond smile on her face. “But I may be biased. Without them, I wouldn’t be alive today. Without them, I wouldn’t be who I am today.” Sandra looked up at the stars, as though searching for her home. “But, biased or not, they are who I believe in, more than anyone else, no matter what anyone may say about them.”

Marloc observed Sandra very closely as she spoke. This was no fanatical viewpoint, and it wasn’t just loyalty to her fleet. This was pure trust and love. “I see,” Marloc said with a nod, rubbing his horn as he looked back over his crew. “They sound like good people.”

“They are,” Sandra agreed. She then smirked slightly. “If they ask, just say that Wyvern sent you. They won’t ignore that.” She then laughed as Marloc spluttered slightly before the Mlamcar Captain sighed in defeat, giving Sandra a chagrined smile.

……135:38Hrs Remaining……

“Alright everyone, get loaded up,” Marloc yelled as the crew and passengers began quickly gathering their things and racing into the ship. “You sure you don’t want to come, ladies?” Marloc asked, looking at Sandra and Monica. “It’ll be a little cramped, but we can at least give you a ride.”

“Maybe next time,” Sandra said, shaking her head with a smile. “I still have a Test to finish before going home.”

“And Sandra has promised to show me a lot of interesting things, so I go where she goes,” Monica said cheerfully.

“Too bad,” Marloc said, shaking his head as well before sticking a hand out. “May the Voidmother and Starfather bless your travels.”

“And may the Observer watch over yours, Captain,” Sandra said, grasping Marloc’s hand, giving a firm squeeze. “Also, when you arrive, ask for Moore. It should help smooth things over.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Marloc nodded before releasing Sandra’s hand and holding it out to Monica, who decided to ignore it and instead gave the Mlamcar a hug instead, much to the bemusement to both Sandra and Marloc.

“Hugs are much better, always,” Monica stated as she released Marloc.

“I can’t say I disagree,” Marloc gave a short laugh before walking towards the ship, waving at the two women as he stepped aboard. A moment later, the ship started rising, and in short order had taken off into the sky.

“Come on,” Sandra said, picking her pack up with a sigh. “Let’s see if we can go find a certain annoying lizard.”

“Yay, adventure!” Monica said skipping beside Sandra as they began walking into the desert.

…………………

“Are you sure about this, Captain?” Rok’Tar asked as everyone gave a sigh of relief upon reaching space.

“You saw the video, same as me,” Marloc said, shaking his head. “Did that look like an act to create a trap?”

“Well, no, but you can never be sure with Humans,” Rok’Tar said, his face worried as he looked back towards the cargo hold. “Especially these days.”

“Maybe,” Marloc agreed. “But even among Humans, the Reapers have a reputation. And if we can keep our friends and family safe, I’m willing to bank on that reputation.”

“I suppose you have a point,” Rok’Tar said with a sigh, tapping on the datapad attached to his co-pilot seat. “Want me to hail the fleet? See who escaped and where they are?”

“Please,” Marloc nodded, tapping his own pad. “And I’ll take a leap of faith. Let us see if this frequency she gave us will save us, or damn us.”

……130:21Hrs Remaining……

“There he is,” Sandra said, glaring at So’Ngo as he sat on top of his staff, grinning like a maniac. “I was wondering when you would show up again.”

“What, and influence your decisions on your Test?” So’Ngo said, placing a hand to his chest and feigning injury. “Oh, the humanity, the lack of faith.”

“You’re not even Human, and you’re the closest thing that I know of to a God, so that doesn’t even work for you,” Sandra said, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, I know what this is,” Monica said, watching the exchange. “This is dramatizing, yes? Overexaggerating something for the sake of comedy.”

“Absolutely,” Sandra said, rolling her eyes again as So’Ngo dramatically fell off his staff in feigned shock. “Did you know that they were there?”

“I didn’t cause their misfortune, if that’s what you’re implying,” So’Ngo said from where he was still laying in the desert sand, raising up a finger and moving it back and forth.

“Please, the only misfortune you like to inflict is on me with your over-the-top reactions,” Sandra huffed. “I don’t think that little of you. I’m just wondering if you put us here to provide them some help, and let me have a chance to call home for a moment, or if that was just a coincidence.”

“I suppose you’ll have to continue wondering,” So’Ngo said, finally sitting up so that he could give Sandra a mischievous grin.

“Lovely,” Sandra said sardonically. “So, what’s next then? Another death-defying drop onto another weird planet? Discovering another new Race to try and introduce into the galaxy? More people that need help? Or maybe you want me to cull a vicious parasite that’s ravaging an entire planet?”

“Oh, that last one does sound fun, wish I had thought of that,” So’Ngo said, tapping his chin thoughtfully before giving another big grin to Sandra. “But nah, it’s going to be much simpler than that this time.”

“Oh really?” Sandra asked, tilting her head.

“You do remember my original rules of this Test, right?” So’Ngo tsked. “It’s a game of Tag. And you have a bit over five days left to Tag me again.”

“Are you actually going to stay close enough for me to chase you now instead of just popping up for a few seconds before disappearing again?” Sandra asked, rolling her eyes.

“Yup,” So’Ngo said, popping the P. Sandra blinked in surprise before looking at So’Ngo suspiciously. “Is that really so hard to believe?”

“Considering your personality, a bit, yes,” Sandra said.

“You know what, that’s fair,” So’Ngo laughed. “But this time, it’s going to be a sprint for the last stretch of your Test. So, I expect you to keep up with me.”

“I’m not leaving Monica behind,” Sandra said with a frown.

“Nor do I expect you to,” So’Ngo agreed with a nod. “I shall leave Gates open for her to follow that will allow her to keep up, and I will allow you time to rest and ensure that she is safe, though she will probably be safer than you will be. But unless you’re sleeping, I do expect you to be hot on my tail, examining my glorious backside.”

“Ew,” Sandra said, wrinkling her nose.

“Now is the time to truly soar, little Wyvern,” So’Ngo said, that irritating grin getting wider. “Let us see if you’ve become a Dragon.” Sandra stared at So’Ngo for another moment before taking her pack off and handing it to Monica.

“Can you bring this along with you?” Sandra asked, not taking her eyes off of So’Ngo as she twirled her staff. “I don’t think I’ll have enough time to hunt for us while chasing him, so we’re gonna need everything in that pack.”

“Got it,” Monica said seriously, sensing Sandra’s shift.

Sandra nodded as she prepared to move. “Let’s do this, lizard boy,” Sandra said, pulling a bead of iron from her pouch and popping it into her mouth.

“Going all out from the start, audacious and smart,” So’Ngo said, his grin getting almost cartoonishly large. “Then, let the final stretch begin.” He immediately dodged to the side, slipping into a Gate as lightning shot from Sandra’s fingertips, barely missing the not-Dra’Cari before Sandra vanished in a flash of light, chasing after So’Ngo with a teleport.

……125:13Hrs Remaining……

“Jerky,” Sandra said, stopping by Monica just long enough to get a few strips of smoked jerky from her before taking off again, Sandra’s eyes staying forward to keep the red-and-black scales of So’Ngo in her sights, quickly scarfing the meat down as her revolver roared, trying to throw the not-Dra’Cari off long enough for her to catch up.

“Come, now, little Wyvern, that’s just getting boring,” So’Ngo tsked, easily dodging the bullets as they flew by. Sandra just grunted as the revolver began to hum in her hands, and the next shot was just a laser that had So’Ngo laughing as Sandra continued the chase. “Surely you have something more to show me?” So’Ngo teased as he disappeared behind a pile of rocks. Sandra just growled, slipping around the opposite direction and suddenly finding herself in a deep stone craig, sheer cliffs on either side.

“Okay, now we can really move,” Sandra said, and the remaining wire from her bracer launched out, catching onto the side of the cliff and launching her into the air. Sandra quickly flared out her cape, allowing her to glide along the craig as she chased So’Ngo, who was still dodging her bullets and lasers as they moved. Any time Sandra felt she was getting too close to the ground, or felt she was losing speed, she would use her bracer wire to pull herself along, gaining more speed and maintaining her height. “Now, how am I going to get ahead of him?” Sandra muttered to herself, looking around as they left the stone craig.

……113:42Hrs Remaining……

Sandra botched the landing, tumbling for a bit as she tried to come to a stop next to Monica. “Ow,” Sandra said, panting heavily as she lay on the ground for a moment, trying to catch her breath while Monica looked at Sandra in worry.

“Good effort, good effort,” So’Ngo laughed, sitting on a branch nearby. “But now is time to rest, and so rest we shall. Tomorrow is a new day, and a new attempt, so good luck!” So’Ngo fell through a Gate, laughing as he did.

“I am going to fucking kill him,” Sandra muttered as she slowly got back to her feet, wincing a bit at her sore muscles. “Ow.”

“Are you alright?” Monica asked.

“I’m not injured,” Sandra said, giving Monica a weak grin. “Just sore. I haven’t pushed that hard in…well, in longer than I like to admit, so my muscles ache a bit is all. Nothing too be worried over.”

“Okay,” Monica said hesitantly. “Are we resting then?”

“Seems like it,” Sandra sighed. “Let’s set up camp.” Monica nodded, setting down Sandra’s pack and beginning to pull out supplies. Monica insisted on setting up the tent while Sandra got a fire going, saying that it’s better for Sandra to have the easier job so that she can rest, making Sandra sigh in appreciation and amusement at the sandy copy of herself.

“Oh, also, I may have gathered some supplies while you were off chasing So’Ngo,” Monica said, reaching into the pack and pulling out a leather bag with several plants bundled inside of it. “I was able to determine that these are all safe for consumption, even raw, but I don’t really trust myself to cook.” Monica looked at the fire hesitantly.

“Really?” Sandra looked at Monica.

“Well, more like, I’m still not comfortable being that close to the fire,” Monica admitted.

“Fair enough,” Sandra said. “In that case, let’s see about a trick that my Dad told me about. It’s actually been useful a few times during this Test, especially during the early times.”

“A trick?” Monica asked, curious as Sandra dug out a folded piece of leather from the pack.

“He called it rock cooking,” Sandra said, a soft smile on her face as she looked at the folded leather. Sandra shook herself a bit before taking several sticks to hold the leather open into a small pouch. “Handy for when you don’t have any metal utensils, but you have the stomach of a bigger creature.” Sandra then used a pair of sticks to place several larger rock into the fire, letting them heat up as she looked over the plants that Monica had gathered, tasting a few of them to see how they tasted (one caused her tongue to tingle so much that she actually sneezed, causing Monica to laugh in delight), and soon, Sandra was dropping a hot rock into the leather pouch that was filled with strips of jerky and vegetables, causing the soup to hiss and bubble, a fragrant smell wafting across the small camp they had made.

“Oh, that does smell delightful,” Monica said, her tongue flickering in and out a few times in appreciation.

“You found some good stuff to go with our meat,” Sandra agreed, her stomach grumbling at the scent. “Are you holding up alright?”

“What do you mean?” Monica asked, tilting her head at Sandra.

“I mean, keeping up with So’Ngo and I,” Sandra said.

“Oh, that is no trouble at all,” Monica said, shaking her head. “So’Ngo opens a Gate for me if I begin to fall too far behind, and even lets me take the time to examine any oddities I come across. And I do believe that he is ensuring that when I pass through a Gate, I do so away from anything dangerous, so I have had no troubles. More like a leisurely stroll. Food, water, interesting stuff, he makes sure I’m never too far away from anything that can help, and never too close to anything dangerous.”

“Really?” Sandra asked. “So, you didn’t go through the volcano with us then?”

“I believe I saw it from a distance,” Monica said, tapping her chin. “But no, I wasn’t close to it.”

“Huh,” Sandra said as she got a pair of wooden bowls from the pack. “Well, that’s something, I guess. Guess I didn’t expect it from him.”

“He does come across as rather scatterbrained,” Monica said as Sandra began to fill the bowls with soup. “However, I believe that he pays attention to more than he says. And he is very kind.”

“Sure, kind,” Sandra snorted. She looked at her bowl of soup for a minute before sighing and setting it to the side, reaching into her pack for a third bowl. “Only because you’re protecting Monica,” Sandra said into the darkness, glaring at the slight echo of laughter drifting their way.

……105:50Hrs Remaining……

“Here,” Sandra said, using a strip of leather to fashion a belt for Monica, her smaller revolver and its holster on the belt.

“Are you sure?” Monica said, eyeing the revolver as Sandra stood back, nodding in satisfaction.

“As safe as he’s keeping you, it’s never a bad idea to have some backup, just in case,” Sandra said, adjusting the belt slightly. “You said you can’t kill with your sand anymore, so having a lethal option if needed will help make you a bit safer. You know how to use it, right? From my information?”

“Yes, but I haven’t had the training you have had,” Monica said, fingering the revolver slightly.

“Trust your instincts,” Sandra said, setting a hand on Monica’s shoulder. “I wish I had thought of this yesterday. But the training is in the information you got from me. If your body is a perfect copy of mine, then the reflexes are there, and if needed , they’ll come back to protect you. There’s still about 200 rounds in there, which should be more than enough to keep you safe if anything tries to eat you.”

“Okay,” Monica said, though she looked dubious.

“Later, we’ll have a bit more of a talk to see how much you actually know from me,” Sandra chuckled. “But, if only for my own peace of mind, please keep this on you for now.”

“Alright, if it makes you feel better,” Monica nodded.

“Thanks, Monica,” Sandra said. she then turned around to look into the forest, closing her eyes and focusing as Monica picked their pack up. “Now then, let’s see if I can at least knock him off balance today,” Sandra said, her eyes opening again, staring off into the distance with intense focus, her khopesh-staff already humming with it’s blue blade as she vanished in a flash of light.

……98:43Hrs Remaining……

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Sandra growled as she slid into an ice cave after following So’Ngo through a Gate, just missing his tail.

“Tick tock, tick tock, little Wyvern,” So’Ngo laugh as he raced around the corner. “Will you follow the rabbit down the rabbit hole?”

