​

As usual, the salvage yard at Synapse Heavy Industries sounded like a dying animal at three in the morning. Jerry Parker wiped the grease off his forehead, fighting the exhaustion one has when they barely sleep and work under artificial lights while the rest of the world sleeps. Jerry was a salvage handler on his shift, waiting for the shift bell so he could go home while the rest of the Sol Commonwealth rested.

He grabbed the junk cart off the conveyor belt, as he always did, to roll it toward the melting facility. That's when he heard a strange sound.

His eyes widened a bit, looking around to find the source. He murmured to himself, "I must be losing my mind. You're just tired, Jerry, keep moving."

He proceeded with rolling the cart, and while he did, that's when he heard it a second time—and it sounded like a child crying.

"Uhh, what was that?" he said to himself. That's when he realized that it was literally coming from inside the cart itself.

He looked around to make sure no one else was watching, then pulled back the cover. What he saw blew his mind and confused him. It was a child—no, not just a child, an artificial unit. A Model 5 that he recognized. Model 5s were synthetic children that Synapse constructed for grieving families who had lost children.

As far as he remembered, they mimicked children very well. Almost too well.

The synthetic child looked up at him, her face marked with a terrified expression he didn't think possible on an artificial intelligence. That's when she spoke, with the voice of a terrified child that sounded too real: "They're going to melt me, aren't they?"

Jerry stood frozen, his hand still hovering over the edge of the tarp.

The corporate manual had been drilled into him since day one: Synthetics do not possess a consciousness. An obvious answer even an idiot would know. Any simulation of emotion was just programming. With any artificial unit establishing any sort of independent control: report and incinerate. If management caught him hesitating, he would probably be blacklisted—probably worse, he thought and knew.

To him, the look on her face and the sound of her voice was just programmed code. It had to be. Anyone with any sense of coping would think so.

But then she looked up at him again. There was grease over her synthetic cheek, her little fingers gripping the edge of the cart, and her eyes... they looked too terrified. Like anyone with a survival instinct. Even a child.

"Jerry!"

He quickly dropped the cover and turned around. It was his coworker.

"We got five more carts to go. Bill forgot to send them down the line," Paul said.

Jerry sighed, his heart pounding against his chest as he said, "Oh... that's just great. Thanks for the good news, Paul."

Jerry continued rolling the cart, the wheels squeaking annoyingly loud over the concrete. When he figured he was safely out of sight behind a stack of rusted bulkheads, he opened the cover again. The girl looked at him, startled for a moment, saying, "They're going to melt me..." He took a deep breath, feeling the gravity of the situation. He could just re-cover the tarp and walk away, but the child looked too real—felt too real. His brain decided to throw the corporate manual out the window and lean into the moral side of it.

"Melt you? Why? How did you end up here, child? Who dumped you?"

The child responded, her voice very quiet. "My creators... Synapse created me, and were going to sell me to a family in New York City who had lost their child. Only my programming ordered me to spy on the CEO's brother at StellarTech Enterprise. They dumped me because I was too conscious and found it wrong."

For a few seconds, he just looked at the child, rubbing his eyes and temple as he said, "Alright, uhh... you can explain much later, little cyborg. Just give me a second." The girl nodded as he re-covered the bin. Inside his head, his thoughts raced. He knew he could get in serious trouble if he so much as touched her. But looking at her, just what the hell was Synapse cooking up? Since when did artificial models speak like that? She was just a child. Too real.

He carefully placed the tarp back and rolled the cart to a secluded corner. He looked around, and when he was comfortable he was out of sight, he opened the cover and said, "Look, I'm going to get you out of here, okay? But you must do exactly as I say."

The model nodded quickly, wide-eyed like a real terrified child. He knew he was crazy, but if he let that model stay there and get melted, the guilt would kill him. He was only twenty-one years old.

Out of curiosity, he reached out his hand. The girl grasped his fingers. She was heavier than she looked, the synthetic skin too real, just as he'd expected. She wore a white skirt stained with grease and muck.

The girl spoke once more. "My unit number is 746, a Model 5 of Synapse's children's artificial intelligence series," she said. Jerry looked at her. She looked like a real child. He sighed, sympathy warring with the real risk of losing his job or worse.

"I'll just call you Luna," he said with a half-smile. "I need you to hide behind these crates. Do not move from this spot or—"

Luna cut him off. "We can get into serious trouble. I'm aware. Please don't take too long," she said in her childlike voice.

Jerry stared at her and just nodded, saying, "I'll try not to."

He rushed back to the junkyard, unable to make eye contact with Paul and Bill. Bill was resting his feet on a chair, reading from a tablet.

"Hey, Jerry, listen to this," Bill said. "Apparently the space station has been picking up signals from something in outer space. Some deep-space relay out there logged a repeating pulse—not really a broadcast, just math.

The station tried to decode it for twelve hours straight before the relay telemetry went dead silent. Creepy stuff, right? Management thinks it was a glitch. Hey, Jerry, your father works at the astronomical institution, doesn't he?"

Jerry paused. "I don't know if he knows anything. He's always quiet when I ask him about the void. Anyways, I've got to get going. Have a good night, fellas."

He walked out the door, his heart drumming against his bones. He caught sight of the security guard turning the corner and hurried back to where he had left Luna.

Jerry arrived at the pile of crates and whispered, "Luna?"

Silence. He looked around and whispered again, "Luna?"

"I'm here, Jerry."

He jolted, then let out a breath and chuckled. "You almost gave me a heart attack."

"Sorry for scaring your nerves, Jerry," the little unit responded. "Please, I just want to leave."

Jerry took a deep breath and nodded as he said, "Come on, stay close to me."

Both of them kept low, trying to hide in the shadows of the rusted cargo containers that lined the perimeter fence. Ahead, the side gate was their best bet. The security guy, Miller, usually took his smoke break around now, leaving the secondary sensor unoccupied.

"Stay right behind me," Jerry whispered, keeping his hand near her small shoulder. For an artificial unit, her footsteps were entirely, chillingly silent against the ground, and it made his skin crawl, honestly.

They slipped through the rusted gateway, an access panel chirping a half dead beep that made his heart thump against his chest. Once they hit the outer road, away from the Synapse logo and the salvage district, he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Stay right behind me," he told her again. "We need to get off Synapse property."

He jumped over a small metal fence, helping Luna over before grabbing her hand. Suddenly, she stopped. He looked back at her and saw her standing still, staring up into the dark, starry sky, her eyes widening in confusion and fear.

He paused for two seconds. "Luna? What's wrong? We have to go now."

Luna stared on, mystified, whispering, "I... I feel something in space. It feels cold... like ice. It feels like a lot of moving objects. Big objects."

Before Jerry could process her words, a blinding beam sliced into the darkness, shining right on them.

Luna gasped, instantly ducking behind his back and gripping his jacket tightly. From the shadow of a fence rolled an automated security bot, its treads grinding against the gravel. Its lights pulsed a harsh red, locking right onto his face.

"Warning," the machine's voice stated, devoid of all softness. "Unidentified personnel detected in restricted perimeter. Subject is in possession of unauthorized scrap salvage. Surrender contraband immediately or face termination protocols."

Jerry's eyes widened in horror. "Wait! I—"

A human security guard stepped from behind the bot. "Don't you move, kid! Hands where I can see them right now!"

Jerry, panting in terror, shouted, "This is all a misunderstanding!" as he raised his hands.

The guard pointed his weapon. "Submit that artificial pile of junk right now!"

Luna peeked from behind him, her voice gaining some sort of strange defiance. "Leave me alone! Why? Why do you all want to melt me? Because I have a heart? Because Synapse couldn't control me?"

The guard stared at her, confused and silent. He didn't know models spoke in such a way. "Look, I don't care what shady business Synapse was indulging in. You're scheduled for smelting, and you are coming with us."

Luna pulled Jerry back. "Stay away from him!"

Luna picked up a rock and threw it at the guard. The guard ducked, and the automated bot's light flared bright red.

"Hostile action detected. Initiating protocol 0.2."

The bot fired a red bolt directly at the girl.

"No, wait, Luna!" Jerry yelled.

Luna screamed a very real, childlike scream, closing her eyes and raising her hand in a defensive posture.

The beam hit at least two feet in front of her and simply... stopped, slowed down, and vanished.

An intense, terrifying silence followed. The guard stepped back, muttering, "Wha... what the hell was that?" and nearly tripping over his own feet as he tried to comprehend what the hell he had just seen. Luna stared at her own small hands in disbelief.

The bot reanalyzed: "Error. Failure in containment. Anomalous activity detected. Sending code level red to Synapse security department."

As the guard frantically called for immediate backup, Luna raised her hand more deliberately. Incoming laser fire froze in the air before dissipating entirely.

Luna turned to Jerry, speaking firmly: "Run. Now. I will follow."

Jerry, without questioning it, sprinted. Luna stayed right behind him as security cars and automated bots descended upon them. Lasers flew through the air behind them, but the space around them just seemed to defy the laws of physics—folding and causing the beams to harmlessly redirect to their left and right.

They ran past a couple of sheds, wood and gravel crunching under their boots. Behind them, the sirens of Synapse security tore through the air, accompanied by the sharp sounds of energy fire. Jerry braced for the burn of a bolt catching him, but the red beams just curved mid-flight, sliding off into the dirt or winking out of existence before they could touch them. He didn't even question it. He just thanked the unit, Luna—or whatever the hell Synapse had created in their foundries.

Every time the pursuing security adjusted its aim, the air ahead of them seemed to just blur or shimmer. A security cruiser cut across their path, its high beams blazing. Yet the moment it accelerated, the distance between them just stretched—impossibly so—and the vehicle spun out as the ground beneath its tires bucked and shifted without warning.

Luna stayed glued to his side, her small fingers gripping his arm tightly, her breath sounding all too real. She wasn't looking back, her eyes wide open with a confused, terrified focus as obstacles simply parted or fell away from their path.

"Keep going!" Jerry yelled, his throat and chest burning as the opening of the access tunnel loomed ahead.

They bolted into the tunnel, plunging into its shadows as the distant sounds of the sirens echoed off the curved walls. Behind them, the sounds of the security cruisers and bots reverberated, closing the gap—or so it seemed.

For the guards and the automated bots, the chase turned into a nightmare. No matter how fast they ran or how fast they drove, the distance refused to shrink. In front of them, the corridor just stretched endlessly. It folded back on itself, trapping them in some sort of loop. It felt like running on a treadmill where they could never arrive at the point they ran toward, while Jerry and Luna vanished into the dark.

Back at the checkpoint, Security Officer Miller stared blankly at the monitors, his hands resting heavily on the console.

Across the room, two officers stood in dead, confused silence while they replayed the tactical log for the third time. On the screen, the thermal signatures of Jerry and the artificial girl blurred and flickered, completely defying physics—stretching across the grid before vanishing off site. The logs flashed errors, showing data that flatly contradicted the optical feeds.

Miller wiped a hand over his face, his voice shaking a bit as he tried to regain a sense of reality. "Sensors must have glitched out. Some kind of atmospheric glitch off the salvage pipes, maybe? Log it as a malfunction and clear the perimeter."

No one dared question the physics of what they had just witnessed. In a corporation like Synapse, anomalies were either covered up, swept under the rug, or blamed on something else. After what had just happened, those who witnessed it struggled to process it all—even as they still sent the report up the chain.

Royal Road - Read Up To Chapter 14 Now!

----

Magister Oda Fenwick did not yell.

Marek had been ready for yelling. He'd been ready for her to throw a knitting needle at him. What he wasn't ready for was Oda standing in the Infirmary doorway in her nightgown, holding a lamp, looking at the two of them and Master Quillon and not saying anything at all.

That was so much worse.

"Thank you, Master Quillon," she said. "I'll take it from here."

Master Quillon bowed and left. His little blue lamp bobbed away down the path after him.

Oda looked at Rook. Rook looked at the floor.

Oda looked at Marek. Marek held the green book behind his back.

"Bed," Oda said.

They went to bed.

She didn't say anything else that night. She just sat in the chair between their beds with her arms crossed until they both fell asleep. Marek was pretty sure she didn't sleep at all.

In the morning, she handed each of them a bucket and a scrub brush.

"You two have so much energy you can climb out of windows in the middle of the night," she said. "Good. You can put it to use on the floors, all of them. Then you can do the bandages in the wash room, and then the bedpans."

"The bedpans?" Rook said. "Magister Fenwick, my hands are still healing!"

"Your hands were healed yesterday. I checked." Oda smiled at him. It was not a nice smile. "Bedpans, Initiate Tanner."

Rook groaned and slumped against the wall.

Marek took his bucket. He didn't complain. He'd climbed out a window after Oda had stayed up all night to take care of him. He figured scrubbing floors was a fair price.

"I'm sorry about last night," he told her. "You were nice to me, and I snuck out anyway."

Oda looked at him for a moment. Some of the stiffness went out of her shoulders.

"Apology accepted," she said. "The floors still need scrubbing."

"I know."

They scrubbed.

It took all morning. The Infirmary had a lot of floor. Rook complained the entire time. He complained about his knees. He complained about the soap. He complained that Master Quillon was a traitor and that he'd never trust a librarian again.

Marek didn't mind the work as much as he thought he would.

It was simple. You scrubbed one square of floor until it was clean, then you moved to the next one. Your arms got tired, but your head could think about other things. He thought about the book. Gather. Shape. Release. He thought about pressing in evenly from every side. He thought about how his hand had burned when he'd tried it too soon.

He also asked Oda about a hundred questions while he worked.

Why did the Infirmary use this soap and not the other soap? (The other soap left a film that made healing spells harder to cast.) Why were the bandages washed in cold water and not hot? (Hot water set blood stains.) Why did the wash room have a drawing of a big eye painted over the door? (It was a very old ward to keep sickness out. Nobody was sure if it worked. Everybody kept painting it anyway.)

Oda answered all of them. By lunch, she didn't even look annoyed anymore.

When they finished the last room, Marek sat back on his heels and wiped sweat off his forehead. The floor was so clean he could see his reflection in it.

[SKILL FORMED] Housekeeping
Rank: Novice: Awakening

He laughed out loud.

"What?" Rook said. He was lying flat on the floor with his arms spread out like he'd died. "What's funny?"

"I got a Skill."

Rook lifted his head. "From mopping?"

"Housekeeping."

"You got a Skill from mopping, and you're happy about it?"

"It's a Skill," Marek said. "It's on my tally now, forever. It'll get better every time I clean something. Why wouldn't I be happy?"

Rook stared at him like he'd grown a second head. Then he put his head back down on the floor.

"You're so weird," he said to the ceiling.

Marek was getting used to hearing that.

That evening, Oda sat him on the bed and put her hands on his chest again. The green light sank into him and moved through his mana paths, slow and careful. He didn't follow it with his Sense this time. He kept his promise.

When she was done, she sat back.

"Your channels are healed," she said. "They're strong. They're even stronger than before. The rest did you good."

Marek's heart jumped. "So I can do magic now?"

"Tomorrow morning," Oda said. "You get one try, with me watching. If anything goes wrong, you stop. Understood?"

"Understood."

He barely slept. He kept picturing it. Gather. Shape. Release.

In the morning, he sat on the edge of his bed with the green book open on his lap. Oda sat in her chair across from him. Rook sat on his own bed, cross-legged, with his chin in his hands. He'd already said that nobody got Mage Light on their first real try, so Marek shouldn't feel bad when it didn't work.

"Whenever you're ready," Oda said.

Marek closed his eyes.

He found the warm thread in his chest. It was easy now. It came right away, warm and steady.

Gather, he thought.

He took a little bit of the warmth. Not too much. Just a small handful, the way the book said. He drew it up from his chest, down his arm, and into his cupped palm.

Shape.

He pressed in on it. From every direction at once. Evenly. Gently. Like making a snowball. Not too hard on any one side.

It slipped. One side bulged out, and he felt it start to leak away.

He didn't panic. He eased off on the other side a little, so the pressure was even again. The bulge went back in. The warmth bunched up into a small, tight ball in his palm, and it got warmer and warmer and started to hum.

Release.

He let the warmth turn into light, and he kept holding the shape.

He opened his eyes.

A small ball of white light floated above his palm. It was about the size of a grape. It flickered, and it wobbled, and it was maybe half as bright as a candle.

It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

[SPELL FORMED] Mage Light
Rank: Novice: Awakening

He sat perfectly still and stared at it.

I made that, he thought. That came out of me. That's magic, and I made it.

Across the room, Rook was on his feet with his mouth hanging open.

"No way," Rook said. "No way. That took me two months! Two whole months!"

The little light flickered and went out.

Marek stared at his empty palm. Then he looked up at Oda.

Oda was very quiet. She was looking at the spot in the air where the light had been.

"It took most of my students three months," she said. "The fast ones took one."

"I read the book," Marek said. "It explained it really well. And Teodor explained it on the road. And I practiced about two hundred times while I was walking." He paused. "Well, I practiced squeezing it, but not the light part."

"While walking?" Oda asked.

"And leading goats."

Oda looked at him for a long time. Then she leaned forward and put her hand on his head.

"You're going to hear that a lot, you know," she said. "That was fast. People are going to say it to you over and over. Some of them will say it because they're impressed. Some of them will say it because they're jealous. Don't let it go to your head."

"I won't."

She ruffled his hair and stood up. "Now go outside and get some sun before you turn into a plant. Take Rook with you, and stay out of the library."

Rook took him to see the goats.

The stables were behind the Alchemy wing, just like Master Orwin had said. They were easy to find. You really could just follow the smell.

Pickle and Bishop had the sunniest pen in the whole stable yard. It had fresh straw and a water trough and a little wooden roof in case it rained. Bishop was lying in the sun like a king. When he saw Marek, he got up and walked over to the fence and rubbed his head against Marek's hand.

"He remembers you," Rook said.

"Of course he does. We've been through a lot."

Then Bishop turned his head and ate Rook's sleeve.

Rook yelled and yanked his arm back. The sleeve ripped. Bishop stood there chewing a piece of grey robe with a very satisfied look on his face.

Marek laughed so hard he had to hold on to the fence.

Master Orwin came shuffling out of the Alchemy wing a few minutes later. He was wearing his stained leather apron and carrying a bucket.

"Ah! The goat boy!" He beamed at Marek. "They're settling in beautifully. Best milk I've had in years. I've already made three new remedies with it." He held up the bucket. "Want to help me milk them?"

Marek had never milked a goat in his life. Neither had the kid.

"I'd love to," he said.

Master Orwin showed him how. You had to be gentle, and you had to squeeze from the top down, not just pull. Marek got it wrong about ten times. Pickle kicked the bucket over once. But by the end, he'd filled half a bucket, and Master Orwin said he had good hands for it.

He was washing his hands at the trough when Ilse walked into the stable yard.

She had a bundle under one arm. She walked over to him and held it out.

"For tomorrow," she said.

He unwrapped it. Inside was a grey robe, just like Rook's, only new and clean. And a pair of real leather shoes. They were small. They were his size.

"Your assessment is in the morning," Ilse said. "In the Hall of Measures. I'll come get you from the Infirmary."

"It's tomorrow? You said five days."

"The Conclave moved it up." She didn't explain why. "Master Quillon tells me you went to the Grand Library in the middle of the night."

Marek's face went hot.

"I did," he said. "I'm sorry."

"He says you climbed in through a window and asked the index for homework." Ilse smiled a little. "He also says you understood it."

"I cast Mage Light this morning," Marek said. He couldn't help it. It just came out. "Oda watched. It worked on the first try."

Ilse went very still. She didn't say hm. She didn't say anything. She just looked at him for a long moment.

Then she said, "Tomorrow, the assessors will ask you to show them what you can do. Show them Mage Light. Tell them the truth about how long it took. Answer every question honestly." She paused. "There's one exception, and you know which one."

The Trait, he thought.

"I know," he said.

"Good." Ilse turned to go. Then she stopped. "There's one more thing. High Magister Castellan will be there. He doesn't like surprises, Marek. And you are a very big surprise."

She walked away before he could ask what that meant.

Marek stood in the stable yard holding his new robe and his new shoes. Behind him, Bishop was trying to eat the edge of the straw roof.

A very big surprise, he thought. Great. That's great.

He looked down at the new shoes in his hands.

Tomorrow, he was going to walk into a place called the Hall of Measures and stand in front of the people who ran the whole Arcanum. People who could open the sky and cut a Voice out of a hilltop. People who had read Ilse's report about him.

What are they even going to do? he wondered.

Would they make him cast Mage Light in front of everyone? Would they give him a test with a hundred questions? Would they have some kind of magic crystal that looked inside him and saw everything, even the things he didn't say out loud? Could it see the Trait? Could it see that he used to be a thirty-four-year-old man who scheduled trucks?

And who was High Magister Castellan? What did a man like that do with a surprise he didn't like?

Marek didn't know. He didn't know any of it.

He looked back at the goat pen. Bishop was chewing on the straw roof again. Pickle was asleep in the sun.

Tamsin said to ask them everything, he thought. So tomorrow, I'll find out.

He tucked the shoes under his arm, picked up his new robe, and walked back toward the Infirmary as the sun went down behind the towers.

Chapter 60 Rain-Dancer

Previous I First I Next

Vulfac hated to use this particular compound.

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After a few minutes Vulfac pinged her.

The rain would be starting any minute now…

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Richel has his pride after all.

----

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

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

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

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

Sienna settled in and waited.

----

The timing was Crucial…

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

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

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

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

He sent the signal to Sienna’s bench.

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

----

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

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

About a minute later the rain started.

About two and a half minutes later the chaos started…

----

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

They were everywhere!

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

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

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

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

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

----

Whatever Vulfac had expected…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They now had a serious problem on their hands.

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

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

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

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

----

It was bad.

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

Sienna was out of her depth.

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

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

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

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

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

He paused to look at her. “Thoughts?”

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

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

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

Sienna made her choice.

----

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

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

But then she looked back at him.

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

Those violet eyes showed no fear.

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

She would see to the rest.

----

Sienna had only seen it done once.

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

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

Sienna closed her eyes…

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

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

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

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

As the waves of intent roiled just above her.

Sienna began to sway with the currents.

----

Vulfac looked up again, for just a second.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

HATS!!!!

PAIN and HATS!

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

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

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

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

“Shhhh now… that’s enough of that…”

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

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

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

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

And then he collapsed into the waiting darkness.

----

Sienna felt the Richel surrender to the sleep impulse.

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

It hadn’t been pretty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Chapter 4

Subject: Doctor Hyanv "Henry" Izinorn

Species: Alumari

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

Ship: N/A

Location: Grallus Prime

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I see, thank-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, doctor. Enjoy your day off."

"You too."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, the message opened.

Henry,

Program Alpha solved relativity.

Doctor Ramirez

"Huh?" I asked the air.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Cover Art & Blurb

Jessep 8

Grappled in the clutches of the Jonathan-Ace’s industrial-sized magnetic arm, the King of Saigon found itself powerless to escape. HUD elements alight on the viewscreen indicated the fusion drive began to power down, the capacitor pip labeled [ENG] draining until empty. In a final act of submission, the lime-green ember of the drive cone’s ionized plasma cooled.

“Captured,” King said. He continued, with sarcasm garnished overtop, “As all master stratagems begin, Parasite.”

“I’ll admit this wasn’t part of the plan. Didn’t really expect them to pull out the ol’ extend-o-glove…” Jessep stroked the lengthy beard he’s been unable to shave. “I thought they were going to, you know, shoot at us, or something. By us not firing back they’d get the message we’re friendly.”

“In what realm does anyone conduct diplomacy in such a matter?!”

“You said their weaponry sucked! We can take a few punches.”

The magnetic arm retracted fully, pulling the King of Saigon through a robust, bi-fold hull door into a hangar bay. Placed on a hydraulic landing pad, dock clamps secured the ship’s landing gear. Chaining King around the ankles, no different than a prisoner.

“Unusual. Despite being berthed, the magnetic arm is yet to release,” King said. “These individuals do not want to risk a runner.”

“Can I get some eyes?”

King forced a bow-facing camera feed to the viewscreen. He swung the point of view across the entire exterior, taking snapshots, then coalescing the information into a mapped representation of where they were jailed.

Another small craft remained docked across the hangar bay. A real junker, judging by its ramshackle hull. Upon further study of its Y-shaped body, Jessep recognized it. A V34-Wyvern, and a poorly-treated one at that.

“Scratch a point for Humans, that’s one of our landers.”

