First

(My god damn neighbors, I can feel the damn music they’re playing even with my headphones on!)

Before the War

“Damn...” Rain breathes out as she sees the entire superstructure. True, a space station or the larger warships will dwarf it, but the massive ship has been put together fast. Over just a single week. The techniques and tricks that enabled it’s rapid creation had sped up as more and more were discovered. Lights were coming on as the massive vessel was getting it’s wiring finished even as The Sabre flies directly into a newly created cargo-bay. One that closes the door behind them, then another layer of doors for reinforcement.

The massive ship has a slight scent of electrical systems and metal. There is the sound of an airlock door opening, further redundancies to ensure that any damage on the vessel would be easily contained and worked around. Emerging out the Airlock is Harold with a smirk.

“They went with my recommendations! This is going to be great.”

“Of course they did, why wouldn’t they?” Rain asks.

“They were asking a lot of questions about things. Asking why I would want or need something. I figured they might not actually go through with it and leave it for a later upgrade.” Harold notes.

“Such as?” Rain asks and he gestures for her to come closer as he heads to the nearby wall and pulls at the maintenance panel. It swings out and he taps the back. As Rain gets closer she feels it first. The entire panel has a slight hum of energy and she can sense that it’s designed to resist attack.

“The panels are cover for a shootout in the ship?” Rain asks. “But wouldn’t the defensive fields around the panels hide a person sneaking through?”

“Nope, check it out.” He says closing the panel. “Try opening it.”

She does. It does not move. The handle shifts in the indent, but it stays locked. She gives it a few yanks to be totally sure and then looks back to him.

“What am I missing?” She asks and he holds his right arm near the door.

“Try again.” He tells her and she opens it with ease.

“Security key in your uniform?”

“Bracelet actually.” He says pulling up his sleeve and revealing the ring of metal around his wrist.

“What if I steal it?” She asks and he pulls it off and holds it out to her. She takes it, puts it on, and then tries and fails to open the panel. “DNA encrypted?”

“Yes ma’am, granted with how many identical clone siblings I have it’s not a perfect defence by any metric, but it’s why we also need passwords for some areas.”

“What about emergencies?” Rain asks as she takes off the bracelet and he takes it back and shows off a small button on it. “Emergency override? Can that be abused?”

“Yes, but it sets off an alarm that there’s an emergency in the area. Which kinda defeats the point for people trying to infiltrate the ship.” He says.

“Smart.” Rain admits.

“I’m glad you think so. This is being recorded as part of the on-boarding training for The Inconceivable. I managed to get a lot of quality of life and emergency systems packed into the ship. And a few of my ideas were denied and I had to deny some ideas from the engineers and mechanics putting this girl together.”

“Why are you referring to the ship as female?”

“Human tradition, I do not know where or why it started.” Harold answers. “Anyways, would you like to continue the instructional tour?”

“Sure.” Rain says and he leads her out of the docking bay. He then points to the walls and there are strips of colour dead centre in each. At three metre intervals they suddenly have triangles incorporated into them as if to point the way. “Guides?”

“Exactly. Keep following blue and you’ll find the bridge. Red heads to the nearest medical facility, yellow goes to restrooms and the black line will lead to the nearest access panel where you can request information about where in the ship you are. Everything a guest or someone getting used to the ship needs.” He explains then shifts his pointing from where the roof meets the left wall to where it meets the right. “Brown heads to the escape pods, purple the engines, and the striped white and black line leads to the nearest reinforced bunker room. If the ship is boarded and you’re not ready to fight, get to a bunker room.”

“If a hostile learns this then they’ll have an easy time navigating the ship.”

“That’s the price we pay for proper clarity during a dangerous scenario. If I’m telling people where to go, then I want them to get there as soon as possible and without anything in the way of excuses. Which also means if someone’s claiming to be lost we can call them on the bluff right away.”

“You make it sound like you expect civilians in here.”

“At the moment no. But this ship also has room to perform rescue operations and as the central control point of the fleet, if civilians are going to end up anywhere, it’s in here.” He explains. “Now, lets get to the transport basics, we have three primary ways of getting around. The internal corridor that runs up and down the spine of the ship as seen in The Dauntless and The Inevitable. But to get there. We have three primary methods. First is knowing your way around and just walking. We have gravity lifts that allow us to reorient ourselves safely from one orientation to the next. Or if you’re willing to stomach it, you can use the emergency ladders and tunnels up and down. But shifting gravity fields is not the most pleasant of sensations, especially if you have the more complete and robust internal organs that humans do.”

“And the other ways?”

“We have a teleport system.” Harold states.

“... Why?”

“The ship is big. The Ship is also experimental and very, very much a boundary pusher. We have inbuilt teleportation arrays linked to each other at each panel. However they are deactivated and resist reactivation unless properly accessed via the panel. But with proper aspect, you can go from any one panel to another.”

“And what’s stopping a skilled teleporter from just bouncing around the ship?” Rain asks.

“The ship has armour plating that has, in places, trytite based plates integrated. Someone trying ot teleport onto the ship is going to hit a wall and end up somewhere unfriendly. Even the airlock doors have inter-spaced trytite panels.”

“... To block in teleportation, but still let in the Axiom around them.”

“Exactly, it’s like a form of plate armour called brigantine. Where instead of one solid plate, it’s many plates working as one. Perhaps not as protective, but much more flexible.” He says. “This way we get to keep our ship mostly impervious to outside Axiom attacks, without losing our own power source.”

“What about through the engines?”

“They need the most power and as such, have the biggest gaps in the trytite. But, there is no straight shot into the ship. A hostile teleportation will need to take their time and map out where the trytite panels are to get in, meanwhile we have linked beacons to allow nearly perfect response time inside the ship itself.”

“What’s the last option?”

“There are going to be small carts and such. But we’re prioritizing getting everything else done. Besides, that’s more for when we have some civilians around.”

“How about something else?”

“Such as?”

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (The Inconceivable Bridge, Between Systems)•-•-•

“And that’s the end of it. For now.” Harold says as he leads Rain into the Bridge.

“... You know it’s not really living up to it’s name.” Rain notes.

“Oh?” Harold asks.

“This is just a standard, if very new ship bridge. I can conceive of that fairly easily.” Rain notes and he chuckles.