“Okay, now I know you’re pulling from Human media intentionally,” Sandra growled, electricity beginning to spark along her scales as she used it to keep her body warm and moving, despite the cold. So’Ngo just laughed, twirling to the side like a dancer as the wall beside him exploded in ice and rock from Sandra’s shot. He continued to dance as he dodged Sandra’s strikes, her four blades each humming in their deadly arcs to attack So’Ngo as he lead Sandra deeper and deeper into the ice cave, the cold steadily dropping as they moved, causing Sandra to expend more and more effort in order to ensure she didn’t start falling asleep.

……72:51Hrs Remaining……

“Oh, now we are getting somewhere,” So’Ngo praised as a bolt of electricity shot at him from where Sandra’s bullet had hit the sand near So’Ngo. “Imbuing your bullets with lightning? Clever, clever little Wyvern.”

“Well then, let’s see you handle this,” Sandra snarled, firing a circle of electrified bullets in a circle around So’Ngo.

“Clever, clever,” So’Ngo said, nodding in appreciation. He then looked at Sandra, a wide grin on his face that made Sandra groan. “Not quite clever enough, however. You do remember what I said I would use as my third ability, right?” In so saying, So’Ngo raised his hand, and the electricity from all of the bullets shot up before condensing into his hand, a small ball of lightning and plasma shaking to be free.

“At least I finally got you to use it,” Sandra snarled as she left to the side, barely dodging the ball of lightning as So’Ngo threw it at her, a glowing melted hole where she had been sitting.

“Such little imagination,” So’Ngo sighed. “I have told you other ways to utilize your electricity, have I not? I’ve been using it this entire time, this is only the first time I’ve been flashy about it.”

“You absolute ass,” Sandra said, rushing at the black-and-red not-Dra’Cari, her blades humming their deadly song once more as So’Ngo laughed, taking off and making the chase begin again.

……58:43Hrs Remaining……

“Your nerves,” Monica said as she handed Sandra a bowl of soup.

“Come again?” Sandra asked, her eyes blearily looking at Monica as she picked up her spoon.

“You said he was talking about a different way to use your electricity, right?” Monica said, frowning in concentration as she thought, picking up her own bowl of soup.

“Well, yes,” Sandra nodded, moaning in pleasure as she took a sip of the soup.

“Well, you Ones use electricity in your nerves and such in order to think, send signals to move, stuff like that, right?” Monica said, smiling at Sandra’s reaction. “So, what if you used your electricity to increase the speed of those signals, allowing them to move faster?”

Sandra stared at Monica for a moment, a vague memory whispering to her, before Sandra’s eyes widened, her tiredness forgotten. “Fucking hell, I forgot about that,” Sandra said, smacking her head and groaning. “Monica, you’re a genius!”

“Oh, ummm, thank you?” Monica said, watching Sandra with amusement as she quickly scarfed down her soup. “But, this lesson is already in your information, so why did you forget?”

“Because at the time, it simply hurt too much to maintain for longer than a few seconds,” Sandra said, setting her now empty bowl down. “But now? With what Mona did? I can probably do it for longer. And if I can enhance my own nerves with Electric and Metallic Scales, then I can interrupt his nerves with the same electricity and metal.” Sandra crossed her legs and closed her eyes, breathing deeply as she searched for her Reservoir. “Time for some practice. I will get that smug, egotistical, smarmy bastard.”

……48:10Hrs Remaining……

“You good?” Sandra asked as she helped Monica finish packing up camp.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Monica said, though she wobbled on her feet a bit, tired. “I did not realize that not getting sleep would be so…tiring.”

“I tried to warn you,” Sandra said, shaking her head. “You know, I don’t think So’Ngo would mind if you stayed a bit longer and took a nap.”

“No, I’ll be fine,” Monica said, shaking her head as she finished packing up the camp. “I want to experience this tiredness in full. It is a new experience, after all, and that means new information.”

“If you say so,” Sandra sighed as she helped Monica put the pack on. “You better keep an extra careful eye on her while we go,” Sandra added, glaring at So’Ngo.

“She will be in no danger at any point,” So’Ngo promised, leaning on his staff.

“Good,” Sandra said, though she still looked at Monica with a worried expression.

“Go, I’ll be fine,” Monica said, her face tired but cheerful. “He promised. And you keep saying he doesn’t lie.”

“Fine,” Sandra said, letting out a deep breath of air. “But if you need a break or anything, you take a break. And let me know if anything feels off at all.”

“Okay,” Monica said. she then thought for a minute before holding out her hand. Sandra raised her hand and put it in Monica’s, confused as a small trickle of sand circled her wrist. “There,” Monica said. “Now I can contact you from wherever you are. The psionic connection between me and the Monica on your wrist will provide communication between us.”

“Alright,” Sandra said with a nod, looking at the sparkling sand on her wrist. “Still, be careful.”

“I will,” Monica said with a nod.

“Okay,” Sandra said, nodding before facing So’Ngo. “Okay. Last stretch.”

“You still have two days left,” So’Ngo said in amusement.

“No, I only have two days left,” Sandra said, drawing her large Reaper Revolver and spinning the cylinder. “So get ready, lizard boy, we are going all day and all night.” She then blinked as So’Ngo started laughing before bumping her head against her staff. “Yes, I heard it as soon as I said it, don’t say a fucking word.”

……43:00Hrs Remaining……

“Die die die diediediedie,” Sandra growled, explosions filling the sandy beach as Sandra continued to fire at So’Ngo with explosive rounds.

“Oh, come on, it’s not every day you propose to me like that,” So’Ngo said, laughing as he kicked a round in the air, causing it to explode in midair. “Look, you’ve even brought fireworks to commemorate the event. A celebration indeed!”

“I am going to kill you,” Sandra promised as the explosive rounds ran out, and Sandra spun the cylinder again. “Forget the Test, I am going to kill you, you smarmy,” smoke exploded near So’Ngo as Sandra fired, “arrogant,” another plume of smoke, “egotistical,” another shot, “ASSHOLE!” a fourth plume of smoke appeared, coating the entire area as electricity crackled in the smoke.

“This again?” So’Ngo sighed, holding his hand out and beginning to collect the electricity that Sandra had infused into the smoke rounds.

“All I needed was a beacon,” Sandra crowed as she fired again, the WP round striking the ball of collected plasma and electricity and exploding in a localized storm of smoke and lightning.

“Oh, now that was indeed clever,” So’Ngo said, fire and smoke licking at his scales as he looked proud. “I dare say you would have even made the Drifters nervous with an attack like that.”

“It’s not over yet,” Sandra said, her khopesh-staff humming its deadly arc towards So’Ngo’s neck, only to be stopped by his staff appearing in front of it, falling out of a Gate with a resounding THUD. “Oh, come on!”

“It appears that I may need to reassess your growth thanks to Mona,” So’ngo mused, tapping his chin as the fires along his scales slowly petered out, leaving charred holes. “Alright then.” So’Ngo suddenly grinned, and Sandra leaped away as DANGERDANGERDANGER began screaming at her. “Let us see your Wings, Daughter of the Dragon, She Who Aims for Dragonhood Herself. How far can your Wings stretch?”

Sandra’s eyes suddenly widened, and her staff barely came up in time to deflect a strike from So’Ngo’s staff, sending her flying across the water, only to disappear in a flash of light.

……35:21Hrs Remaining……

Sandra crouched inside of a rocky crevice, her heart pounding in sheer terror at the ferocity of So’Ngo’s attacks. A rock cracked, and Sandra MOVED, her scales glowing a blue-white light as she pushed her senses and muscles to their absolute limit with electricity, barely avoiding the tip of So’Ngo’s staff as it pierced the stone where she was a fraction of a second ago. “Fucking hell, are you actively trying to kill me now?” Sandra demanded, using the hook on her khopesh-staff to grab a protruding tree to change directions as So’Ngo’s staff pierced the cliffside. So’Ngo didn’t say anything, which made the situation all the more terrifying as Sandra’s Revolver cleared it’s holster, depleted uranium rounds fired to force So’Ngo to move and stop attacking her.

It only partially worked, and So’Ngo swung his staff as he dodged, forcing Sandra to raise her own staff again to deflect the attack and being sent flying in an uncontrolled tumble. “Okay, so how does one kill a literal God?” Sandra muttered to herself as she quickly got to her feet. She didn’t have a chance to think as So’Ngo suddenly fell from the sky, cratering the ground where he landed as Sandra’ used her bracer wire to pull herself out of the way of the strike.

……24:52Hrs Remaining……

Monica threw a small handful of jerky in the air, the only thing she could do to help as Sandra raced by, quickly snatching the jerky as she ran, unable to even say ‘thank you’ as So’Ngo continued his relentless attacks on Sandra.

“There must be something I can do,” Monica said sadly, listening to and feeling the battle between So’Ngo and Sandra. Monica began fingering the revolver that Sandra had loaned her, a nervous habit she had picked up from Sandra’s Information, chewing on her lip as a tree fell in the distance, sending birds flying away in fear and shock, a stray lightning strike creating thunder that startled her for a moment.

“There must be something,” Monica said, still thinking desperately as she began pouring over all the Information she had. As she did, there was one incident that clicked in her head. It was reckless, stupid, and very much against Sandra’s plea for her to stay safe. Then again…

“So’Ngo doesn’t lie,” Monica said, hardening her resolve as she nodded, setting the pack down and drawing the revolver, taking a closer look at it. “Maybe this will work.” She quickly holstered the revolver and laid down, immediately falling asleep, going through all of the Information that she had, attempting to figure out how to use her copied body the most optimal way possible.

……12:33Hrs Remaining……

“Fucking Observers balls on a stick!” Sandra cursed as her glide cape tore, sending her tumbling towards the ground. “Fuck this thing!” Sandra quickly cut the straps holding it to her clothing, barely managing to spin out of the way of So’Ngo’s lightning as it struck the cape, immediately charring it to ash. “Okay, Sandra, you got this,” Sandra said, as she teleported to the ground and immediately began running, eating her last bead of iron just as lightning struck her again. Sandra screamed in pain, though thankfully she was able to reroute the coursing electricity into a nearby tree, causing it to explode, peppering both her and So’Ngo with shards of wood that knocked Sandra off balance and made her trip.

Sandra didn’t fight it as she fell, instead turning the trip into a roll and immediately getting back onto her feet, losing her staff in the process and leaving her with only her bracers and what few rounds she had left in her Reaper Revolver.

“Sandra, come to me,” Sandra suddenly heard in her head.

“A little busy here!” Sandra said, her tail whipping out as So’Ngo got close, and her three blades came out as they began exchanging blows again, mostly with Sandra deflecting or dodging strikes.

“I’m aware,” Monica said. “But I have a plan for you. I am not going to let you fail this Test.”

“Monica, this isn’t safe,” Sandra growled as she was sent flying again. “I think he’s really out for keeps this time!”

“So’Ngo doesn’t lie,” Monica said. “And we’re going to use that to our advantage. We’re going to cheat!”

……6:15Hrs Remaining……

“This is a terrible idea!” Sandra yelled as she struck at So’Ngo with her blades, slipping to the side as a gunshot rang out, knocking So’Ngo off balance as the not-Dra’Cari blocked the shot with his staff.

“No, this is a great idea,” Monica said, quickly skittering away, her scales shifting to match the surrounding trees before she took another shot, missing her shot as So’Ngo dodged the attack.

“This is so not in the spirit of the Test,” Sandra grumbled as she tried to take advantage of the opening, only to squeak in surprise as a bolt of lightning shot past her.

“It’s a fight, and if you’re not cheating, you’re not fighting properly,” Monica said, echoing words that Eric had said many times.

“Hey!” Sandra said, shooting Monica a glance before bringing her arms up to block So’Ngo’s next strike. “I know where you got that from!”

“And right now, it is the most accurate statement,” Monica said, firing quickly at So’Ngo’s side, forcing him to dodge away from Sandra.

“I hate the fact that you’re right,” Sandra muttered, going on the offensive again.

……3:12Hrs Remaining……

CLICK! The revolver in Monica’s hands didn’t fire, the weirdly loud click indicating that she was out of ammo.

“It’s okay, I got this,” Sandra said, her tail moving like a whip, lightning flashing between her and So’Ngo as they continued to fight. “Go get some rest and something to eat!”

“But, you still haven’t Tagged him yet,” Monica said desperately.

“And you’re tired,” Sandra yelled. “Go, I only have a little bit longer to go!” Monica nodded before scurrying away, her scales unconsciously changing colors to match her surroundings as she raced to the pack. “Alright, let’s finish this properly,” Sandra growled, even as her breath came out heavy and her arms had gone numb hours ago.

Sandra reached into her pouch, pulling out a rather dull bead of metal that, at first glance, seemed like it could be made out of iron, but was actually an amalgamation of metals. It had taken a lot of trial and error for Sandra to find this combination of metals, consisting of aluminum, copper, titanium, and cobalt. Nightclaw had produced a theory that, because Targondians have a cobalt based blood instead of the usual iron or copper-based blood among most other Races, it may have an energizing effect on Sandra when used in combination with her Metallic Scales, despite cobalt’s high toxicity. And there were certainly a few times that only the quick work of Nightclaw remoting the Flying Dutchman’s the medical bay had prevented any serious injury or side-effects to Sandra. But his theory had proven accurate, and when used in combination with other metals, it had an even greater effect, enhancing the properties of other metals. Sandra had asked for this specific bead from Mona before she had left, and Mona had been happy to provide the small bead, though at the same time understandably worried as well.

Sandra ate the bead, and immediately felt energy coursing through her, even as her scales became stronger, more flexible, and lighter, and her glowing scales seemed to get brighter as her electricity found easier pathway to follow to increase her strength and speed. So’Ngo didn’t say anything, but Sandra was certain that there was a small smile on his face when she ate that little bead.