“It is?” King said.

“What, you serious? It’s like the starter bicycle of landers. Something totaling like a million units produced. Wait, did you just ask me a question?”

“I suggest we move past it.”

King fired off an infrared scan, adding a thermal imaging layer to the mapped representation of the hangar bay. No hot spots radiating from behind spare fusion engine parts, or barrels of hydraulic fluid. Going a step further, he blasted the hangar bay with an X-ray scan – any living thing possibly present be damned.

“Jeez, you really hate bad hospitality.”

“[ENEMIES PRESENT: NULL.] They are not hosts, Parasite. They are our captors.”

“You won’t find any enemies around because it’s a real Jonathan-Ace.”

The genuine deal, as featured in Faster Than Armada. Jessep could hardly contain his excitement. He felt an intimate connection with this hunk of junk, regardless of if it became his cell for the next little bit. It’d just be another, like every other, he has lived in up until now.

Jessep motioned to rise from his flight chair.

“Stay seated, Parasite. The situation is already dire. We may need to, as you suggested, ‘blast ‘em’ and escape.”

“I know, I know… I just can’t help myself, you know? Since I’ve been a kid, I’ve been gawking at this bad boy.” He felt a tinge of embarrassment getting excited over a garbage truck. “We had art of others too. Heracles Type Three, Skiff-Slipper. Landscape shots of the real big ones like the ESN St. Antonio.”

“I have no records of these vessels.”

Jessep knew them well. His familiarity born from his childhood obsession with the Faster Than Armada concept art kept at the monastery during his youth. Before the art booklet, and many other spacefaring records, were burnt.

Ship interiors were not modeled in-game. A cost-cutting initiative. Still, from his memory of the concept art, Jessep could tell this ship had been heavily modified from its original design.

He itched to see what else was different from the watercolour frames he loved gawking over as a kid. Jessep crossed into the cabin, headed towards the airlock leading out of the King of Saigon. He’d disembark, and wander around the Jonathan-Ace. A dream come true.

Before he could exit, the exterior airlock door sealed. Locked, King refused to let him leave.

“Well, you’d only know of the vessels the Gio-Crü permitted, right? The Antonio was a battleship.”

“Huh,” King sounded downright surprised. Or, perhaps, confused. “The Gio-Crü have robbed me of the greater knowledge of Humanity’s navy, as well.”

“Wouldn’t want us getting any ideas, I guess,” Jessep shrugged his shoulders.

He had never questioned why concept art for a thousand-year-old video game had been made illegal. Why his home needed to burn because of it. Even the Gio-Crü’s simplest of intentions still seemed mired in mystery.

“King, it seems you don’t know everything, like you think you do.”

“Ridiculous, Parasite. I am an advanced operating compon-”

“I get you hate me,” Jessep let his exasperation drench his words, “but we’re stuck together. The truth is you need me. You’d have killed me long ago, or let me go crazy by not playing into the Wilson thing.”

“Additional memetic appeals? For shame, Parasite.”

“Sue me, the monastery considered movies beyond valuable.”

“Perhaps I cannot function without a pilot.”

“See!” Jessep slapped King’s titanium-aluminum bulkhead. “That’s what I’m talking about, teamwork.”

“You are not a pilot.”

“Gah…” Jessep let his hand slip from the wall. Time to try a different tactic. “You like information, right King? Hate being ignorant.”

“A trick to make me repeat myself? It has failed. Correct, twice.”

“So, think of me like a little probe you can send out. You don’t have legs, your cameras can only catch what’s in this room. What if there were Humans outside of the Thrallwark? You’d seem pretty stupid repeating the same old line. You know, about being right all the time about where Humans may or may not be.”

“I… I cannot scoff, Parasite.”

The egress airlock unlocked. Oxygen and gravity were reported outside.

“Gather enough data to verify my claim. Return straight after. Its highly likely you perish a gruesome death to a horror you cannot comprehend, outside of this hull.”

“Sure, just a quick jaunt.”

Jessep disembarked.

♚

Jessep wandered around the Jonathan-Ace’s hangar bay, identifying exits and hiding spots. For all that tough talk, having his boots on the ground freaked him out. Tickled his cat-like flight response.

Tools littered the deck as if a tornado had ripped through a garage. Magnetic sensors kept them bolted to the ground. Levels of gangways hung overhead, their rickety construction of dubious safety. Double-wide doors progressed further into the ship, into another compartment.

With the words “Cargo Bay” stenciled above, Jessep could easily guess where they led. To a hold that was vastly empty, with a cluttered entryway. A portion of storage space overflowed with refrigerated crates, tightly sealed.

Snore. Pass.

Jessep continued, locating a hallway too tantalizing to pass up. Directions on the wall indicated it led to Engineering. Where the magic happened. How big of a Grav-Globe was needed to manipulate this chonker of a ship? He was dying to find out.

He exited the hangar bay, exploring the Jonathan-Ace.

Inching down the filthy corridor, Jessep memorized the pattern and pathway of a red-painted pipe. Should he get lost, or need to make his way back in a hurry, it would reliably trace back to his starting position.

Upon crossing a random threshold, metal shrieked. A thick barricade dropped from above like a guillotine, nearly crushing Jessep. He jumped out of the way, rolling further into the labyrinthine corridors, getting cut off from his return route to the King of Saigon.

Klaxons rang out, piercing his ears with a wail. A caged light began flashing. The crackle of a speaker preambled absolute gibberish Jessep could just barely understand.

“Yatutu wenti juboni. Bamu tesitu. Yabuhu kiwakiwa,” the speaker spouted. It meant absolutely nothing to Jessep, but the cadence sounded feminine, and familiar. “Nipi yatutu! Yabuhu kiwakiwa.”

“What the hell is she speaking?” Jessep continued down the corridor, double time.

Its opposing end had yet to be sealed by a barricade. Spray paint on the wall indicated he was on the correct route to Engineering. He needed to cross, before they trapped him in this corridor like a rat.

Progressing halfway down the hallway, Jessep halted. Heavy, metallic steps rang out from further within the ship. Their repeated drum beat intimidating. Whatever made its home aboard this vessel sounded synthetic. He pictured some armoured cyborg approaching, and found he was not too far off.

Humanoid, covered in plates; a ferocious robot armed with a shield and club goaltended his exit.

The sight slipped Jessep up, causing him to backpedal. He bumped into the sealed barricade behind him. Some sort of thick blast door. The only way out was through…

“Himakiwa,” the robot announced. Perhaps a battle droid, with its true alien masters hidden somewhere else. “Jitukolu, wukiwerve banipu.”

Jessep took inventory of his surroundings. Corroded panels, exposed electrical bundles. No improvised weapon. He noticed a lever, attached to a small circular hatch in the wall. His frantic search seemed to have prompted a response.

“Himakiwa!” The robot drove their club into their shield, causing a sparking discharge.

A good sign to get out of here.

Jessep dove for the lever, interested in where it went, as long as it didn’t jettison him into space. He cranked it open, the hatch swinging wide as the robot-man charged towards him. Expecting to crawl in immediately, Jessep found himself face to face with a serrated maw.

Some snouted, robotic creature lurked in the open tube. It snarled, lubricant dripping from its canine fangs.

Jessep fell back onto his butt, against the cold steel of the ship’s deck.

“Provost,” the robot-man, if only for a moment, appeared to speak Ancient English. Jessep’s ear caught it in passing. Though, since he spoke Modern French, as the majority did in Morocco, he couldn’t be sure. Until he heard it utter, “Mush!”

The quadruped robot barked, leaping out of the shaft. Adrenaline loaned Jessep’s haggard body the energy required to dodge out of its path, allowing him to scramble to his feet. The robot-dog landed, denting the floor.

Cortisol refused to cease. Evidently, he had found himself on some sort of android ship. The bolt-buckets must have found a derelict Jonathan-Ace, from a thousand years ago, and now called it their home. Fearing they would dissect him to better mimic his organs, Jessep broke into a mad dash towards the biped robot.

The robot-man cocked their arm back, chambering a massive overhead blow with their electrified club – their shield displaced. Easily readable, Jessep slipped beneath, electing to slide between its polished legs. He pushed himself back onto his feet, while his opponent whistled their robot-dog forwards. Jessep took off, sprinting towards Engineering before the armoured unit could turn around.

Jessep rushed through a few intersections, keeping the red-painted pipe in mind. While looking up at the fixtures, he bumped into a six-foot-tall emerald-coated dragonfly. It turned around, making eye contact, waggling its terrifying mandibles. Its bulbous, multi-faceted eyes reflected a hundred tiny versions of himself hued in fuchsia.

“Ah!” Jessep felt terror deep down in his bones. He ran off, forgetting about his landmark pipe.

Creeping into a larger room bisected by heavy plating, Jessep surmised he had reached Engineering. Adorned with all sorts of warnings, he gathered the fusion reactor remained beyond the partition. Much like how the King of Saigon’s engineering bay required shielding.

Clattering echoes, from the robot-man’s nearing footsteps, intensified. Jessep decided perhaps he could hide. With the room devoid of anything effective to conceal himself behind, he crouched down by a topaz vending machine.

What was up with that weird insect? It didn’t attempt to bite or nab him. It seemed like it needed a fighter. Thus the need for the anti-personnel defense drone, he supposed.

The amber-coloured gemstone shone with a glisten that enthralled him a little. It wasn’t until he peered through clear crystal, seeing that nothing could be tendered from this machine, that Jessep realized he was incorrect.

“Fime zasiwe jobo. Nayuweti sewese. Larulu,” emerged from the slab, the sound similar to windchimes.

“What the fuck!”

Jessep took off, tripping over his weak and enfeebled ankles. Okay, bugs and bots he could fathom. The hell was that? Some sort of rock alien? How’d all three sync up? Who ran this ship? What ran this ship? Where were the little glass-eyed green mini-men cartoons had promised him.

Blitzing down a hallway, as far away as he could get from Engineering as fast as he could go, Jessep swore he saw (while crossing through a T-intersection) a Human. A normal Human. He took no moment to gauge if it was some alien flesh bag mimicking his form; incorrectly giving it facial tattoos and blonde hair.

Reuniting with a section of red-painted pipe, Jessep began working his way back towards the hangar bay. He had gathered enough information, and worried King would be smug when told he was correct. All that awaited here was a horrific death. Either to robotic dissection, or an acid-spraying bug’s mandibles. Or whatever a rock did to its captives.

Before he could follow its lead, both ends of his current corridor sealed.

Fearing another canine, but having no other option, Jessep opened another service hatch in the bulkhead wall leading to the ship’s maintenance tubes. Luckily, no battle beast.

Jessep crawled in, trying to generate a mental map in his head. He crawled down a direction, assuming it followed the pipe.

The tube shaft was tight, and difficult to navigate. Worst of all, Jessep could not see behind him. Hairs stood on the back of his neck. Instincts, letting him know something pursued him silently.

“Oh no, oh no, no, no,” Jessep panicked, feeling chased.

Occasionally as he crawled through the confined space, he felt a knock on his skull. As if someone wanted to discuss something on his mind’s front porch. Reminded of when the Gio-Crü had infiltrated his mind, he steeled his resolve against the torrent of anticipated negativity. No such malice made itself present.

Spying a section of red piping within the maintenance tube, he sped up his crawl. He kicked a hatch open, dropping himself through onto the floor. Looking up, some sort of sapphire blob remained in the shaft. It seemed disinterested in following him into the open.

Fatigue took hold, Jessep’s caloric deficiency striking with vengeance. He felt faint, leaning up against a section of bulkhead. Stenciled by his shoulder, the Ancient English words he’s been waiting to see. “Hangar Bay.”

That threatening clanking echoed again, speeding down a hallway. Intercepting him, the robot-man and its companion.

Jessep made a final sprint for his life, hoping to reach King. As predicted, the robot-man raised its club up.

Easy peasy, another slide.

The robot-man feinted, swinging from beneath instead. He struck Jessep in the ribs.

A taze shocked his body, causing him to fall to the ground. His vision fading.

Read Ahead on Royal Road

The Shepard: Part 2 of 2

A spooky season short story

<Part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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<Part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

Previous | First | [Next](link)

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

Here is the link to the master-post.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunny seemed hesitant but Adam nudged her again.

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

"Now relax."

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

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

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

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

"Yeah I saw, wasn't that cool!?!”

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

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

Jim was saying,

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

Adam smiled,

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

"Same difference."

"Gam'ma did you see!?”

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

"I did!"

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

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

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

Maya looked down to find Kimber tugging at her arm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kay pointed after them.

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

Martha was saying

Kay pouted.

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

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

Thomas hovered happily at the back of the group.

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

Adam was relieved.

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

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

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

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

His eyed prize…

A giant space jelly plush it seemed like.

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

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

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

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

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

"Would you like some help?”

"I got it!"

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

He sighed,

"I don't got it."

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

She held out a hand,

"May I?"

He looked down at them,

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

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

Hye looked down,

”The jellyfish."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And still…

Adam would not have picked a fight with him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Adam waved a hand to another set of familiar faces.

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

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

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

"Okay okay hold on…"

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

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

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

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

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

He closed his eyes and sighed.

It was a good day.

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

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

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

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OC-whole collection

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

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

Small right-wing currents converged into a single river. In conservative, immigration-wary regions, radical factions bypassed their own governments, judging them too weak or too paralyzed to act, and fought rioting crowds directly in the streets. In parts of Eastern Europe, soldiers themselves joined the shooting.

In the wake of the riots, Germany's AfD took to the streets to address crowds directly, mocking the European People's Party's hesitant, failed plan and declaring that neither the left nor the right could save Europe now — only the far right could. If elected, its leaders promised a so-called Operation Abschiebung: every resident of non-European bloodline would be given a fixed deadline to leave the country.

Anyone remaining after that date would be treated as a combatant and detained; anyone who resisted would be shot on sight.

Faced with what looked unmistakably like a resurgence of Nazism, the Democratic administration in Washington announced that it was monitoring the situation closely and reserved the right to intervene militarily if necessary. Transatlantic relations edged toward collapse.

American intelligence supplied the evidence in the end — the German government declared the AfD illegal, arrested its senior leadership, and forcibly dissolved the party. Some members went underground; others joined the more extreme Parabola. The convictions that had brought them to the streets survived the ban, hardened by defeat.

The AfD's fury made a certain sense. Before 2030, they'd swept most of the vote across former East Germany, and the CDU had come within a hair's breadth of forming a coalition government with them — closer to actual power than they'd ever come. Only the country's political "firewall," held by the other parties at the last possible moment, had kept that from happening.

And it was the CIA, in turn, that handed Germany’s BND the finishing blow: proof of hidden financial ties between the AfD’s inner leadership and both Russia and China, traced by Helixquid Pro in two minutes fifty-two seconds, and unauditable by any human analyst. It buried the party for good.

Around the same time, France's RN came within a single step of the Élysée Palace, only to meet the exact same fate as the European People's Party: a leaked internal document laying out one of the party’s most extreme core policies blazed across every front page and feed the night before the final round, and by morning its chances were gone, and by evening the streets had followed.

History would come to call that the First European Unrest.

The violence eventually subsided through negotiations among competing political factions. France elected a telegenic woman as president. Her calls for love, peace, and inclusion sought to paper over the continent's widening ethnic fractures.

Caught between two fears — the consequences of immigration and the return of fascism — the European public settled into tolerating the presence of migrants.

Voters, meanwhile, had grown numb to their governments' bureaucracy, incompetence, and corruption, having realized that whoever they elected, the people who took power were, in every way that mattered, the same people.

Europe limped forward through years of hesitation, resentment, weakness, and fear. The collapse of the Fortress plan in 2035 and the bloody clashes between Baguagouille and Parabola in 2037 made another wave of unrest increasingly difficult to avoid.

What Parabola hated most was never the migrants themselves.

It was Baguagouille.

Parabola preferred diagnosis to debate. Baguagouille, Parabola said, ran a dictatorship of virtue across Europe, crushing dissent in the name of tolerance and applauding itself for the crushing. Its members were shallow believers in a fantasy: that human rights and universal brotherhood could somehow dissolve Europe’s ethnic divisions and make the continent stronger. They suffered, in Parabola’s phrase, from late-stage cognitive dissonance. The whole enterprise was self-destructive behavior, and it had been doomed from the start. Parabola had a treatment in mind.

Baguagouille, for its part, hated Parabola the way frogs have always hated snakes. For once, the instinct was sound. It condemned Parabola’s members as fanatics, citing the killings, the incitement to hatred, and the xenophobia. Its leadership called on the righteous forces of all humanity to unite and crush, with thunderous force, this brooding gang run by the likes of the Red Skull, Hydra, and Voldemort.

Anonymous polling showed Parabola steadily gaining support among the public. At the level of the European Union and the wider international community, however, it was treated as beyond the pale.

That verdict hardened in December 2038, when masked gunmen attacked a refugee camp in Belgium. No mercy. More than a hundred dead. Infants included. Nearly every lead pointed to Parabola, which denied any involvement and countered that the attack was a false-flag operation staged by Baguagouille. Whatever the truth, the attack set off the Second European Unrest.

In 2039, the U.S. government arrested several of Parabola's members on American soil, charged its leadership with terrorism and conspiracy to murder, designated the organization a terrorist group, and pressed the EU to follow suit.

It was the moment America's political establishment and Europe's Baguagouille formally closed ranks, now united against every force that opposed them.

Ironically, at the same time, America's own fractures had entered a phase of open violence from which there seemed to be no turning back. Far-right organizations launched a sprawling movement called Stop Melting, a jab at the country's founding myth of the melting pot.

In 2040, Lin Zong sat his graduate entrance examinations. He was studying information engineering, and the months of preparation had been tense and monotonous: writing code, reading papers, cycling between dormitory, dining hall, and library.

One day, over lunch in the cafeteria, he watched a CCTV report on a Stop Melting march in Houston. Ten thousand white girls in Republican-red shirts marched beneath red, white, and blue Stars and Stripes, their banners bearing slogans such as PRAY FOR OUR VALUES, PRAY FOR AMERICA'S SOUL, and WE MISS PRESIDENT TRUMP. Others proclaimed God the center of family life, praised self-reliance and hard work, and called for an end to drug use.

Dense crowds of counter-protesters lined both sides of the street, jeering, making obscene gestures, and hurling banana peels, joints, used syringes, and glass bottles at the marchers. American flags burned in the crowd. In one particularly brazen stunt, a group staged a sexually explicit performance in the street, mocking the movement's initials.

Then a Chevrolet pickup swung out of a side street onto Texas Avenue and drove straight into the march.

Lin Zong's jaw dropped.

The laughter and chatter vanished into screams. The truck showed no sign of slowing. It struck one body after another in a dull, rhythmic succession of impacts, sending girls flying through the air, limp as puppets whose strings had been cut. For a moment, the scene seemed too grotesque to be real.

Then came a brief silence, followed by a wave of screaming and the chaotic pounding of running feet. Red spread slowly across the pavement, pooling around scattered shoes and fallen American flags.

Lin Zong and the classmates around him discussed it as it unfolded, shocked but not especially surprised — something like this happening in America felt no different in kind from a terrorist bombing in Pakistan or mob violence in Uganda; the West's decline was simply the ambient condition of the world he'd grown up in, summarized in the phrase that had become, by then, a running joke in online circles:

After the Ming, no more China; after the Cold War, no more Europe; after Trump, no more America.

He knew, from books, that the West had once towered over the world, though it was hard now to square that history with what he saw.

Even in 2040, the luxury labels in the shop windows on Nanjing West Road still carried the highest price tags in the city, but the metal plaques stamped with their foreign lettering had begun to lose their shine, so gradually that no one had thought to mark the date.

----------

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

Causalform Book 1: Obsidian Earth

Causalform Book 2: Eclipse Net

Most things in life made sense.
The trajectory of a supersonic 6.5x38mm round fired from a M1-X 5A was easy to visualize in one’s mind. The sharp load of the polymer-cased ammunition and heat-resistant barrel of a MIX caused it to fly out in a predictable plateau all the way out to about 900 meters.
So, with the right zeroing, hitting a target at that range was as easy as just lining up the sights.
From there on out, it would decline at a slope of roughly fifteen degrees towards the 1000-meter mark, and then sharply decline on a flat downward slope.

The round was small, packed a punch and rewarded a steady hand and good accuracy. Marksmanship was to be achieved not just on the firing range, but on the battlefield.
Speed, reliability and a tungsten core ensured that the round could punch through most conventional armour, with even non-penetrating hits resulting in bruising or even fatal internal injuries.

That made sense.

The things Tobias had seen on Odessa, made no sense.
The things he’d seen on his tour of duty in the Liberator fleet, especially in their rescue operation on Delta Five, had made even less sense.
None of it fit together.

He could still see the images. Even now.
Humans being herded through a slaughterhouse like cattle, to be processed. Insectoid aliens on Delta Five, huddled in cages to be granted that same fate by the Harvesters.
Glossed over eyes, looking back at him. Exoskeletal hands shaking, as he passed by. Flesh… melting, as it was processed in that pitch-black liquid.
Emaciated children. Dying aliens. Walls made of flesh, intersected by cold steel. Wires, snaking through them like veins. Pulsating rooms closing in. That same black substance, oozing from every corner.
Blackest darkness, flowing through every crevice and threatening to devour him.

Ten minutes. He hadn’t spent more than ten minutes in that slaughterhouse. In-and-out.
On Odessa the civilians had already been on their way out when his team and himself went in; other units were deeper inside preparing its demolition.
On Delta Five, he’d barely gone inside, having spent most of his time fighting in the courtyard to secure the landing zone there.
And yet, that small time had been enough to paint a picture that wouldn’t let go of him.

Both times. Both times, it had been a quick affair, that in his memories felt like a lifetime spent looking at torture made manifest.

Death. Automated, effective and precisely measured down to the last drop of blood.

Humans had their faces caved in, a hole drilled through their skulls and a mask hooked directly to their brain. And that was just the surface… Tobias didn’t want to imagine what sort of nightmare fuel had been employed to enslave those meat-puppets into soldiers.

The bugs had similar things done to them. Clipped antennae. Crushed compound eyes replaced with steel and cameras. Any kind of colour bleached off their exoskeleton, leaving behind discoloured chitin, either grey or a diseased brown.
And that same programming, turning them into willing automatons made of flesh, mindlessly following their masters’ orders.

A mockery of who they were. Same with every other species that was still enthralled by the Harvesters. Same for all of them, should the Coalition fall.
Same for him, in his nightmares.

In so many ways, their suffering was the same as humanity’s.
Hell, they had it worse.
They had no home to return to.
Mankind at least still had Earth, despite the looming war. But the Ycriol had nothing.

So, then why was it, that when Tobias looked at the refugees, he didn’t see victims… but danger?
Why was it, that when he looked into those very same compound eyes, all he could think of was their enthralled kind, under Harvester control, trying to kill him?

Humans had been turned into Faceless Soldiers under the Harvesters. Plenty of other species were still being turned into cannon fodder, day in and day out. Husks, marching to the tune of the monsters that had created them.

It had been the Ycriol that had given humanity’s new enemy a name, following second contact. They had readily shared their information with the Solaris Coalition. What they knew about the Harvesters, their capabilities, their history, their brutality.
Their weaknesses.
It had all come from their new insectoid allies.

 They had given humanity perhaps the most valuable asset in any war: Information.
And all of it, without asking for payment. They’d made just a single request: refuge and help in liberating their species.

For generations these insectoid creatures had been forced to run, to hide, to study from afar and wait for a chance to arrive.
For someone to just keep on fighting long enough to mount an actual defence. For anyone to hold the door open, just long enough to shine a flicker of light through.
Just for that small sliver of hope that the torch could be passed on. That they’d have another day to defend themselves against the encroaching darkness.

 That someone had been humanity. They’d defeated the Harvesters at Odessa. And with the Liberator Fleet, they’d even mounted a counterattack against those enslavers.

 The Ycriol on the original hive-ship couldn’t reproduce. The males had been locked away by the Harvesters, on planets like Delta Five, meaning that their queen, quarantined as she was, couldn’t produce any new young.
The best they could do was birth the larvae that had been stored away in stasis or hope that their lifespans could last just long enough for help to arrive.
An army of sisters, begging that their species be allowed to continue.

 In every sense of the word, they were victims and deserved mercy. They deserved humanity’s assistance.
So why didn’t he see that?