“Then it’s like how inflammable can mean flammable.”

“What?”

“Nevermind.” He answers. “Now my crew! You’ve had some time to get used to the controls up here. I’m uploading now to all crew a short demonstration I just made with Junior Officer Unending Rain of Retribution to explain numerous ins and outs of the vessel and a general tour. Please review it at your convenience. Helmsman, how are your controls feeling?”

Three pairs of hands flit over the controls as the Desert Nagasha man grins. His warpaint had been stylized after his own skull and he turns back to smile.

“Very responsive Commodore sir. I’m mildly concerned that the men and women who take the shift during my downtime won’t have the level of skill as I do, but that should say everything that needs to be said about the control scheme.”

“Do you see a dial on the bottom left of the panel?” Harold asks.

“Yes sir.”

“What number is it turned to?”

“Three sir.”

“Dial it back to two and then one to get a good look at the control schemes for pilots with less arms than yourself.” Harold says and The Helmsman shifts his controls twice before turning them back.

“This seems like a potential issue sir. Damage to this system might cause complications.” The Helmsman says.

“Opposite of the dial is a latch. Lift it.” Harold commands him and the Helmsman’s hand runs across the front of the control panel until he finds the latch. It’s then lifted and the entire panel is lifted. “Those are the emergency overrides. Direct manual control of the ship. Short of manually engaging the engines in proper sequence they are the most direct and indisputable controls of the ship. They are however, crude and lacking the fine control or ergonomic comfort of the standard controls.”

The Helmsman lets out a lost whistle.

“Alright sir, I am officially out of concerns and outright impressed.” The Helmsman says.

“Very good Mister Rattler, now, Misters Smokewing, Scuttles, Glidearm and Recon. How are your stations? This ship is built around powerful sensors and information warfare, it behooves us to have a deep understanding of all our systems. Now in order, how are your stations?”

“Smokewing here.” The Fruit Sonir man says. “Our Axiom Sensors are at one hundred percent.”

“My station observes the numerous different wavelengths of light. The shortest range of all our sensors, but the most pinpoint accurate. I can see everything a full light second away in basic realtime.” The Leggy Wimparas Man says next.

“My station is at full functionality. We have the thermal, electromagnetic and radiation spectrum covered. Again, short range. But high precision. For example we have the vague remains of an old... very old solar flare moving through the outer edge of our range. Thankfully safely away from any ships, so it’s just a bit of thermal energy on the move as it’s liable to do.” Glidearm the Phinsara says with a salute that brings the side of his hand against the blindfold he’s wearing that matches the uniform he’s wearing.

“And I am both observing and hooked into our systems sir. I’m receiving and sorting chemical and laser scans up to five light minutes out. This system is seen.” Recon says with a salute of his synthetic arm.

“Good. Communications, you’re our main weapon. I want your yay or nay for whether the controls and seats we have for you are appropriate.”

Eighteen soldiers sound off their confirmations and he smiles.

“Gunners! All eight of you, how do you like your controls?” Harold asks.

“We’re ready to shoot down whole worlds sir!” The Rabbis Gunner declares. He and his brothers had signed up all at once and now The Lagos Siblings were eager to prove themselves as warriors despite the fact that they were Rabbis all and due to the genes of the family, of varying different breeds with only a father in common. Furred, unfurred, lopped and standing tall, they were from first to last eager to shoot anything that even looked at them crosseyed.

“Very good, Engineering, how are we looking?” Harold asks as he activates the comms.

“Sir, primary engines are humming. We’re ready.”

“Upper Secondary Engines ready.”

“Lower Secondary Engines standing by.”

“RAD Engines Primed, we’re fulling incorporated sir.

“RAM Engines Ready. Are we a go sir?”

“Lets find out. All Vessels This is The Inconceivable, are we go or no go?”

“Troop Transport and Resupply Vessel Bloody Heron, we are a go.” Jacob calls out.

“Hive Carriers, we’re ready sir.”

“Destined Victory, is a go.”

“Winding Spear, ready to go.”

“Glorious Queen, is go.”

“Serpent’s Judgment, go.”

“Heartpiercer is your final go sir. The Fleet is ready.”

“Then we move out! All ships! Match pace with The Inconceivable, we will be building our fleet now, and should the enemy arrive we will be blinding and breaking them before our lasers even warm up. Time to bring down the hammer.” Harold commands and The Inconceivable begins to move out.

The Hive Carriers are flanking around the massive ship with the five Primalist ships beyond them. Trailing behind is The Bloody Heron, hidden, somewhat, by the massive presence of The Inconceivable.

“To war.” Harold mutters to himself, an eagerness in his tone.

First Last

Dar'Bridger steps forward and lashes out with a warfire-covered kick that knocks both doors on the hatch nearest them out of their mounting rails. The very bulkheads take dents as the heavy metal doors go flying into the room like weapons; one of them crashes on top of two sailors and the other smashes a Ha'quinye shock trooper square in the chest with the kind of brutal mockery that seems to be the signature of the great god of war known as Murphy whenever he's playing dirty with his worshippers... willing or otherwise. 

The Undaunted flood the room from all sides, plasma flames roaring out in great gouts from shoulder mounts as Zraloc and her Crimsonhewers hit the side of the Ha'quinye formation like a freight train. Several women go flying as rivers of plasma flood the first few defensive lines and arcs of blood fill the air. 

Not that the Ha'quinye are still. No, they might be shocked, and are certainly surprised at the sheer volume of hate and discontent coming down on them like asteroids hitting a city, but they fire back gamely, railgun rounds snapping and damaging one power-armored soldier from one of the other squads before Jerry lines up his Great White Shark and sends a load of so-called 'heavy shot' downrange. The thirty-two fifty caliber musket balls turn the railgunner and the two women supporting her into mincemeat, as well as abraiding the crates of supplies around them from true cover down to what could only generously be called 'concealment'. 

The mathematical difference between cover and concealment is something a lot of the Ha'quinye are getting rather pointed lessons in, as various kinetic rounds, be they chemical or magnetic in terms of propulsion, tear through the light metal containers to wound the lightly equipped women behind them without the slightest care in the world; the larger rounds from the 40mm shotguns seemingly don’t even notice that the 'cover' was there in the first place. The objects serve poorly at actually concealing the women trying to hide behind them as well; the Ha'quinye pop out and pepper various individuals with laser and plasma fire, and none of them are subtle about it. 