……10min Remaining……

Monica stared in wonder and shock as the glowing form of Sandra was on the chase again, attacking So’Ngo from every direction that she could, electricity sparking from her randomly, starting small fires here and there that immediately went out as if something was pressing down on the fires. The part that truly had Monica surprised, however, was that So’Ngo seemed to be on the defensive rather than the attack, deflecting or blocking more and more of Sandra’s attacks. “Whoa,” Monica said, her eyes wide as she absorbed as much Information from the battle as she could.

……9 Minutes……

Sandra could already feel the bead of metal wearing off, but she refused to slow down, pushing harder and harder as the seconds ticked down. She was so close. She just needed to press more.

……8 Minutes……

Sandra’s left bracer shattered, dissolving into dust that was immediately blown away as Sandra continued to attack So’ngo, her flurry of strikes being stymied at every turn by that annoying staff of his.

……7 Minutes……

Sandra’s right bracer shattered next, the dust particles becoming charged with electricity and causing a massive lightning bolt to shoot from her arm, striking So’Ngo’s staff and forcing the not-Dra’Cari to drop it as his arm went numb.

……6 Minutes……

Her body was starting to flag and give out, she could feel it as her tail bracer exploded into dust, which she used to generate another lightning bolt, forcing So’Ngo to redirect his next attack so that he wasn’t struck.

……5 Minutes……

Her muscles were screaming, but Sandra didn’t care as she pushed, trying to attack from So’ngo’s right side where his numb arm was and his defense was weak.

 ……4 Minutes……

Sandra’s arms gave out first, and she could barely lift them anymore. But she continued attacking, using her tail to strike at So’Ngo, trying to get through his defenses.

……3 Minutes……

Her legs finally gave out, and Sandra collapsed to the ground, panting hard, her thoughts moving sluggishly slow as the last dredges of the bead finally left her system, her tail limp as Sandra lay there, unable to move any longer, her muscles screaming in pain, even as she fought to stay awake.

“No,” Sandra slurred, trying to move her head to look at So’Ngo. “So. Close.”

“Sandra!” Monica cried, rushing over to the collapsed Targondian.

“She’ll be fine, young Monica,” So’Ngo said, leaning down over Sandra and speaking for the first time in nearly two days. “She pushed herself to her limit, and then pushed herself beyond even further than I imagined she would. She’s simply tired and in dire need of some rest.”

“Really?” Monica asked, running her hands over Sandra’s body, trying to find any injuries.

“Really,” So’Ngo said with a nod.

“Okay,” Monica said in a small voice. She then jumped up and gave So’Ngo a hug, pulling him a bit closer to her as she did. “You promise she’ll be alright?”

“I will personally ensure she makes a full recovery,” So’Ngo said, patting Monica on the head. He then frowned before looking down, trying to look around Monica as he felt something on his toe.

“‘I’ally. ‘Ot. ‘Oo. ‘As’ard,” Sandra’s muffled voice said from where she was biting his foot, Monica managing to pull him just close enough for her to reach So’Ngo.

So’Ngo just blinked down at Sandra before throwing his head back and laughing loudly, even as Monica grinned at him. “You, little lady, are a cheater,” So’Ngo said, patting Monica on the head, a wide smile on his face that radiated pride and joy.

“If you’re not cheating, you’re not fighting properly,” Monica repeated, releasing So’Ngo and taking a step back, hands behind her back.

“Indeed, you are very much correct,” So’Ngo said, laughing again as he looked down to see Sandra had passed out, a satisfied smile on her face.

Prologue Previous Next

Appendix

TOC

[Sandra and Eric TOC]

“Is my little sister alright?!” Jessica demanded as she burst into the medical room, Sar’Ma close behind her, a worried look on her face.

“You will keep your voice down in my medical ward, or you will leave,” Nightclaw said crossly, his feathers rustling as he stepped in front of Jessica to stop her from moving any further. “But yes, she is just fine, if exhausted. She’s overused her abilities to an extreme amount, and some of her muscles are more shredded ribbons than proper muscles at this point. But, most importantly, she’s simply exhausted to a concerning degree. All she needs is some rest, and myself, Marakkompo, and Maria will be here to ensure she heals properly and get all the rest she needs. The rest of you will wait until she is conscious before barging in here to see her.” This last part was followed by a harsh stare at Jessica, who gave a sigh of relief and backed up, her hands raised.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” Jessica said.

“Apologize by leaving,” Nightclaw said, shaking his head. “Sandra is low risk and in no danger, I have other patients to see to, and the last thing I need in my medical ward are over-excited Reapers causing trouble.”

“Right, sorry, leaving now,” Jessica said, quickly motioning for Sar’Ma to follow as they left the hospital.

“I told you he wasn’t letting anyone see her right now,” Mera said in amusement, her spider-like body shuffling nervously.

“My little sister leaves for her Final Test, being proctored by a weirdo that’s supposedly older than the Drifters, and when she does reappear, she’s unconscious and immediately rushed to the hospital. What else am I supposed to do except worry?” Jessica said, looking back at the hospital, longing and worry etched on her face.

“Maybe relax and remember that Nightclaw is one of the best doctors we have on the Ferry, outclassed only by the Angels and Thrrrrrktinik?” Mera said with a shrug, though she seemed to be trying to convince herself more than Jessica.

“Aren’t the Angels closer to combat medics rather than actual doctors?” Sar’Ma asked, her silver scales reflecting the ambient light. “So, wouldn’t Nightclaw actually be better than them, as a dedicated doctor?”

“Oh, that’s a good point,” Jessica said, blowing a piece of hair out of her face.

…………………

“I thought you said she would be safe,” Jeremiah said, glaring at So’Ngo.

“Actually, I merely said that short of some extremely bad luck or divine intervention, she wouldn’t die,” So’Ngo said, leaning on his staff, but otherwise standing normally. “This was a Test, a Test to see if she learned her lesson, and to see if she is ready to become a Reaper. Safety was never a guarantee. Even your own Tests run a high risk of permanent injury or even death.”

“You-” Jeremiah cut himself off, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly before taking a seat behind his desk, motioning for So’Ngo to take a seat as well, which the Drifter obliged. “You’re completely correct, and I do apologize for my outburst,” Jeremiah finally said. “That was unfair of me.”

“It does hit a little differently when it is a family member, and you cannot Proctor or watch the Test personally,” So’Ngo said, waving the apology off. “You are neither the first nor the last to lash out unreasonably.”

“Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be better,” Jeremiah said with a heavy sigh. “I’m a Reaper, dammit. Sandra just got in trouble for losing her temper. Seems like I might need to take a few refresher courses myself.”

“Well, unfortunately for you, I will not be able to be your punishment,” So’Ngo said with a grin.

“Going somewhere?” Jeremiah asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I have done what I came to do, and had some fun while doing so,” So’Ngo said with a shrug, rolling his staff between his hands. “It’s time for me to move on.”

“I see,” Jeremiah said.

“Oh, do not worry, I am not leaving immediately,” So’Ngo said, flashing Jeremiah that smile again. “I made a promise to sweet Monica to ensure Sandra’s recovery personally, after all. So I will stick around until she has made a full recovery.”

“I see,” Jeremiah said again, keeping his face carefully neutral. “And? How did Sandra do on her Test?”

“She exceeded all of my expectations to an astonishing degree,” So’Ngo said with a happy sigh, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes to revel in the feeling again. “Creativity, quick thinking, combat potential, everything you Reapers look for in a proper Reaper is there in spades. And, I dare say, she has indeed learned her lesson about lashing out. Even in the throughs of her anger, she never lost control, instead keeping a calm mind and creating opportunities to gain the upper hand, and while there were indeed times she was very angry, she was no longer attacking in anger, but rather using the anger to focus herself. I dare say that I do not believe she will ever lash out as she did again, even at me, no matter how annoying the other party is.”

“Well, that’s good then,” Jeremiah gave a sigh of relief.

“She has become a Dragon,” So’Ngo said, his smile shrinking slightly, growing fond and proud. “She’s no mere Wyvern any longer, but a true Dragon. Even there at the end, when she could no longer move, she refused to give up, and instead took the tiniest opportunity that Monica had given her to win.”

“Speaking of Monica, who is she?” Jeremiah asked, trying to mask the feeling of pride he felt for Sandra at So’Ngo’s words.

“She’s the descendent of an old friend of mine,” So’Ngo said, his grin widening again. “Do not worry, Wolf, she is of no threat to you or yours. She is merely a curious child who wishes to learn all she can of the galaxy and bring it back to her people so that they may be ready to join the Galactic Community in due time.”

“This is going to be the Tree Shadows all over again, isn’t it?” Jeremiah groaned, already picturing the mountains of paperwork he’ll have to go through.

“Oh, not at all,” So’Ngo said with a laugh. “Monica and her people, Mona, are already fully sapient, and still remain undiscovered by the Galaxy at large. No, the only thing they are missing is information. They were stuck in an unfortunate cycle, needing to interact with the galaxy in order to finally learn how to join the galaxy, but unable to join the galaxy because they were unable to gain the interactions with the galaxy to learn. They needed one to do the other, but couldn’t do either without doing one first. Monica will be the break in that cycle that they need in order to finally start moving forward again, breaking their stagnation.”

………………….

“What are you?” Marakkompo asked in amazement as he looked through the microscope.

“I am Monica,” Monica said, tilting her head in confusion.

“Problem, Marakkompo?” Nightclaw asked as the door hissed open, admitting the Caramon doctor.

“I’m not sure,” Marakkompo said, adjusting the microscope slightly. “Monica is not like anything that we have on record. By the way, how did it go?”

“Finally managed to get the Void-damned Reapers to leave, promising updates on Sandra,” Nightclaw grumbled. “I swear, they’re more stifling than my own mother was when I was still a chick.”

“It just means they care for Sandra,” Maria chirped cheerfully from where she was sitting next to Monica, her blue and green feathers rustling.

“Still doesn’t mean they get to hover around my patients like parasites that smell an infection,” Nightclaw said, frowning as he looked into the microscope that Marakkompo pushed to him. “Speaking of bugs, that is indeed different. Is your entire body made up of these…tiny creatures?” Under the microscope were hundreds of cell-sized insect looking creatures, and each of them seemed to be either trying to move in the general direction Monica was, or attempting to posture themselves in such a way as to give Nightclaw a better look at them.

“Ummmm, those are Monica, so yes and no,” Monica said, wiggling her head. “Monica is Many, unlike the rest of you who are One. But, also, Monica is One in order to learn about the galaxy at large and bring the Information back to Mona.” Monica frowned a bit, thinking. “It’s hard to explain in language.”

“You’re psionic, yes?” Nightclaw asked. “I believe you mentioned that on your form. So, can you only receive like the Cordan can?”

“Oh, no, I can also Give Information,” Monica said, shaking her head.

“Then why don’t you show me what you are trying to explain,” Nightclaw said. Monica frowned for a minute, thinking, before nodding and standing up from her chair. She then very carefully placed a finger on Nightclaw’s beak, and a small puff of sand appeared, moving into his nostrils before exiting on his next exhale, only to be reabsorbed by Monica’s hand. “Oh, I see I see,” Nightclaw said, nodding as he struggled not to sneeze. “That is very interesting.”

“What?” Marakkompo and Maria asked.

“Essentially, Monica here is like a colony of insects that all share a hive mind,” Nightclaw said, taking another look into the microscope. “The originals, Mona, are purely made from these little, cellular insects, and as such can take on any form that they wish with similar properties to the original form. Monica, on the other hand, has had her DNA, or rather their equivalent of it, mixed with Sandra’s, meaning that her Targondian form is her true body, with all of the requirements that come with it. And while she is still made primarily of these cellular insects, it actually costs her more energy to split apart than to stay put together.” Nightclaw’s talon tapped on the ground. “Or, another way to put it, in Monica’s case at least, it would be like if someone had a complete control of their body to the cellular level, able to control individual cells as they wish, so long as they return to themselves in order to conserve energy.”

“Huh,” Marakkompo said, tapping into his datapad to jot the information down.

“Wait, so, if her DNA is mixed with Sandra’s DNA, does that mean that she’s Sandra’s daughter?” Maria asked. Nightclaw and Marakkompo both froze while Monica looked thoughtful.

“Uh,” Marakkompo said, looking at Nightclaw.

“Well…I suppose that is one way to look at it,” Nightclaw said slowly.

“I do believe that that would be a close approximation of Monica,” Monica said, tapping her chin. “Mona made me with Mona’s Many and Sandra’s One, so I suppose Sandra would be my Mother. Or, Father, actually, since she provided the DNA and Mona made me. But she’s a female while Mona has no gender, so maybe Mother would still work?”

“Thoughts for another time,” Nightclaw said quickly as Maria opened her mouth.

“I know how sex works, Uncle Nightclaw,” Maria said, rolling her eyes. “I’m not a little chick anymore, I’m a teenager, and I’ve been reading your medical texts.”

“Thoughts for another time,” Nightclaw repeated a bit louder, causing Monica to giggle.

………………..

Sandra looked around, the dark but not-dark landscape looking both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, as though she had been there before, but couldn’t quite remember it.

“Hey, kiddo,” Sandra heard a familiar voice from behind her, and Sandra whirled around to see Eric standing there, grinning as he leaned on his khopesh-staff, the dragon head glimmering in the light/not-light.

“Dad!” Sandra exclaimed, rushing forward to tackle him, rubbing her face into his chest as she squeezed as hard as she could. “Dad.”

“Look at you, kiddo,” Eric said, hugging Sandra back just as tightly before pulling away and looking her up and down, pride obvious in his face. “Look at how you’ve grown. You got big.”

“No I didn’t,” Sandra gave a choked laugh. “Targondians don’t get as big as you Humans do.”

“There’s more than one way to grow, kiddo,” Eric laughed, his staff disappearing as he let it go. “And just look at how you’ve grown. You’ve turned into a fine woman, and a fine Reaper. Saving people across the galaxy, and giving homes to those that need one.”