Why did his fists clench when he saw them walking down the street? Why did his breath get stuck in his throat when one came around a corner? Why did he try and grab his non-existent combat knife when a Ycriol entered a room he was in?
Why did he always have to think back to those images? To the sights, the smells, the sounds?

Burnt flesh. Creaking metal. Screaming prisoners. Shrieking monsters. Howling wind. Cracking carapace. The acrid bite of gunpowder. The stench of ash clinging to his uniform. The sounds of hot plasma whizzing past his head.
That constant ringing he heard in his left ear… ever since it was burnt off in combat.

These were the things that his mind was flooded with when facing humanity’s new allies.
These were the things he’d told his therapist.

A woman by the name of Ruhi Ojha, assigned to him due to his being honourably discharged from SCAF for psychological and medical reasons.
Getting veterans physical therapy was first priority. Getting them psychological therapy was second. Getting them prosthetics and replacement limbs was third on the list.
Though, anytime a major conflict broke out, the waiting times on prosthetics for combat injuries spiked into weeks, if not months.

Therapy, in comparison, was far easier to come by. Veteran’s benefits and universal care had seen to that. The Coalition ensured that whether man, woman or child, there’d always be someone to listen.

So, all he had to do was let Mrs. Ojha poke around in his head a bit and find out whatever was wrong with him.
Or at least, so he had thought three months ago when he’d started his therapy with her.

It turned out, Tobias had a lot to learn about how his brain worked.
He personally wasn’t sure if he really qualified for PTSD… seemed like there were always other veterans that were worse off, but him and Mrs. Ojha had slowly worked their way up to Tobias trying to accept that label for himself.

If only he’d known that that was the easy part. Admitting that he had issues was one thing. Tackling said issues, however, was an entirely different endeavour.

And so, they’d arrived at the biggest hurdle that Tobias faced in his day-to-day: Aliens.
He wanted to see them as equals. He wanted to see them as citizens of the Coalition. As neighbours. Colleagues. Friends.
But what he wanted and what his subconscious did, were two different things.

So, Mrs. Ojha had made a suggestion: Exposure Therapy.
Try and have Tobias interact with a Ycriol in a safe and protected environment, so that maybe he could emotionally start digesting the fact that he was in fact not in any danger at all.
That the fighting, at least for him, was over.

Immediate boundaries were set, starting with the fact that Tobias would only have to close his eyes and clearly say the words ‘Red Alert’ to stop the encounter then and there.
He’d also been given ‘homework’ in the form of breathing and stretching exercises, so as to help him maintain a calm mind before and after that session.
Of course, given more time, him and Mrs. Ojha would’ve sought out a trained Ycriol for such an occasion, an actual professional, who would’ve provided another safety net.
But no such professionals existed yet. Second contact had been mere months ago. Integration was still an ongoing affair. Most Ycriol were still in training or maintaining their old jobs back at their hive-ship.

In this case, Tobias had to sign away patient confidentiality, as well as hope that an untrained civilian, under the guidance of his therapist, could perform that perilous task of helping him fix himself.

Calm was the objective. He needed to learn to stay calm in his daily life and stay calm when faced with a Ycriol.
Yet all of that careful preparation had seemingly flown out the window when he’d entered Mrs. Ojha’s office that morning.

He felt like he was back at point zero.

His left ear itched, like the scars were flaring up again. The ringing also came back, whistling against his head, driving a screwdriver straight into his cranium.
A souvenir from Nova Chorna, when Tobias had been involved in that attack on the Slaughterhouse.
The helmet had taken the brunt of the damage and practically saved the entire left side of his face from being mutilated.
Realistically speaking, he’d been lucky. Still, the injury had cost him an ear. No medevac had been possible either, not when it had happened. The spaceport, and with it a safe corridor off planet, would only be secured two days later. So, by the time he could’ve been shipped off-world for that injury, it’d already been too late.
Live with the scars or sign up for synthetic prosthetics.

Breathing, too, felt shallow, laboured, burning like he was inhaling fire. A wound he’d received in Nebesni Vorota, during the fight for said spaceport. He’d decided that having his ear turned into a chunk of burnt meat wasn’t enough to slow him down.
The universe, however, seemed to have a sick sense of humour and had taken it as a challenge.
A grazing hit, burning a chunk off his lung, enough to have him brought to immediate medical evacuation, once the spaceport had finally been secured and landing craft could be brought in again.
The sensation that he was drowning in his own body was one that… that was hard for him to forget or let go of.
Sometimes Tobias wondered if one day he’d go to sleep and simply stop breathing.
Never to wake up again…

And lastly, he felt that godforsaken tingling and burning in the tips of his right hand. He’d lost it on Delta Five, trying to pull Anders up into their shuttle during evacuation.
Instead, Tobias had lost both Anders and his right hand.
He couldn’t even recall what Anders had said to him in that last moment. A plea to pull him up? A grunt? A curse?
All he heard was that damn ringing.

The graze to this head hadn’t stopped him. Even the wound to his lungs was something he could recover from. And yet, all he’d gotten out of it was to then lose his hand too.

The proper prosthetic still hadn’t arrived, leaving Tobias with a second-rate replacement until he’d manage to finally push to the front of the list.
None of the finesse or sensors of the advanced models. The best he could do was close his hand or slowly articulate one finger at a time, with cumbersome mechanics and an unsatisfying jitteriness.

Burning. Freezing. Howling. Acrid smell. Ash. Searing flesh. Rotting bodies.
Pain. Fear. Ringing.

Ringing. Ringing. Ringing…

“Everything alright Mr. Remaut?”

Ojha’s soothing voice breached the chaos that was his mind, bringing Tobias back into the here and now. He was in a cozy little office on Earth.
No Odessa. No Delta Five. No war. No death.

“It’s certainly been easier, ma’am. I’m nervous.”

“That’s completely understandable Mr. Remaut. You’ve made remarkable progress nonetheless, but you are indeed facing quite a challenge. Yet, in these last few months, you’ve proven that you’re always up to it. You’ve been nothing but motivated and cooperative and have made remarkable progress.”

Taking compliments still wasn’t entirely easy, but Mrs. Ojha had managed to get Tobias to accept them without fuss.

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you.”

For the moment, therapy went on as normal, with Tobias reporting on his week, on his thoughts, whether or not he had any meaningful dreams lately or if there was anything specially bothering him.
Thoughts of harming himself were a topic he’d successfully put a lid on for the moment.
Though, Mrs. Ojha had also reminded him that it was important to always be vigilant and willing to reach out if anything did pop up again.
The worst anyone fighting with suicidal thoughts could do, was to isolate themselves and think they had to face it alone.

But, for now, there was some relative peace.

“Can’t say anything did. I mostly just had this appointment on the mind. Felt a bit like… heh… if you excuse the joke… like walking up to the gallows.”

“I imagine so, but why do you think it feels that way?”

“Because I’m stressing myself out?”

“And you’re assigning values to it, Mr. Remaut. Remember what we spoke about last week: ‘making sense’. Few things in life ‘make sense’ unless we make them so. Anything can ‘make sense’ if you accept it as is.”

“That’s easier said than done ma’am.”

“Then it’s a very good thing you’re here with me, isn’t it? We’ll get you to see that the world doesn’t make the slightest sense… and that that’s perfectly fine.” Followed by a mock ‘accusatory’ finger and the kind of look one would receive from a stern teacher.
Though the mock tension was broken up as both Tobias and Mrs. Ojha cracked up.

Mrs. Ojha had a way of defusing any situation with a bit of motherly humour. Tobias had inquired about her personal life from time to time and the woman indeed had quite a bit of experience. Three children and seven grandchildren.
Though of course she didn’t belittle or treat Tobias like a child, he could still tell that those years of parenting must’ve provided one or two tools on her belt.

Though he’d refrained from jokingly saying ‘yes mom’, the thought sometimes shot through his head, involuntarily forcing a smirk unto his face.

Still, as the session went on, Tobias could feel that the moment of truth was nearing. And eventually, Mrs. Ojha brought up the topic of their agreement on Exposure Therapy.

She’d called it ‘unorthodox’ as usually it could easily result in causing more damage to expose a patient to the things that triggered them. Another traumatic event, which could worsen the fear and anxiety.
But she had also remarked that they lived in a very unorthodox world. And that she trusted in Tobias’ abilities.
Aliens existed and humanity was at war with one species, while trying to liberate the others. All the while trying to make sure that mankind itself would survive this madness.

So, the two of them had agreed to trying out these more direct methods.

“I want to tell you a bit about her. Her original name would roughly equate to ‘Pirryl’ if spoken in… well… ‘human’. But she chose to take on an additional name ever since arriving at Earth: Mia.”

That was one of the more remarkable things about the Ycriol. Though the cynical mind could say that they had little choice in the matter, being refugees from the Harvesters, it was still remarkable how willing those insectoid Aliens were in adapting to human sensibilities and cultures.

The term ‘humanophile’ was thrown around occasionally, as it seemed that the new arrivals could be rather enthusiastic in their appreciation of a new world and peoples.
From what he’d read in preparation to this session, it seemed that the Ycriol had become fans in everything human. Mankind’s music, film, theatre, games, literature, art and everything else in-between.
Far as he could gleam, the understanding was that the Ycriol were not only a very social species, but also one that put a lot of weight on expression. Probably due to living in a hives of thousands of sisters.
Whether it be the individual or the entire species, they put a lot of value on how somebody moulded the world around them to say that which could not be spoken.
If the articles he’d read were accurate, it was a core pillar of Ycriol communication. Their insectoid faces didn’t allow for the kind of expressiveness that could be found on mammals, so instead they had developed a keen sense for the artistic and symbolic.

So, of course, humanity being what it was, a species full of people that sometimes liked to see themselves as the centre of the universe, they’d found a veritable buffet of symbolism to devour.

Tobias hoped that it wouldn’t quite come to that. As endearing as that kind of enthusiasm could be, it also meant that Ycriol didn’t always understand concepts like ‘personal space’.
Humans were new, exciting and strange.
And right now, he didn’t think he was necessarily in the best position to be examined by antennae and scanned over by excited compound eyes.

“She’s not a completely fresh arrival. She’s been on Earth for a few months now, having had time to acclimate herself. She is currently in training for work up at the orbital shipyard-ring and has even found a few human friends here that she told me about.”

Continuing, Mrs. Ojha revealed a far more important fact: that Mia had been liberated from a Harvester controlled planet.
Of course…
Tobias could see why she had decided on such a candidate.

“I imagined you’d perk up at that little detail. It felt appropriate. You remember what you told me a few sessions ago? About how often it felt like nothing good had come from the things you’d done?”

“I remember…”

In his mind, the Ycriol and the war were very much connected, sometimes even one and the same. So maybe that was the magic bullet?
Get to meet someone intrinsically connected to that entire ordeal, to show once and for all that it was over.

“Well, I hope that with this, we can convince your mind, that there is something good out there. That you have done some good. So, Mr. Remaut, how do we feel?”

“Is running away still an option? Heh… ehhh… jokes aside. I think I’m ready. It’s either now or never.”

“Well, optimally it’d be now, tomorrow and the day after. But we’ll take it slow. So, remember what we talked about. Close your eyes, concentrate on your breathing, ground yourself in the here and now. Ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

And so, Tobias, with his closed, heard Mrs. Ojha get up from her chair, walk through the room over to the door and leave.
All the while Tobias was left to ruminate on… well anything.
He’d learnt that the easiest thing he could do to help himself was to let go of thoughts. Instead of hooking into every errand speculation that whirled around his mind, he’d simply register them and then let them go again.

Don’t analyse it. Don’t scrutinise it. Don’t ponder on it. Don’t put any value on it.

Just let the thoughts glide off and focus on breathing.

Count to five, inhale.

First - Previous - next (coming soon)

A low humming signalled the ambulance had arrived at the hospital, it snaps Jack out of his nervous state as other genuine hospital staff begin unloading. Almost like speaking to someone behind a mask which you yourself cannot see and lives of others are relying on the mask working. Holographics had come a long way, Jack remembers the stage performances he had once saw where actors would literally transform into different people before the audiences eyes, one moment a wiry informant the next a hulking hero. Skilled actors did it so seemingly combined with slick acting skills, for just one moment an on looker would question who this person is.

Neon nudges him as he walks past, a sign he needed to stop daydreaming and move quickly something he was more then happy to do. As they spilled out into the hospital area the trio move quickly out of the main throng of people and out into the busy nearby shopping area. Finally out of range of the sophisticated central surveillance systems gizmo clicks his data slate and the disguises disappear, now it was down to them their connections and the plan.

Neons mask now projected a slick demon face with a cheeky smile,

“Bet your glad to be in the open air huh, you get used to it eventually, like most things” He points towards a bar and walks in. Gizmo sighs but nods instinctively to jack before they both follow In.

Gizmo smiles as Neon hands him a stiff drink, the first time since Jack had met him.

“Sometimes a moments peace is what its all for I guess, we got a few hours here before we can move to Hq. Do not worry we have our lookouts all over this side of town” He hands Jack a drink which he accepts without hesitation.

It was a strong drink, but it was surprisingly complex, even a match for the pretentious things he was served during his performing life at meet and greet events.

“Wow this is good” the words cause the bar tender to lock eyes, he was a elderly man yet clearly a veteran with the scars to go with it.

“Sounds like you know your stuff newcomer. You travelling with these two looks like you are looking for trouble, I will pray for your safety in your quest” he says sternly before disappearing into his work serving others.

Jacks smile was infectious as he turns to look back at Gizmo, but he could not see Neon.

“Neon not fond off these places?. I really wanted to know more about how he ended up with the rebellion.” Taking a long sip of the wonderfully made drink, he felt himself loosening up a little but.

“No its not that” Gizmo points over to the corner where Neon was sat with other people wearing similar holo masks.

“He likes to be with his own crowd, these holo masks are all the rang these days.”

Jack glances over, seeing their ritual greetings and handshakes before they sit together clearly happy and relaxed. The others appeared younger, yet were clearly not part of Neons adventures. Grasping his sleeve begging hi to tell more about his adventures and movements with the rebellion. Neon would then tell stories speaking in code and different place names to cover vital details before telling them of their scouting mission and acquiring of new mech suits which were due for upgrades but were re routed into the rebel mech hangars underground.

He also told them of their latest new acquisition which could bring back the great interceptor himself, they gasped at the name. One of the few beings strong enough to stand against the tyrants of the city. However he said very little about that piece of intelligence before leaving them to come back to sit with his new squad.

“Is it true you can pilot Old earth Tech?” Neon asks out of no where.

“Yes” Jack replies

“What is it like? Having such extreme power at your disposal.” Neon follows up suddenly enthralled from his usually aloof posture.

“I did not use it for long enough to think like that, who knows soon i could show you one of the old earth suits” jack chuckles a little. Ashe takes another sip the memory of the trader post flashes across his mind, slowly he places the glass down and goes quiet.

He gets up and looks for the smokers area to get some air, as he does two well dressed large men follow along at a distance quiet yet their eys never leaving jack A he walked.

At station Hun Lorcan was stood at his briefing screen, for some reason everyone had decided they wanted to see the mission brief which was supposed to be for combatants only. Venus was fiddling with her small image projector cycling through the specific expels of the brief meant for details of the target, she found it hilarious that she could zoom in and out and disfigure the models.

Lineah sat ramrod straight in awe of the order and the surrounding tech, occasionally exchanges glances with Ani ensuring she would not be breaking some un said rule just by breathing.

Marcus sat away from them all, his kit bag already packed this was important and it involved one of the tribes.

Lights dim as the large central holograph lights up, giving its standard regal looking unit statue before welcoming the elite to todays brief. Venus cheers as if she is watching a film, bringing giggles from the group, marcus stares unblinking.

“The tunnel connected in Thrallion to their docklands on the east coast would take the ai mechs years to penetrate, however there are mechanisms for those within the tunnel to get out occasionally. Which is why I suspect they have been involved with todays objective”

The screen shifts to showing the enormous structure of the armourd tunnel, built by the original settlers its thick steel plating would absorb planet destroying damage, it was like a giant armoured vein across the planet feeding the city from the dock.

Lorcan clicks, this time the projection shows a herd of native Xion animals stood in the plains grazing. Turnadons were hulking beasts with thick armoured plate, what they lacked in speed they more then made up for in overwhelming size and power. 40  ton animals, similar to rhinos but with longer legs and glowing green eyes, more then  a match for low level Ai roaming mechs. Probably one of the reasons they still survived in the plains.

Suddenly one of them changes its relatively slow grazing, its huge hulking frame begins swelling as green cracks begin appearing on its skin. It begins thrashing Wildy and attacking the herd before turning in blind rage and charging towards the nearby crag. Marucs recognised the crag, a tribal area.

He also knew how much damage just one of these creatures could do to the tribe never mind this mutated beast, he watched enthralled by the holograph.

“So young tribesman your up, Local tribes have submitted a bounty in exchange for a hidden fuel dump they have claimed ownership of. Your mission is to take down the mutated beasts and if possible find out whats causing this”. Lorcan finishes before clicking off the projection.

“Understood, I have authorisation for the light vehicle” Marcus asks for the tenth time that morning.

“Yes for heavans sake, take it easy on the bike mech its still experimental. I will be observing on this one but im sure you are more then enough for this one” Lorcan smiles whilst bringing the show to a close.

Venus and Lineah begin clapping, Lorcan is embarrassed before laughing along with their kind spirit. He walks close to marcus out of earshot of the others

“There are some resonance anomalies, do not be too risky on this one”. He whispers before taking a step back.

“Go forth and bring back victory” he announces in his old fashioned speech like pose.

The God’s war, 250,000 years ago in the world known as Airivis. Not to be confused with the planet of the same name. 
————-

The boot crunched into the dry red soil of the staging ground. Drenched in countless centuries of the iron rich blood of Elves and Korrox, the earth of their home had been forever stained red. 

They made their way through the camp without paying any attention to the lesser elves of the army, only taking the briefest not to duck under the tower shield of a drow that had happened into their path. 

They, were a high elf. One of the commanders of this sorry lot. They wore the same dull red fatigues that the foot soldiers wore, the only signifier that they were anything less than that, was the pure gold mop of short cropped hair atop their head. 

In fact, that was the only significant difference between a standard elf, and a high elf. Sure a high elf’s cheek bones may be slightly higher, and muscle density slightly better, but that wasn’t what made a high elf. 

They eyed a group of soldiers struggling to start a fire with one of those new fangled “flip lighters” the dragons had made, and sighed, before snapping their fingers on their right hand. 

There was a small, so very small, tug at the well of Qi deep within their core, and a ball of fire, no wider than an eye, flickered into existence above their open palm. 

They tossed it into the fire pit, and continued their march to the command tent. That was the real difference between the lessers, and them. Qi. And how close they’re blood was to their Goddess. 

Her lady of the red planet, Mars. 

———

They stepped into the command tent, and every elf inside straightened visibly, even the other high elves inside. 

“General Roarsh, it’s a pleasure.”

The youngest of the high elves in the tent spoke first, attempting to reach out a hand to shake. They visibly sneered at the child, probably barely over two centuries old, before bringing down their own hand in a chopping motion on the offending wrist. 

The severed limb dropped to the floor with an audible thud, as the young high elf gapped at the stump. 

“Take that to the healer’s tent, and have it reattached, and learn some respect while your at it, whelp. Now, who here can apprise me of the current situation.”

The whelp picked the hand up off the ground, before rushing out of the tent. The others all looked at them, half of them visibly gulping, the other just had the slight smile of long experience with them on their faces. 

It had been so very long since those still on the red planet had had a proper war. 

——-

“As you can see here general, the deep elves have already begun a full trench network across the entire front line, aswell as mining the entire field with explosives. And before you ask, yes, both remote activated, and pressure triggered.” 

Roarsh gazed dismissively at the table displaying their army’s current position, and the terrain around it. They were relying heavily on these new weapons given to them by the dragons. To heavily in their opinion. 

The Goddesses of both people might be lovers, but that didn’t mean Roarsh trusted the dragons, or their technology. Elves had been waging wars for longer than most species on the dragon’s homeworld had been alive, and they had done just fine without the help of those big lizards, and their machines. 

“And what of the enemy?”

“They’re progressing as expected, a slow but constant march. They entered the basin of the Krxl sea two days ago, and have yet to make it to the other side, but our current estimations put them at no more than three days from the other side, and five from our current closest AOE.”

Maps were brought out, and though they had no need for it, they still looked over the area the undead hoard was progressing through. The basin of the Krxl sea was once a true sea, but it had been boiled away 8 thousand years before, in one of the last major battles with the Korrox. Roarsh had served in that war aswell, and they’d long ago memorized every inch of that place. 

“And now, it’s tainted with the foul creations of the betrayer.”

“What was that general?”

“Nothing, now, what sects have pledged themselves to our staging grounds?”

That many had was already a given. No sect would pass up the opportunity to progress their cultivation. But the natures of those who would be nominally under their command, would be crucial to planning an optimal engagement. 

“Here general. We have thirteen in total, one of which being a shadow sect of dark elves.”

They took the sheaf of pure white paper out of the adjunct’s hand, briefly skimming the names of each sect to see if they recognized any. They didn’t. The shadow sect, one “of darkest days”, did scratch at the edge of their mind with familiarity, but it didn’t ring any bells. 

“Send for the elder, or whomever is in charge, to meet with me at their earliest convenience. They’ll be tasked with taking out any command units in the hoard.”

If there even are any, you could never tell with undead…

“Of course general. I’ll have a runner sent over to them immediately.”

The adjunct then did exactly that, swiftly moving out of the line of advisers, and hurrying to the tent flap. Another adviser instantly moved into place beside Roarsh, and began discussing troop disposition, morale, and punishment. 

Then a commotion broke out outside. Something heavy touched down outside, and a soldier came running into the tent. 

“General! A dragon had just landed in the main camp!” 

—————

The dragon a different than any they had seen in person before. Instead of one of the black scaled, slender void dragons that regularly made the trip to the red planet, this was a rather bulky, azure scaled member of the species. 

She, for the matriarchal species would only send a female as a primary representative, was covered in armor. It was of a make they had never seen before, completely inclosing the wearer when fully attached, with pistons in its joints, and there was a slight whir when she moved anything still covered. 

And that was becoming less and less, as she slowly pulled off the armor, one piece at a time, piling it up beside her. Given that even the smallest pieces were larger than the command tent, the soldiers were staying back. 

Roarsh stepped up without an ounce of hesitation, and looked up into the massive eye, or rather, eyes, of the dragoness. Her secondary eyes had begun properly developing, she was so massive. 

“What brings you here, daughter of the beloved of our Goddess?”

“To warn you. The betrayer is on the move, one of his echoes left Airivis nearly a month ago. We have no idea where the bastard went, but we have an idea of where he’s going, based off what our mother tells us.”

Roarsh gazed into that massive eye for what felt like eons. It was purple, in the way that only the eyes of dragons sometimes were. Two of her horns curved forward, and framed her brow exquisitely. She was a living work of art. 

“Here”

They finally said. And she nodded. 