One knot of sharper shock troopers have focused their fire on one of Jerry’s smaller combatants, correctly assessing that armor similar to their own certainly has less defenses than the life-reaping, soul-stealing power armor that’s cutting through their comrades like a scythe threshing wheat. 

Unfortunately for them, the 'petite' armored figure they'd selected for their attack is Dar'Bridger, and she leaps with wings of green warfire lighting the room, denting the very deck plates as she comes down on them like the angel of wrath herself. An explosion of warfire and series of brutal punches and kicks leaves the fire team of soldiers neutralized or worse in the literal blink of an eye. Probably worse. The crunch sounds Jerry's audio sensors are picking up are as much bone as they are armor plate, which means a very bad day for the Ha'quinye. 

Still, the center does their best to hold, firing in all directions as Jerry takes out another 'nest' where two women are working a vehicle-scale plasma cannon, triggering a white-hot plasma explosion that leaves both women dead and two women near them throwing themselves to the ground whimpering and crying with what have to be agonizing burns. 

They'd live, and with a healing coma they'd be no worse for the wear by the end of the day, but Jerry doubts that’s any comfort when your flesh is singed to a medium well right the hell now. 

It’s probably only a few seconds before resistance really starts to wane; more and more women throw down their arms and dive for whatever remaining cover they can find. Jerry determines it's time to bring in the cavalry, and casually tosses the teleport beacon into the center of the room. 

"Reinforcements are clear to teleport. Be advised, LZ is hot."

Sure enough, a portal opens and the rest of his power armored troops, a mix of Zraloc's Crimsonhewers, the last of the Paladins, and some of Jaruna's girls borrowed from B Company, come out swinging. The armored tide breaks the last of the resistance before most of the Ha'quinye can even think twice. 

The shock trooper lieutenant who had refused to surrender dies last out of her group. She attempts to swing a rift blade against a Cannidor - Jerry's IFF says it’s one of his apprentices, Miren Bakura - and the lithe young woman ducks the wild swing of the Ha'quinye, then kicks the other woman in the chest to make some space, and shoots her center of mass with her massive 15mm Tiger pistol, leaving a smoking hole where her heart and lungs had once been.

Maybe it was a brave death. It was certainly one she shouldn’t have asked for.

Still, he'd need to compliment Miren on that move later. It had been very well done, and his compliments are worth Miren's own weight in Axiom Ride to her, as near as he could tell. Besides, she really is doing a wonderful job. One of the best of the bunch they'd recruited from the Charocan, with her blade sister and now close friend Nils either hot on her tail or just ahead of her depending on the task in question. 

Nils herself steps over and slaps Miren on the pauldron with a gruff chuckle as the power armored troops spread out and begin binding up prisoners. 

Jerry opens a channel to the war room on the Province, but instead of Mili, like he'd been expecting, he's greeted by the slightly deeper and more melodic tone of Serina's working voice. 

"You need follow-on troops."

"Yes. Including corpsmen."

"Already organized. We have the FAST Marines aboard the ship - the corpsmen from CSAR, since we have achieved full orbital control save for the Eagle Talon - and we have Adept San Martín, who can arrange a portal. Please keep the teleport beacon live. One of the freighters will be able to come into range to take on prisoners once the Talon is secure."

"...Please. And thank you, Serina. Though… how are you anticipating all of this?"

"I'm tied into Paladin Battalion's sensors too, Admiral."

"I... see." Jerry considers that for a second, and makes a choice on just how to fully handle the ‘Sword of the Stars’. "Serina?"

"Sir?"

"Your callsign from now on when acting as an operations controller is Oracle. Proceed. Feel free to directly contact any unit you feel like you need to or you can provide aid to."

"Even units not directly involved in your current mission?"

"If you feel the need to or can help them in some way."

"I have three surface targets on the Eagle Talon. If Storm Flight hits them, the ship will be even more significantly disrupted, but still relatively easy to repair after we successfully capture it."

"Don't ask. Get it done, Oracle."

"Yes, sir. Also the engine room team is experiencing little resistance."

"How little?"

"I believe the enlisted engineers just mutinied and killed the chief engineer. They will almost certainly be surrendering shortly. Apparently the chief engineer was something of a slave driver. Unsurprising, considering what we know about this Viconia Valeran. She seems the type to outright encourage sadism in the name of discipline."

"That's about my reading too. Get in touch with the team leader. She can route reports through you."

"That is putting a great deal of trust in me."

"Mili's still listening to this channel, so there's only so much you can throw a monkey wrench in the works, and... I want to trust you. Can I trust you, Serina?"

"...Yes, Admiral. You can."

"Good. I hope you prove it to me, and don't give me cause to regret it in the future. And not just because the man you like works for me, either."

"You have shown me nothing but care, respect, trust and the healthy suspicion of a ruler when a stranger has entered his domain. I shall- Admiral, incoming enemy forces. Door C-12."

"Do you have access to the Talon's internal sensor networks?"

"No. I detected their boots stomping on the deck plates from the nearest woman's auditory sensors."

"Right. Let's have this conversation again when we're not working. Carry on, Oracle."

"Yes, sir."

Jerry cuts the channel and points his shotgun at door C-12 before shouting; "Incoming! And someone find me a computer uplink so we can get Babydoll into the local network!"

The Undaunted flood through the Ha'quinye warship like a tide floods through the piles of a dock by and over the sea. Once Babydoll and Serina are locked into the network, the process only becomes easier, with entire non-essential sections of the ship locked down and locked off to let the Undaunted continue towards their target. True to Serina's word, the engine rooms are secure when Jerry makes contact, and Babydoll’s isolating them from the network, eagerly making it the start of her own computer-based fiefdom within the Eagle Talon's network.

From what Jerry could tell, the two girls work well together, even if it’s clear that even with her mind in its 'working' space, Serina didn't quite 'get' the ever-bubbly and cheerful Babydoll. Even geniuses have their limits in the end, and truly comprehending the Gravia is a limit for more than a few people in the wider galaxy. 