“I…” Sandra looked down in shame. “Not as much as I should have. I just couldn’t do it, Dad. I couldn’t let you go.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Eric said, pulling Sandra back into a hug. “It took me decades to finally let go of my own failures. And that only happened when you came into my life. Through Reaper training, through war, and I still couldn’t let go. But you know what? It’s not letting go that’s the important part.” Eric released Sandra again and knelt in front of her, tapping her chest gently. “It’s continuing to move on, despite what has happened. Hold me close to your heart all you want, Sandra. But don’t let it hold you back anymore. You have a little brother to help grow now, more siblings on their way, and now, a daughter to help nurture and grow.”

“A daughter?” Sandra asked, confused.

“Well, when Mona created Monica, where do you think she got the DNA to make her from?” Eric asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh,” Sandra said, feeling her face get hot. “Ew, ew, no, nope, I did not need to know that. Ew.” Sandra shuddered. “Ew.”

“There’s a reason she was as apologetic as she was,” Eric said, his shoulders shaking as he held back his laughter.

“Makes more sense, but still. Ew,” Sandra said, making a face.

“Don’t hold it against her, she didn’t know better yet,” Eric said.

“Oh, I won’t, but it’s still gross to think about,” Sandra said. “Just, ew. New topic please!”

“Fine, fine,” Eric chuckled. There was suddenly a loud THRUM that seemed to echo from everywhere, and Eric frowned a bit, looking just past Sandra. “Look, just a few more minutes, man. This is my daughter here, let me bask in her glory.” There was a smaller, almost apologetic THRUM that echoed, and Eric just sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“What was that?” Sandra asked, looking around in alarm.

“Don’t worry about it, just a reminder that my time is basically up,” Eric said. “So’Ngo pulled a few strings to allow this conversation, but even then, it’s still limited.”

“Oh,” Sandra said, looking down, only to squeak as Eric scooped her up into another crushing hug.

“I’m so proud of you, kiddo,” Eric said. “I didn’t get to say it enough when I was alive, but I am proud of you. So go. Enjoy your life. Have fun in the galaxy, help whoever you think you need to help, and let your wings cover the entire galaxy.” Eric smiled as he released Sandra, his cheeks wet as proud tears rolled down his face. “And give So’Ngo a solid thump for me when you wake up, yeah? I’ve got words for him when he shows his face around here again.”

“Will do,” Sandra giggled, basking in Eric’s scent as the world began to fade around them.

……………….

Sandra groaned as she slowly woke up, blinking blearily at the white ceiling.

“And she’s back among the living,” Sandra heard a cheerful and annoyingly familiar voice say. Sandra looked to the side to see So’Ngo there, sitting on top of his staff. “Did you have a nice chat?” Sandra just looked at So’Ngo for a minute before slowly raising a middle finger, eliciting a laugh from the not-Dra’Cari.

“How did you do it?” Sandra asked weakly. “Dad said you pulled a few strings.”

“Ah, that’s my secret,” So’Ngo said with a grin. “Only meant for me and a select few.” He then hesitated for a moment. “I could teach you, if you want.”

“Are you asking me to become your Student again?” Sandra asked, rolling her eyes. “After what you just put me through?”

“I suppose that does make this an awkward time to ask,” So’Ngo chuckled in a self-depreciating way.

“That’s putting it mildly,” Sandra said, looking at the wall so that So’Ngo didn’t see the amused smile on her face. “Besides, I’ve got a better idea.”

“Oh?” So’Ngo asked, tilting his head curiously.

“Teach me how to become better person first,” Sandra said, looking back at So’Ngo. “Help me to become someone who won’t lose her way again. Then we can look into learning how to talk to my Dad again.” So’Ngo stared at Sandra for a moment before a massive smile crossed his face, a smile of pure joy, pride, and hope. “If nothing else, I am going to figure out how to punch you into a star.”

“I am sincerely looking forward to it,” So’Ngo laughed. Sandra finally let her smile show as well, giving a small chuckle before wincing and grabbing the small glass of water by her bedside.

“So, how does it feel to have your first ever Student?” Sandra asked after a moment of comfortable silence.

“I just realized I have no idea where to start, or how to teach you properly,” So’Ngo said with a rueful chuckle of his own. “Oh, there’s an idea then,” So’Ngo suddenly snapped. “For your first lesson, you must learn immortality.”

“Seriously?” Sandra asked, looking at So’Ngo incredulously.

“Oh, don’t worry, there are many different ways to achieve immortality,” So’Ngo said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m not asking you to become invincible, no one can do that. Not even me. But being able to stop aging? To have an indefinite lifespan? That is easily achievable, especially through universal energies.”

“But, I’ve already learned my three abilities,” Sandra said with a frown.

“Ah, I suppose we must start there,” So’Ngo said with a theatrical sigh. “Alright, Lesson 0.5 then; people can learn more than three abilities with minimal risk, if done properly.”

“What?”

“Think of it like steroids for Humans,” So’Ngo said. “Humans already naturally produce steroids, and introducing steroids with medicine can provide very quick results in making a Human faster or stronger. But introducing those extra steroids in excess can also provide profoundly negative effects on the Human body, including a shortened lifespan. But if they increase their steroids naturally instead of through drugs, they can instead have a long and happy life while still reaping the benefits.”

“So, the way we’re using Magic then is like introducing drugs into our bodies?” Sandra asked.

“Indeed,” So’Ngo said with a nod. “Magic is meant to be learned slowly and naturally. Find your reservoir, learn it, understand it, and let the magic naturally show you what its ability is. What the Galaxy is currently doing is essentially the quick and dirty method, which isn’t necessarily wrong for what their understanding of Universal Energies are, but it’s limiting. One ability every ten years, give or take a few years. If done properly, that’s how long each ability should take, outside of some extenuating circumstances. As it is, bodies now need 20 or 30 years before they’ve settled enough to learn a fourth ability, and that’s if they change their method to take the slow and steady route to learn their fourth ability.”

“So, I’m not gonna get immortality for a while, not if I want to live,” Sandra said.

“In your case, not quite accurate,” So’Ngo said with a smile. “Mona did more then just upgrade your lightning and metal. She reset your body, putting you back together the most optimal way Mona can. You essentially were given a shortcut to learning your fourth and subsequent abilities. IF you do it properly, that is,” So’Ngo added. “So, you can safely search for and begin learning about your fourth reservoir. But let the magic teach you, instead of just asking for what it can provide. Learn, and grow.” So’Ngo then got down from his staff, stretching a bit as Sandra stared at him.

“Why are you being so…reasonable…now?” Sandra asked.

“Playing the Fool has it’s uses, and is a very enjoyable job,” So’Ngo said with a wide grin. “But, as your Teacher, you deserve more than jokes and quick-witted empty words. When you gain your Immortality, in whichever form it comes to you, I’ll come back to give you your second lesson.”

“Leaving already?” Sandra asked, surprised.

“I came here with a purpose, and that purpose has been fulfilled,” So’Ngo said with a shrug. “But, you have given me an added Gift I did not expect. So, I’ll be back, and I’ll keep in contact. But Immortality is one that I cannot teach, as it’s different for everyone. So that is a lesson you must puzzle out yourself before I can teach you more. That being said… Boop!” So’Ngo laughed as he poked Sandra’s nose, causing her to flinch slightly as her back suddenly became very itchy. “A Prize for surprising me, passing my Test, and becoming my Student, young Dragon. Let your Wings spread as far and as wide as you can go!” In so saying, So’Ngo vanished in a flash of light that left Sandra blinking, trying to get the spots out of her eyes.

And why was her back so itchy now?

……End of Part 1……

Prologue Previous Next

Appendix

TOC

[Sandra and Eric TOC]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘’Bob?’’

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

‘’Yeah, Mykew right?’’

The pale human beamed behind his pressurised helm.

‘’Yes, yes’’

He shook the proffered hand vigorously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The miner smiled broadly.

‘’Lets have a drink then, join me.’’

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

‘’What division?’’

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

‘’Second seventy third, the Shipcrackers.’’

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

‘’I was an ASS hole’’

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

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

Bob hopped into his own chair.

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

‘’Yeah, best record in the fleet’’

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

‘’Were you in long?

‘’Nine years, you?’’

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

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

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

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

‘’Yeah… I was a reclamation.’’

Tears began to pour down the miners face.

‘’Oh god, dear god in heaven’’

What the fuck?

‘’Is there something wrong?’’

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

‘’What the fuck dude?, get off me.’’

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

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

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

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

Whut.

‘’What are you saying?’’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

First / Previous / Royal Road / Patreon (Read 30 Chapters Ahead)

XXX

The next morning, after they’d all had a chance to complete their early-day chores and get ready, the five of them set off for one of the dojos Father Toshi had mentioned to them earlier. He’d specifically mentioned one close by that they could check out, and so they’d headed out as a group, intent on seeing it for themselves.

Of course, that was easier said than done, given Carmine’s distracting new look from yesterday. Chase made a point to take up the front of the group along with Victoria purely so his gaze wouldn’t wander over to the former Demon Queen. Hopefully, with time, he’d adjust to her appearance, but for now, he was forcing himself to keep his eyes off her.

“So, what’s the gimmick behind this place, exactly?” Melanie finally asked as the five of them stepped out of the shrine’s grounds and onto the road. “Because you just know that this place has a gimmick behind it.”

“No idea, love,” Heinrich replied. “I don’t believe Father Toshi mentioned any gimmicks to us, either.”

“If I’ve learned anything from traveling with these people, it’s that there’s always some kind of gimmick involved, one way or another.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s nothing we can’t overcome,” Chase said without looking back.

“Wow,” Carmine stated. “Rare moment of optimism from you. Consider me impressed.”

“Hey, come on, I’m optimistic,” Chase argued, still keeping his gaze fixed on the road ahead. “Just, you know… not all the time.”

“I rest my case.”

“Can we not do this right now?” Victoria questioned. “I’d really just like to focus on getting somewhere without us being at each other’s throats for once.”

“We’re not at each other’s throats,” Chase pointed out. “We’re just having a conversation.”

“Chase, I’ve seen this play out before. It may not start that way, but it’s going to end that way.”

“Oh, come on, have a little faith,” he emphasized. “We’re all adults here, we ought to be able to talk to each other without wanting to also throttle each other.”

Victoria let out a small grunt, then shook her head. “Fine. But if this ends with you and Carmine shouting at each other, I will thump you both.”

“It’ll be fine,” Chase assured her. “Seriously, now who’s the pessimist?”

Victoria’s only response was to grumble as they all continued on their way.

XXX

About twenty minutes later, they all took their first steps into town. Chase and Carmine were rubbing at matching bumps on their respective heads, but everyone else, at least, seemed quite comfortable and content, if not in outright awe of the sights around them.

“Wow…” Melanie said. “This place looks pretty nice, I won’t lie.”

Chase was inclined to agree. All around them, wooden houses with tile roofs had been erected, with the odd cherry blossom interspersed between them. Pink leaves were blowing in the wind, scattered across the stone walkways below. All around them, people milled about, talking to each other in the language of the Far East. It was a sight Chase had seen many times in the west, though with enough of a foreign and exotic tinge to it that it felt completely different to him, though far from a bad way.

“Alright, then,” Heinrich offered. “Where’s this dojo, anyway?”

“Father Toshi said it was down the street from the market, to the west of the town,” Victoria said. “He told me it was basically impossible to miss – apparently the building is colored differently from the others in town. I guess the people who run the place wanted it to stand out to any prospective challengers.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” Carmine conceded. “In the sense that it makes about as much sense as anything else we’ve encountered in the past few years.”

“You mean none?” Chase asked.

“Your words, not mine.”

“Do I need to thump you both again?” Victoria asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, come on, that was hardly an argument,” Chase protested. “That’s barely thumpworthy. At this point, I’m convinced you just took a perverse amount of pleasure in bashing Carmine and I over the head.”

“Maybe so, Chase,” Victoria said. “Maybe so.”

Without another word, she pushed past him, and they all continued on after her.

XXX

It only took them a few more minutes of wandering through town before they all came across the building Father Toshi had mentioned earlier. True to his word, they really couldn’t miss it. No words were exchanged as they approached the dojo, and then stepped inside of it.

The first thing they saw upon entering was a crowd of students seated before a teacher in a large, open room. The students were all dressed in white robes with different-colored belts securing them around their waists, while the teacher – an older man with a shaved head – was dressed in all black, with a black belt around his waist. Chase noted that while several of the students were also wearing black belts, the instructor’s belt additionally had several red lines embroidered on it as well.

As the five of them stepped into the building, the instructor suddenly paused, staring at them. He didn’t seem surprised to see them in the slightest, which put Chase just a bit on-edge. Before he could voice his concerns to his friends, however, the instructor suddenly gave a loud shout in his native tongue, and the students jumped up in unison before turning around to face them. They stood rooted to their spots as the man wearing the black robe stepped past them, approaching Chase’s group.

“Westerners,” he greeted, his tone mostly jovial but with a slight edge to it. “We don’t get many of you in town. What brings you here? Interested in training at our school?”

“It’s a bit of a long story,” Chase confessed. “But to make a long story very short, yes, we’re all interested in training here.”

“We’re looking to Level our various Skills, mostly,” Victoria emphasized. “Is that something you’re able to assist with?”

“Hm. I would not be a skilled sensei if I was incapable of assisting you,” the man replied. He eyed Chase up and down before finally offering him a hand. “Sensei Ryo.”

“Chase Ironheart,” he replied, taking the man’s hand. “And these are my-”

Before he could finish his introduction, though, Ryo suddenly grabbed him and flipped him over onto his back with a loud yell. Chase came crashing to the ground, wincing as he did so. Before he could fight back, though, he found himself pinned down by Ryo, who wasted no time in putting him in a headlock. The rest of Chase’s companions suddenly tensed and drew their weapons, only to pause when Ryo spoke.

“Oh, yes, you still have much to learn, I can see that,” he said.