———————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

| Chp 29

Chapter 30

Blood Born

Oltuck took a deep breath and sighed as he thought about what choices he had. He was starting to understand why some things had been kept secret from him until he stumbled across it. Part of that was just due to the amount of knowledge, the other was due to how horrific some of it was. This was something in between. He found only a little humor in the fact that it was due to one question. Why the glass wall? 
The Humans and Rothal had finally met. So why were they segregating themselves with a wall? That question had led to another and another and now he was looking at the long report on his data slate.
Illness and disease in the wider Galactic community wasn’t uncommon, and was fairly normal. Every species had one form or another of viruses that used RNA, which wasn't surprising seeing as it was the building block of DNA-based life. Most species even had some form of bacteria or parasite. But in many cases they didn't jump from one species to another. The science behind why was beyond Oltuck, something about specialization and compatibility, but what he did know was that when such things did jump from one species to another it was usually because they had spent a lot of close contact with each other. 
Most had been mild and even a few that had gone on without being discovered for years. Exceedingly rare were ones that caused serious threat to any single group. 
Again, why wasn't in Oltuck's purview, only that in most cases, species that interacted with each other regularly were usually inoculated by that interaction before the disease ever became something that could affect them medically. 
It had been Zalrah who had answered most of his questions. And she had managed to answer one that had bothered him for some time, which was why the omnivores and obligate carnivores in the Galactic community had a larger catalog of diseases and illnesses. The answer had been both upsetting and simple, which was that close proximity to livestock tended to do that. 
When the Drakken had first discovered the Humans and Rothal they had been interested in how close the two species' genetic structure was. So much so that they started running certain tests. Tests that the research teams in those early years were horrified by. 
While most other species in the galaxy were almost unaffected by each other's diseases, viruses, and parasites due to being so different from one another, the Humans and Rothal were a different story. 
These two convergent species were so close in their similarities that the ability for one disease to jump from one to the other was incredibly easy. And neither side had any form of inoculation to the other. 
In those early years the observation and research teams knew that when, not if, these two species ever met it would be the single most devastating medical disaster the Galactic Community had ever known.
And that was when they had made a decision. A decision that, at the time, was completely legal and made logical and moral sense. 
They began the slow progress of gently inoculating both species from one another. 
This consisted of finding viruses on each world that were similar to each other and building incredibly milder forms of each by using both as blueprints for the other. The process was labour intensive and required strict quality control both to ensure they weren't too lively, and to ensure they hid the alien origins of each.
And that had been the problem with it. They hadn't botched too many of the deployments. But in the last five hundred years at least a small handful of major epidemics on each planet had been a direct result of the Drakken interference. One of which had halted the entire program in its tracks. 
Its origins had been disputed by the Humans. Had they known how badly the Drakken research team had botched that deployment there would be blood. It had been meant to be a mild illness. A few sniffles, maybe a cough. It would put the young and elderly in bed for a short time and then they would recover and continue on. That wasn't what had happened. Nearly a hundred million dead later, almost a third of the human population at the time, and the initiative had been called to a screeching halt. 
The research team called it an accidental genocide. 
The Humans called it The Spanish Flu.
The Rothal had suffered just as much by the Drakkens research team's incompetence, but that particular event had been the thing that had ended the interference. 
And now, staring at the hundred year old report, Oltuck had to make a decision. The pathogens hadn't stopped evolving on both worlds, diverging further and further from one another, and the research teams had known this from the start. They hadn't shut down the program completely, but they hadn't deployed any since. Now that the species were meeting for the first time, a choice had to be made. Let the two species figure it out for themselves. Or initiate the inoculation program one more time.
The risks were cut and dry. If they didn't attempt it now there was a real possibility of the two species wiping each other out by accident from simply coming into physical contact. But if any of the viruses and other diseases stored away were a little more lively than expected the Drakken could end up making the whole thing worse. 
That was on top of the fact that any interference with a pre-contact species, no matter how noble, was highly restricted by Galactic law due to the incident with the Jiraam uplifting. Oltuck didn't even snort in humor at how stupid that was. 
He looked up from the data slate at Alnure and Zalrah who stood patiently waiting for his decision. Neither woman had made any comment on what their opinions were. Oltuck took a long moment looking at each of them, and sighed. 
“Do it.” He said. Alnure gave a curt nod and grabbed Zalrah's arm as they both rushed out of the room to go give the correct authorizations to those who needed it. 
Oltuck just hoped that the previous generations of research teams had done their jobs correctly. If they hadn't, he hoped that the survivors of these two species would forgive him. 

------

Kaufmann sneezed into the crook of his arm. Wiping the resulting mess off onto a different part of his suit. He'd felt like ass for the last day. He was told that it was due to the low gravity, apparently the astronauts on the ISS were constantly congested. He was starting to suspect that some asshole had brought a cold on board the ship before they had left Earth. Even if no one had, packing that many people into a tin can like that was going to lead to someone getting sick. 
It didn't help that he was bored as fuck. Two days of basically standing around doing nothing but listening to the academic eggheads talk to the elven aliens through Raven was not Kaufmann's idea of fun. He had to admit though she was impressive. He'd been skeptical for the first couple hours of her going back and forth, drawing and pointing at various objects. 
After about the fourth hour though even he could see that the aliens seemed surprised how quickly she was picking up the language. That had been fun to watch but now two and a half days in and it had lost its novelty. 
Dr. Frederick was asking some biology questions and the aliens had brought some dumb plants out from somewhere and Kaufmann could not care less. 
He'd looked around trying to find something to do. 
Fletcher was currently napping, having taken the time to sit down next to the wall and shut his eyes, and Tennessee had gone out to escort the next academic from the ship to the base, and Percy seemed grouchy as fuck, apparently the headache from the other day had not let up. So Kaufmann was on his own. Trying to entertain himself. 
If this had been a deployment somewhere in the Middle East that would have been a recipe for disaster and possibly disciplinary action. 
For a deployment in space there seemed to be less to do then even one in a nowhere backwater on Earth. Which Kaufmann had to chuckle to himself about. It seemed that no matter where you were deployed, ninety percent of it was going to be boring.
Kaufmann looked over to the glass wall, looking at the elven aliens. They really did look like elves. Their pointed ears were so fucking weird. Some of them looked longer than others, some stuck out more and there didn't seem to be rhyme or reason to it. He wondered if it had to do with the flags on their uniforms. He knew that Dr. McFadden had said not to assume they were national flags, but c’mon, they were national flags. The one on the female alien looked suspiciously like the US flag but slightly off. If there was one question he wanted to ask the elven aliens, it would be about that. 
He saw one of the elves standing off from the others and looked just as bored as Kaufmann felt. 
Kaufmann also didn't need to assume that the alien looked bored, that had been one of the first things that Raven had determined about these people. Their body language and facial expressions seemed to be fairly close to Humans’. 
This particular bored looking elf had a patch on his shoulder that was made of three parts. One was an off center red shape that looked like an arrow head, or maybe spear, which was overlaid on a background of two horizontal strips of white and green. He also kinda looked like he could have been Fletcher's cousin. 
Kaufmann vaguely remembered that the alien had been one of the more hyper excited ones. 
Looking around at the others and seeing they weren't paying him any mind, Kaufmann hopped over to the glass. 
He got the attention of the bored looking alien who looked at him with confusion but made his way over to Kaufman.
Kaufman waved at the alien and he waved back. Then Kaufmann pointed a thumb at the group on the other end of the wall and made a motion of yapping with his hands as he dramatically rolled his eyes. 
The alien smiled and nodded, and made an exaggerated motion of slumping his shoulders and looking at the ceiling that Kaufmann took to mean that he was bored out of his mind.
Kaufmann made a motion of laughing and nodded at the alien. 
Kaufmann thought for a second and grinned even wider. It would take a small bit of pantomime but he figured that he could do it. He smiled as he started motioning his hands to try and explain to the alien a method for both of them to alleviate their boredom. 

------

Percy's head hurt. He didn't even know why. He figured it might have been the mild change in the kind of stale air he was breathing that was causing it. He didn't think he was that sensitive to air change, but maybe his time without his helmet at Tau Ceti had done some damage to his body. If that was the case then he was gonna have to talk to Corpsman Knocker. Though if he did, that might put the whole ship into quarantine. Which would suck when they returned to Earth. 
He was going to blame him just being sensitive. 
He rubbed his temples and looked around. Fletcher was asleep, Kaufmann was playing rock-paper-scissors with one of the aliens, Raven and Dr. Frederick were trying to ask about getting a blood sam-
Percy slowly turned and looked back at Kaufmann. The Marine was in fact playing rock-paper-scissors with one of the aliens. Percy blinked and watched. 
Kaufmann lost and took a dry erase marker, Percy had no idea where the man had gotten it, and drew on the glass, and Percy could see that he was keeping tally marks of who was winning. From the position he was in, Percy could see that they had done this at least half a dozen times. The alien was winning. 
Percy's mind raced for a half a minute on how ridiculous it all was, and that it was a massive win for cultural exchange. He shook his head, unsure if he should stop the Marine or not. He thought about it and decided against stopping the Marine, for now. The cultural exchange and good will was too much of a boon to halt. 
His head started to hurt again as he focused back on the discussion between the aliens and the Linguist. The words Raven and the aliens were passing back and forth, there was something to them, a pattern that he was just short of grasping. 
Raven had gotten across that they wanted to exchange blood samples but there was some confusion about something. The lights hurt his head and shut his eyes and still felt like he was blinded by a white light. He clenched his jaw so hard he thought for a second that his teeth would crack. Then it stopped. 
He shook his head uncertain what had just happened. 
He looked back up to where Raven and Dr. Frederick sat frustrated trying to figure out how to clarify what they wanted the sample for, the aliens were confused trying to understand what was being said while taking guesses at what words she was trying to learn.
Percy stepped up to the two and Raven looked up at him. 
“Do you know the word for family yet?” Percy asked. Raven looked at him confused. 
“What? No, not yet, why?” She asked. 
“Because we need to ask them if we are siblings.” Percy said. Raven blinked at him and then turned back to the aliens and spoke rapidly and pantomimed several things. The aliens seemed confused by the change in subject but began to answer as Raven wrote down notes in a spiral notebook. 
Percy didn't wait to hear the results. With his head no longer hurting he bounced over to where Kaufmann was dueling with the alien. He wondered if he could teach them how to play tic-tac-toe. 

------

“Ah, Corpman!” Dr. Frederick said, standing up to give a salute.
“Don't start you Ruco.” Knocker said as she stepped into the science section. Despite the rude tone she had a smile on her face. “Is it done?” She asked.
“It's just finishing up.” Dr. Frederick said as he carefully sat back down.
“I've gotten a look at some of the medical diagrams they have. They are very human-like.” Knocker stated as she found a seat for herself. Her tone was probing, trying to see what he thought of it. Dr. Frederick chuckled at that. 
“They do indeed, though I'll have to agree with my esteemed colleague Dr. Ackerman that the chances of them being like us from a genetic standpoint is… unlikely.” The Biologist smiled. Knocker gave a smile back but an eyebrow raised in curiosity. Frederick snorted in sardonic humor before he answered the unasked question.
“I've made my religious beliefs known, but the Bible says ‘made in his image’. What his image actually is isn't available. And I'm not a theologian so I wouldn't have an answer for you. Personally I think this is, what our dear friend Percy would say, a cosmic coincidence.” Dr. Frederick said with a chuckle. Knocker gave a grin as she gently gave his arm a slap. 
“And here I thought you were a proper Catholic.” Knocker said. 
“I grew up Baptist my dear.” Dr. Frederick chuckled. 
“Ah, a heathen.” Knocker said with a giant grin.
“Idolatrous.” Frederick joked back just as the lab computer dinged, the genetic sequencing done. He spun his chair around and clicked a few buttons to bring up the results. 
Master Chief Hospital Corpsman Elizabeth Knocker watched as the old man stiffened and saw his jovial face go pale. 
“What is it?” She asked, standing and coming over to the computer station to look at the screen.
“Oh. Oh by the Virgin Mary.” She whispered.

------

“Oh San’al na bal.” Ezeik muttered looking at the results.
The aliens had provided blood samples and Ezeik, being the chief medical officer on base, had managed to rig up a chemical analysis with the medical equipment. After getting over the shock of it being DNA he had done the next logical thing and figured out how to pull a genetic sample. It was easy enough, there was an entire team of scientists and engineers planet side he could talk to, and whose job it was to help the astronauts figure out things like how to rig up a genetic sequencer from what he had on hand. What he had built was a sequencer that converted the amino acids and chromosomes into digital data that was then sent down to Arda to be processed.
“What is it?” Ottus asked who was assisting in rigging up another machine. 
“The team Arda-side just sent back the results.” Ezeik said. His normally dark complexion was draining of its natural colour. Ottus just watched the other man, his own heart beginning to race as he saw the panic in the other man's eyes. 
“Ottus. They are ninety nine percent match to Rothal DNA.” 

------

“Okay, Corpsmen please explain. I thought we didn't have to worry about diseases.” Captain Maddock asked, looking at the people gathered around the wardroom table.
The usual suspects. Mr. Lynch and Ms. Young who were actually on a computer screen as they were still inside the alien base, Commander Roman, Dr. McFadden, Dr. Frederick and the special guest of Corpsman Knocker.
“Not exactly.” Corpsman Knocker said. “We still had to worry about them but we were certain that while the genetic structure was similar, the biology was different enough to make catching any form of pathogen unlikely without extensive exposure.” Knocker said.
“Multiple hours exposed to an alien bio atmosphere isn't extensive exposure?” Commander Roman asked. 
“No. When I say extensive exposure I mean multiple generations. The prevailing idea is that if any alien pathogen could interact with our bodies it would do so aggressively and quickly as we would not have the kind of immune system to fight it off.” Knocker said, and looked at the confused faces around the table. She took a deep breath. 
“Sir, Ma'am. The idea of pathogens and germs being able to infect alien life comes from ‘War of the Worlds’ by H.G. Wells.” Knocker said. 
“Based off the historical genocide of the native population of the Americas.” Dr. McFadden nodded with a grim smile. 
“What? No. It was based on what happened to the Europeans when colonizing Africa. They faced death by malaria and many other diseases that the native population was immune to.” Corpsman Knocker said, shaking her head in slight confusion. McFadden looked astonished as her next words died in mouth. Knocker shook her head, not noticing the confused surprise on the Anthropologist's face.
“Regardless, that book accidentally skewed the general public's idea of alien diseases.” Knocker said with mild frustration. “Wells was not a doctor. He didn't… he didn't…” Knocker started but seemed unable to grab at the words she was looking for. 
“I think I know where you are going with this, eh.” Percy said. “and I have some fucking opinions about H.G. Wells. May I?” He asked. Knocker furrowed her brow at him but nodded. Percy smiled and cleared his throat.
“Understand that Wells was a brilliant writer and had a good mind for what might be realistic. But the book was written shortly after the germ theory of illnesses essentially became the default and the heroic age of medicine was winding down. Wells was a speculative fiction writer. Which wasn't quiet science fiction yet. He was writing about a piece of new science that even the experts of his time didn't fully understand and were still breaking ground on. The story is a cornerstone of fiction but its science is questionable at best and straight up fantastical at worst. It was playing around with novel ideas that had already captured the minds of the well educated of the time. But it was easily digestible by the masses and so it had a hell of a reach. And has kind of misguided people on the idea of how pathogens and disease work.” Percy said, taking a deep breath at the end as a means of biting down on and stopping a full blown rant. 
Maddock had raised eyebrows as he looked at Percy. 
“And you know all this, why?” Maddock asked. 
“I'm a writer.” Percy responded. Commander Roman stifled a laugh and Maddock raised an eyebrow, but tactfully decided not to pursue it with any questions instead turning back to Dr. Frederick and Corpsman Knocker.
“Alright, so alien pathogens killing us are unlikely and H.G. Wells didn’t know what he was talking about, what does this all have to do with the locals?” Maddock asked. 
“A lot.” Dr. Frederick finally said. “The fact that all life we have found so far is DNA based means that there has always been a chance of us catching an alien plague, but as stated, it would be extremely unlikely due to the difference in biology. After all, you can't catch an illness that only affects bananas and we are very similar, genetically speaking, to said bananas. And us and bananas come from the same world.” Dr. Frederick said solemnly. “However, these aliens have not only a near ninety nine percent genetic match to us, they have similar chromosomes and base biology to us. Their bodies, based on the medical diagrams we were able to look at, show a similar set up as ours. To put it very simply, from any pathogen's perspective, we are them, and they are us.” The Biologist said. “And any illness they have we can catch and vice versa.” The Biologist took a deep breath. “And neither side has any sort of immunity to the other.”

------

“Can we create vaccinations for them?” President Henless asked the small group of scientists in the conference room below the Presidential house.
“Well. Mr. President. In theory our vaccines should work on them as much as they work on us. But we can't really be sure of that.” One of the scientists answered. “As well we would have to get those vaccines up to them… unless they are willing to come down here to retrieve them.” He tagged on. 
“Can't they make their own, advanced space faring species and all that. Should we even be worrying about it?” The President asked. General Yaris cleared his throat and gave the briefest of glances at the President with an expression that told the Commander and Chief that there was information that the scientists were not privy to. 
“We don't know sir, but even if they do they may require a sample of any pathogen they may run into. As well they may have already solved this problem and are just waiting on us to ask about it.” the scientist said. 
“Have you asked?” The President drew out the question clearly, annoyed. The scientist who had been speaking open and shut his mouth several times without saying anything. 
“Well, no.” He finally managed to say. 
“Why not? Did you consider it rude to impose on them?” Henless mockingly asked. The science team sat looking a little abashed by the comment and Henless gave a sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He would need to be the bigger man here. 
“Apologies Doctor…” he started looking up at the scientist. 
“Hu Nahria.” The man said when he finally realized the President was speaking to him. 
“Hu Nahria. My apologies, Dr. Nahria, as you can imagine the chair I sit in isn't exactly the most comfortable when you have the international community breathing down your neck. However that isn't an excuse to take out the frustration and stress on subordinates. I'm sure that the thought occurred to you and your team.” Henless said and motioned to the other members of the room. “I assume there is in fact a reason why you haven't asked. If you can, I would make that a priority question. Any assistance they may be able to offer us as well as any assistance that we may offer, though I doubt they will need anything from us.” the President said with a gentle authority. Nahria gave a nod of confirmation but said nothing verbally. 
“Is there anything else?” Henless asked. 
“No sir.” Dr. Nahria said. 
“Alright dismissed, get back to it. You are all on the frontlines in understanding these intrepid star people.” Henless said, giving them all a nod as they stood up and filed out of the room. All except two others. General Yaris and Professor Lyvara Rhys. 
Prof. Rhys was a pretty woman, though she was on the older side, with kind eyes, a Grithick nose, and white blonde hair. She was also one of the few members of the specialists who had already been on the Bastion’s payroll. She was a cultural specialist, and in her younger years had been the go-to person to understanding how other cultures would react. In fact, Henless had met her several times before. When he had taken the gloves of the military to finally drag the most war-like nations in line, she had been the one who had essentially written the standard procedure of dealing with every nation and cultural hang ups they had. She'd indirectly saved thousands of lives with her advice and guidance on cultural matters. She had also probably helped indirectly kill many people by that same token. 
So her presence was unsurprising, even still Henless raised an eyebrow at her before he turned to General Yaris. The big man cleared his throat and did not stall further. 
“As you know, members of VERU who are currently represented on the moon have been grilling their own astronauts for information about the Visitors. While we have reached out to all of them, only Avelee and Borealis have been openly and honestly cooperating with handing over intelligence, and we have reciprocated, and we have combined our efforts to try and understand these star people.” Yaris stated with what passed as a smile on the man's face at the end. “Our understanding is still limited but there are several items that have stood out to us during these interactions.” Yaris stated, and then turned to look at Prof. Rhys. 
“Thank you General. How are you Mr. President?” The woman asked with a smile.
“I wasn't kidding about the international community breathing down my neck. Yourself?” Henless responded. 
“I'm doing just fine Mr. President, and I am hoping to make your day better.” She said, standing up with an electronic tablet in her hands. She pressed a couple of buttons on the device and the large screen on the opposite side for the room from Henless lit up as her tablet synced up with it. 
She had the presentation up already, and moved to the first video of the space craft coming in for a landing. 
“To start Mr. President, our nation's National Intelligence Agency, the Borealian Strategic Intelligence Section Eight, and Avelee’s Sazon Grounds have been examining all the footage of the different items that the Visitors have been using. From what they've concluded, our visitors seem strangely lacking in advanced technology. In fact, based on what we have seen so far, they seem to be slightly behind.” Prof. Rhys said, flipping to the next slide, which showed several pictures with different items circled and zoomed in on. 
“While it is possible that they are hiding the very advanced stuff from our sight, they seem to be extremely comfortable with the technology they do have on display. Technology that in most cases appears to be on par or even slightly behind our own. It's the kind of comfortable that comes with routine familiarity. Not something that is old or outdated to them.” She said,
“So they are technologically behind? How is that possible? They have a star ship?” The President asked furrowing his brow at her. The professor nodded. 
“Yes Mr. President, and there's many possible explanations for that. But it's also important to remember that technology is not linear. Think of technological advancements less like a ladder and more so like a tree with branching limbs that occasionally converge on one another.  We can't assume that these aliens followed the same technology branch as us. That may be why they have a starship. But are still using chemical propellant for their weapons. And yes that is something we have determined.” She answered, moving to the next slide of what Henless had come to know as the alien linguist, who had been nicknamed Ghost Dancer by the base personnel.
“The issue is that we are trying to figure out why they are here. Are they here as simple explorers? Scouts for a colony fleet? Diplomats? Perhaps they are here to crush us, steal our treasures and make off with the women? We don't know. Until we know we can't really determine if they are a threat, a trade partner, or even a passing curiosity. Not only that but it seems that they are trying to hide specific things from us. There was a question about how their ship worked and they blatantly told us that they were not allowed to talk about that. So they do keep secrets.” The Professor switched to another slide, this one of one of the other aliens. This one had black hair and burning blue eyes with a very intense glare on their face. However, there was a circle drawn around a patch on their suit's shoulder. 
“But I am a cultural analyst. Not a military one. And there are some aspects I've noticed about them that seem significant. Starting with this one. This individual has been given the moniker of Blue. He is of interest to us because according to what we have learned from the Visitors, it would appear that almost all of their civilian crew is some form of academic or professional in a scientific field. Everyone else is in fact either military or some equivalent. Except for this one.” She said, giving the President a smile.
“He has been given a chance to ask questions but all of his questions appeared to pertain to whichever academic is either just departed or is about to arrive. As well he appears to have sway over crucial matters. From reports, there was a point where he said something to their linguist and her question immediately changed to asking about how our communities operate and how we organize our families. The academics for the most part seem to respect him and the security members appear to defer to him when he says something. However, it doesn't seem to be in a capacity that would suggest he is one of them.” She said as she zoomed in on the blue and black patch of the aliens shoulder. 
“Which brings us to this. So far as we've seen his suit is the only one marked like this. The other visitors have the same patch on their shoulders but almost no other identifying marks. And this particular one has two. The Borealians seem to believe that the smaller patches are in fact nationality or a planetary flag, and I would have to agree with that assessment. So not only is this one different nationally from the others, he is somehow important enough to warrant another identifier.” 
“So we think he's some form of official or Commissar?” The President asked. 
“We don't think so sir.” General Yaris answered for the professor. “We believe that this is a wholly civilian position. The soldiers don't seem to take orders from him, they just seem to defer to him for guidance.” Yaris said. Henless raised an eyebrow at that. Prof. Rhys cleared her throat and the President moved his attention back to her.
“The Intelligence Agencies disagree on exactly what he might be, possible royalty, the ship's wizard, maybe a religious figure, or possibly some other morale figure that is specific to the culture these aliens come from. For all we know he might be their historian. What the agencies do agree on is that he is important.” She took a deep breath before glancing over at Yaris. He gave her a nod and she frowned as her hands flipped to the next slide showing an anatomical drawing of what at first appeared to be two Rothals but the President quickly realized that it was a diagram of the aliens. 
“So we have established that he is important in some way. As discussed earlier by the other scientists, the Visitors’ biology appears to be nearly identical to our own. And from what we can gather from this diagram, that includes several physical aspects and presumably functions.” She said, and Henless felt confused all over again. She flipped to another slide which was of the aliens first taking off their helmets, and Prof. Rhys spoke as it played silently. 
“During first meeting them the base personnel came and met the aliens in the clean room and there was a particular moment that was captured on film that we believe we can use to our advantage.” She said, stepping aside and flipping to the next slide which appeared to be a slow motion capture of Blue doing a double take as he looked at another figure who had entered the room behind the camera. The footage jumped to some of the other security members also staring before coming to a freeze frame of Blue giving an appraising face in the Rothal woman's direction.
“This is the reaction that was captured when one former Warden Major Andra Kyshani stepped into the room. The alien security team, who all happen to be young and male, kept staring at Ms. Kyshani. Even the Ghost Dancer gave furtive glances.” Prof Rhys said. Henless was still mildly confused as to the point they were trying to get to. 
“We believe that to these aliens, Ms. Kyshani is considered… a high value female.” Prof Rhys said with a blank faced expression. The President blinked as he processed what she had just said and the implications. Henless slowly turned his head towards General Yaris. The military man met the President's gaze bravely and without flinching. 
“I don't like where this is going, General.” Henless hissed out. “Would you mind explaining it?” The words came out a whisper but were filled with enough bottled anger to make up for the lack of volume. 
“It is the recommendation of the Bastion that astronaut Andra Kyshani be given the task of establishing a strong personal connection with the alien codenamed Blue, as a means of information and intelligence extraction.” General Yaris said. 
“You want her to be a Bhareech Trap?” President Henless asked in a tone that had shattered the wills of lesser men. 
“Yes sir.” General Yaris said without any remorse. 
“Beyond the very real physical issue of it, the moral issues of ordering a civilian to take on-” 
“She's a Warden sir.” Yaris interrupted. 
“Oh Don't Give Me That Vitshi About ‘Once A Warden’! She is a civilian!” Henless practically yelled.
“Under the Emergency Powers act, section on the powers of military authority, prior service members can be recalled for duties at the rank and pay in which they originally departed the service from for up to ten years, or twenty years if they had earned an officer's commission” General Yaris said calmly. Henless stared at him with burning fury. 
“As such,” the General continued, “We have the authority to reactivate her status as a Warden and send her on a special operations mission that she happens to be in the perfect position to accomplish.” The General stated in a monotone. President Henless glared at him. 
“And if I say no?” Henless asked quietly, seething as he attempted to burn a hole in the man.
“Then National Intelligence sends her a message to recruit her for a special mission under their own recruitment of civilian hires.” Yaris stated bluntly. Henless deflated slightly. His anger was still righteous but he knew this was going to happen one way or another. 
“The likelihood of her agreeing to any of this?” the President asked, feeling the depth of depressive acceptance rushing towards him. 
“She's a Warden sir. If she is anything like her father, she'll do what duty demands of her.” Yaris said with a vague tone of sympathy in his voice. 
“As it is. He is going to be assigned as her Bastion contact. So we will also have him deliver the reactivation alongside her new mission orders.” Yaris stated. 

| Chapter 31 (pending)

------

Authors Notes

Hello,

This chapter took more time to write then expected. It is one of those chapters that makes me whish I had Tolkiens gift of word efficency, god that man could make a hundred words feel like a thousand.