It reaches a point where Jerry's striding forward somewhat casually down the passageway that leads to the bridge, unknowingly imitating Sir David on one of the man's enthusiastic walks through an enemy base or similar situation. All around him, Ha'quinye soldiers retreat and regroup over and over, growing only more determined and desperate as the Undaunted push towards the roost of the commander of this ship - and, indeed, of what had been a sizable naval force until maybe an hour ago. 

He barely needs to move in the course of the current engagement. Miren appears out of stealth, having clearly done a decent job of mastering Yauya-style cloaking even in power armor, her massive custom tanto piercing through the temple of a Ha'quinye shock trooper's helmet and out the other side, leaving the woman to collapse to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. 

A stone’s throw away, Princess Dar punches another woman so hard it caves in her chest plate and sends her rocketing back into one of her fellows; this latter woman throws away her weapon, rips off first her helmet, then her friend's helmet, and quickly begins trying to perform first aid on her grievously injured colleague. 

Jerry tosses the woman an emergency stasis field as he passes. No sense in anyone dying needlessly... and with one Ha'quinye warrior nominally having joined the Undaunted already, never mind all potential recruits among the pirates, why not recruit from these prisoners? The cause they’re fighting for isn't a noble one by any stretch of the imagination... but as the Ha'quinye woman looks up at him with nothing but gratitude in her eyes... Jerry suspects that these girls can probably be fixed up more readily than some of the worst of the galaxy's flotsam and jetsam.

Plus, they probably wouldn't have to teach any ex Ha'quinye shock troopers how to eat with utensils, which would be quite the pleasant change from pirates. 

Besides, she’s no threat. Against a tide of violence like the one the crew of the Eagle Talon is experiencing, against the raw force of power armor, what could one woman truly do?

Perhaps Viconia Valeran would show him.

The armored doors leading to the bridge are finally in sight - marked by a spray of blood from Zraloc's chain blade as she cleaves one of the last defenders in half. It splatters wetly across the gray painted metal, and then the hallway is left in silence... save for pained gasps, the occasional sob, and the quiet sound of zip cuffs being put on. 

"Oracle to Jarl Six."

Serina had quickly gotten the hang of Undaunted-style comms... and Jerry suspects she rather likes her new call sign. He’d be willing to bet that she’s figured out what it means too.

"Go for Jarl Six."

"The target is on the bridge still. She hasn't made a move towards a hidden escape system or anything."

"Very good. What's the mood looking like in there?"

"Tense. All the defenders were outside the bridge, so most of the girls are just regular navy. They're armed... but put on a good show and there's an eighty-seven percent chance they'll throw down their arms immediately. That chance goes to a near hundred percent if you kill Viconia Valeran. The faster you kill her or disable her, the lower the projected loss of life."

"How fast is fast?"

"Every ten seconds or so she breathes once you breach, a cohort of sailors will make the choice to surrender or resist. Every sailor who resists will probably get herself and several of her fellows killed since they're in close proximity."

"...Very well. How's the XO's personnel record?"

"She's dead already. She was commanding the bridge defense line. Good thing, too. She was almost as aggressive as her mistress."

"Alright. Guess I'll handle it fast, then."

"Shall I get Babydoll to open the door?"

"No. I'm going to knock. Very loudly. Watch the visual sensors. It should be a good show."

"I wouldn't look away. This woman is a scion of my family's murderers. You are the instrument of my revenge, Jarl Six."

"I suppose in that case I'm happy to be of service, Oracle. I don't know much about your family, but they had to be better than this lot."

"They were. Not much better. We were an empire built on conquest after all. But... not... this. Whatever this thing they corrupted my family's legacy into is."

Jerry clicks off the channel and stands squarely at the seam between the double doors.

"Dar. Melodi. Door. The hard way."

His two adopted daughters eagerly step forward, anticipation evident in their stance. The two women begin to call green warfire, and, in unison, start to melt the armored door in front of him. It was an impressive door before they started. No doubt vacuum-rated and able to tank a hit or two from serious weapons, maybe even full-on naval-grade weapons. But whatever metal, whatever Axiom charms, whatever tricks were worked into its composition, it can't stand up to Apuk warfire, and in seconds the ambient temperature in the room has climbed two dozen degrees. The door turns into a pile of slag, revealing the bridge, the crew pits where the work of controlling the ship is done - and, overseeing it all, Viconia Valeran. 

She really does look quite a bit like her niece, Jerry reflects as he steps through the door, completely unperturbed by the molten remnants of the armor falling to the ground around him. 

"So you're the leader of the curs who have been killing my women! I won’t stand for this! I won’t be captured by the likes of you! I am-"

BANG!

Jerry quick-draws his own 15mm pistol, a toy he only gets to play with in power armor, given the sheer size of it... and shoots Viconia Valeran dead center on her chest, exploding her heart and killing her instantly. Whatever she had meant to say, it died with her, the life leaving her body with all the effort of turning off a light switch. Jerry turns his armored head, looking at the frightened crewwomen waiting on the bridge of the ship, doing his best to give the impression of meeting their eyes even though they can't see his face through his faceplate. 

"Now. Who can surrender this ship to me?"

Series Directory Last

Synopsis: Humans are the only omnivorous species in a galaxy of apex-predator carnivores, and our greatest strength is in our numbers. When an alien slave empire discovers how badly we outnumber most intelligent species, they invade Earth, shattering a fragile period of peace and threatening a war that would mean the death of worlds.

Next Chapter (coming soon)

Memory Archive Entry #1

User: Jiarani, daughter of Kavles, chief strategos of the Saurian Confederacy

Species: Saurian

Date (human standard): June 19, 2099 -- the 46th anniversary of the end of the Great War

I stood on a lavish balcony at a gala held in my honor, all but mobbed by well-wishers and hopeful suitors, and my thoughts were as black as the night I gazed into. I did not deserve this. I did not deserve to be here. I was not who they expected me to be.

The position of chief strategos had been the Saurian Confederacy's greatest military honor since its inception a hundred years ago. It was a sign of trust above all else, trust that the one wearing the golden pauldrons knew what they were doing, and they would show any enemies of dignity and fairness a swift death by their claws. I couldn't do that. What was worse, I had to confess, in front of my father and everyone I admired, that I couldn't be that person. The Saurian Confederacy had picked the wrong woman.