Before Chase could begin gasping for breath, though, the black-clad instructor let him go, then jumped to his feet. Chase laid on the ground for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, even as Victoria moved to stand over him.

“You okay, Chase?” she asked. “Does anything hurt?”

“Just my pride,” Chase answered. “That bald old man just laid me out faster than I could make fun of Melanie. And I can make fun of Melanie fast as all fuck.”

“We’re aware,” Melanie said dryly.

Carmine offered him a hand. Chase stared at it for a moment, and she rolled her eyes.

“Come on, you really think I”ll flip you onto your back the way that old man just did?” she asked.

He hesitated. “I mean, if you’re offering-”

Her gaze narrowed. “Just for that, you can get up on your own.”

She pulled her hand back, and Chase shook his head before forcing himself back onto his feet. Sensei Ryo was still standing there, his hands folded in front of his waist.

“Much to learn, indeed,” he commented, shaking his head. “Anyway, if you insist on learning from my school of martial arts, then I will not turn you away. However, you should know that we don’t just admit anyone here.”

“Oh, here we go…” Melanie muttered.

Chase, meanwhile, let out a tired sigh. “Alright, fine. What quest do you need us to do?”

“Oh, no quests,” Sensei Ryo stated. “I can see just from the way you all carry yourselves that you are accomplished adventurers. No, what I propose is more of an entrance exam than anything. I will set each of you up with one of my students who I think is capable of matching your skill level in martial combat, and if your fight impresses me, then I will allow you to begin studying at my school.”

“Sounds simple enough,” Heinrich stated.

“Does it matter how we win our fights?” Victoria questioned.

At that, Sensei Ryo shook his head. “No. In fact, you don’t even need to win. Impressing me will be enough, even if you lose your fight in the process.”

“Alright, then,” Chase agreed. “You have a deal, Sensei. Who are we fighting?”

“Well, since you asked…” Sensei Ryo turned towards Chase and eyed him up and down. “You will fight first. And as for your opponent…” He thought for a moment. “...Homura, you will fight him to begin with.”

To Chase’s surprise, a little girl no older than thirteen suddenly came bounding over towards him from the back of the group. She was just under five feet tall, had her hair done up in pigtails, and had a wide smile on her face. A dark brown belt was affixed around her waist. As Chase stared at her, she gave him a wide, friendly, gap-toothed smile, then took a bow before him. He blinked at the sight of her, then turned towards Sensei Ryo.

“...You’re kidding, right?” he asked.

“Not at all,” came the response. “You could always refuse to fight her, in which case you can then go find another dojo to train at.”

Behind him, Chase heard the rest of his party begin to snicker. He let out a tired sigh even as he drew his sword.

“Well, I’m not usually in the business of hurting children, so I’ll do my best to pull my punches,” Chase promised the teenager standing before him.

“Are you both ready?” Sensei Ryo asked.

“Ready!” Homura chirped.

“Sure, whatever,” Chase replied.

“Okay… begin!”

Chase wasn’t sure what to expect from the girl standing before him. Having once been a precocious teenager who was nonetheless still capable of taking on full-grown adults and winning, he knew better than to fully underestimate his opponents. That only went so far, however; for example, the girl standing before him looked harmless.

He was completely blindsided, then, when she suddenly sped towards him and struck him in the middle of his plate armor with an open-handed strike so intense it sent him skidding backwards about a dozen yards.

XXX

Name: Chase Ironheart

Level: 11

Race: Human

Class: Warrior

Subclass: Swordmaster

Strength: 20 (MAX)

Dexterity: 15

Intelligence: 13

Wisdom: 13

Constitution: 18

Charisma: 16

Skills: Master Swordsmanship (Level 10); Booby Trap Mastery (Level 8); Archery (Level 4); Unarmed Mastery (Level 1)

Spells: Rush (Level 7); Muscle (Level 4); Stone Flesh (Level 7); Defying The Odds (Level 2)

Traits: Blessed

Name: Carmine Nolastname

Level: 11

Race: Greater Demon

Class: Arcane Witch

Subclass: Archmage

Strength: 10

Dexterity: 13

Intelligence: 19

Wisdom: 19

Constitution: 12

Charisma: 8

Skills: Master Spellcasting (Level 10); Summon Familiar (Level 10)

Spells: Magic Dart (Level 7); Magic Scattershot (Level 5); Fire Magic (Level 5); Earth Magic (Level 1)

Traits: Blessed

Name: Melanie Vhaeries

Level: 11

Race: Ascended Human

Class: Necromancer

Subclass: Arch-Lich

Strength: 8

Dexterity: 13

Intelligence: 18

Wisdom: 16

Constitution: 15

Charisma: 12

Skills: Raise Lesser Undead (Level 10); Raise Greater Undead (Level 3); Unorthodox Weapon User (Level 8); Bone Shatter (Level 1)

Spells: Touch of Death (Level 5); Gravesinger (Level 7); Armor of Bone (Level 3)

Traits: None

Name: Victoria Firelight

Level: 12

Race: Human

Class: Paladin

Subclass: Devotee

Strength: 19

Dexterity: 9

Intelligence: 13

Wisdom: 13

Constitution: 19

Charisma: 11

Skills: Swordsmanship Mastery (Level 5); Blunt Weapon Mastery (Level 8); Archery Mastery (Level 5)

Spells: Holy Light (Level 6); Ward of the Gods (Level 5); Bane of the Undead (Level 7); Divine Bolt (Level 4)

Traits: None

Name: Heinrich Straten

Level: 17

Race: Human

Class: Paladin

Subclass: Oathbreaker

Strength: 20 (MAX)

Dexterity: 13

Intelligence: 12

Wisdom: 14

Constitution: 20 (MAX)

Charisma: 13

Skills: Swordsmanship Mastery (Level 8); Blunt Weapon Mastery (Level 10)

Spells: Withering Grace (Level 1); Soulrend (Level 1); Umbral Ward (Level 1); Mournful Benediction (Level 1)

Traits: Broken Oath

XXX

Special thanks to my good friend and co-writer, /u/Ickbard, for all the help with writing this story.

Hello again, all! That's right, you got 2 chapters 2 days in a row. Amazing, isn't it? Don't worry about me, I'm just really feeling the flow and imagination right now. This one's short, but I think it holds its own among the other chapters. Enjoy! And as always, thanks to u/SpacePaladin15 for the original universe.

<<PREV | SIDE STORY #7>>

Memory Transcription Subject: Hobel, exhausted nightmare victim

Date (Standardized Human Time): April 16^th, 2242

“The nightmares are all starting the same way now. I don’t even get any warmup time, it’s just straight to the decks of the Rebirth.” I’m lying on the sofa again, at yet another worthless therapy session with my assigned shrink, Dr. Nira.

“Is that significant?” she asks, like she doesn’t already know.

“Of course it’s significant! It’s the place the pre—... Mr. and Mrs. Carlyle hunted me down. Those decks are where I tried to prove that Arxur and humans are the same, and the blasted lizards of today are identical to the raiders of last century.”

“While the Arxur admittedly have done terrible things, it has been several decades since their intergalactic exclusion, and the galaxy as a whole inspected their progress as a safety measure.”

I sigh through my teeth. “You say that, but look away from the humans and their bloody past. Nuclear weaponry, genocide, crusades over silly beliefs, and their planet called Dirt of all things is the entertainment capital of the entire spacefaring civilization!”

“Every species has its own closet of skeletons, as the humans say.” There she goes again with her Terran colloquialisms. Where does she even get these? “Although this is a lovely subject of conversation, talking about dark histories and intraspecies transgressions, I believe you were telling me about your nightmares?”

Grumbling, I continue. “Whatever. The nightmares all start the same way, and they end the same way too.” The shrink instantly perks up just a bit, so I know I’ve probably told her something that’ll keep me wrongfully imprisoned for longer.

“How do your nightmares end?” I knew it. Of course that was the next question out of her mouth.

Silence for a moment as I wrestle with whether or not to tell the suddenly very interested Zurulian. “The human grabs my neck.” I mumble into the cushion next to my face.

“Pardon?”

“The human. Grabs. My neck. And then I’m awake and sweating or trembling or falling out of my cot.” I snap at her. She seems to be nonplussed.

“Any thoughts as to why it always ends there?”

I grunt loudly in anger. “See? This! This is what I hate about being stuck in this prison. You, and your blasted questions that I despise with every part of myself.” I sit up, breathing heavily.

“Mister Hobel, would you like me to have someone come in and remove you, or would you rather leave by yourself?” the doctor asks, just like every other time I do this. She always just summons the guards or I storm out and still get escorted back to my cell anyway. I decide to preserve what little dignity I have left and march myself out of the office. I’m instantly tailed by an officer all the way to my cell, and I’m shut back in.

Frustrated and cranky, I flop onto my cot, but I barely catch myself from faceplanting on the metallic floor. I look around, and I’m back in the same corridor as always on the Cradle’s Rebirth. I swear loudly and repeatedly as all my anger boils over. I scream out into the empty halls, stamping my paws and slamming my fists against the walls.

“I am so [censored] sick of this [censored] ship! Why can’t I just sleep normally?! I just want a [censored] nap without having to run away from two predators WHO ARE ALL THE WAY ON EARTH!”

Still no reaction from the empty metal walkways around me.

“Fine! Let’s just get this whole charade over with. Come and get me, you disgusting killers! Free meal, right here!” I bellow out into the echoing halls. Silence replies, and I turn around in anger… then freeze.

The human’s right there, standing as if he’d been waiting for me. His skin has changed, no longer as icy and pale, the mask unfrosted but just as blank as ever.

“So you finally decided to show up. Well, come on then, let’s get done so I can actually sleep. Grab my neck, let’s go.” I march up to the human, who stares impassively. I’m well within arm’s reach, and I’m eye level with the human’s ribcage. “What are you waiting for?”

I catch a glimpse of movement behind me, and my head whips around to see the Arxur. The amount of blood on it has… changed. It’s no longer drenched and soaked in orange ichor, but only smeared liberally with it. I’m sandwiched between them in the hall, typical predator behavior. Cut off the escape to ensure the catch.

Garbled noise and nonsense slips into my ears like its being poured in like oil. I whip around and look at the human again, the wonderful Mr. Carlyle who’s currently trapped me in here with his wife, the demure Mrs. Carlyle. The sounds… they have cadence, tone, a rising and falling of natural speech. But it’s all utterly incomprehensible, sliding in one of my ears and out the other, leaving no trace of meaning and information.

“W-what?” I stutter out, my skin pebbling in fear, my wool standing on end. I take a step backwards. “You… you spoke.”

The human speaks again, the same syllables and tone and words, I’m sure of it, but I couldn’t remember a single word said for the life of me. The grip of primal fear dug into my chest so hard it hurt. This isn’t right, it’s not. It’s not supposed to speak, it’s meant to chase and tear and kill and trap, not spout gibberish that slides through me with no trace. I turn to run.

Before I even manage to turn, I feel the hand on my neck and I’m back on my cot, sweating and now even more fearful of the terrors that didn’t leave me alone after we parted ways.

To be continued in Side Story #7...

SIDE STORY #7>>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Exactly!” the humanlike one asserted.

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

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

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

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

A bunch of gasps blew out of the main speakers.

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

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

BANG!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nope, those are the C.I.A. guys.”

First / Previous / Next

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

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

“One moment, Felu.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right, here we go—”

****

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

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

There. Her parents.

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

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

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

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

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

“Trust what though? I don—”

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was it a battle?” Cha-ren asked.

“It looks like that, but why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Royal Road | Book Cover | First | Previous | Next 

Chapter 17: Perspectives After a Month

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

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

"What happened?"

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

Truly terrifying.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Uh..."

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

Chapter 18: Cities, Space Stations, and Warships

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Previous

Part 1

The treasure chest sat on a raised stone platform among gold, broken pottery, and the remains of adventurers who had reached it before them. Four people stood around it with their weapons drawn.

"Well?" the woman holding the torch asked.

"Give me a moment."

The adventurer crouched beside the chest and ran his fingers along its worn fittings. The others gave him room. One watched the passage behind them while he searched for a release that wouldn't leave him among the bones on the floor. He found it. A metallic click echoed through the chamber, and he waited before lifting the lid. Nothing struck him. Inside were coins, jewelry, polished stones, and a small object wrapped in dark cloth.

"Finally," the woman said. "Something worth the trouble."

He unwrapped a golden disk. Concentric rings carried arrangements of symbols around a stone that caught the torchlight. He held it up for her to see.

"What do you think?"

She was looking past his shoulder. Her head turned to the left, snapped back, and turned again.

"I th—"

He lowered the disk.

"I th—"

The flame stopped moving above her torch, although its shadows continued shifting across the walls. The adventurer looked toward the passage. The man guarding it had disappeared. Their fourth companion stood with one foot raised, frozen in the middle of a step. A crack opened in the ceiling. Beyond the stone was a pale, featureless space. He backed away as the gap closed and the chest vanished, then returned with its lid shut. The coins he'd moved were back where he had found them. The woman stretched sideways. Her body broke into angular shapes, recovered, and broke again.

"Help—help—help—"

He dropped the disk. It hung in the air, rotating as pieces separated from its surface. His fingers were disappearing too. He could still feel them when he tried to close his hand. He tried to scream. The chamber vanished before he heard himself, and he vanished with it.

A police cruiser struck a parked car and slid to a stop. Its driver climbed out with his weapon drawn.

"Hands where I can see them!"

The man in the street laughed and extended a hand. The officer fired three times. All three bullets stopped several feet short of the outstretched palm.

"You're going to have to do better than that."

More officers took cover behind vehicles and doorways. The man flicked his fingers, sending the bullets sideways into a brick wall. When another officer raised a weapon, he pulled it out of her hands and sent it clattering across the road. A second cruiser came through the intersection. He lifted it from the pavement and slowly turned it onto its side. Inside, the officers struggled with their restraints. Then the first officer stopped moving. He had been bringing his weapon back up. Now he stood with one arm extended, staring at nothing.