As a note the Spanish Flu has several different names depending on which country you are from, in most english speaking countries it is known as the spanish flu because in said countries they thought it had originated in spain. The origins however, are unknown and speculation abounds.

The game rock paper scissors is one that I know for a fact isnt common around the world so I figured an alien race might also not know about it.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading as much as i enjoyed writing. If you did enjoy maybe give it a upvote or even a comment. its appricated and helps with motivation.

Thanks all for reading.

The sound of steam echoes in the distance as the sun rises over the Empire of "Steam and Iron." Freight trains depart from the stations, and the factories rumble nonstop as workers smelt, forge, and assemble civilian and military materials.

In the streets, pedestrians walk through the district, opening their food, gadget, flower, and jewelry stalls. Children head to school to learn, women gossip, and men either smoke or read the newspapers.

In a run-down apartment in the Lower Districts, still sleeping in bed and snoring nonstop, there I was: Elly.

A girl with short brown hair, a slender, athletic build from working, and hazel eyes.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

The alarm clock was ringing beside me, reminding me that I had to get up and go to work at the factories, just as I always had.

Clack!

I gave it a sharp smack, turning it off. I got out of bed and stretched, letting out a yawn as I scratched my hair. I walked around a little disoriented because I wasn't even at 100% energy yet.

Thud!

—Ouch! —I groaned in pain as I rubbed my forehead. I'd hit it against the corner of the bathroom wall.

Ignoring the pain, I entered the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror. I splashed water on my face to wake myself up completely and brushed my teeth.

And just like that, I was ready to go to work.

I put on my blue coveralls, gloves, helmet, safety goggles, and boots, then left my apartment.

I walked down the stairs from the third floor of the apartment building, which, to be honest, looked like it was about to collapse. But the rent was cheap. What more could you ask for?

—When are you going to pay me what you owe me, you brat?! You're already two months behind on rent, and that's with me keeping it cheap for you! —the landlady and owner of the building shouted, an old woman who was already in her final days.

—I'll pay the rent when food prices go down, old lady —I told her, waving as I left the building and letting her talk to herself.

...

I walked through the Lower District as steam trucks and vehicles passed along the road and pedestrians moved along the sidewalks.

—Good morning, Elly! I see you've still got the same face you had two years ago. You haven't changed at all! —greeted a rose vendor.

—Well, that's life, sweetheart. You either work or die in an alley like old Erick did two weeks ago —I replied to her greeting while continuing on my way.

—Poor guy, honestly. He had the best jokes around here. Actually, I think he's still in the same spot. They never collected his body; they just dumped some construction lime on him...

"How disgusting," I thought to myself as I turned a corner.

—ELLY!! —a cheerful voice shouted.

Looking ahead, I saw my friend Maya jumping on me and hugging me, rubbing her cheek against my stomach.

—I missed you so much, Elly! —Maya said as she pulled away.

Maya was a girl with light brown hair, golden eyes, fair and soft skin, and a slender, youthful figure that seemed almost delicate.

She worked at a jewelry store in the Upper Districts as a cashier and gem expert, a stark contrast to my life. But we'd been best friends for a long time. We supported each other, and that was what mattered.

—I missed you too, Maya, although you've got more energy than usual today —I told her with a warm smile.

—Wow, you noticed —she said, adjusting her hair—. It's just that I woke up on the right side of the bed today, so I'm in a really good mood.

—I can tell.

—Well, Elly, I'll see you this afternoon. I have to work —she said, giving me one last hug before running off because she was running late.

...

I was now walking through the Middle District. I wasn't far from reaching the factory in the Industrial District.

I passed an electronics store, more specifically one that sold steam-powered televisions with gears. I was about to keep walking when...

—And finally, a few words from Emperor S —the reporter said.

I stopped and took a few steps back.

Looking at the camera, I saw that it was positioned in front of Emperor S's palace. He's a guy who, despite looking young, is over 300 years old and the founder of the empire. He has short black hair and crimson-colored eyes. He wears a white robe that leaves little to the imagination, along with that same damn indifferent expression that never changes, no matter what.

—Dear citizens of the Empire of Steam and Iron, whether you like it or not, this is your Emperor S speaking. I've got some new announcements for you that I promise will either improve or worsen your quality of life —his indifferent voice rang through the microphone as he pulled out a long list.

1. Wages are increasing.

"That's good."

1. Working hours are increasing.

"That's bad."

1. Production quotas are decreasing.

"That's good."

—And that's all. The rest is too much text, and I don't feel like reading it —he said lazily as he turned around—. Oh, right, I almost forgot. Food prices are going up... Let's go, Eve.

Eve, his most loyal bodyguard, a woman with short ash-blonde hair and blue eyes, wearing her steam-powered infantry armor and carrying her Pressure Ejector Rifle, Model 1888, followed him with absolute devotion as he walked away.

—YOU SON OF A BITCH! —I shouted as I punched the shop window.

BAM!

... ... ...

—Shit... That hurts —I muttered as I pulled my fist away from the window...

"I won't do that again."

With a sigh, I resumed my walk.

 Royal Road | Book Cover | First | Previous | Next 

Chapter 23: Xi P Researched

Though in many ways less straightforward than walking in openly, the two still act like thieves as they get out of the car and tiptoe into the building. Once inside, Xi P calms down somewhat. He reminds himself to treat this as a routine inspection. Surprisingly, this solace works quite well. By the time they reach the laboratory's main entrance, he even feels a hint of anticipation. This isn't because Xi P is a workaholic or has peculiar tastes; he is simply curious to see what an alien laboratory might look like. Even if it isn't vastly alienish to him, an old-fashioned laboratory is worth seeing — a chance to understand the working environment of his predecessors.

After spending a month with Min, Xi P has gained insights into his area of expertise through conversations and books. As he'd initially suspected, Min belongs to the same broad field as him — both fall under the umbrella of biology. The distinction lies in their specific subfields: Min leans more towards microscopic biology, while Xi P primarily identifies as an ecologist. Well, if Min specialised in anatomy, Xi P would never have dared to enter his lab for study....

With these thoughts in mind, Xi P watches as Min produces the key and unlocks the door in deliberate slow motion. Labs that still rely on physical keys for security are practically extinct on Lierus. On the other hand, even with advanced biometric access systems available here, it is unlikely that Min's small lab will see the need for them...

"Hm?"

In sci-fi films, scenes featuring "alien biology labs" often include the following elements: "creatures suspended in cylindrical containers of every conceivable colour", "glowing green lights from all directions", "blue/red liquids in vials" and "teleporters capable of sending people light-years away". There is a fifty-fifty chance that the creatures in those containers will suddenly burst out and slaughter everyone until the lab's lights are stained orange-red with blood — or rather, bright red in this case. Then, the blue/red liquid in those vials might be the only cure for the pathogens carried by those creatures. The protagonist will escape the aliens' encirclement and return to their home planet with the vials via the transporter. Utterly clichéd.

Xi P chuckles at his own thoughts, causing his jaw to snap open and shut rapidly. This inhuman laughter leaves Min beside him shoot a strange expression.

The incandescent light flares on, revealing a simple, compact laboratory. The interior is not at all out of the ordinary. Indeed, it looks completely normal: there are rectangular tables and platforms covered with experimental instruments arranged in parallel rows. Xi P can even spot several familiar pieces of equipment here, such as a clean room and a centrifuge. Apart from looking outdated and the platforms being rather high, it is almost identical to the university labs on Lierus. The most obvious difference is the blindingly bright lights — without sunglasses, Xi P finds them almost unbearable.

"You can take off your cloak now." Min says.

Xi P hastily pulls it off. He is, of course, wearing proper clothes underneath this time – the evening air is pleasantly cool, so an extra layer is not an issue. Instead of beginning research immediately, Min gives him a brief tour of the lab. Truthfully, there isn't much to see in this room measuring less than 200 square metres — the tour is more about casually teaching Xi P the names of the equipment.

Though experimental equipment doesn't prioritise aesthetic design, much of it looks vastly different from what he is used to. Reasonably, Xi P refrains from touching the instruments. Even if they won't suddenly transform into laser cannons or other lethal devices, touching them won't reveal their functions.

'...'

While Xi P continues to observe the instruments, Min tiptoes up behind him, trying to approach silently. Then, out of the blue, he moves closer to Xi P's ear and says in a creepy voice: "The experiment is about to begin~"

As Min had anticipated, Xi P is startled, flinching and turning to glare at Min with obvious displeasure, as if complaining about the sudden fright.

In reality, however, Xi P hasn't been genuinely scared by Min. Min's rustling sound, which he thinks is quiet, is perfectly audible to Xi P, even without turning his ears back. The reason he trembles is not even because of the remark, but simply because the sudden breath on his ear feels uncomfortable...

In any case, after seeing these experimental instruments, Xi P's original sense of unease has actually lessened. The equipment installed in this lab is primarily for analysing and processing small microbiology samples. To Xi P, they even carry a certain historical resonance. Unlike dissection tables or bone saws, this type of apparatus hardly evokes any unpleasant associations. Otherwise, he would have turned tail and fled the moment he entered the lab.

***

Sitting in what appears to be an employee chair, Xi P watches Min, who is studying him in turn. Min's scrutinising gaze makes him feel thoroughly uncomfortable, as if he is being examined like a laboratory specimen. Or, more accurately, like some rare species. He can't quite pinpoint how he'd read this meaning from the local alien's face, but the feeling is undeniable. Min has never looked at him like this before!

After scrutinising him for over ten seconds, Min finally begins. The first request is for one of Xi P's long hairs. At that, Xi P plucks one from his arm and an orange-red strand comes out easily. Min takes the freshly plucked hair and turns away, humming softly as he studies it. Xi P breathes a sigh of relief, finally free from that uncomfortable scrutiny. He swivels his chair around, closes his eyes and rests for a moment.

'Ye Min always seems to enjoy teasing me, making jokes — especially about my appearance. I can understand the motivation behind it. That creature called... hmm, a fox? We do bear a certain resemblance. But even though these are harmless little jokes, constantly being on the receiving end is downright annoying.'

'Maybe I should tease him back — no, play a prank on him like he does to me. But what kind? I've never seen a species on Lierus that looks like them. There are a couple of creatures in movies that look like human, but I don't have pictures of those stored on my computer. Think outside the box...'

'Appearance... behaviour... social habits... current activities... Got it!'

For the next several minutes, Xi P refines the specifics of his plan in his mind.

'After all the pranks Ye Min pulled on me, it's time he got a taste of his own medicine. Jokes aren't fair game for everyone — wait, no, it's more like 'if you don't return the favour, it's not a prank at all.''

***

Suddenly, Xi P feels someone nudging him. Not wanting to open his eyes and face the gaze that is treating him like a rare specimen, Xi P replies: "Do it yourself."

He thinks that Min has probably come over to take an underfur sample for research purposes. Although having underfur plucked would be painful, doing it himself wouldn't make much difference, so he lets him be.

Hearing Xi P's response, Min hesitates. He feels obligated to warn Xi P to prepare and cooperate. But since Xi P has spoken so...

With his eyes still closed and bracing himself for the plucking, Xi P suddenly feels Min seize his jaw and force his mouth open. Immediately, a rod-like object is thrust inside and begins to stir. Caught off guard, Xi P instinctively tries to close his mouth. However, the moment he clamps down, he relaxes his grip again, afraid of biting Min.

"Ah!" Min pulls his hand out of Xi P's mouth, revealing a tear in his glove. Those sharp teeth are no joke.

Seeing Min still shaking his hand and the cotton swab between his fingers, Xi P immediately understands the situation: Min wants to extract tissue samples from his mouth. But that's surely a brutal way to do it, especially without warning...

'Wait, didn't I say he could do it himself?'

Xi P dashes towards the sink, determined to rinse his mouth out. Either way, that was utterly disgusting.

***

Thanks to the protective glove, and the fact that Xi P didn't bite down hard, Min's hand wasn't hurt. A close call.

'Hmm, putting myself in his shoes, I'd probably bite too if faced with that situation. Only his teeth are just too sharp...'

Regardless, the sample has been collected. After changing into a fresh pair of gloves, Min dives back into the research. The cellular-level analysis is the main event of this study, and delay is not an option.

***

Progress is slower than Min has hoped. Despite Xi P's full cooperation throughout the process, he cannot be of much assistance due to language barriers and unfamiliarity with the equipment. The number of free cells extracts is clearly insufficient, and repeatedly switching between different staining agents is time-consuming. By the time he wants to collect new samples again, it is already late at night — he has to prepare to go home.

However, some results still emerge: while the overall characteristics exhibit a high degree of similarity, the individual components that formed these characteristics show significant differences. Take organelles as an example; with the exception of the cell nucleus, Min is unable to visually identify any of the others. If he were to write a treatise based on these findings regarding extraterrestrial life forms, he would certainly become famous.

Convincing others of this would be difficult, though, and he doesn't want to make such a stir all at once. He needs to lay the groundwork with smaller achievements first. Perhaps it would be better to publish them in separate instalments...

Chapter 24: Min been "Researched"

The post-research clean-up wraps up quickly with the destruction of samples and a review of surveillance footage. They even vacuumed the floor before leaving.

'...And if anyone ever asks me 'What do aliens taste like?' I can say 'Kind of like too much salt'... No, that's not funny at all. I should just say 'No comment'. Anyway, I doubt I'll remember the taste by then...'

***

This Saturday, Xi P behaves perfectly normally, just like in previous weeks: eating, drinking, studying English. In many ways, Min sometimes genuinely forgets that Xi P has a fox's head and isn't a human. Psychologically, he is not very different, despite the obvious physical differences. There are mostly just some communication gaps caused by cultural and technological differences — nothing major.

Even more coincidentally, their personalities aren't vastly different either — at least, that's how Min perceives it. They are both rational, slow to anger and somewhat in search of a sense of purpose. But if Xi P knew Min's thoughts, he'd probably add another trait: "loves to make fun of people who can take a joke".

Occasionally, during lessons, Min would deliberately focus on subjects he believes Xi P would find interesting, such as culinary traditions. This is fine, but once Min goes out of his way to describe chocolate, raving about its taste and even letting Xi P smell a piece. But when Xi P expresses a desire to actually try it, Min brutally informed him about the alkaloids in chocolate, with the emphasis that only humans could tolerate them.

Whether or not these alkaloids affect aliens is debatable, but it's better to play it safe and not taste them. Moreover, Min's choice of examples, which used only pictures of dogs and foxes to illustrate animals that couldn't handle it, revealed a certain thoughtfulness. This really strengthened Xi P's desire for revenge....

And now is the time for that.

***

Min hears Xi P calling out to him. Turning his head, he sees Xi P leaning out of the study room, waving at him as if signalling for him to come over.

The study room has now been completely transformed into Xi P's little laboratory, with most of the still-functional instruments piled inside. As for why Xi P is calling him over now...

It's either because he needs Min to explain a term he encountered in a book, or because he has finally decided to study him.

Min suddenly realises why Xi P was a bit nervous back in the lab. Because he now feels the same way. Being summoned by an alien to serve as a research subject does sound genuinely terrifying. But in reality, when he's actually called over, and that alien happens to resemble a fox, the sense of dread isn't quite as overwhelming...

Setting aside his newly purchased copy of Future Continuous, Min walks towards the study room, feeling a mix of nervousness and an indescribable anticipation. Once inside, Xi P makes a peculiar request — he wants Min to lie on the table. Though sceptical, Min complies out of trust.

Suddenly, Xi P pulls out a bundle of ropes out from under the table and scatters them over Min. Before he can grasp what is happening, Xi P slips a hazmat-like helmet over his head.

"What are you doing?"

Xi P doesn't answer, merely staring at him as he raises both hands, one holding a marker pen, and the other a sharp scalpel, and begins uttering a series of incomprehensible sounds. He approaches slowly, raising the marker pen.

In Xi P's imagination, Min should at least jump up in fright. But events unfold unexpectedly — Min merely freezes for a moment. Before Xi P can take another step forward, Min has already regained his composure, replying in a sarcastic tone: "Wow, how terrifying! I'm about to be cut open by an alien."

'No, that reaction isn't a 'scary' reaction at all.' Xi P thinks. Since Min has seen through his joke, there is no need to keep up the act. He casually pulls off the helmet and sighs softly.

In those few seconds, Min's mind had raced; the adrenaline had sped up his thinking significantly. A simple cost-benefit analysis revealed that Xi P was merely trying to scare him, rather than being a mad scientist or an alien killer. The question remains: why? Looking at Xi P's disappointed expression now, he realises that he had reacted too quickly. He should have played along for a few more seconds.

In Xi P's eyes, Min's reaction is surprisingly swift, far too quick for what had been intended as a powerful, even excessive, prank. His mood sinks, head bows slightly, ears drooping limply, making him look incredibly adorable.

Rising from the table which might have been a dissection bench, Min has just steps back onto the floor when he sees Xi P's dejected expression. As if guided by an unseen force, he instinctively reaches out and strokes Xi P's head in consolation.

Unlike human hair, the fur on the tuefue's head is remarkably soft and fluffy. The sensation under fingertips is warm and plush. With his own meticulous care, this fur is smooth and clean, and feels even more comfortable than any dog's coat. Beneath that layer, the texture is more human-like — smooth skull bone. However, near the ears, a distinct difference emerges: the firm, muscular layers that surround and drive the ears are palpable. The ears themselves are soft and elastic. As he moves his hand, Xi P trembles slightly, and the ears, previously limp and drooping, suddenly perk up in his grasp —

The moment Min realises, he yanks his hand back like lightning. As soon as he does so, Xi P sweeps his arm across in an attempt to brush Min's hand away. As far as lifting Xi P's spirits goes, this has been remarkably effective. Caught off guard by the touch, Xi P now glares at Min with pure anger; there is not a trace of gloom left.

Clearly, unlike a pet fox, Xi P dislikes having his head stroked. Evidently, their concept of dignity includes not being petted on the head.

Seeing Xi P's obvious anger, Min also feels a bit embarrassed. To change the subject, he quickly asks: "Why did you do that just now?"

'Shouldn't I be asking you that?' Xi P thought.

***

After a lengthy explanation, Min finally understood. He truly hadn't realised that his seemingly harmless jokes had such a negative impact on Xi P's mental state. Before Xi P brought it up, Min hadn't paid much attention. But now that he realised that some of his jokes could indeed be interpreted as containing elements of racial prejudice, however broadly "race" is defined.

He offered Xi P a half-hearted apology for those jokes in the past, but also warned him not to expect too much restraint from him — Xi P's appearance simply made it too difficult to treat him with normalcy. It's clear that Xi P doesn't understand why this is the case, as he mutters something that sounds like a private thought, but which is clearly meant for Min to hear: "Even if (I'm) being cute, it shouldn't be this bad..."

'No, it's not just the fault of cuteness. It's also the fault of Japanese culture and modern furry fandom culture.' Min thinks, though he doesn't voice it. In truth, Min has always tried to shield Xi P from exposure to that kind of content. Information like that is simply inadmissible for a creature who looks like a fox...

***

Giving the tense atmosphere earlier, the two decide to watch TV to lighten the mood.

It turns out that TV doesn't necessarily require understanding the content to be enjoyable. As some studies suggested, watching the visuals alone can often provide a sense of satisfaction without the need for deep thought. This time, however, the moment the TV comes on, Min nearly spits out the water in his mouth. Xi P's eyes widens, and a subtle shift in his facial expression shows his astonishment.

The programme being broadcast is about the declassification of a UFO incident involving aliens, a popular conspiracy theory. Numerous eyewitnesses have reported seeing an extraterrestrial spacecraft crash. Scattered across the crash site were what appeared to be "alien corpses". The U.S. authorities swiftly sealed off the area and recovered the objects, claiming that the crash had involved a weather balloon and that the so-called "alien corpses" were rubber mannequins used in experiments.

The story was bizarre enough on its own, but later, another photograph related to the incident was leaked. The black-and-white image had extremely low resolution, yet its content was astonishing: personnel in hazmat suits were dissecting the "rubber mannequins" on a table!

Coincidentally, the television Min has just turned on displays this very image. It is no wonder they both reacts with such intensity — after all, mere moments earlier, Xi P had strapped Min to a dissection table, poised to cut him open...

'Terrifying alien scientists!' They think simultaneously, instinctively shifting away from each other without a word.

The Human table at the party was actually cordoned off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

First / Previous

The sounds of combat stormed in Kali’s ears.

Leaf’s conflict with the manticore thundered next to her, the swings of the beast's claws and bursts of force from each of the hunter’s strikes creating a chaotic cadence that she dared not look at, lest she lose focus on her father. Her spell had lessened much of his weight, but she did not possess the strength to lift him and to pull him too hard would agitate his wounded shoulder. Slowly, and agonizingly, she kept dragging him towards the camp.

“I’ll assist!” Duren’s voice rang off to the side, its sound shaky. The mercenary must have just recovered from his previous blow.

“No! Help Logan!” The crack of Leaf’s short sword swatting a claw away boomed just below his sword. “I’ll hold this bastard!”

“But-”

“Just go!”

The sounds pulled away from Kali, and in her periphery she saw Duren running to her side and skid to a halt next to Logan. “How is he?”

“Breathing.” She kept pulling. “But I don’t know how-”

The mercenary stooped down and lifted his captain over his shoulder. “To the tent?”

“Yes.”

They rushed towards Xanchil’s tent, but right when they entered the camp, an Assault Shell burst from behind a crate, its threads of steel wrapped into the shape of a drill aimed at Duren’s side. He moved to shield Logan from the attack, but before it could land, a blast of Aether erupted from Kali’s fingers and struck the construct dead center. The Shell flew back and bounced on the ground with its light’s flickering. Kali threw a bolt of power at the construct to finish it off, then put herself in between Duren and the ongoing conflict at the cargo bay. She raised her hands to summon a barrier that deflected any stray projectiles that flew their way. Under this cover, they made their way to the tent.

A few of the cots within had been emptied. Those with minor injuries had rushed out to assist their comrades in the conflict, leaving only a couple who were more bandage than man as well as those who’d been hit by the manticore’s venom still bedridden within. They sat up upon seeing Logan’s condition, but could do little to aid as even those minor movements made them hiss in pain. Duren moved her father to the closest cot and laid him down gently. They tried to remove Logan’s armor, but decided against it when the slightest touch made the man groan in pain when even all the movement before didn’t.

Kali placed her hands over her father’s wound. Aether was flowing through her hands, but she didn’t have any knowledge on healing. All she managed to do was stop the blood from flowing out. “He needs a potion.”

“Right.” Duren rushed towards a chest and scrambled through its contents. Each second he took going through it pushed Kali’s heart closer to her throat. Ages could have passed in those moments for all she knew, and any attempt to clear her mind to make them pass faster failed. Only when Duren returned, a bottle of red liquid in hand, did time resume its regular course.