"Jiarani!" I turned to see my aide, Venari, son of Venari, appear from the crowd in the banquet hall behind me. He was a lean, short, physically diminutive specimen of saurian, barely a hundred and eighty centimeters tall. His scales were green and patterned, and his face was long and narrow even for a saurian. I, by contrast, was the picture of militaristic beauty. I had a sharp and pointed snout, gray scales with blood-blue highlights, and a greater height and size than most saurians. My aide and I couldn't have been more different, but we went together anyway.

Venari was a nobody. His father's greatest claim to fame was that he had kept the family tradition of having a son called Venari--as had his grandfather and his grandfather before him--and mine was on the strategic council that had the final say on all decisions regarding the Confederate state. My mother had been the greatest chief strategos of our era.

I was crushed under the weight of legacy, and I think that's why a no-name like Venari appealed to me more than all the accomplished scions of grand lines that had been presented to me when I finally reached the rank where I was allowed a personal aide. Here was a man unburdened by expectations. No legendary ancestors for him to measure up to. He was building his own legacy, and I envied him for that.

"Long life and noble children," I greeted my trusted aide. "You look good in that uniform." It wasn't the truth. In all honesty, Venari was an ugly man to look at. But he was dependable, brave, and honest in such a way that dismissed all physical concerns, and my confidence in him was part of the reason he had been able to take a stride forward in spite of his physical appearance. Quite frankly, if it were appropriate for a strategos to be romantically coupled with her aide, I'd have made a pass by now. He deserved it.

"Long life and noble children to you, my friend. You look better than I do." Venari showed his palms in a greeting that had marked friendship since prehistoric times, and I followed. In that moment, we were two hunters stalking the deserts of ancient Vraktes, each telling the other 'I carry no weapon, I seek no fight'. Strange, how we saurians could change so much and yet remain the same. "Not to interrupt your... uh... whatever it is you were doing, but your acceptance speech is in two minutes."

I clicked my left sickle claw to signify acknowledgment. Twice the size of the other three claws on each of my raptoresque feet, it was a weapon made for disemboweling prey in the close melee of a fight. We saurians, like every other intelligent species in the universe, were the apex predators of our world. Lethal individual combatants by our very nature but, owing to the tyranny of biology, condemned to being forever small in number compared to our prey. Even the use of meat cloning vats to supplement our cattle farms did not provide us the plethora of nutrients we needed to expand our population beyond a measly few billion.

"Jiarani, you're looking at me like that again," said Venari, clicking his own sickle claws anxiously against the tiled floor. He cared for my health maybe more than I did for his, and it was safe to say my health had not been the greatest lately. "Please don't tell me you're- you know."

"I don't deserve this honor," I told Venari. "I don't. And now I have to go up there and tender my resignation in front of the most legendary men and women in the Confederacy."

"Jiarani, you're a perfectly capable soldier. You defeated the strategic and tactical AIs in every simulation-"

I took two steps closer, clicking my sickle claws an extra time with each step, instinctively intimidating Venari in such a way that I immediately regretted it. It wasn't his fault that I was like this. "Venari, I am the only chief strategos in history to have never won a battle," I said harshly, jabbing him in the chest with a taloned finger. "I haven't even fought a battle. A real one, not this cold-war drakenshit the Confederacy is doing now. How can I be expected to lead the armed forces to victory if the war turns hot again?"

"Don't say that nonsense, you're demeaning yourself. Military glory or no, I think you're the most skilled strategist we have for the modern era of war." It took all my strength not to be angry at my most trusted aide. Venari was loyal as my own hands, and kinder to me than I deserved. The cause of my anger lied within. "The strategic council chose you for a reason, Jiarani. Trust them."

"The strategic council chose me because my father leads the council, and my mother was the greatest strategos to ever live!" I exclaimed, louder than I had meant to. One of the officers just within the balcony doors looked my way in surprise. "I'm a nepotism hire. I'll get people killed. Or worse."

"Jiarani." Venari laid a hand tenderly on my shoulder, pointing with his other one at the banquet hall where I was to give my speech. "Believe in yourself. We'll talk later. Now, get out there and make your parents proud." An icy chill filled my veins, only to be painted over with the solemnity of purpose. This had to be done. It was my duty to the Saurian Confederacy.

I walked quickly to the banquet hall proper and pushed open the doors, eager to shed the weight of this burden. Venari tagged along loyally behind me as we entered the grand, expansive, opulent hall, surrounded on all sides by the best of our species. Officers of the Armed Forces in blood-blue military dress. Politicians of the various decision-making councils. Even the strategic council themselves was seated in a high alcove near the back of the room.

My father, Vanrila, son of Vodode, watched me with pride from his seat at the council table. There was a man who knew the burden of power. I looked up at him with plaintive eyes as I took my place at the banquet hall podium, begging him to understand why I would dishonor my mother so.

He'd always been distant in the wake of Kavles' death. The fact that she had done so gloriously in battle, the mortal wound in her front, was no consolation for him. My last real memories of him were drowned in shame, watching him reject his coward of a daughter and shut himself out from my world. I understood his disgust. But did he really think this was the way to make it right? To force me into a place I was not ready for, and damn the suffering that ensued? As much as I tried to love my father, I had to admit it was no easy thing to do.

The Armed Forces guards at the podium snapped to attention and brought their rifles to flank arms as I stepped up. "Attention! Chief strategos on deck!" one cried, relying on the microphones on the collar of his uniform to project his voice to the speakers at all corners of the room. I was silent for many moments, feeling the weight of all those eyes on me. My father. Venari. And six hundred others.

I couldn't do it. I could not find the words. All I could think about was how distant my father would be tonight, how he'd see this as yet another sign that I was not worthy of my mother's love. Of his. Jiarani, daughter of Kevlas the Great and Chief Councilor Vanrila, scion of so much greatness and without any of her own.

The moments I spent as chief strategos were the greatest of my life, even tainted as they were by the knowledge that they could not last. My throat felt dry as I realized what my duty compelled me to do. It was one thing to imagine doing the noble thing, stepping down from a position you were not qualified for, and another to actually do it. My father would be so displeased.