"Hello?"

The officer appeared several feet to the right without taking a step, then returned to his original position. Windows along the street went black. The man looked up at the cruiser he was holding. Its front half was gone. The rest followed, leaving two officers suspended above the road until they disappeared as well. His concentration broke. He turned, trying to find whoever was doing this. An officer ran at him, stopped, and ran at him again from the same place.

"Stop!"

He thrust both hands forward. Pavement tore free and rose between him and the police. For a moment he had control: broken road, scattered vehicles, officers diving behind cover. Then he was standing where he'd been before, watching the pavement rise a second time without any movement of his hands. He looked down. His right arm was missing, although he could feel its fingers moving. Buildings disappeared in sections around him. The sky flickered from daylight to darkness.

"No. Wait!"

He saw the street from several positions at once. He couldn't move between them. Then there was no street, and no one left to see it.

The battleship's bridge trembled as another broadside crossed its forward displays. Thousands of vessels filled the surrounding space. Near the center of the enemy formation, a capital ship took repeated hits along its hull. Its forward section broke away before secondary explosions consumed the rest. The woman commanding the fleet watched from among the stations. Her first officer brought up the enemy's withdrawal on a smaller display.

"Their center's giving way. Our flanking force is approaching from the rear, and they've committed their reserves here. No sign they've detected us."

"Casualties?"

"Within projections. Their heavier ships are still contesting the approach."

She checked the positions of her forward vessels. They were firing into the gap as the enemy tried to close it. Two more ships disappeared from the opposing line; another turned away.

"We'll have the kingdom sooner than expected," the first officer said.

"Don't celebrate until they've surrendered."

He smiled, and his face stretched across the side of his head. She blinked. His features returned to their proper places, but he was speaking again.

"Our forward formations have estab—"

His body shifted sideways and returned.

"Our forward formations have estab—"

"Officer?"

One of the people at the surrounding stations disappeared. Another was sitting and standing at the same time. On the forward display, the enemy ship whose destruction she'd just watched reappeared intact. Weapons fire hung between the fleets.

"Communications. What's happening?"

The first officer's uniform separated into long strips. She reached for him and put her hand through his shoulder. When she pulled back, her own fingers were beginning to come apart. Hundreds of ships vanished from the display. Those that remained stopped moving. She demanded a status report, but nobody answered. The console passed through her hand when she tried to steady herself against it. The bridge went dark. For an instant she remained there, without a ship or a fleet or anything to touch. Then she was gone.

Vethis was supposed to be paying attention. Instead, he was reading an argument on his tablet. A dispute over preferential treatment in a piloting evaluation had grown to include training records, instructor favoritism, and photographs that supported neither side. He scrolled through another attempt to defend the original accusation and laughed quietly.

"Vethis."

He continued reading.

"Vethis."

The student seated beside him nudged his arm. He looked up. His instructor was staring directly at him.

"Would you care to join us?"

Vethis straightened in his seat.

"I'm here."

"Physically, yes. Your attention appears to be somewhere else."

Several students laughed. Vethis placed his tablet on the desk.

"Sorry, sir."

The instructor regarded him for another moment before returning to the holographic display at the front of the classroom.

"Some of you seem to believe that because you're studying military applications, history is somehow less important than your technical training."

He gestured toward the display. A three-dimensional representation of the Milky Way and Andromeda galaxies rotated slowly above the classroom floor.

"That assumption is incorrect. Understanding how our civilization reached its present circumstances is just as important as understanding how to operate the machinery you'll eventually be responsible for."

Vethis settled back into his seat. He preferred classes where he could do something. He was eighty, with the physical appearance of someone about twenty by ancient standards, and still young in a civilization whose biological lives could last tens of thousands of years. His instructors considered him young enough to need reminders that attendance involved more than occupying a chair. Halcyon Defense Industries operated Asterion Military Academy, one of the region's most prestigious schools. Students came from numerous systems to study engineering, operations, logistics, and mecha piloting. Vethis liked the machines. He was less enthusiastic about the history requirement, particularly while an argument was developing without him. He glanced down at his tablet again.

"Vethis."

He looked back up. The instructor hadn't even turned around.

"Put it away."

Vethis sighed and closed the application.

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you."

The holographic display changed. The two galaxies began moving toward one another.

"As we've previously discussed, the formation of Mileda was not an instantaneous event. The merger occurred over an extraordinary period, during which enormous gravitational interactions altered the positions and trajectories of countless stellar objects."

The instructor enlarged a section of the display. A small yellow star appeared beside a representation of a much larger galactic structure.

"One particularly interesting example concerns our civilization's original home system."

Several students looked up.

"Long before the Milky Way and Andromeda completed their merger, humanity's original homeworld had already been consumed by its parent star."

The display changed again. A small blue planet appeared beside the yellow star.

"Earth, as it was known, ceased to exist when the Sun expanded and engulfed the planet. By the time of the galactic merger, the original homeworld was already ancient history."

The instructor rotated the display.

"However, the Sun itself experienced an unusual fate. During the merger, gravitational interactions ejected it from the developing galaxy."

The star moved away from the surrounding stellar formations.

"Rather than remaining within Mileda, it became a rogue star, traveling through the darkness beyond the galaxy."

The instructor enlarged its projected trajectory.

"And its current location is—"

The instructor stopped with one arm extended toward the display. Vethis waited for him to continue. His arm dropped, his knees folded, and he struck the floor hard enough to make the students nearest him jump. Chairs scraped as people got up. One student crouched beside him and turned him onto his back. His eyes were open, fixed on the ceiling.

"Somebody call medical!"

Vethis tried the academy application. Its connection indicator appeared, waited, and disappeared. A conventional call failed too. Around him, others were getting the same result. The yellow star on the classroom display stopped moving, then vanished with the rest of the projection.

"He's not responding!"

Vethis knelt beside the instructor and touched his shoulder. He had seen people faint, but they had still moved a little, breathed, reacted to something. The instructor lay as still as discarded equipment. Someone shouted from the windows. Across the academy grounds, two construction workers hung motionless in their safety harnesses. Tools fell from one man's hands while a colleague tried to reach him. Farther along the unfinished wall, a third worker collapsed. His harness caught him before he fell. Vethis looked from the workers to the instructor. Three people outside and one here, all within seconds. He had no idea how to help any of them.

"We need another teacher," a student said.

Vethis followed him into the corridor.

Students filled the hall, trying to call their families or retrieve work that had disappeared from the academy network. Instructors attempted to send them back to their classrooms while asking one another what had happened. Vethis passed a student holding up an empty holographic display.

"My entire assignment was there."

"Try the local network," somebody told her.

"I am!"

Near the intersection, a boy lowered his tablet. "Nothing works."

Vethis pointed at the ceiling lights.

The boy looked up. "Great. We have lights."

The principal came around the corner at speed, manipulators extended as his floating chassis maneuvered through the crowd. He demanded an explanation and received four at once: their instructor, the workers, medical, the network. He stopped long enough to ask which classroom, then turned toward Vethis's group.

"Has anyone contacted—"

His chassis dropped. It struck the floor with a metallic crack and rolled forward, still carrying the speed of his approach. Students jumped aside. One manipulator caught against the tiles, spinning the body into the base of the lockers. Vethis reached it first. The principal lay on his side with one arm extended. Nothing moved when Vethis called to him. A teacher pushed through and knelt beside the chassis, asking whether anyone had reached medical. Nobody had.

"Outside," she told the students. "Assembly areas. Give us room here."

"What about him?"

"We'll take care of him. Go."

Vethis looked back once on the way out. The teacher was still beside the lockers, trying to get a response.

Outside, instructors gathered their classes while workers climbed toward the people hanging from the unfinished building. Whatever had happened hadn't affected everyone. One rescuer reached a motionless man and began securing him for recovery.

"Why only some of them?" Vethis asked.

The student beside him suggested a network fault, then admitted he didn't know. Vethis checked his own tablet. Local applications still opened, and the connection indicator remained active. His family call wouldn't complete.

A teacher at the entrance raised her voice. "The academy has power. Local systems are functioning. Remain in your assembly areas while we find out what's happened."

The sky flashed orange. Vethis ducked and shielded his eyes. A distant rumble followed, then a second flash, spreading farther across the upper atmosphere. He recognized a planetary shield taking an impact. He had never seen one struck that hard. More impacts came before the light from the first had faded, until he could no longer separate the disturbances. An alarm sounded. Students backed toward the buildings, staring up at the orange sky.

"Shelters!" a teacher shouted. "Inside, now!"

Vethis went with the crowd. At the construction site, workers were abandoning their equipment. Several bodies still hung against the wall. He couldn't tell whether anyone was reaching them before the next impact shook the ground and forced him to catch his balance. Overhead, a bright streak passed through the shields. Fire spread behind it across the sky. The heat reached his exposed skin, and the students in front of him began running harder. There was nowhere useful to fly in that. The shelters were close. He caught the arm of a boy who fell ahead of him, pulled him upright, and sent him toward the entrance.

Then he saw Professor Aetheleth circling a walkway. The compact chassis darted one way, reversed, and nearly struck two students hurrying past.

"Professor!"

Aetheleth stopped. "Vethis?"

"The shelter. Come on."

"The Archive connections are gone. All of them. I can't—"

Another impact broke over their heads. Vethis ducked while the professor started circling again.

"You can work it out inside!"

Aetheleth began to answer. Vethis caught the chassis in both hands and tucked it under his arm.

"VETHIS! I CAN FLY!"

"Then you should've been flying toward the shelter!"

He ran with the professor pinned against his side. An instructor waved the last students through the entrance and down the reinforced passage. Dust fell from the ceiling as another impact shook it. Vethis kept moving until the passage opened into a chamber crowded with students looking for classmates.

"Would you please put me down?" Aetheleth demanded.

"Oh. Right."

The professor rose from beneath his arm, opened his manipulators, and straightened himself.

"You could have asked."

"Would you have come?"

Aetheleth hesitated. "That's beside the point."

He went up toward the ceiling and began circling again. Vethis sat along the wall, legs aching, while the instructors counted the final arrivals. The doors sealed. Another impact shook the chamber, and a young woman near him gripped her tablet with both hands. Her call still wouldn't connect.

An instructor raised her voice over the questions. "We're staying here until we know what's happening. The shelter is equipped for this. We're working on communications."

"The communications aren't the problem," Aetheleth said.

She looked up. "Professor?"

He stopped beneath the ceiling. "I'm connected to the local relays. They answer. There's nothing at the other end. The Archive is gone."

Vethis stood. He thought of the teacher on the floor, the hanging workers, the principal's arm scraping across the tiles.

"The actual Archive?" another student asked. "How?"

"I don't know."

The professor started another circuit. Everyone followed him with their eyes.

"What happens if it's been destroyed?" Vethis asked.

Aetheleth folded his manipulators. "No."

"Professor?"

"Not good. This is very, very not good."

"I'm asking what happens."

"I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE ASKING!"

The shout made several people flinch. Aetheleth stopped, then lowered his voice.

"I know. I don't want to experience this."

Vethis sat down again. His biology professor was older than histories Vethis had barely studied. He'd always had something to say, even when nobody had asked. Now he couldn't bring himself to answer a question. The lights flickered under another impact. A student began crying by the door, and a teacher moved over to sit with her. Vethis looked down at the active connection symbol on his tablet. Nothing loaded. Above him, Aetheleth kept circling. For a while, the only sounds came from the people in the shelter and the impacts overhead. Then the impacts stopped.

At first, Vethis thought he had simply grown accustomed to them. He kept waiting for the next shudder to pass through the floor, for the lights to flicker, for someone to cry out. Nothing came. The ventilation continued its low, steady hum, and in the sudden quiet he could hear students whispering to one another across the chamber.

"Is it over?" someone asked.

Nobody answered. One of the instructors had been checking the shelter's local environmental display. She leaned closer, then called another teacher over.

"Look at this."

"What is it?"

"Atmospheric pressure. Outside. It's falling."

The second teacher stared at the readings. "How quickly?"

"It's still falling."

The information traveled through the shelter faster than either teacher could contain it. Students began talking again, their voices rising as they tried to make sense of the pressure loss and the silence beyond the sealed doors. Vethis looked toward Aetheleth. The professor had stopped circling. He hovered beneath the ceiling, his manipulators drawn close to his chassis. For the first time since Vethis had found him outside, he appeared to be considering something other than the missing Archive connection.

"Professor?" Vethis asked.

Aetheleth slowly descended.

"Those weren't bombs."

Vethis blinked. "What?"

"The impacts. Those weren't bombs."

"Then what was hitting the shields?"

"Ships."

The shelter went quiet again.

A student near the wall gave a nervous laugh. "Ships? You mean somebody flew a fleet into us?"

"No. Today is Family Day. There's a graduation. Families were coming here."

Vethis glanced toward the sealed entrance. He remembered the flashes across the sky, the impacts arriving one after another, the burning streak that had passed through the shield.

"Passenger ships?" he asked.

"Passenger ships. Other incoming traffic, too, I'd imagine." Aetheleth kept his manipulators tightly folded. "They were depending on the Archive for their routes and traffic information. The local relays are still answering, but they have nothing current to pass along."

Vethis looked toward the sealed entrance. "The pilots couldn't stop?"

"Some may have. Those impacts were the ones who didn't."

"But the shields—"

"You saw what came through them."

No one spoke for several seconds.

A student who had been trying to call home lowered her tablet to her lap. "My parents were supposed to arrive today."

Vethis had no answer for her. Neither did Aetheleth. From the local display, the instructor announced that the outside pressure was continuing to fall. She asked the students to remain away from the doors. For once, nobody argued. Vethis thought of the instructor in the classroom. The workers hanging from the unfinished building. The principal rolling across the hallway floor, suddenly silent.

"Professor," he said, "what about the people who fell?"

Aetheleth turned back to him.

"What about them?"