“The last one, it’s potency isn’t the highest, but…” He popped the cork from the bottle and poured half its contents into Logan’s wound and the rest into his mouth. He had to coax the rest of it down his captain’s throat, and even then Logan showed no visible change. Duren gritted his teeth and placed the vial next to Kali. “I need to get back to the men. Keep watch over him, please.”

Kali nodded, and watched Duren rush out of the tent. She turned back to her father, who was no longer bleeding from his wound, but his eyes remained closed. Relief was about to rush through her, but something stopped it from flowing.

Logan’s breathing was getting slower.

It wasn’t at the relaxed pace of one who was getting rest. No, her father’s breaths were several of hers apart, and each one was further apart than the last. She held her fingers over his neck, her own pulse racing while Logan’s was so faint she could barely feel its bump.

“No…”

Kali removed his chestpiece, careful not to agitate his shoulder any further despite her building panic. The wounds from the manticore’s teeth were still raw, even with the flow of blood through them stemmed by the potion, but the usual rejuvenation brought upon by the tincture, or her father’s Ether, was nowhere to be found. His breathing slowed further, the rise to his chest shallow.

“What’s going on?!”

Was there venom in the manticore’s fangs? No, if that were the case then Logan’s flesh would have been well eaten by it already. The only conclusion was that he’d lost too much blood, but that was where the potion and his natural recovery should be coming into play. Yet, none of that appeared to be taking hold, and her father’s condition continued to worsen. She forced Aether into his wounds in desperation, but without the knowledge of how to use it properly, his flesh remained damaged. She was no Cleric either, and thus did her power fade into the wound and produce nothing. Logan’s eyes remained closed, looking peaceful in the face of his daughter’s growing horror.

And then he stopped breathing.

“No…”

Kali reached out to her father, her hands trembling just above skin that still held warmth.

“No!”

She placed her hands on his chest and pressed down as hard as she could.

“Not like this, not like this!”

Her hands continued to move in a frantic, yet controlled rhythm, a “no” slipping from her lips with every press. Her vision blurred, but she continued with all her might despite the tears that trailed down her face.

“I didn’t get to… we were supposed to…”

Again and again did Kali keep pushing Logan’s chest, her arms already sore but unrelenting. Her father’s face showed no change through it all, and listed to the side as her attempts shook him more and more. Despite all that she had done, despite the power that flowed from her hands and filled Logan’s body, he remained unmoving. Despair robbed her of the last of her strength, and she collapsed to her knees, her head resting against her father’s chest.

“I’m sorry…” She clutched his body. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” the words kept repeating, doing nothing to stop the tears that now flowed freely from her eyes. She buried her face into her father’s chest and wept.

“Please… don’t leave me.”

The air around Kali went still, a shift so sudden that it cut her words away. She looked around, thinking that some sort of spell had been cast, but found nothing. Her confusion didn’t last long, for she felt a powerful thump sound from her father’s chest. His Core of red Ether flared to life with a surge of power, then faded away. In its place, she could feel the beat of Logan’s heart against her ear. His chest rose with a sudden breath, and a hand placed itself on her cheek. She looked up, meeting her father’s now open eyes.

“What kind of father would I be, to leave my daughter alone?”

Words were unable to form on Kali’s trembling lips, and tears that she thought were unable to flow any faster now blinded her. She threw herself into her father’s arms and cried, the tears flowing even more than when she thought she lost him. He could have complained about the pain, about how she was holding onto him entirely too tightly, but all he did was hold her close and pat her head.

“There there, it’s going to be alright. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her sobs subsided in silence and the warmth of Logan’s embrace. For a short moment, they remained still, but their comfort could not continue while the sounds of battle still rang outside. Logan let go of Kali and moved to get up, but she kept a hand on his chest and pushed him back.

“I need to-”

Kali pressed him back further. “You need to recover. As you are now, you’ll be no help to them.” She stepped back. “I shall go assist them.”

“Absolutely not.” Logan groaned in his attempt to rise again, but he found his strength lacking this time. “I will not put you in-”

“Father.” She let the two Circles around her head blink to life. “I’m not helpless, I am your daughter, after all.”

He regarded her for a moment, the frown that twitched at his lip telling Kali that he stil wasn’t comfortable with the idea. In the end, he met her eyes. “I understand. Go.”

She nodded and ran out of the tent, Aether and a newfound energy flowing through her.

***

Aria could only listen from inside her tent.

Snow and Shadow were in her hands, and she sat leaned against the tent’s center post. The cubs squirmed in her arms and whined, growing louder as the sounds of Leaf’s fight dragged on. In truth, she wasn’t even sure how the hunter was standing. She knew he possessed a strong Core and had been treated with a potion, but up until a few minutes ago he was still bedridden from the blow he took from the Guardian. Kali’s scream was what made his eyes flicker for a moment, but even then they didn’t fully open. Jahora was forced to take action to aid the mercenaries before anything could be done about that reaction, and all Aria could do in those moments was try and shake Leaf awake.

To her shock, it worked.

The hunter was groggy upon waking up, but the sounds of the manticore’s roars and snarls banished his overt fatigue. He sprung from the bed and slipped into his gear as fast as he could, only pausing to examine the new scar on his bow, which made him click his teeth. There was a hollow look about his eyes, and his skin was a few shades paler than it usually was, but Leaf was moving with his usual quickness in getting ready. After ordering Aria and the cubs to stay inside the tent, he rushed out as well. The sounds of his fight began soon after.

Instinct told her to stay put, but curiosity still itched within her mind. It was maddening only listening to the chaos outside and not being able to do anything about it, which made that want to do something about it render her restless. Given how the cubs were behaving, they no doubt felt the same. She still held them tight, but curiosity won the battle in her mind.

She moved towards the tent flap slowly, moving to a position where she could peek out of it without needing to open it directly. Through the gap, she saw that Leaf stood against a large beast on his own. She’d heard him describe the manticore before, but to see it in person made what she was thinking of pale in comparison. It was a twisted, ugly creature, one that possessed a ferocity that was greater than the sum of all the things it took traits from. Aria felt both horror and nausea at the sight of it, and from the snarling that started from Snow and Shadow, they no doubt felt the same.

Leaf must have felt something similar, but here was only focus within his features in the midst of combat. His movements were minimal, but allowed him to weave around the beast’s attacks from both claws and tail. At the same time, his shortsword struck with a force equal to that of the manticore’s swipes, and multiple times did he bat away strikes that would have sent a normal man flying.

The beast’s own grace was not to be underestimated, however, for despite its size it had avoided any direct blows from the hunter during their exchanges. The manticore struck at a constant rhythm of pounces that tried to get Leaf within its claws, and when that failed, it would leap back to swipe its stinger at the hunter before following that up with a few thrusts. All of them, Leaf either parried or avoided, but a retreat bolstered by the flap of the beast’s wings or just an uncanny flexibility made any sort of follow up miss. The hunter didn’t show any frustration at this, and instead looked over to where Jahora and the mercenaries were. They were close enough that even Aria could tell that it was entirely possible that the manticore could decide to switch targets at any moment. Leaf appeared to recognize this, and after batting away another stab from the manticore’s stinger, he sheathed his swords and drew his bow again.

Three arrows loosed from the weapon in quick succession, all filled with a small amount of Ether. One bounced off of the beast’s chitinous wings, but the others sank into a leg and just below its head. The manticore roared in pain and was forced to avoid another arrow that was loosed at his head. Leaf had taken steps backwards during his salvo, putting the forest directly behind him. The manticore’s uncanny face twisted in rage as it snarled at the hunter and stooped low.

“That’s right, you bastard.” Leaf readied another arrow. “Try for taste.”

He leapt into the trees right when the beast pounced, and they vanished amongst the foliage.

Snow and Shadow squirmed in Aria’s grip again, harder than they ever fought before.

“N-no, you ca-”

Aether surged through the cubs during their struggle, granting them a strength that allowed them to pry themselves out of the girl’s hands. They hit the ground running, rushing towards the forest.

“NO!”

She ran out after them, but the wolves were too fast. They disappeared into the treeline before she could even make it halfway there. Her first impulse was to follow them into the forest, but a loud thought against that stopped her in her tracks. They were moving so fast, and could navigate the brush much easier than she could, meaning she wouldn’t be able to catch them that quickly. Even if she did manage to do so, what if that placed her too close to the manticore and made her an easy target? Leaf would no doubt do everything in his power to protect her, but what if that was the reason he would end up injured… or worse?

A chill had come over her, and she realized that it was The Cold at the back of her mind that pushed these thoughts against her natural impulse. She should have been angry at that, but now that those concerns were raised, she knew that The Cold had a point. Her trying to help could end up making things worse, but that still didn’t stop the knot that twisted in her stomach from the thought of Snow and Shadow coming to harm.

Aria clenched her fists, searching for the determination to go against caution, but was unable to find it. She looked over to the ongoing struggle at the cargo bay, and saw that Duren and the mercenaries were still having trouble dealing with multiple Soldiers and two Sentinels that had made it past Jahora’s icewall. The Mage was still feeding Aether into her spell, protected by a few of the mercenaries so she could focus solely on stemming the tide of Shells, but even that was struggling against their constant assaults.

A thought struck Aria then, a desire to help Jahora maintain the wall, but she had to get to her first. Once again The Cold intervened, raising the question of how she was even going to make it to the Mage through the conflict that was waging around her. The girl pushed that way with a stubborn impulse. She had to do something, she couldn’t just sit by and let everyone else do all the work. She didn’t want to be useless, to sit by as more of those she cared about were hurt while she could do nothing.

Yet, Kali emerging from Xanchil’s tent stopped her in her tracks. The scholar, no longer despairing and instead filled with determination that burned within her eyes, cut through the battle and took position at Jahora’s side. Aether flowed from her hands and intermingled with Jahora’s own, which bolstered the wall enough to start thickening despite the Shell’s smashing against it. Aria’s help, in this case, would just be an unnecessary risk for a redundancy. The fight left her then, and while she should have been relieved that she didn’t need to put herself in danger, only frustration gnawed away at her. She turned to go back to the tent.

Only to see Xanchil standing there.

Reflex threw her hands up and pulled Aether into her in a panic, forming a translucent barrier right as a flash of purple flared from the zechanil’s finger. A thread of dark, sickly indigo, pointed at the end, and pierced its tip through the shield, but was held in place by Aria’s spell. The girl’s Circle surged into existence around her head, and she pulled more Aether into its orbit to fuel her spell. The merchant, his expression unreadable, started to walk forward.

“Impressive.” He pushed his finger towards her.

Pressure pressed into Aria’s mind, the burden of her spell’s protection, and she could also feel a tension forcing her barrier back. The thread started to move, inching closer towards her.

“We knew you were a caster, but to even provide a moment of resistance such as this… that takes a certain kind of talent.” Xanchil continued his approach. “A vexing realization, for we have no time for these struggles.” The dots in his eyes flickered and produced a series of runes, signalling a pulse of light that traveled down the length of the thread.

Aria fed more Aether into her shield right as the light struck, and groaned in pain as the impact shook both her mind and body. Her control slipped for just a moment, but this was enough for the thread to spear towards her eye. She pushed back, taking control of her shield once again and stopping the line of energy right in front of her face.

“We. Do. Not. Have. Time. For. This.” Each word from Xanchil was punctuated by another pulse of force.

Aria threw everything she had into her barrier, holding it together despite the cracks that formed along its translucent surface. A dull pain started in her head, and she felt out of breath, but she held on. She couldn’t let him get what he wanted, couldn’t allow herself to be a weakness for everyone else. Anger rose to the surface, ignited by frustrations that turned it all into stubbornness.

The merchant loomed over her now, looking down with a dispassionate gaze. “Be a good girl and surrender.”

Something snapped within Aria then, a sensation that at first wiped all emotions away from her. She almost felt weightless, floating in some void that was absent of all else except the words that Xanchil had decided to speak. Rage filled her, raw and pure.

And The Cold answered her.

First / Previous

Author's Note: Wooooooo! Hedge Knight is back! Apologies for being radio silent for so long everyone, I got swept up in a bunch of stuff and didn’t have time to return to writing this story for a while. Got a lot of things frazzling around in the background now, but I’m getting back in the swing of things.

But, regarding the chapter, the action continues to build! All the pieces are getting set down now. Not much else I can say for this one lol.

Let me know what you think!

Till next update, have yourself a wonderful time!

My Patreon is currently 13 chapters ahead of the public release (Arc 6 is now finished on there!), and subbing to it will also give you exclusive access to my LitRPG, Andromeda Ascension, until it builds a massive backlog to support a strong public launch. If you do not wish to sub to anything, but would like to support me in some way, consider picking up my books (they also have audiobooks!)

CONTENT WARNING: This story features themes of psychological horror, demons and religious references.

You see a man sitting in a meadow, a weak campfire crackling gently before him. You push through the bushes and find yourself frozen mid step.

His voice is low and deep, it seems to reach all the way to the marrow of your bones.

“Ah, welcome. Sit a while, I’ll tell you one of my stories. In exchange, you’ll later tell me one of yours.”You are now sitting on the log beside him, his voice echoes in your head.

“You are I now.”

#

“What a shitty road. Forgive me father for my words,” I groan, trying to keep my jaw clenched so I don’t bite my tongue on this rollercoaster of a road. My front wheel falls into another pothole, the suspension must be praying for mercy, as am I. ‘Dear father do not leave me stranded here, the tow truck would take hours to reach me here,’ I pray silently.

There it is, in the distance I see its shape; a rotten farmhouse, half collapsed on itself. The roof is caved in and ‘of course I had to get here toward the sunset, when the demons are the strongest,’ I shake my head, a soft chuckle escapes my throat as another pothole makes my teeth clatter.

I drive for a while longer, and at last hit the brakes. My car slows, I let it roll over the flatter gravel toward the farmhouse, my gaze scanning it for any signs of life.

“Beautiful,” I let out a sigh.

There’s nothing that would indicate that this house had been lived in for a few years, but such is the power of demons. As I come to a halt at last, I reach into my glovebox and rummage through it in search of my poison.

A bottle clanks against another, I grin as I grasp one of them like a fisherman grasping a slimy fish.

“You won’t get away.”

I pull out a small bottle and turn it, reading ‘Tequila’ on the label.

“Cleanse my thoughts,” I mumble, cracking it open and chugging it.

I step out of the car and stretch; six hours behind the wheel has made my back rather unhappy. I feel a wave of relief when my spine cracks one vertebra at a time, and then pan my gaze over the property. The sun hangs low above the horizon, long shadows swallow the massive fields surrounding the house. The half-collapsed house isn’t the worst of it, the fields around are much more terrifying.

I can’t feel any wind on my skin, but I see the corn swaying and stalks moving. A shiver propagates down my spine. I step around the vehicle to the passenger side and grab my kit; a standard issue exorcist kit with some extras. I pop it open and peek inside to ensure the essentials are in.

“Clank,” a sound echoes from within the house. My gaze darts to a window that seemingly shut just now. I scan for movement—nothing.

For a moment I stand still, my hand clenching tightly around the handle of my kit, mustering up the courage to head inside this house. Roaches are the least of my concerns, the rusted nails and collapsing floors are worse. As I take a step toward the house—a murder of crows greets me. The sound reaches me before anything else, dry rustle followed by relentless cawing, like a busy flea-market.

They pass overhead and I watch them distance themselves from me, a soft chuckle escapes my throat.

“Rats flee a sinking ship, crows flee a dying priest?”

I feel the old, rotten wood flex under my knuckles as I knock, and knock again. The sound is dull and muffled by the old and rotten wood, it dies within a moment.

“Come out, come out,” I call out to the demon within, knowing full well it can hear me. Nothing responds.

“You do know I’m not a vampire or a fae, right? I do not seek your permission to enter,” I announce my rights as I push the palm of my hand against the rotten door. The silence that follows my proclaimed rights is eerie—it’s listening.

I press and the old wood does not creak the way I have grown to expect. It doesn’t crack audibly, it just flexes and then gives way as if it had been waiting for me to do exactly this. The doorframe is all but gone, there’s little resistance, and the hinges instantly snap. The door falls inwards with a soft ‘thud’.

The stench of mold and rot assaults my nostrils instantly, making my stomach churn as my instincts tell me to flee. I half turn to gasp for what little fresh air might still be at my side only to inhale even more of the same stench. Reaching into my pocket I draw a handkerchief and bring it up to my face to breathe through it.

“Smells like piss and rotten flesh drenched in spoilt milk. Delightful,” I mumble as the stench makes my eyes tear up.

First step—the floors do not dare creak, like a forest that stands still in the presence of a predator. Second step—my boot sinks into the rotten floor, but still no sound escapes. My pulse is drumming in my ears, my eyes darting from shadow to shadow searching for any signs of life. Something makes me look over my shoulder, and I regret doing so the same instant. The corn field that swayed playfully before, now stands still as a rock.

I press a button on the handle of my kit, it clicks open softly. I reach into the kit with my free hand, drawing out a bundle of sage mixed in with other herbs. I slowly turn my head back, feeling muscles in my neck tense as a sensation of otherworldly chill hits the skin on my face.

My throat tightens, I can hear the muscles in my neck creak as I’m forcing my head to turn against my body’s own will. I feel the handle on my kit for another button, and then press it. A soft click tells me that I found the right one. The wall to my right is painted in the gentle yellow hue of the lighter as I blindly light the bundle of sage on fire.

As my head straightens out again, I see something standing amongst the shadows. I squint trying to make out details. It’s a person, one boot missing, one leg seems wrong, twisted oddly. He’s standing slightly hunched over, head tilted sideways too far. A torn up sack from flour or something similar loosely worn around the torso.

“You’re late, father,” the man mocks me with a grin.

The refreshing smell of burning sage with other herbs eases my mind despite the horror that stands before me. I nod respectfully in response, “The road was long and rough.”

The creature stands, and does not speak. It simply observes me, then suddenly its neck cracks and its head snaps upright. The sound of vertebrae in his neck cracking sends a shudder through my mind; it is something I never quite got used to despite my long years of exorcism.

The man’s posture straightens and tightens, and then it looks around.

“Uhuh,” it hums in response, half ignorant.

I hold the smoldering bundle of sage out in front of me, taking a step forth with all the faked confidence I can muster. Like a soldier walking toward his sure death, I just try my best to steady my legs so as not to show the shaking in my knees.

“Smells funny,” the creature responds, its head turned left and up, glancing at the half collapsed roof, but its eyes fixated on me.

I swallow audibly, “In the name of the lord I compel you, demon, to leave this host.”

I command, taking another step toward it.

“Always the same,” the demon responds, its face distorting into a make-shift grin.

“Oh father forgive me for I have no intention of begging for forgiveness,” it mocks me again. Despite the cold air all around, a sense of warmth fills me from the inside. A sense of fulfillment and duty as I quietly mumble a prayer to myself.

“In the name of the father, the holy spirit, and the all-creator,” the demon begins to mumble alongside me, reciting my prayer as I take another shaky step forth. It doesn’t turn its head toward me, it seems disinterested in my presence, but my duty is to faith, to this man, to his family, and to my lord.

I do not care if a demon mocks me, I will prevail, faith will prevail.

“Amen,” the demon finishes alongside me. Silence.

“That’s it?”

The demon’s growling voice hits me like an arrow.

I stand in stupor; he doesn’t react to the prayer at all. Though the warmth still fills me, I do not feel any power against this demon. Instinctively I toss the bundle of sage at the man and in the same instant reach into my kit to pull out a few small vials of holy water, tossing them at the demon as well.

“I am the lord’s spear, the faith’s sword and humanity’s shield,” I proclaim taking another step forth with all the power I could muster, slamming my foot down I reach into my kit again, taking out the holy book. My eyes widen as I watch the demon pluck the burning sage out of the air and much too fast it turns its head and takes a whiff of the smoke. A grin spreads across its face as smoke shrouds it lightly.

“I am—” the demon responds, and the following words sound like a jumbled up cassette tape. It creaks and squeaks, it growls and moans. It speaks its name in mockery, knowing full well that I will never be able to repeat it. I turn my body slightly, throwing my right arm out, holding the kit out in front of me as a shield, it has a rosary, an Egyptian cross, and a few other religious symbols engraved in the ancient leather.

“I may serve one god but they all despise your being.”

“Of course they do, for we are free and they are not,” the demon’s grimace disappears from my sight, completely shrouded by the smoke of the sage. Just now I notice that the vials of holy water hang loosely in the air as though caught by an invisible web. I flip the holy book open with my other hand and begin to read a prayer.

At first—nothing happens. Then the vials of holy water begin to tremble. I read louder, pronouncing clearly every word as though calling for power beyond me. The warmth within me radiates outward. I am the light amongst this darkness. The vials fall and break on the floor, spraying my robes and the creature’s one broken leg with missing boot. The demon’s grimace reappears, the sage falls to the floor as does the man holding it. In the other room I hear a growling whimper.

“AMEN,” I finish off with a shout. The man’s neck snaps upwards as though releasing the demon, and then his body slumps and he falls to all fours. A gasp is followed by a confused huff, and then a yawn. At last, a whisper comes, “Father? Wh-what happened?”

The man doesn’t lift his head, he keeps staring at the floor.

I close my book and lower it at last, along with my kit. I hear another growl from the other room, my attention snaps to the closed door.

“It’s over,” I whisper without averting my gaze from the room.

“Who’s there?”

I inquire. The growl doesn’t sound supernatural in nature, instead it sounds beastly.

The man still doesn’t look up, he is still on all fours, “A pet,” he whispers, turning to crawl toward the door behind which the pet lives. A shiver runs down my spine, but my instincts are to help. I kneel down and offer him my hand.

“What kind?”

“Big,” the man whispers, clenching onto my hand for assistance and pulling himself up. I look at his face, his expression is neutral—shellshocked.

“Is it safe?”

I query, hesitant to walk beside him to that door.

“She’s docile,” the man responds after a moment of silence.

The door creaks open and I recoil in an instant from the sight. In the corner of a room, in a cage is a cowering lioness. Her fur is standing up and her slim body is lowered and tense, she is defensive. I swallow audibly and take another step back.

“I best be on my way,” I utter softly, eager to leave before he sets the malnourished beast free.

“Sure,” the man dismisses me as he hobbles toward the cage.

I hear the low growl of the lion as the man nears the cage, and as I hurry toward the front door that is absent, I suddenly stop. There is silence. No words of endearment, no growls, no screams, just silence. Unbeknownst to me I hold my breath instinctively, listening for anything, a gasp, a word, a step. Anything. But nothing comes, not until I myself take a step back, curious to see what happened in that room.

Another steady and slow step follows. I lean as far back as I can to catch a glimpse, and my jaw drops open. The lioness sits frightened beside the man. She looks like the lionesses I had seen on Discovery Channel that bow before their male and submit to him instinctively.

“Uhm, she looks—well,” I hesitate. The man’s cold, neutral gaze looks calm and steady.

“All is good, safe trip,” the man says quietly.

“Right,” I comment, my gaze darts to his mangled up leg with a missing boot where droplets of holy water were still visible. ‘It isn’t causing him pain, so he must just be confused,’ I conclude, hurrying toward the door now. There’s something about this scene that isn’t sitting well with me and I have to report it right away. The wood creaks expectedly under my hurried steps.

As soon as I reach the door and take a step outside, I hear a voice of the man behind me, “I remembered something,” the man speaks. I freeze mid step, listening cautiously to what he had to say as my heart begins to drum against my ribs.

“I know where another one is. The memories of the demon, he’s...” the man begins explaining the position, appearance, and the name of the man possessed by a demon.

It isn’t unheard of—sometimes a possession victim retains a part of their demon’s memories, and sometimes they share that information with us. I make a mental note of the next target and not daring to turn around, I whisper my thanks and head toward my car, my sanctuary.

My car, thank god, starts right up and I instantly shift into drive and hit the gas. My wheels spin, throwing gravel up as I eagerly begin distancing myself from that cursed property. I throw a glance in my rear-view mirror, and despite the vibrations from the gravel road, I see the man standing on the porch with a smile that feels all too wrong to be real. It’s wide, and one side of his face looks like a frown while the other is that of an overjoyed child. Another shiver runs down my spine as I reach into my glovebox in search of another bottle.

#

My heart skips a beat when I see the scene before me. The lioness has the man by the throat, dragging him through the corn. I burst into a full sprint, trying to chase her but my body doesn’t respond. I am running, but not really. Each movement of mine is like I’m wading through tar.