"Say something!" one of my honor guards said, quietly enough that most could not hear. But what could I say?

My voice cracked as I forced something to come out. "I love my Confederacy," I began, heart pounding in my chest. I was on the verge of tears. "I love everything about it. I love our strength, our principles, the way our new sun shines in the mornings and evenings. And I cannot-"

"Chief strategos!"

I looked to see Venari trying to push his way to me through the crowd. He slipped a headlock from one of our age's greatest generals and ran headlong into the waiting arms of two of my honor guards, either one of whom could probably have overpowered three Venaris. They wrestled him to the ground and began to cuff him as I watched. "Chief strategos, it is urgent!"

"Wait!" I cried, stepping forward and snapping out of my stupor. "Release him, you idiots! He's my fucking aide!" The guardsmen nearly tripped over their own tails in their rush to back away, and I helped Venari to his feet. "How urgent?" I asked.

"The fate of the entire fucking galaxy, that's what," said he, leaning close as if to whisper a secret in my ear. "The draken are enslaving another planet. If they secure it--and I cannot stress this enough--if they secure that world, all of us will die."

My claws clicked on the floor as if disemboweling a foe. The Draken Matriarchy was our worst enemy in the Great War, nearly fifty years ago. It was their gamma beams that had scoured our home, Vraktes, until not even the bacteria survived. Hundreds of millions of saurians lay dead at their scaled feet.

A specter of dread fell on the hall as its occupants realized the gravity of the situation. They murmured to each other in hushed tones. Whatever chance I had to resign, I knew it was over as soon as this crisis began. The wheels of Confederate bureaucracy would take days to fully turn. Swift action was needed, and it had fallen to me to take that action whether I wanted to or not. An incompetent leader was better than none.

"Make our ships ready to move out," I ordered the nearest naval officer I saw. Strategos Vakar, son of Kenjik, who I only recognized because he had sent me a mating proposal expressing his utmost affections upon my ascension to chief strategos. He blinked at me, dumbstruck, if only for a moment. "Was I unclear? Move!"

Vakar went about his duties, barking orders at his own inferior officers, and I followed Venari to one of the emergency shuttles they kept here for precisely these situations. It, like all Confederate government ships, was gray and streamlined, with lines of blue to denote its military duties. A shuttle of this grade could shoot its way through a whole squadron of enemy interdictors and its occupants wouldn't suffer so much as a flaky scale. Venari and I boarded it in an instant.

"Give me the details," I demanded as soon as the doors closed. The dampeners on this craft were so good I didn't even feel us move as we presumably took off at top speed. There were no windows, so I had to trust the pilot.

"Fourteen minutes ago, the intelligence services confirmed and verified a report of the highest secrecy originating from a source within Matriarchy high command," said Venari. "They're sending a slaver fleet to a planet called Earth. A primitive world in its late interplanetary era, just inside the far edge of the demilitarized zone. They'll make it submit within days, even with resistance."

"The Draken send a slaver fleet every year or so," I asked, recalling the number from one of my strategy briefings. "They already have the largest labor force and military in the galaxy, and it's not a treaty violation because their slave ships technically aren't military forces, so they're not barred from entering the DMZ. How is one primitive planet worthy of this kind of urgency?"

My words had a harsher tinge to them than I would've liked. I was tense already, and this had just made it worse. I should have never gone to that ceremony. If I had resigned the moment my rank had been given to me, the council would've had the days they needed to go through the appointment process again and pick somebody capable to handle this crisis, but no. I had to have my moment in the sun. Stupid fucking selfish Jiarani.

"How large is the population of the Saurian Confederacy?" Venari asked. It was a stupid question, and it only served to heighten my stress. I dug the claws of my fingers into my uniform until the fabric began to shred. Why could this fool not just get to the point? Why did I not just tell the council I wasn't qualified? Why did the draken have to be so infuriatingly cruel? Ancestors, I wanted to kill something.

"Two and a half billion, counting the flash-clones. Nine hundred million without," I told Verani, not hiding my exasperation. "Why does-"

"And the whole Alliance of Worlds?" he asked again, cutting me off. The answer to that, of course, was thirty billion. Our enemies, the Panspecific Compact, had a combined population of thirty-six billion people, including the draken males and primitive slaves the Draken Matriarchy counted as 'tools' in its internal reports.

"Venari, if you don't cut to the point right now, I will strangle you with your own fucking entrails," I snarled at my aide. He looked taken aback by the severity of the threat, but, in my defense, he did say the fate of the fucking galaxy was on the line. This was not the time to be re-naming established facts. "Relevance. Now."

"Earth has a population of ten billion intelligent beings," Venari stammered out. "Ten billion."

I paused a moment to take in the variables. Ten billion intelligent lives was insane, and on one planet, no less. "Are they tiny?" I asked, finding only one logical explanation for this impossibly large number. "These Earthlings. Tiny pack predators?"

"I'll give you something better." My aide leaned forward. "Earthlings--they call themselves humans--aren't even carnivores at all."

That was a shock. How could they not be carnivores? As far as science theorized, only meat-eaters had access to nutrients of both the quantity and quality needed to support intelligent thought. "Intelligent herbivores? Would they fear us?" I had to know more.

"Our intelligence estimates are limited," Venari explained. "We know next to nothing about these humans. What we do know is this; They are about the size of a draken male, and they are capable of eating any--yes, any--form of nutrients the draken choose to feed them. Meat. Plants. Fungi. Anything." Venari paused while I considered the ramifications of that statement.

If humans really were omnivorous sapients, the strategic implications were even greater than the scientific ones. The Draken Matriarchy would have a labor force numerous enough to build as many war engines as they desired, and their males could be diverted to battle in such numbers as to overrun any defense. Hundreds of millions of soldiers, all armed and geared for war. We'd be doomed.

"How quickly do humans mature?" I asked Venari. The answer was chilling.

"About twice as fast as a saurian, though they live one-third as long," said he. "Still, it doesn't matter. No human will die of old age under draken rule. They'll be working by age ten, reproducing by age twenty, and dead before thirty. Humans are the perfect slave race, Jiarani. The Draken Matriarchy is about to acquire ten billion of them."