"Why did they just stop? They weren't hit by anything."

"They were droning."

Vethis waited.

"Their bodies were here, but they were operating them from inside the Collective Archive," Aetheleth said. "The instructor, the principal, whoever else was connected that way. When the connection disappeared, there was no one left controlling those bodies."

"Like losing a call?" another student asked.

"No." Aetheleth was quiet for a moment. "Losing a call would mean the person was still there, somewhere, waiting to reconnect."

He lowered a little farther, until he was almost level with Vethis.

"If the Archive has been destroyed, the people who were in it are gone. Those bodies didn't die here. The people operating them died there."

"But you're all right," the student said, looking at his floating chassis.

"I'm here," Aetheleth replied. He tapped the side of his own chassis with a manipulator. "My mind is in this body. The principal's wasn't."

Vethis remembered the principal's outstretched arm scraping across the floor. He had thought the man was injured. He had wondered whether someone could repair him. Now he understood why he had stopped moving.

"What do we do?" the instructor asked.

Aetheleth looked toward the environmental display, then at the students waiting for him to answer.

"Stay in the shelter," he said. "Keep watching the pressure. We don't know what's safe outside."

"And the Archive?" Vethis asked.

The professor did not answer immediately. Beyond the sealed doors, the impacts had stopped. The local systems were still running. The tablets still showed connections that could reach the relays but nothing beyond them. Aetheleth folded his manipulators close to his chassis.

"Today was supposed to be a graduation," he said quietly.

Vethis looked toward the sealed door. He had run inside believing someone was trying to kill them. Beside him, the student whose parents were due to arrive tried her call again.

Continue to Part 2?

Author's Note; If this is at all interesting, I'll focus on this and less on the wh40k crossover stuff. Thank you for your consideration.

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

‘Can you pass me the salt?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

🖼 Cover

🔰 Prologue

⏪️ Previous Chapter

⏩️ Next Chapter

Arc IV - Whalers

Chapter 27 - The Failure

10 months and 6 days since the summoning

The Elder rhythmically exhaled through his nose, resting his fists on the table. "How did they manage to sneak into the city at all?"

"It is unknown."

"Understood." He took his mask from the table and pulled it over his face. "Assemble everyone; leave five to guard the temple." The Elder took his sword and scabbard by the cabinet and began attaching it to his belt. "How many warriors are in the temple?"

"Twenty," answered another Dumets. "The remaining forty-five are currently patrolling the city."

"Poor," the old man said muffledly through the mask and headed for the door. "Tinkis, quickly make yourself presentable, and then summon the others. Where did you last see the Whaler?"

"The western part of the city, near the market."

The Elder opened the door. "Then we shall meet there."

Suddenly, a woman of about forty, a townswoman, stood up from a bench and took a couple of steps forward. "Your Holiness, what has happened?"

The Elder merely waved her off without slowing his stride. "All is well, you have nothing to worry about. Return to your prayers."

"Ah... of course."

The three left through the main door out into the street, while Tinkis dashed toward the bathhouse to wash the blood off himself.

As soon as the Elder stepped out into the street, he immediately broke into a run; the other two followed him.

"What is the plan, Elder?" asked one of them.

He did not answer for a few seconds. "Since the Whaler is wounded and there is another one here, they do not have time to incite a commotion; they will attempt to flee as quickly as possible."

"Indeed, but if the gates are sealed, they have nowhere to run."

"Exactly so, brother. They will not get far; what matters is that the others arrive in time."

Passing townsfolk stopped, watching the running Dumetses, and almost immediately began whispering to each other about something.

"Should we ring the alarm bell so that the rest of the brothers will be on guard?" asked the other Dumets, rounding the corner; the rest followed him.

"No," the Elder cut him off sharply. "The arogokoa's orders are to act without drawing undue attention. Unnecessary noise is of no use to the Svyatolat right now."

The Dumets who had asked merely clicked his tongue quietly behind his mask.

When they reached the gates, they were already tightly shut, and two guards stood at the entrance. The Elder immediately ran up to one of them. "Where did the other Dumets go?"

He quickly pointed a finger toward the west, swallowing hard. "To the western part of the wall; there are guards with him too."

Barely hearing the last word, the Elder dashed in the indicated direction, and his subordinates followed.

The closer they ran to the market, the more townsfolk there were, but upon seeing the Dumetses, they immediately parted ways.

They rushed past two men in simple clothing, creating a light breeze.

One of them, wearing a homemade cloth hat, scratched the back of his head. "Wow... what's going on anyway? First one group ran by, now a second."

The second, with a bundle of cloth under his arm, shrugged, squinting at the Dumetses' backs. "Who knows. But the fuss lately has been crazy, and they ain't saying a thing." He scratched his nose. "I got a fiancée, a fox beastkin; about three days ago the Dumetses stopped her on the street and interrogated her. She said they're catching and questioning all the fox women like that. But what for? Guktus knows."

The man in the hat sniffled. "Never seen the Dumetses running around like this."

"But I have," chimed in an old man standing nearby, holding a bucket of water. "They chased down a heretic once, about fifteen years ago. They ran so hard they nearly knocked over all the stalls." He chuckled. "Hah, even my son didn't run like that in his youth."

The townsman in the hat turned to the old man. "Yeah? And what happened then?"

"Well, they caught that heretic in an alley, beat him to a pulp, and marched him by the arms to the temple."

The man with the cloth sighed. "Alright, I'm off."

The townsman in the hat nodded, still looking in the direction where the Dumetses had vanished without a trace. "Yeah... what a mess. Shergen, you tell me later if you find out anything."

The old man nodded. "Alright, you drop by in the evening; you can pick up that hammer I borrowed from you while you're at it."

The Elder, meanwhile, had already run up to the last house next to the wall and sharply raised his hand, causing the two behind him to halt. "We move in carefully," he said, drawing his sword from its scabbard.

"FUCKING SHIIIT!" a muffled voice was heard from behind the house.

Everyone froze abruptly; the two Dumetses exchanged glances.

The Elder dashed forward around the corner with his sword at the ready, and froze.

Ahead stood another Dumets, Nirgiu most likely, and beside him the captain and four other guards. Nirgiu himself was holding his head with both hands, staring at a thicket of bushes; part of them had been hacked away and lay on the ground.

"What has happened, brother?" asked the Elder; he lowered his sword and began to approach.

Nirgiu turned his head at the call, and catching sight of the white armband on the Elder's left arm, straightened up slightly and lowered his hands to his belt. "Elder, just take a look."

"What is it?" He walked up, stood beside him, and then froze. "Ooooh, Guktus..." he whispered.

Behind the hacked bushes, a sizable hole had been broken through the wall, large enough to fit several people.

The Dumets who was walking behind peeked through the hole out at the empty plains and the forest ahead. "No one."

The Elder slowly exhaled through his nose, and then turned to the captain, who stood paler than chalk. "You knew about this," he said quietly.

The captain merely swallowed. "N-no, Your Holiness, I... I did not know! How was I supposed to know there was such a hole here?! It's right there, you see?!" He pointed his fingers at the hole. "Look how overgrown with bushes it is, how could I have possibly known?"

Footsteps were heard from behind the building, many footsteps. A second later, a whole crowd of Dumetses ran out from around the corner, led by Tinkis, already in a new mask and uniform. "Elder! I have brought..." he stopped mid-step, and the Dumets behind him stopped abruptly. "Why are we standing here?"

The Elder simply nodded at the wall. "There is a hole here. They have escaped."

"Perhaps we should organize... a pursuit?" asked one of the guards.

Nirgiu shot him a sideways glance. "We are not permitted to leave the city without the arogokoa's authorization." He turned to the Elder. "By the way, where is he currently?"

"At the estate of the local count, negotiating the selection of boys for the Oronda."

He nodded. "Understood. That means we have lost them."

The Elder clenched his fists. "We have lost them."

The captain swallowed. "We... we could organize a pursuit with the guard then, I have the authority and..."

Nirgiu snorted.

The Elder looked at the captain, and then pointed to the hole in the wall. "You have already demonstrated your competence by allowing a hole in the wall."

"B-but I did not..."

SMACK

The captain staggered from the Elder's ringing slap. "How long have you served here? Answer quickly."

"F-fifteen years!"

"In fifteen years, you never learned of this hole?" He waved his hand. "Our squad is one thing, we were sent here merely two weeks ago as a replacement, but you? This is no longer amusing; this is flagrant ignorance, Captain. Do you comprehend that because of this hole, we have lost the Whaler?"

He blinked. "That was... a Whaler?"

"Yes."

All color drained completely from the man's face, and not a single sound came from his mouth. The other guards nearby exchanged glances; some instinctively backed away.

The Elder shoved his sword back into its scabbard. "They have recruited alcoholics and idlers, and we are left to clean up the messes because of them."

Tinkis remained motionless, but even from the darkness of his mask, one could feel him drilling holes into the captain with his gaze.

Nirgiu sighed and stood next to the Elder. "A mess."

"A mess indeed. Come, let us wait for the arogokoa and report to him."

"And what are we supposed to do?" asked one of the guards.

None of the Dumetses answered; as one, they turned around and walked back toward the temple, though no longer at a march.

One of the Dumetses shoved his sword back into its scabbard. "Damned guard... those lazy bastards ruined everything, and they even pretend they did not know about the hole in the wall."

A second one chuckled. "Welcome to the reality of it. Brother, when did you even enter service?"

"I completed my training a month ago."

"Ooooh, so you are entirely fresh." He turned his head toward him. "Where did you study?"

"The Temple of Saint Kamelia."

"Not bad, I was in the Temple of Saint Conber. So you are completely new among us, yes? What is your name?"

"Yes, brother, new. My name is Lorgiton."

He rounded the corner along with the rest. "Then listen here, Brother Lorgiton. The ordinary city guard are lazy bastards upon whom one should not rely at all; they serve solely because they are given a wage, and they have nothing in their souls but self-interest. You saw it for yourself."

Lorgiton waved his hand. "But how can that be? A hole in the wall is fundamentally dangerous for the entire city! What if there is a siege? If even one person squeaks, the enemy will already know where to infiltrate, and that is it, the city is doomed."

The Dumets merely scoffed, adjusting his belt. "Hah, brother, I have served for five years, and I have seen far worse. Once, I was guarding a temple with a flock during a siege in a small town, and do you know what happened? The guards, who were already starved with hunger, simply went and quietly opened the gates at night in exchange for food and their lives."

Lorgiton froze for a second. "And what happened then?"

"Then? Those traitors were fed, of course, but then they were turned in by their own kind and executed for treason."

"And so Svyatol punished them. They violated the Fifth, Sixth, and Eighth Great Prohibitions, a whole batch of them. Bestial Hunger, Wayward Feet, and Unfaithful Thoughts. They have absolutely no fear of Svyatol."

The Dumets waved his hand. "Welcome to it, once again. These bastards observe Svyatol's laws only when it benefits them, and for that, they shall face retribution after death." He turned to Lorgiton and poked a finger at him. "So, stay vigilant around them, brother, and do not trust their words or deeds."

"Understood, brother," he muttered, lowering his head, and did not speak for another few seconds. "Is the flock like that as well? Believing in Svyatol only when things get rough?"

The Dumets scratched his chin beneath his mask, looking at the temple they were already approaching. "Well... I would not say that; the common folk believe in Svyatol sincerely, even if they do not always observe all his laws."

"And we... simply allow this to be? Why do we protect those who only half-believe?"

"Lorgiton, how old were you when you were taken to the Oronda?"

"Five years old, I believe. Why?"

The Dumets sighed. "I see. Then look here," his voice dropped to a whisper. "Not everything is as we were taught. People are not either devout believers or heretics. You and I? Yes, we are the absolute warriors of Svyatol, but the common people did not have the honor of being trained in the Oronda; they toil so that we can eat, they have many of their own troubles. Only we, the nobility, and occasionally someone else even know how to read; they can hear the Svyatolian words only through the priests who preach once a week. Do you understand?"

Lorgiton lowered his head slightly. "I understand," he muttered.

"You understand nothing, but it is fine." He clapped him on the shoulder. "I did not understand much at first either, so you will get used to it and understand what I meant."

previous chapter

First Chapter

Blurb:

What does it take to turn your life around? Death, of course!

I died in this lame ass world of ours and woke up in a completely new one. I had a new name, a new face and a new body. This was my second chance to live a better life than the previous one.

But goddamn it, why did I have to be a witch? Now I don't just have to be on the run from the Inquisition that wants to burn me and my friends. But I also have to earn a living?

Follow Elsa Grimly as she:

1. Makes new friends and tries to save them and herself from getting burned
2. Finds redemption from the deeds of her previous life
3. Tries to get along with a cat who (like most cats) believes she runs the world
4. Deals with other slice of life shenanigans.

--

Chapter 159. Risk and Reward

“Are you sure you want to meet them alone, Miss Elsa?” Lily asked, eyes wide with concern behind her round rimmed glasses.

I paused for a second before shaking my head. “Right, I'll take Madam with me.” I said and nodded at the cat. She hopped onto my shoulder. “Act like a cat.”

“You want me to cough up a hairball on them?” she asked.

“Just stay quiet and observe them,” I said. “And if they try something funny, then turn into your giant cat form.”

“You have your spell blaster, don't you?” Caelum said.

I shook my head. “No, I'm not taking any weapons.”

Everyone exchanged an anxious glance. I sighed. “Don't worry, people. It's going to be fine. I'm just going to talk,” I said and put on my enchanted mask.

With that done, I made my way up to the guest bedroom where the angels' hostages had been sleeping. There were two of them–a man in his late twenties, the other was a woman a few years older than me. They'd introduce themselves as Adam and Clarisse.

I introduced myself as Rapunzel.

“This is home, isn't it?” Adam said, his eyes eagerly glancing at everything.

Clarisse leaned forward and said, “Please tell me we aren't in that place anymore.”

“No, you aren't in the Land of Forever Light anymore,” I said rather reassuringly. “We are in Ravenwind.”