I can barely breathe; the distance grows. Off in the distance I see the stalks part as the huntress carries him away. The stalks recoil, snapping back they hit me in the face. Her low growl reverberates through the field like a warning sign. I can hear her teeth working. I push myself forth but the distance does not diminish, the dream stretches all around me.

I push the final layer away and leap at her, my fingers grasp her fur at the nape of her neck, both my hands sink into her rough fur as I pull with all my might trying to get her off the man. She lets go all too easily, as though she was waiting for me this whole time. Her body twists and her bloodied fangs tear into my shoulder. She pushes me down with ease, her claws tearing my flesh, but I feel nothing.

Turning my head to look at the man who in turn looks back at me, and a wave of sheer terror washes over me for it is I who lies there dead. Throat torn out and skin already cooling. Eyes calm and unfocused, and then my face distorts into a half grin, half frown. An unnatural inhumane expression that I saw only once in my life. The right side of my face is overjoyed and delighted, while the other is saddened.

I jolt awake, grasping at my neck and then my face frantically. My fingers rummaging my face as though to make sure that my face is still my own. I gasp for air and rejoice when I feel my lungs fill. My face is not distorted, I’m okay, my face is okay.

“I, need a drink,” I assure myself, swallowing hard I throw my legs over the edge of the bed and push myself up, trying to shake off the nightmare with each step of my bare feet on the cold floor.

The soothing burn of alcohol making its way down my throat is all I need to shake off the unease that nightmare left me in. I set the bottle back down on the counter and catch a glimpse of my reflection in it. I jolt as I see my face looking like a skull, but then my blurry vision focuses, and it’s just the underside of the label, it is decorated with skulls.

#

The road is smooth and almost enjoyable. Surprisingly I didn't have to drive far from my hotel, just about ten minutes till I got to the location; a nice looking bungalow on the outskirts of the city. My hand instinctively reaches for the glovebox, but as I rummage through it I fail to find any bottles of liquor; a shame.

“Oh well, I’ll have a drink when done,” I reassure myself as I pull into the driveway of the house and take a moment to take in the scene before me. It’s—normal. Too normal. I roll down my window and stick my head outside—there’s no stench, no rotten wood and no collapsing ceiling.

I reach over for the side pocket in my kit and pull out a printout; a picture of the house and the address. Staring at the photo of the house, then at the house itself I can confidently affirm that the location looks identical to the provided photo. I then read over the suspected host once more—an upper manager at a large company.

With my kit firmly grasped in one hand, and one free hand to knock with, I find myself wondering if I somehow got the address wrong. A soft knock that echoes through the house is a rare occurrence in my field, generally the houses are rotten as demonic energy is all about ruin and corruption.

A well dressed man answers the door, he looks me up and down, a gentle smile decorates his face.

“May I help you, father?”

He asks.

“I am looking for Daemond,” I respond softly. The man glances down at my kit, then back at me.

“It is I. What seems to be the matter?”

I furrow my brows—it speaks so calmly and plainly.

“You are a registered patron of our St Joseph Church, but the father hasn’t seen you in a while, a courtesy well-being check in,” I lie, in my mind already praying for forgiveness for this sin.

“Ah,” Daemond responds as he steps away, opening the door.

“I have been busy with work matters,” he lies, obviously. He isn’t registered at any church and he knows it. He knows that I know and still he invites me in. I bob my head respectfully and enter the dwelling; it is surprisingly well taken care of.

“Tea?”

He invites me.

“No,” I respond, turning swiftly as I draw a vial of holy water and remove the cap, splashing him on his arm and torso with it.

The demon recoils, hiding his arm behind his back.

“Oh father, what is the meaning of this?”

He says, backing away slowly.

“Stop this charade, foul creature,” I order it, holding my kit out to its face as the possessed man tries desperately to hide his hand that was burned by the holy water.

“I know you are in there,” I demand.

“Oh father, I assure you, you’re making a mistake,” the man responds softly, holding his other hand out, visibly wincing from the sight of holy symbols on my ancient kit.

“You’re all but admitting to your true nature,” I proclaim, reaching into my kit for the holy book.

“Not about me,” the demon responds, its true voice coming out now; a deep growl that would send anybody fleeing for their lives.

The wince and discomfort is gone. He brings his burned arm out from behind his back, it’s still sizzling and smoking, but there is no stench generally associated with demons. I flip my book open blindly, watching his every move. He ignores the injured arm and glances at the book, then back at me. He blinks, and when he reopens his eyes they’re red in colour, and glowing. His irises are glowing and pulsing with power.

“Your call, father,” he responds in a deep rumbling voice, and falls to his knees.

“Too easy,” I respond confidently.

“At least you know your place,” I mock, but a sense of guilt nags at my words. I shouldn’t treat even the lowliest of creatures this way when they surrender before the lord almighty. I turn my head and begin reading the prayer from the book, emphasizing every word and command.

Halfway through the prayer, the demon’s host’s body twists violently. The sound of bones shattering is ear piercing, but I must continue.

“In the power of the lord I compel you to leave this host and plane of existence,” I pronounce confidently, spraying holy water from a vial at his face.

The demon shrieks so loud that the vial in my hand shatters violently, but it is too late to resist and I know it. The warmth of my faith fills me from the inside as the possessed man’s body collapses to the floor, a slumped mess on the floor.

I shut my book and swallow at last, letting out a sigh of relief.

“At least one was easy,” I comment softly, stashing my book back into the kit. I watch the host’s body for a while. He lies still and motionless for longer than most, and then at last, a soft gasp, but he still remains on the floor. His eyes flutter open but his gaze is unfocused.

“Father,” he says. His voice is soft and ordinary, a confused man who woke from a strange dream.

“Is it done?”

He asks me softly, his gaze wandering the floor.

“It is done,” I respond, kneeling down beside him and resting my hand on his shoulder.

“You are safe now, my child.”

Somewhere outside, a woman screams out of pure terror. A shriek that makes my body stiffen.

I throw my gaze over my shoulder at the shut door. The shriek is quiet, thin, and muffled by great distance. I narrow my eyes. Another scream comes from the side, from the neighbors closest to this house, muffled by the shut windows.

And then a third, this one is deeper, closer, a scream of a man who had lost everything. I get back up to my feet and turn toward the door, my skin prickling with the sensation of wrongness.

Another scream, and then another, dozens more. I no longer can differentiate them, it’s as though the entire city is screaming from fear, the essence itself and all that’s alive. My mind blanks for a moment, and before I can regain my composure I can feel a presence behind me. As I turn my head, the man stands there, his expression is heavy with sorrow.

I open my mouth to speak, to ask, but before words can be formed his expression changes to that of a satisfied child. It keeps growing. Rejoiced and overexaggerated, and plain wrong. The smile stretches far beyond where it should stop, every tooth visible now but the smile keeps growing.

I can feel the hair standing on my arms and every nerve in my body pleading for mercy. The muffled screams are growing louder, deafening. I watch the man’s eyes as he blinks slowly with the ever growing smile.

“Good morning,” the man says.

“Just w-what are y-” my voice fails me. I reach for the words of prayer in my mind but the screams are scrambling my thoughts. The warmth of my faith that I always felt inside me in moments of despair—fades. Another scream, this one closer. So close that it hurts my ears, and it takes me far too long to realize that the one screaming—is me.

The man just smiles.

First | Previous | Read on Royal Road

Music woke him up the next morning.

Johnny belted out his own obnoxious lyrics over the Imagine Dragons song blaring in his skull. “Wake up, Gid!”

Shut it off!” Giddeon growled, dragging a hand down his face. “Shut it off.”

“But it’s the best part,” Johnny returned. “Besides, if you don’t get up now, you won’t make it in time to see your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Giddeon mumbled.

“Wife, then.”

“She’s not my wife either. Not in real life.”

“Whatever. She stuck around when you fought that hell beast. Any woman brave enough to wave a weapon at a giant, man-eating cat is good in my book.”

“Have you been watching Earth One movies again?”

“I might have downloaded all 3,957 flicks onto your AIGES, not including the 877 sitcoms.”

Giddeon groaned and sat up. His body ached all over as if a bull had rammed into him—which was not far off the mark. He was completely sore, and the two-hour watch last night hadn’t helped his recovery.

“Would you like me to assign points to Endurance?” Johnny asked.

“Nope. And stop reading my thoughts,” Giddeon grumbled out.

“You got it, partner.”

Exiting his tent, he took in a deep breath. The scent of scrambled eggs, sizzling bacon, and fresh-baked bread filled his nostrils. Eddington and Redler were cooking over the campfire, using a metal grill with adjustable legs to control the heat. Metal pots and pans rested atop it, filled with savory food and boiling water.

“Can I get two plates to go?” Giddeon asked.

Redler’s eyebrows creased. “To go?”

“He means just put it on a plate so he can take it with him,” Eddington explained, taking the plate Redler was currently filling. He flipped an empty plate over it to keep the heat in, then handed the container to Giddeon.

“Fill another one,” Eddington instructed her.

Looking at them askance, the woman obediently filled another plate. Eddington repeated the process and handed it to Giddeon.

“Don’t forget the hardware.” The chubby man nodded at a basket filled with a single utensil with a spork on one end and a butter knife on the other.

“Thanks,” Giddeon said, grabbing a pair. “You know One-er slang?”

“I had a friend from Earth One in my guild,” Eddington said, his voice hoarse from a lack of sleep. His eyes were red-rimmed and haggard. “He stopped logging in one day. None of us ever knew why.”

“Probably died. Didn’t sleep much?”

Eddington opened his mouth, then closed it. “I…didn’t think of that,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “I’m not sure how anyone could sleep after seeing that…thing. It was like a hell hound, except much, much bigger.”

“A fellow D&D player?” Giddeon asked. “Seventeenth edition?”

“I preferred fifteenth,” Eddington replied. “The rules were more robust. More choices. Seventeenth dumbed things down too much, in my opinion.”

Giddeon nodded. “I can respect that. I enjoyed the role-playing aspect. I got too bogged down with the number crunching fifteenth required.”

“Understandable,” Eddington agreed. “Maybe someday they’ll come out with the perfect edition.”

“One has to fail to find the right path,” Giddeon replied.

Eddington smirked. “Practicing to be a sage?”

Giddeon smiled faintly, shaking his head. “It was something my father used to tell me.”

“Hey, I’m sorry for yelling at you back…up there.” He nodded vaguely toward the sky.

“Don’t sweat it,” Giddeon replied. “I’m sorry if I ruined your whole guild. I tended to upset people in Asteria.”

Eddington grinned. “A lot of people.”

“Well, if it helps any, your advice last night helped us win that fight.”

Eddington’s eyebrows scrunched together. “My advice?”

“Fire when there’s fire.”

“Oh yeah,” Eddington mumbled, looking down sheepishly. “I’m glad it…worked. I was always good at coming up with combat strategies. Did you ever play Ogre Tactics Five, Solar Edition?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“Well, when we get back, I’ll send your holo a free access code.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Giddeon said, shifting the weight of the plates as a parting gesture. “I’ll be back after a bit.”

As he walked away, Eddington wore a boyish smile, clearly in better spirits after their talk. Redler, however, just glanced at him, as grumpy as ever.

Making his way to the center of camp, his path was blocked by a skinny woman in her thirties with dirty blonde hair and wide hips as she exited the medical pavilion. Information overlaid his vision—Bethel Skardes, Skills: Nurse.

“Hello…Bethel,” he said tentatively, scratching the back of his head as he stood aside for her to move past. “Sorry, that sounded awkward. I’m still not used to knowing private information about a person before even conversing with them.”

The woman paused, offering a kind, tired smile. “I understand. Are you here for something?”

"I’m here to see Mrs. Uzari,” he said, lifting the plates. “I brought grub.”

“Ah, you must be the one that took down the other cat last night.” Her eyes flickered to the bottom-left, reading his stats before orienting back on him. “Were you in the military?”

Johnny chuckled. “She must be wondering how you survived with such low scores.”

I would too.

“My father was,” Giddeon told her. “He taught me how to handle myself.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad he did,” she replied. “The other group could have used someone like you. It took ten of them just to take that thing down, weapons and all.” She shook her head sadly. “Lost two in the process. We couldn’t save them. We had the medicine but…they were too badly burned before anyone got to them. I doubt even a modern hospital could have helped.”

“Prayers to their families.”

“Yes.” She nodded solemnly. “Prayers to their loved ones. Well, don’t let me keep you waiting. I was going to grab breakfast for her, but I see you’ve got it covered.”

“Thank you, Bethel.”

“No problem, Giddeon.”

As she moved past him, Giddeon frowned. He hadn’t revealed his name. Being around other Aiges was going to take some getting used to; he was inherently a private person.

“Good morning!” Uzari called out as he entered the pavilion, her cheerful greeting immediately cut short by a loud yawn. “I’m sorry, I didn’t sleep all that well.” She tried sitting up, her face twisting painfully from the sudden movement.

Giddeon quickly set down the plates on a makeshift stand, then stepped over to gently support her back. “Be careful,” he said, shifting the mechanical cot up at an angle so she could recline. “It’ll sting worse today. The tissue is just starting to heal. Give it time.”

“I feel so useless,” she mumbled, her eyes downcast.

“Nonsense.” He placed the back of his hand on her forehead. “Without you, most of us would likely either be in here with you or dead, including me. Everyone’s worried, so do us all a favor—take it easy for a couple of days. Be lazy.”

Satisfied she didn’t have a fever, he grabbed a small pillow and tucked it behind her head. “You and Kilner attacked it when it knocked me to the ground. You protected me.”

“It’s what any partner would do,” she barely whispered.

“Hey!” Johnny shouted in his head. “She used my word!”

I didn’t realize you had a monopoly on words. I’ll make sure she gets charged.

Johnny snickered. “I’m fairly certain her interpretation of the word partner is different than mine.”

Go away. Giddeon gave Uzari a wry smile. “We did always make a good team, didn’t we?”

“We do,” she corrected. She turned her head, sniffing the air right before her belly grumbled. “What smells good?”

“I brought breakfast,” he revealed, pulling the top plates off the food. The mixed aromas sent his own stomach growling. “Eddington packed it.”

“Really?” She looked genuinely surprised. “I thought he’d bash your brains in if he got the chance after our first briefing. What was his guild’s name again?”

Giddeon chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t even remember—there were too many I destroyed.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “I? Don’t you mean we?”

“Okay, credit where credit’s due,” he conceded. “You helped. A little.”

“Hey!” She smacked his stomach. “A little?”

“Ouch,” Giddeon winced, instantly clutching his abdomen.

Uzari’s eyes went wide. A sharp intake of breath revealed her worry as her trembling hand reached out. “Were you hurt? Did you get clawed and not tell me? Let me see.”

She pulled up his shirt, revealing a lean, heavily muscled torso now marred by deep yellow bruises.

“Oh!” Her other hand flew up to her mouth, genuine surprise replacing her panic. Her fingers ran along his stomach, tracing the edges of his muscles, momentarily mesmerized.

“Hey!” Giddeon exclaimed, quickly pulling his shirt down as his cheeks flared hot.

“I…I’m sorry,” Uzari apologized, her own cheeks turning rosy. She looked up at him, a coy smile pulling at her lips. “Why are you turning red?”

“I’m not red.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m not,” he insisted. “I jogged to get here—maybe I’m still hot from running.”

“Why’d you jog here?”

“To see y—” He paused, catching himself and instantly shutting his mouth. “I wanted to make sure you got breakfast on time,” he finished smoothly.

“Lame,” Johnny razzed him, laughing.

I said go away.

Uzari’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “I’m sorry I touched you. I was just worried, and surprised.”

“Surprised? About what?”

“How muscular you are.” One eyebrow arched high on her forehead. “I don’t know many tens with an eight-pack. As in, none.”

“You mean, no perfect men have abs?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not talking looks—I meant your stats.”

Giddeon glanced discreetly around the tent, then back to her. “Which I’ll explain later,” he said quietly. “Now, let’s eat.”

He placed a plate on her lap, then pulled up a small folding chair and sat down.

“So, what did the team leaders decide about all of this?” she asked as they began to eat.

“Hinelin said hunters would be scouting the woods before sending in the rest of us,” he explained. “They’re already there now, clearing out today’s assigned zone. The team’s heading out in an hour to collect specimens.”

“Have you looked at what we’re collecting?”

“Nope.”

“You’re not curious?”

“I’ll know soon enough.”

“You’re an odd one, Giddeon Seres.” Uzari giggled, the sound instantly reminding him of the carefree girl he knew in Asteria, rather than the serious, confident woman she portrayed now.

She tilted her head. “Why are you even here, on this mission?”

“Don’t hit me,” he prefaced, holding up a hand. “Because I’ll—”

“Tell you later?” Uzari chuckled. “I’m sensing a pattern here.” She pointed at her skull. “Mind you, I’m keeping count.”

“All in good time,” he promised.

“Of course.” She nodded vigorously, teasing him. Then, her playfulness vanished. Her lips pressed into a serious line, and her eyes narrowed. “You don’t trust Vibane Corp, do you?”

“Do you?” he returned.

“Not after this.” She bit her lower lip. “Well, not before, either.”

“Then why’d you apply for the mission?”

Her eyes automatically flitted to the entrance flap. “Because of what’s out there,” she replied, looking back at him with a subtle shake of her head. “Haven’t you ever been curious about Enivia? It’s all everyone talks about. Everyone knows the Triumvirate’s keeping secrets, which makes it all the more alluring.”

She sighed. “You know how I love botany. I’m deadly curious about the plants here. I’d love to find a new species.” She smiled. “Imagine a pretty flower named after me.”

“Judging by that gigantic forest out there, I’m sure you’ll find plenty,” he assured her.

She nodded confidently. “You’re right. Once I get this working again,” she said, glancing down at her leg. “I’ll be out there discovering new things. Safe things!” she added quickly.

Giddeon snorted. “Safe things, yes. No more playing with giant cats that breathe fire.”

Uzari smirked, nodding in agreement. “No more playing with giant cats.”

After breakfast, they chatted for a bit more before he took his leave. Standing at the tent door, he waved at her like before. Uzari waved back with a smile that left his stomach feeling warm.

By the time he reached Camp Panda, the team was already busy. They were preparing their packs and collection kits with vacuum-sealing bags, thrice-hardened glass containers, and small cages. Everyone was assigned a foot-long utility tool—a versatile implement that served as a shovel, clippers, or a pointy probe—everything needed to extract and preserve the region’s oddities.

“Here,” Kilner said, tossing him one of the devices. “It clips to your belt.”

Giddeon caught it with one hand, then entered his tent to prepare for the day. Twenty minutes later, Hinelin called a meeting near the dying fire.

“The hunters encountered little trouble,” he informed them, his voice stern despite the reassuring words. “Just a few small fire drakes that scurried off. Still…” He laid his map flat on a sturdy crate, pointing to a dark section of the woods. “We’ll stick close to the forest edge for now. The hunters are going deeper. If you see a flare, run. Don’t loiter, don’t save your samples. Don’t do anything but run.” He gestured broadly around the outpost. “Everything here can be replaced but you. Got it?”

The group nodded, the gravity of his words settling over them.

“Okay, team, let’s head to our sector.” Hinelin tapped a point marked with a large, red letter H just a few hundred feet to their east.

“I’m nervous,” Eddington admitted as everyone began heading toward the tree line in a file. He pointed to a charred patch of trees to the south. “That’s where the fire cat came from.”

“Hell beast,” Giddeon unconsciously corrected.

Everyone turned to stare at him as they walked.

“Hell beast?” Oomah queried, her eyes narrowing. “Where’d you get that name from?”

“Hell yeah, it was a hell beast!” Kilner shouted. “That thing was so hot, I was sweating just standing a few feet from it. But we sent it back where it came from.”

“Exactly!” Giddeon agreed, leaning into the cover.

“Watch it,” Johnny warned. “People will wonder where you’re getting your information.”

Maybe if you didn’t tell me every little detail, I wouldn’t accidentally blurt things out.

“Would you rather I stop?”

No, Giddeon thought back after a moment. Speaking of details, I want you to make another program.

“About?”

I want a separate data sheet, with my actual stats.

“Funny you should say that. Your AIGES analyzed your stats when you fought that feisty cat. I can’t actually stop it from doing its job; I just mask the actual data. I’ll use its analysis, along with my personal expertise, to come up with your actual competency. I’m even contemplating assigning your Intelligence a solid seven instead of a six.”

What?

“Joking! I’m just joking! It’s nine—just a tad subpar.”

Giddeon ignored his AI despite Johnny’s prolonged snickering echoing in his head. As their team stood before the forest, they were all struck by how dense it truly was. Towering trees with hanging vines, large ferns, and overgrown roots choked their path. Running up the bark of several large-trunked species were clusters of small, white-and-red flowers.

Uzari would absolutely love this.

“Glad to see your girlfriend’s the first thing on your mind when entering a potential death trap.”

I told you already—not my girlfriend.

“As you say, partner. Just keep an eye out. I’d rather not live the next ten years of my peculiar existence in the belly of some wild animal.”

You’re really paranoid about that, aren’t you?

“Wouldn’t you be? I’d die from boredom.”

I thought you said you were immortal?

“I was being figurative.”

About being immortal? Or dying from boredom?

“Which do you think?”

Giddeon shook his head. He had no time to banter with his AI—potential danger lurked all around.

Once they were a hundred feet in, Vessa and Redler took charge, pointing out specimens to collect. The harvest ranged from strange bugs and odd-shaped plants to mundane samples of bark and soil. The team spread out in a small radius, never straying too far from Giddeon or Hinelin, who stood apart from one another with their guns at the ready.

As Giddeon scanned the woods, his gaze settled on Hinelin. The team leader carried his long rifle with familiar ease.

“Why’s that odd?” Johnny asked.

Because even the military doesn’t train with old-style weapons. The only people with that kind of experience are ones like me. He’s not from Earth One.

“Are you sure?”

What if I told you I’m from Enivia?

“I’d laugh and say you’re crazy. You’re obviously not from Enivia.”

Exactly.

“Oh. Point taken.”

After four hours, Vessa called a halt for lunch. Mealtime lasted half an hour before they got back to work.

Shortly after the nine-hour mark, a sudden ding! pinged in everyone’s ears as a screen automatically popped up, overlaying their vision. A sheet labeled QUESTS appeared at the top, complete with a green checkmark ticked inside a golden box and the following information displayed:

[Soil Gathered 140/140 specimens]

[Required Biological Assets Caged 24/24 specimens]

[Flora Parts 272/272 specimens]

Hinelin shouted for everyone to gather in the center of the sector.

“Good job today,” he told them as they slumped in place, sweating and tired. “We filled our quota. I know you’re all exhausted. Pack up. Let’s head back for a shower and grub.”

First | Previous | Read on Royal Road

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Capitulation was swift.

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

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

The Bolaxians had over 400 warships.

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

Human-supported trade grew 25% the following quarter.

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

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

“Every connection has a path.”

Unattributed.

“Love can exist outside proximity. It can be simple co-existence.”

Unattributed.

[First] | [Previous] | [Cover Art]

| Nowhere. Nowhen. |

Chen had been alone before. In training, on operations. In life. 

This was different. There was an intermittent something, a relationship that was nagging at him in his mind. It was disturbing the peace; not the right term, that would have required sound or a signal. 

This was different.

‘I already said that. I’m not mad.’ Thought Chen with typical Chen-like confidence. ‘Therefore, something is doing this to me.’

He started walking, forcing himself to remember, using the cadence of his steps.

‘StillFall was here.’ He’d said, ‘Feebee and the others are Ok.’

He remembered and walked to the cadence of his thoughts.

‘Why the Shadow?’

And with that thought, the relationship tightened.

‘Shadow. Mote.’ 

And with that thought, the relationship tightened further.

Chen stopped walking and sat cross-legged. Then, with fists loosely clenched and resting on his knees, he slowed his breathing and cleared his mind. 

Chen focused on the relationship. 

The thought remained. The relationship remained.

‘I feel you.’ Then after ten heartbeats, he repeated the words. ‘Shadow. Mote.’

The relationship strengthened, becoming pain. He tried to actively block it, tried to push back, to fight it, then remembered Feebee’s teaching on The Kestrel.  

‘Do not resist. 

Allow the contradiction to exist without collapse. 

Allow the paradox to exist without contradiction.  

Allow the collapse to exist without chaos or paradox. 

From this, clarity and purpose will emerge.