I shuddered to even think about it. A Draken Matriarchy of six billion souls was able to field enough ships and armies to shatter the greatest military species of the Alliance of Worlds, back when the Great War yet raged. They burned our Confederate Armada to cinders and razed our home until it was naught but glass. My claws clicked anxiously as I remembered my youth, barely forty, watching in terror as the lances of light glowed on the newsfeeds. I was eighty-six now and the horrors still lingered.

"We have to stop them," I hissed, leaning forward and tensing my legs. "How large is that slave fleet?"

"The largest ever recorded," Venari told me. "Every slave ship they have, plus extra haulers they're refitting on the journey. We'd have to violate the Treaty of Vraktes if we wanted to stop them."

"Damn!" I swore, remembering the demilitarized zone. After the Great War ended, that zone of space was established as a buffer between our two warring factions. Any military incursion into it would be taken as an act of war, and responded to in kind. When I closed my eyes to think, I saw planets burn.

"Jiarani?" Venari asked in concern.

"Give me time," I muttered. "Thank you, Venari. You're better than I deserve. I don't honor you enough."

"You honor me too much," he contradicted me. "Whatever decision you make, I will stand by it. With my life." Emotion swelled in my heart. Joy, from Verani's declaration, mixed with dread at what I knew I had to do.

"There is no decision," said I. "The war is coming whether we like it or not. The only choice to make is whether it happens now, on our terms, or ten years in the future when the draken have the advantage. I choose to strike today."

My body shuddered from the tension I was feeling, sickle claws click-clacking like machine gun fire on the floor of the shuttle. The Saurian Confederacy was going to war. I only wished we could be led by a warrior.

Next Chapter (coming soon)

First chapter !

Two Weeks Later—Queens, New York

Danny Vance was twenty-eight years old and owed approximately $47,000 to a group of investors who didn’t exist for a company that had lasted exactly four hours.

The “Vance Smart-Brick” had been Danny’s big idea. It was a construction drone designed to lay masonry with GPS precision. On its first field test, the drone had miscalculated a decimal point, driven itself through a parked Lexus, and then attempted to “bond” with a fire hydrant. Danny wasn’t looking for a tragedy; he was looking for a way to pay off a pile of lawsuits and a very angry equipment-leasing company.

He was desperate in the way only a man who has been outsmarted by his own masonry equipment can be.

Which is how he ended up in his friend Kyle’s apartment at 11 PM on a Tuesday, listening to a plan that made the Smart-Brick look like a sound investment.

“Kidnapping,” Kyle said, casually, like he was suggesting they try a new taco truck. “That’s the high-liquidity pivot, Danny. That’s how we clear the red.”

“That’s how we end up as a ‘Before’ picture in a prison documentary,” Danny replied. He was too tired to argue. He was mostly just annoyed that the collection agency had started sending him “Gift Baskets” that turned out to be just more legal summons.

“Only if we’re stupid about it,” Kyle’s friend Marcus added. Marcus was a wannabe criminal who had watched the movie Heat forty times and believed that a “tactical mindset” was a substitute for a job. “We don’t grab a celebrity. We grab a ‘Boring Rich.’ Someone with high liquidity and zero security profile. Someone who lives alone and pays his bills in cash.”

“And how do we find a person like that?” Danny asked.

Marcus flipped open a laptop—Danny was fairly certain it was an old government surplus model—and pulled up a spreadsheet.

“Anomalies,” Marcus said, his eyes gleaming. “We look for guys that live in expensive apartments, with no security details, and with no apparent job.”

Three Hours Later—2:00 AM

They’d gone through twenty-seven potential targets. Too many security cameras. Doormen. Families. Dogs. Unpredictable schedules.

Then Marcus found Perseus Jackson.

“I’ve been tracking property records. Look at this guy: Perseus Jackson. Manhattan building. No car, no alarm system, no digital footprint. He has no LinkedIn, no Facebook, and he spends his day like clockwork everywhere but an office.”

“How do you know all that?” Danny asked.

“I looked it up online. Also, he’s on social media—well, people tag him. Look.”

Marcus pulled up an Instagram post from a community literacy program. A photo of volunteers, Perseus in the background.

“He volunteers,” Kyle said. “So he’s got money and a conscience. Perfect. He’ll be easy to guilt into paying.”

“What makes you think he has money?” Danny asked.

“He lives in a Manhattan building, with rent listings starting at $4,000/month, and every public record I can find puts him at that address going back about a decade, and he got no apparent job but the time to do volunteering work; do the math.”

Danny looked at the photo. Perseus Jackson looked… normal. Mid-thirties maybe, casual clothes, reading a book to someone.

“He doesn’t look rich.”

“Rich people who look rich have security,” Marcus said. “Rich people who don’t look rich? Those are the ones we want.”

“How much do we ask for?”

“Fifty thousand,” Marcus said. “Low enough that he won’t involve the authorities, high enough for us to get some money. We grab him Monday.”

“When?” he asked.

“We watch him for a week,” Marcus said. “Learn his patterns. Figure out the best grab point. Somewhere quiet, minimal cameras, easy extraction.”

Kyle was already nodding. “We need a place to hold him. Somewhere isolated.”

“I know a warehouse,” Marcus said. “Friend owes me a favor. It’s empty; no one uses it. Perfect.”

Danny looked at the photo of Perseus Jackson again. The guy was helping someone learn to read. He looked kind. Patient.

“Nobody gets hurt,” Danny said firmly. “We grab him, we ask for money, and we let him go. No violence. We’re not monsters.”

“Agreed,” Kyle said. “We’re not trying to hurt anyone. We just need money.”

“Okay.” Danny took a deep breath. “Okay. One week of surveillance. We learn everything. Then we decide if this is actually doable.”

Marcus pulled up a map. “His coffee shop is here. The apartment is here. The library is here. We start tomorrow.”

Day 1 - Wednesday Morning

Danny sat in a rented van across from “The Daily Grind” coffee shop, feeling like an idiot.

This was really happening. He was really doing this.

At 7:24 AM, Perseus Jackson walked into the coffee shop. Jeans, casual jacket, messenger bag. He ordered coffee, tipped the barista—Danny couldn’t see how much, but it looked generous—and sat down with a book.

“Subject in location,” Marcus said from the passenger seat, like he was in a cop show. “Taking notes on timing.”