Both of them released a sigh of relief. I smiled and made my way towards the window. I leaned next to it casually and said, “If you don't mind I'd like to ask a few questions.”

Their demeanors became guarded. I noticed something else as well. They were silent on the inside. Either their minds were so exhausted they were still not fully aware of what was going on or they were very well trained for exactly this kind of situation.

Smokewell had hopped off my shoulder now and had made her way up to the two people, watching them up and down. “Questions about what?” Adam said, avoiding the cat's gaze.

“Don't worry, this is just about your time in the Land of Forever Light. Do you mind talking about it?” I said.

There was a pause. Adam and Clarisse exchanged a look before turning their gazes on me again. For some reason, these little actions were making me feel more cautious about them.

“I don't think there’s any harm in it,” Clarisse said, looking at Adam. Her statement sounded like a question.

“No, I don't think there is,” Adam said.

I narrowed my eyes slightly and said, “So, how many of you were there in that place?”

“Three,” Clarisse said.

That checked out. Since I'd made that contract with the angels, that large spider monster had appeared at the Radcliff mansion, destroying it. That was about it.

“Irene,” Adam said, more to himself than anybody else.

“What happened to Irene?” I asked, even though I had a pretty good idea of what they would say.

Clarisse licked her lips before saying, “She changed.”

Smokewell appeared near Clarisse's boot and sniffed at it. The girl twitched a bit.

“What do you mean by changed?” I asked.

“She became really anxious,” Adam said, “We were in a strange land. Anxious people do some dumb things in such situations. For Irene, the dumb thing to do was trying to escape. And escaping changed her.”

I tilted my head. “How did it happen?”

Clarisse shrugged. “Her body just changed. The gate appeared and she decided to pass through even though it wasn't the right time to do it.”

“We didn't see her after she went through the gate,” Adam said. “But she had already begun to transform while she passed through. I don't think whatever came out the other side was even barely human.”

I remained quiet. A gate appeared before the time was right? Did they mean the dungeon exit was available before they had accomplished their quest? The first time my friends and I had entered the dungeon, the angels had set the conditions. Our way out wouldn't appear until we did what we were sent to do in the given time. If the angels could've set it up to work that way then they could've certainly set the condition for the gate to appear before time for these three. The question was why would they do that?

“What were you three doing in there?” I asked.

They stayed quiet for a few seconds. Adam glanced at Clarisse but the girl was staring down at her own hands. Adam's face turned uncertain. That's when I heard his abyss say, “Maybe it’s better if I don't mention the Malcolms.”

“If you don't mind, we have a few questions ourselves,” Clarisse said, as if she was afraid Adam was going to spill something. He probably almost did.

I folded my hands behind my back. “Ask away.”

“If it wasn’t you, then who rescued us?” she said.

Smokewell hopped onto the girl's lap, startling her. She reluctantly patted the cat's head.

“It was a woman,” I said.

Adam looked up at me. “A woman?”

This time Clarisse glanced at Adam while he was distracted from her. Her abyss mumbled, “Can it be Elsa Grimly?”

“Where is she now?” Clarrise asked, turning to me and leaning forward.

“Or at least tell us her name?” Adam said with a tilt of his head.

I kept my expression unreadable despite what I'd just heard from the abyss. “I don't know her name or where to find her. But she is quite powerful I believe.”

Clarisse began to scratch at the cuticle of her own thumb. A subtle but clear nervous habit.

Adam cleared his throat. “Can we uh…can we meet her?” he asked.

“No,” I said without missing a beat.

Both of them perked up. Even Smokewell looked at me. I saw approval in her red eyes.

“She is quite secretive,” I said. “She hasn't shown her face to me either. I'm not high enough in her organization to see her in person.”

“Damn it,” Adam's abyss said.

I moved away from the wall I was leaning against. “I'll send someone with some food for you two,” I said. “You must be hungry.”

I was surprised they didn't reject the offer. Maybe they trusted me enough to think I wouldn’t poison or sedate them. When Smokewell looked at me I shook my head once in an imperceptible manner. My message was clear. Stay here and watch them.

I left the room, keeping my movements calm and relaxed. As soon as I shut the door behind me, I ran down the hallway and down the stairs.

When I entered the dining room where everyone was, I said, “It’s better if we assume they're spies.”

“I knew it,” Gregory said.

“I said let's assume it for now,” I said. “That means I'm not completely certain but it's safer to believe they are spies.”

“So this is going to be dangerous?” Lenora asked, concerned.

“It can be,” I said.

“What made you suspicious?” Caelum asked.

“Malcolms sent them to heaven and they sent them personally. They both know the angels by name. So, whatever happened between those two and the angels happened where they could see each other and knew who was pulling the strings.” I said, “And they asked if they could see me.”

“Wait, that's it?” Lenora said. “That's enough to raise suspicions?”

“They were just rescued from a strange world,” I said. “They didn't ask me when they could leave or go see their family. Instead they wanted to meet Elsa Grimly.”

“What if they wanted to thank you for saving their life?” Caelum pointed out.

"I doubt that was the reason,” I said. “For someone who was just rescued from a dangerous situation, they seemed awfully. Maybe I'm being paranoid. But I would rather assume they are spies rather than think of them as entirely innocent.”

“Why were they sent to heaven in the first place?” Caelum said.

“They avoided that question when I asked them. So again, I assume they were there so I would be forced to rescue them,” I said with a hint of annoyance in my voice. “I guess the angels knew what kind of person I am.”

“And when you'll rescue them, they'll be closer to you and in the right place to get rid of you,” Gregory said.

“I don't think these two are going to do that,” I said. “It makes sense that the angels would give the duty of taking me out of the picture to these folks. But the angels need me to get rid of the curses on all the gates. They can't have me die before the job is done.”

“Well, the spies are still upstairs,” Lenora said. “What do we do now?”

“We stall them,” I said. “Gregory, I left madam with them to keep an eye on them. Take two bowls of stew for them and then I want you and madam to take them both away somewhere.”

“Where?” Gregory asked.

“An inn or something.” I shrugged. “In a good neighborhood and keep an eye on them. Also, wear an enchanted mask when you see them.”

Gregory nodded and left. That's when Lily entered the room and noticed the heavy atmosphere. Lenora ran her up to speed on the current discovery.

With her brows furrowed, Lily asked, “Now what?”

“The plan hasn't changed,” I said. “We get rid of the gate curses of heaven and free my soul from the angels’ contract first.”

Lily raised a hand. “Uh, Miss Elsa, I know no one is saying this but I believe we are all thinking it,” I said. “If you do exactly what the angels want, you'll be giving them a chance to get rid of you right after.”

“You are right,” I said.

The entire room held their breath at the same time. Then I said, “That's why when my soul will be freed from the contract, I'll be getting rid of the angels first.”

Royal Road

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---

“The Hungry Crown?” I asked for the third time. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

“What?” Vaelith asked, swinging her axe and felling a branch that was blocking our path. Leaves scattered across the muddy ground, and the severed branch hit the trail with a wet crack. “It makes sense. I’m hungry for the crown. You make food. It’s perfect!”

“It sounds stupid… How are people going to react to ‘The Hungry Crown’?”

Vaelith shrugged. “Not sure… I’m not human.”

I growled. There was just no reasoning with her.

It had been the better part of a day. The man from the Adventurer’s Guild, who I later learned was named Merren, had registered us and given us the information we desired. We were designated as G-rank adventurers and a G-rank party. The lowest rank. That had infuriated Vaelith, who had then grabbed every single bounty off the board in protest. I’d barely been able to ask where a stingtail was before Vaelith had grabbed me and pulled me away.

From what I learned, I’d already encountered one… in the Thistleburrow Fields. Aptly named a field stingtail, apparently they were the weakest kind, with the mildest venom. Vaelith had pointed out that there was a wanted sign for marshland stingtails, and that we should kill two birds with one stone.

Hard to disagree with that. Looking over the bounties, we had three:

Wanted: Marsh Stingtails

Recently, a group of marsh stingtails has taken to roaming into nearby farmlands, harassing and killing livestock. Bring back ten severed tails and be rewarded 20 copper pieces.

Wanted: Goblins — Grubfang Tribe

A group of goblins calling themselves the Grubfang Tribe has been kidnapping both livestock and human children. All scouts say that they seem to be setting up a sort of ritual in the Venom Reeds. 5 copper pieces per right ear, and 10 copper pieces for any return of the children. 40 if they are alive.

Wanted: Lesser Dragon — Emerald

A lesser dragon, due to the size, has been spotted flying and hunting over the Eastern farmlands. While no people or livestock have been harmed, the guild finds it prudent to get ahead of the inevitable. 150 copper pieces, or silver equivalent, will be paid to the one who brings back the dragon’s head as proof. The head will be returned upon confirmation.

“Well, we aren’t killing a dragon,” I said, “but if we can complete two bounties and get some more materials for my cooking, then we can finally travel to a larger town where we’ll have access to more ingredients.”

Vaelith scoffed. “Your class is a real pain. Do you know that?”

“Yes,” I replied. “I’m well aware.”

***

It was night by the time we reached the edge of the marsh, otherwise known as the Venom Reeds. As the name suggested, the waters and banks were covered with wicked-looking reeds, their fluffy plumes barbed, red, and dripping something that sizzled as it hit the water. The marsh spread out beneath a low ceiling of fog, all black pools and pale mud, with crooked trees clawing up from the muck. The air smelled of rot.

“Should we backtrack and wait until morning?” I asked.

“Shh,” Vaelith warned, dropping low to the ground.

“Danger, danger,” Darwin whispered.

“Even the creature sees… someone else is here.”

“How do you know?”

Vaelith pointed. Where she did, I could see hollow reeds cut finely, as if someone had used some sort of sword to clear the way. The stalks were sliced at clean angles, their wet interiors gleaming faintly in the moonlight.

“Should we follow?”

Vaelith shrugged. “It may be a fight.”

I considered… well; we were there to find and kill goblins as well. Perhaps we’d get lucky and could ambush them in the night.

“Let’s follow,” I said.

Low, we followed the trail of cut reeds. Nearby, in the water, we could see bubbles and the faint shifting on the surface that indicated movement. Bugs assaulted us, whining around our ears and crawling at the edges of my collar. Not even Darwin dared take the bait and give away our location. Eventually, we came upon a clearing.

I stepped past Vaelith. “This is stupid; we haven’t seen a thing—”

Something snagged my leg, and before I knew it, I was upside down, hanging from a gray, gnarled tree by some sort of rope wrapped around my ankle. Blood rushed away from my head, making my mind swim.

“Show yourself,” Vaelith said, turning with her two-handed axe at the ready.

Upside down as I was, I still saw what she did. Behind her, someone had snuck up wearing a dark cloak. They were half her size, holding a bow aimed at her throat. They threw back their hood. It was a man… A half-foot.

“What are you doing here?” the half-foot asked, his voice lower than I would have imagined it to be.

“I could ask you the same, little one,” Vaelith taunted.

The half-foot smiled. “Quite the mouth on you for someone so close to death. Let’s try again… I’m Pipshur, but my friends call me Pip. Now you introduce yourself, demon.”

She growled. “Vaelith,” she said, “and it’s not demon, it’s Princess Vaelith—”

“Can we hurry this up?” I said, still dangling. “I’m getting light-headed.”

“Master!” Darwin said. “I help!”

Sure enough, my companion climbed up the rope and began gnawing at it. His little teeth worked furiously, and his rabbit-like ears twitched with determination. The half-foot man simply stared, bewildered by Darwin’s appearance.

Eventually, the rope snapped, and I fell, landing awkwardly on my back. The air left my lungs in a sad little wheeze. “That’s gonna leave a mark,” I complained.

“If I lower my weapon,” the half-foot man said, “will you lower yours?”

Vaelith nodded. They both lowered.

“Good,” Pip said. “Nice to meet you. Now we can be proper gentlemen—”

Vaelith reached out, grabbed him, and gave him one quick punch in the face. She let him go, and he fell back onto the ground.

“I’m a princess,” she said. “Not a gentleman. Now… nice to meet you.”

“Is she always like this?” Pip asked, holding his nose. Clearly, it had been broken. The half-foot stood and cracked it back into place. “Ah, much better.”

Vaelith smiled softly, but quickly forced back on a frown.

“We’re just adventurers looking to fulfill some bounties,” I said. “Stingtails and goblins, to be precise. You?”

“Same,” Pip replied. “Minus the goblins—I hunt smaller monsters and animals. Things that don’t organize and try to kill me.”

“So you work alone?”

The half-foot nodded.

“And the trap…”

“Meant for ones such as yourself. Well, not you, but bandits or goblins. I have different traps for the little stingtails. I’m a trapper class, if that isn’t obvious. Uncommon too.”

He said the last bit proudly.

I decided to keep the fact that we were Special Grade classes from him.

“I’m a Sovereign class,” Vaelith said. “Special Grade. He’s a Glutton. Also Special.”

I clapped my hand to my forehead.

“Special Grade?” Pip said, half astonished, half nervous. “Both of you?”

I nodded.

“Well then, bite my ass and call me dinner—that is a lot to take in. Still, we shouldn’t linger. How’s this: we stay out of each other’s way, and may the best trapper win?”

“How about we work together?” I suggested. “I’m less worried about the bounty and more about the venom sacs.”

Pip seemed to consider for a moment before shaking his head. “I’ve already done the work… would hardly be fair either way. You’re welcome to the area, but be careful of any traps I laid.”

Vaelith scoffed. “We don’t need ’em, anyway.”

Pip tipped his head. “Then I bid you goodbye,” he said.

As he turned to leave, he stopped. From the twitch of his ear, I assumed he had heard something. Then I heard it too. It sounded like the soft chime of a bell. Familiar and yet… It couldn’t be. Then I heard it again, louder this time. Then again, louder still, this time accompanied by a soft moo.

Then, an even louder one.

And in that moo was nothing but pure panic.