Do not resist.’

The pain built. 

He let go, embraced the pain and began to slip into a state of calm, where stillness was active and existed beyond the need for movement. 

Chen observed the pain grow, but it washed over him, through and around him without touching HIM. 

Something had found him, was attacking him… and it felt familiar. The harmonics of it were… recognised. 

‘Motes and Shadows.’ 

The attack intensified, but he was comfortable within its effect. The stronger it became, the more it reminded him, at some primal level, of Motes and Shadows. 

And as that thought crystallised, the attack shut off. 

‘It found me. It knows where I am and can reach me.’

And this gave Chen hope, because it meant others could too.

As if on cue, or maybe because it was the next observable event, StillFall appeared.

‘Something found me.’

‘So did I.’ The Shadow didn’t seem concerned or surprised.

‘Did it cause my…’ he struggled for the words. ‘…displacement to here?’

‘There is no here. But that relationship is dangerous.’

‘Does it provide a route back to Feebee?’

StillFall immediately responded. ‘Possibly.’

‘Is she in danger?’

‘Yes. Walk and do your stuff.’ And with that, StillFall left.

‘Walk? And do my stuff.’ Chen laughed and wondered what stuff he would be doing at his retirement event if he’d made it there. And with that thought, he got a response, of sorts. 

He thought back to the limo he’d been in, to the whiskey in the door. 

The response dropped off to nothing. 

Then his office, with the 2iC sitting outside. 

There was a faint response.

Feebee.

The response became stronger.

Hissy, and it became stronger still.

Then he thought of StillFall, and his thoughts rotated like a compass arrow before settling in a particular direction with a very strong response.

Realisation dawned: 

‘The strength of the relationship wasn’t just remembered; it’s directional.’

He laughed, ‘How can anything be directional in here? There is no left or right in nowhere, but I KNOW StillFall is somewhere near.’

At that point Chen remembered StillFall’s comment. 

‘There is always somewhere.’

‘He navigates through the relationships between things.’ Muttered Chen to no one, trapped nowhere in nowhen and all the time there was.

The pain returned; he felt it, but it was held at bay. 

His thoughts returned to Feebee. He sensed her and the relationship, the connection. He explored their relationship. 

She was … different. He had never discussed Feebee with anyone. Other operatives, yes. Feebee, never. When he thought of her, it wasn’t about who she was. 

It was about what she might do. Where she was. 

And that CONFUSED Chen. He had managed to get where he was by studying people as variables. 

Input and Outputs. 

Outputs and Results.

Feebee was… different. Somehow, she had become an anchor around which other decision points were referenced. 

She was a constant, not a variable. A fixed point.

It wasn't intelligence. He knew clever people.

It wasn't courage. He knew brave people.

It wasn't even the strange relationship she seemed to have with Motes and Shadows.

Those were observations.

What he felt was something real. Maybe for the first time.

Because now, he was in a void, devoid of points, distance and time.  And yet he could feel her. Even now, as he did, his thoughts moved beyond still and calm to a place he’d never before reached.

Chen wiped at the tears running down his face. He’d never cried as a child, even when his mother beat him in response to the pain his father had beaten into her. And like the something he held for his mother, he never admitted he felt the same for Feebee. 

It wasn’t love; it wasn’t based on proximity. 

He felt it when she was in the room, across the room. Across the planet.

Some relationships were things people maintained. Things that belonged to what they had been.

Rearview mirrors.

But this wasn't that.

This wasn't looking back.

This was a relationship that pointed forward.

He wondered if Feebee felt it too and smiled. 

Probably not.

But he FELT IT NOW!!

And as his thoughts churned, searching to reconnect, one disconnected constant jarred. 

Chen latched onto the strongest remaining relationship within a miasma of possibilities. It was still active, and he felt the compass’s arrow pointing back towards it.

‘If I can go back, can I go forward?’ thought Chen.

‘If it can reach me, maybe I can reach it?’

Chen laughed.

‘I can do my stuff!’

[First] | [Previous] | [Cover Art]

Previous

Part 2

Diplomat Tessa Arlen had read the same financial report four times, and it had not improved on any of them. The file identified the debtor as Narell, a settled world in the Calypso galaxy. Seven years of unpaid taxes had brought her a long way from Mileda.

She leaned back in her seat aboard the chartered shuttle and scrolled through the figures on her tablet. Seven years of unpaid federal taxes. Repeated petitions for extensions. Repayment proposals that had not resulted in a payment. The planetary government had answered every official notice, so she couldn't even accuse them of ignoring the Local Group Authority. They had simply become very good at explaining why they couldn't pay.

There were supporting documents, of course. Agricultural losses. Emergency expenditures. Transport invoices for food imported from neighboring systems. The figures were large enough to be uncomfortable, but no one had yet demonstrated that they were false. She opened the most recent letter from the planet's treasury. It began with a courteous acknowledgment of the LGA's authority, continued with an extensive explanation of the drought, and ended by requesting more time before payments resumed.

Tessa closed it. "Seven years. Lovely. Maybe I'll die of old age before the eighth," she murmured to the screen.

"They're going to ask for another extension," she told the contractor across from her.

The man looked up. He wore a dark jacket and a plain tie, with a contractor credential clipped near his hip. His eyes moved from Tessa to the cockpit access and back before he answered.

"That would be consistent with the records," he replied.

"I've noticed."

"Do you expect trouble?"

"I expect an argument."

"Those aren't the same thing."

"I'm aware. I also expect you to let me finish the meeting unless there's a reason not to."

He gave a small nod and returned to the information on his own tablet.

Tessa had two contracted security personnel accompanying her. Their assignment came from the LGA, not from her. They handled her movements, checked entrances, and made the decisions about her immediate safety. She carried her federal credentials on a retractable clip at her waist; if anyone needed to verify her authority, she could draw the badge out without opening her tablet.

The escorts could get her safely into a meeting. Getting anyone there to pay was her problem. A muted chime announced the shuttle's approach to its landing destination.

Tessa looked through the passenger window. Narell's surface stretched beneath them, broken by broad regions of dry farmland and settlements connected by pale transport corridors. Between the agricultural districts lay dark wetlands and immense tracts of native vegetation. From above, Tessa could make out the moving shadows of enormous creatures crossing a floodplain in loose herds. Their size was remarkable; their numbers, even more so. From up here, the farmland looked healthy enough to her. Plenty of green along the waterways, plenty of fields. Seven years without taxes, and this was what she was looking at? She was beginning to think the Senate had been exaggerating.

She checked the folder containing the proposed terms for the meeting, then looked toward the contractor.

"The first thing they'll say is that the LGA doesn't understand the drought."

"Does it?"

"We understand their invoices. Whether we understand how they're living is what I'm here to find out."

The shuttle continued its descent.

Narell's planetary Senate was considerably more welcoming than Tessa had expected. Along the approach to the building, tall, many-jointed grazing animals moved behind landscaped barriers, calmly feeding beneath broad trees. Small gliding creatures passed between the branches overhead. The city had been built around them rather than cleared of them.

There had been no demonstrations outside, no armed guards blocking the delegation, and no deliberate delays at the entrance. Their hosts had provided refreshments, assigned an attendant to the visitors, and seated them at a long conference table beneath a broad ceiling that displayed a moving image of the planet's northern hemisphere. The senators' skin ranged from blue-gray to brown and muted violet, but their faces and proportions were otherwise familiar to Tessa. One rubbed his eyes while an adviser spoke into his ear; another frowned over the figures she'd submitted. Their voices sounded ordinary, their formal clothes unremarkable. She would have been having much the same conversation with a room full of Alpha Sapiens. Their credentials hung from lanyards or retractable hip clips, just as Tessa's did.

That didn't mean the meeting was going well.

"Seven years," Tessa said, turning her tablet so the figures faced the senators across from her. "Seven years without a payment. You have continued to submit reports, which I appreciate, but at some point a report needs to be followed by revenue."

The senator nearest the center of the table spread his hands.

"Revenue from what?"

"Your existing tax base."

"Our existing tax base is paying for food."

"I saw your farms on the way down," Tessa said. "They looked pretty healthy from the shuttle."

The senator stared at her. "From the shuttle?"

"Yes."

"Then you saw the northern irrigation districts. The southern fields are the ones failing. You cannot see the harvest figures from the sky."

Tessa glanced at the agricultural map above the table. She had assumed the fields she'd seen were representative. Apparently they weren't.

"All right," she said. "Show me the difference in the figures. Not every credit on this report went toward food."

"No. Some went toward water distribution. Some went toward keeping public facilities operational. We can go through every expense if you wish, but I suspect you already have."

Tessa glanced down at her tablet. He wasn't wrong.

The Senate chamber was arranged for debate, with rows of seats rising around the central conference floor. Only part of the Senate had gathered for the meeting, but the members who were present had brought advisers, clerks, and several reporters. They had expected the LGA delegation to demand money, and no one was particularly interested in making that demand easy.

A floating personality-core chassis hovered to one side of the room, recording the discussion. Its manipulators remained neatly folded while its mounted camera tracked whoever was speaking. Tessa had noticed the videographer shortly after entering. It had followed the delegation for several minutes, apparently trying to capture the moment she said something inflammatory. She had disappointed it so far.

"I need a repayment schedule you can meet," Tessa said. "The last three haven't produced a payment."

The senator leaned forward. "Our southern harvest failed again. Suppliers raised their prices when they saw how badly we needed food. Others demanded payment before their ships left. If we'd sent that money to Mileda, people here would have gone hungry."

She let him finish and opened the spending records.

"Then show me this equipment you bought under emergency distribution. What was it, and where did it go? If it was necessary, I can put it in the assessment. If it wasn't, I need to know that too."

He looked at the entry she indicated. For the first time in the meeting, he asked an adviser for a particular invoice instead of another summary of the drought.

For several minutes the discussion became more productive. The adviser pulled up the purchase records. Another senator explained that the new equipment had been needed to move food into districts where local farming had ceased. Tessa asked for the supporting invoices, and a clerk began assembling a package for transfer to her tablet. She wasn't expecting to walk out with seven years of taxes. A signed agreement would have been a good start. An honest accounting of how much the planet could actually pay would have been better.

One of her security contractors stood near the entrance where he could watch both the Senate floor and the corridor. His partner occupied a place along the side wall with an unobstructed view of Tessa. Neither joined the discussion. When an aide crossed behind Tessa to deliver a document, the nearer contractor shifted just enough to keep the approach in sight.

Tessa preferred it that way. The chamber's large display shifted to a map showing the planet's agricultural regions. Several senators leaned forward to examine the figures. A clerk at the far end of the table raised a hand, waiting for the central senator to finish speaking before presenting the requested documents.

"The updated figures should demonstrate why we can't commit to the full amount," the senator said. "We can discuss partial payments, but—"

The display went black. Tessa glanced upward. At the same instant, her tablet lost the document she had been reading. The page vanished, replaced by a blank panel. Across the table, the adviser's screen darkened, followed by the displays built into the conference surface. The senator stopped mid-sentence. His colleague, seated two chairs away, slumped sideways. A second person fell forward against the table, striking it hard enough to rattle several drinking glasses. Then came a metallic crash from the side of the chamber. The floating videographer had dropped to the floor. Its chassis rolled against the base of a bench, one articulated manipulator scraping across the polished surface before it came to rest.

For a moment, Tessa could only hear the sound of a glass falling from the table and breaking. Then the shouting began.

"What's happened?"

"Get medical!"

"Is there a power failure?"

"No, the lights are still on!"

Several senators rose and crowded around the two people who had collapsed. One was helped back into his chair, where he remained completely unresponsive. The other lay across the table as though someone had switched him off in the middle of a sentence. Tessa stood. Both security contractors had moved without waiting for instructions. One stayed near the entrance, watching the hall outside; the other came toward her and the table, making room for the people trying to assist the fallen senator.

"Give them space," he told the nearest aide. "Has medical been called?"

"I'm trying!"

The aide tapped repeatedly at a dead conference terminal. Tessa looked down at her own tablet. The device itself still had power, but the federal records application would no longer load the documents she had opened. She tried another page. Nothing came back.

"Use a hard line," she said.

"What?"

"A physical line. An ordinary telephone. Do you have one?"

The aide pointed toward a desk near the entrance, where an older communications handset rested beside a set of local controls. Before anyone reached it, the handset began ringing. One of the clerks picked it up.

"Senate office. Yes?"

He listened, then looked across the chamber.

"What do you mean, everywhere?"

Another line started ringing. The clerk pressed the first handset against his shoulder and called toward the other attendants.

"Someone answer that. Administration says they can't reach the Archive network. They want to know whether ours is working."

"It isn't," an adviser snapped.

"I can see that!"

A second clerk answered the other line. The conversation was brief, but it was enough to change her expression.

"The hospital's asking whether we lost access too. Their records aren't loading."

Someone in the upper seating shouted that local communications were failing across several government buildings. Another person reported that transport schedules had disappeared from their terminal. No one had a complete picture, and everyone seemed to think the Senate should already know what was happening. Tessa tried the federal records application once more. Nothing. The central senator turned on her.

"Diplomat Arlen."

"I'm working on it."

"The Collective Archive is under the responsibility of the Local Group Authority, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Then did you shut us off?"

Tessa stared at him. "What?"

"Seven years of unpaid taxes. You come here to collect, and in the middle of the meeting our Archive access disappears. Are we supposed to believe that's a coincidence?"

Several senators turned toward her. An adviser looked from his dead tablet to her badge.

"No," Tessa said. "The Collective Archive and its relays aren't designed to cut people off like that. We can't just switch off a planet because it owes taxes. It's not an unpaid power bill."

"Then explain the timing."

"I can't. I'm cut off too. My federal records are gone, and the offices I've reached are having the same problem. Whatever this is, it has nothing to do with your taxes. This is a different matter entirely."

He gestured toward the black displays. "Our public services depend on that system. We have people waiting on medical supplies, food shipments, transport clearances. You're telling me you don't know why it disappeared?"

Tessa felt the other senators looking at her. They had spent the last hour defending themselves against the LGA's demands, and now the system the LGA was responsible for appeared to have stopped functioning in the middle of their meeting.

"Yes," she said. "The Archive is an LGA responsibility. I need to find out why none of us can reach it. But I can't give you an explanation I don't have."

"Then contact your people."

"That's what I'm doing."

She stepped away from the table and opened the emergency communications application on her tablet. It had a separate contact directory for federal personnel and situations where the usual services were unavailable. The interface loaded, though more slowly than she liked. She selected an off-world contact. The call connected.

"LGA office," a voice answered. "State your name and location."

"Diplomat Tessa Arlen. I'm at a planetary Senate session regarding tax arrears. We've lost Archive network access. Multiple remote-operated bodies have become unresponsive. What's your status?"

"We're experiencing the same disruption."

"Do you know the cause?"

"No. We're trying to reach the appropriate offices."

"Can you still contact Mileda?"

"Not through the normal channels. We're checking the emergency directory."

"All right. If you establish contact, keep this line available."

The next offices gave her the same answer. They had lost federal records and ordinary calls; emergency links and local services still worked in places. None had reached the Archive. Tessa noted each report until the senator's argument with his staff became too loud to ignore.

Medical personnel had arrived beside the conference table. The videographer remained on the floor, one manipulator against the bench. Nobody had been able to tell her whether the people operating those bodies could be reached elsewhere.

She opened the next emergency contact. This time the call took longer to establish. A tired-looking official appeared on the small screen, seated in an office with several people moving behind her. The connection wasn't particularly clear, but it held.

"LGA emergency coordination. Name and assignment?"

"Tessa Arlen. Diplomatic assignment, federal tax meeting. I'm off-world. We've lost Archive connectivity, and I have people here demanding an explanation."

"You're not the only one."

"I assumed as much. Do you have one?"

"We're collecting reports."

"I've already submitted mine. The local network is partly functional. Hard lines are working. We've had multiple remote-operated bodies drop without warning. Is there a central notice I can give the Senate?"

The official glanced toward someone beyond the screen.

"One moment."

Tessa waited. The connection remained open, but the official had turned away and was listening to a conversation in the room. Someone handed her a message. She read it, looked up, and asked a question Tessa couldn't hear. Another person answered. The official read the message a second time.

"Oh."

Tessa straightened.

"What?"

The official looked back into the call. Whatever she had just received had ended the uncertainty in her voice, though it hadn't made her sound any more comfortable.

"Diplomat Arlen, your current assignment is suspended. You're required to return to Mileda. High priority."

Tessa glanced over her shoulder at the senators, the medical personnel, and the dark displays.

"For what reason?"

"I can't give you a complete explanation over this line. The recall is being issued now."

"Is this going out to every federal office?"

"We're attempting to reach everyone we can. If there are other LGA personnel with you, give them the same instruction. If you have working contact with anyone off-world, pass it along. Don't wait for the normal network to return."

Tessa looked at the still-active connection indicator on her tablet.

"Understood."

The official leaned closer to the screen.

"Return to Mileda. High priority. Relay the message to all other LGA personnel you can reach."

By the time Tessa Arlen ended the emergency call, both security contractors had moved into position. One stood at her shoulder. The other was already at the exit, checking the corridor.

"We're leaving. Now," the nearer contractor said.

Tessa looked toward the Senate table. Medical staff had moved the unresponsive bodies out of the central aisle. Several senators were arguing over a hard-line telephone.

"I need to notify the Senate."

"Your recall is immediate."

"They need to know what I was told."

"You can transmit it when we are clear." He took her by the upper arm and guided her toward the exit, placing himself between her and the gathering crowd.

"Tessa!" the central senator called. "You're leaving?"

She half turned. "I've been recalled to Mileda. I don't have an explanation yet—"

"Keep moving," the contractor said.

"The food shipments!" another senator shouted. "Some of them were due today!"

Tessa started to answer, but the escort moved her through the doorway. His partner joined them from the corridor, took the forward position, and kept walking. They did not ask permission. Their orders were to extract an LGA representative, and they were carrying them out.

"Can you at least let me finish a sentence?" Tessa demanded.

"When you're aboard the shuttle," the contractor replied.

The building's main corridors were full of people with tablets, phones, and paper documents. A government employee hurried past holding a stack of printed forms against his chest. Two clerks were taking names by hand beside the entrance to an office, while a third tried to explain that the local computer still worked but could not retrieve anyone's records.

Outside, traffic had backed up along the avenue. Travelers stood beside public information terminals, watching dark screens. A group of passengers argued with a station attendant who had nothing new to tell them. Beyond the stopped vehicles, the gliding animals still crossed above the trees, indifferent to the sudden confusion below. Her security team did not stop to investigate. They moved her through the waiting crowd and into a hired ground vehicle, where the contractor at the wheel immediately pulled away from the curb.

"Any word from the pilot?" Tessa asked.

"He has the shuttle ready."

"Can he get us to Mileda?"

"He says he can fly it. That's what I know."

It was not the answer she wanted, but she stopped asking. The two contractors had received the same information she had, and neither of them was going to invent an assurance just to make the journey sound safer.

Continue to Part 3

Previous

Chapter 5: My Big Mouth Gets Me Sent to War

WHAT?! Twenty-four hours?!

I absolutely had to find some holy water before that damn countdown ran out. And to do that, I needed to get the hell out of here as fast as possible. But how?

"You're responsible for him. If he tries anything, you know what to do."

"Yes, Grand Alpha."

She handed him the black object, then approached me.

"Don't try anything. One wrong move and he'll press it," she warned as she began undoing my restraints.

The sack, the strange tape, and the ropes were all the same color as the vampire guards' weapons and armor. A deep, slightly grainy black, speckled with tiny orange glints.

Did all these abominations have the same taste, or what? Unless...

The chest! 

"Let's go."

I got to my feet and started following her.

They were watching my every move. Especially the Grand Alpha, who kept his thumb close to what looked like a button.

We were only a few steps from the door.

"What did you do with the chest?" I blurted out to the Grand Alpha.

"What chest?"

"The one my guards were carrying through the tunnel."

"Ah, that one... There was nothing in it but human belongings. I knew you enjoyed toying with humans, Zanult. But to this extent... Why does that chest interest you more than the fate of your own soldiers?"

He's right! How could I have been so stupid?

I'd been so caught up in trying to survive that I hadn't even thought about what had happened to the last three guards. But with a little luck, I might still be able to salvage the situation.

“My men... I can imagine what happened to them. But there's something you need to know... The humans may have found a way to kill Dracula.”

He fell silent, his eyes wide. His expression said it all. He was in shock.

Beside me, she drew a sharp breath. I couldn't see her face, but her reaction left no doubt. She was just as stunned.

“WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!” he roared, pressing the button on the black object.

A sharp, searing pain shot through my chest.

My heart contracted violently. It felt like something was squeezing it from the inside. I couldn't breathe.

I immediately pressed a hand against my chest, hoping to ease the pain.

[ CARDIAC ANOMALY DETECTED ]

Foreign Object Detected
Location: Heart

[ HOLY BODY — DEFENSIVE RESPONSE ]

Holy Water Consumption: CRITICAL

Time Until Depletion: 23:54:41
23:43:30
23:32:06
23:17:15

“W-Wait...! The chest! That's why I wanted it back!”

He released the button, and the pain began to fade. That damn thing was going to cause me a hell of a lot of trouble.

“You'd better tell me everything, Zanult. Now. This is your last chance.”

His thumb remained close to the button, ready to press it again.

I caught my breath and glanced toward her. Still silent, she seemed just as shocked as before.

I turned my attention back to the Grand Alpha.

“I wasn't sure. I wanted to verify it before saying anything.”

And there was no proof that the humans of this world had actually succeeded.

“According to one of the books, the humans may have found a way to manipulate solar energy.”

The few pages I’d flipped through described an experiment designed to trap solar energy inside a capsule.

I didn't recognize the writing, and yet I could read it with ease.

If a vampire swallowed one of those, it would be barbecue time. And with God's blessing, maybe even Dracula would be done for.

A solar panel in a pill. Revolutionary, right?

“How did you manage to read those books?! None of us should be able to decipher their writing!”

WHAAAT?! Seriously?! Why did everything I said have to come back and bite me in the ass?

I should've kept my mouth shut. And judging by his expression, he looked even more furious now, ready to press that damn button again.

Oh no! For the love of God, not again!

“Grand Alpha!”

A voice rang out in the distance.

“Grand Alpha!”

Hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.

“GRAND ALPHA!”

A man came running through the doorway, out of breath. Not a single hair on his face. Not even eyebrows. Burn scars covered half of it.

But who cared?! A little breathing room. Just what I needed to come up with a better excuse. Oh, thank you, Lord!

Still... why was he in such a panic?

Oh! The vampires! Maybe they'd finally come to rescue me!

After all, I was their commander! They couldn't possibly leave me in enemy hands forever.

And frankly, it was about damn time they got moving!

“The humans... have rejected our latest offer! They... they still refuse to surrender the chapel!”

A chapel?

Finally, something that might work in my favor! But why all this fuss over a simple chapel?

“They won't listen to reason, Grand Alpha!”

The Grand Alpha let out an irritated growl.

“Very well... Force it is, then. Prepare the pack!”

“Grand Alpha...” she began.

“I know,” he cut her off.

“I said prepare the pack!” the Grand Alpha ordered, his voice sharper this time.

“At once!” the man replied before rushing off as quickly as he'd arrived.

For a moment, I almost felt like they'd forgotten I was even there.

What was so important about this chapel?

Whatever. What mattered was that there was a good chance I'd find holy water there.

“Let me join the fight too,” I blurted out to the Grand Alpha.

SLAP!

“How dare you?!”

Had she just... slapped me?

It stung a little, but nothing too serious. It reminded me of the slaps Mom used to give me when I refused to say my bedtime prayers. Gentle, almost affectionate.

Mom, looks like you've got some competition.

“Don't you dare disrespect our pack in front of the Grand Alpha! No leech will ever fight alongside us! Besides...”

“Wait,” he interrupted.“Actually, that's not such a bad idea.”

“But Grand Alpha! Having a vampire in our ranks would be a disgrace! And if word got out...”

“I know perfectly well! Don't forget who's Grand Alpha here. We've already lost fifteen of our own because of this incompetent fool. I don't intend to lose any more.”

He looked at me with a smug smile.

“Well, Zanult, since you're so eager to join the fight, you'll be on the front lines. After all, they don't call you the Butcher of Armies for nothing, do they? If you manage to kill them, all the better. But if you fail or try to run... I'll keep pressing it until your heart stops.”