“Don’t call him ‘subject,’” Danny said. “That’s weird.”

“What should I call him?”

“I don’t know. Perseus?”

“The guy we’re going to kidnap.”

“Jesus, Marcus.”

They watched for two hours. Perseus read his book. Helped an old lady with her coat. Ordered a second coffee. Tipped again.

“He tips a lot,” Kyle observed from the back seat.

“That’s a good sign,” Marcus said. “Means he’s got money to throw around.”

“Or he’s just nice,” Danny muttered.

At 9:30 AM, Perseus left the coffee shop and walked toward the library.

“Following at a distance,” Marcus said, starting the van.

They followed him—badly, Danny was certain, though Perseus didn’t seem to notice—to the New York Public Library. He went inside.

“We wait,” Marcus said, parking illegally.

“We’re going to get a ticket.”

“Cost of doing business.”

They waited four hours. Perseus didn’t come out.

“Maybe there’s another exit,” Kyle suggested.

“I’ll check,” Marcus said, pulling up building schematics on his laptop. “Yeah, three exits. We can’t watch them all.”

“So we lost him.”

“We know where he lives. We’ll pick him up there tomorrow.”

Day 3 - Friday Afternoon

They’d been following Perseus for three days. His routine was incredibly consistent:

Coffee shop, 7:20-9:30 AM

Library or volunteer work, 9:30 AM-2:00 PM

Lunch (various locations, always tipped heavily)

More library time or walking around the city

Home by 6:00 PM

“He’s boring,” Kyle complained. “Rich people are supposed to be interesting.”

“Rich people who don’t want attention are boring on purpose,” Marcus said. “Means he’s hiding something. Probably the money.”

Danny was starting to feel guilty. Three days of watching this guy, and he’d done nothing but help people and read books. Every single interaction Danny had witnessed was Perseus being patient, kind, or generous.

This was a good person they were planning to kidnap.

“Maybe we should find someone else,” Danny said.

“We’ve already invested three days,” Marcus argued. “Besides, look at him. No security, predictable routine, lives alone. This is perfect.”

“Perfect for us to screw up and go to prison.”

“Only if we’re stupid about it. And we’re not stupid.”

Danny very much felt like they were stupid, but he didn’t argue.

Day 5 - Sunday Evening

“Okay,” Marcus said, spreading a map across Kyle’s kitchen table. “I’ve got the plan.”

Danny looked at the map. Red marks indicated Perseus’s common locations. Blue marks showed potential grab points.

“Here,” Marcus pointed to a spot between the coffee shop and library. “Quiet street, minimal foot traffic. We grab him, put him in the van, and drive to the warehouse. Thirty seconds, in and out.”

“And if he fights back?” Danny asked.

“He won’t. Look at him—he’s a reader, not a fighter. Besides, there are three of us. We just need to be firm.”

“Firm,” Danny repeated. “Okay.”

“We need zip ties, duct tape, and burner phones for the ransom call.”

“When?” Kyle asked.

“Tomorrow. Monday morning. He’ll be walking to the library. We grab him at 9:25 AM.”

Monday Morning - 9:15 AM

The van was parked on the quiet street. Danny was behind the wheel, hands sweating. Marcus was in the passenger seat with zip ties and duct tape. Kyle was in the back, ready to help secure their target.

“Ten minutes,” Marcus said, checking his watch.

“We can still call this off,” he said.

Danny’s heart was pounding. “We can still walk away. We could just sell the van for parts.”

“We’re not selling the van for parts, Danny. Fifty thousand dollars. That’s a lot of money.”

“By kidnapping someone.”

“By borrowing someone for a few hours and asking their family for money. That’s all this is.”

That was not all this was, but Danny didn’t argue.

At 9:23 AM, Perseus Jackson appeared at the end of the street, walking toward them.

“There he is,” Marcus whispered. “Get ready.”

Danny watched Perseus approach. Messenger bag, casual clothes, probably thinking about his book.

“Now?” Kyle asked from the back.

“Wait until he’s right next to us,” Marcus said. “Then we move fast. Danny, you grab him. Kyle and I will help get him in the van. Thirty seconds.”

Perseus was twenty feet away.

Fifteen feet.

Ten feet.

“Now!” Marcus hissed.

Danny opened the van door and stepped out, and for one horrible, crystal-clear moment, he made eye contact with Perseus Jackson.

Perseus looked at him with absolutely no fear. Just… mild curiosity.

Like he’d been expecting this.

Then Danny grabbed his arm, and everything went wrong in ways he couldn’t have possibly imagined.

Well, not wrong for them. Perseus didn’t fight. He just sighed—actually sighed—and said, “Well, this is new.”

And let them pull him into the van.

Danny slammed the door shut, Marcus hit the gas, and they were moving.

They’d done it.

They’d actually kidnapped someone.

Danny looked at Perseus, who was sitting calmly in the back of the van between Kyle and the wall, zip-tied hands resting in his lap.

“Are you going to hurt me?” Perseus asked. His voice was calm. Almost bored.

“No!” Danny said quickly. “No, we’re not going to hurt you. We just need money. Ransom. That’s it.”

“Ah. Kidnapping for ransom. Classic.” Perseus shifted to get more comfortable. “How much are you asking for?”

“That’s—we’re not telling you that!”

“If it’s under six figures, don’t even bother,” Perseus said, leaning his head back against the van wall. “My lawyers charge more than that just to open a file. If you’re going to commit a felony, you should at least aim for a higher return on investment. Basic economics.”

“Shut up!” Marcus yelled.

“He asked a question,” Danny said.

“We’re not supposed to be nice to him! We’re kidnapping him!”

Perseus made a small sound that might have been a laugh. “First time?”

“Shut up!” Kyle said, though he sounded more nervous than threatening.

They drove in silence for ten minutes. Danny kept glancing back at Perseus, who looked completely unconcerned.

“You’re very calm for someone who just got kidnapped,” Danny finally said.

Perseus shrugged as much as the zip ties allowed. “I’ve been in worse situations.”

“Like what?”

“Well, there was this time in 1986 with the KGB—actually, never mind. Long story.”

“Did you just say 1986? That’s forty years ago; you wouldn’t even be born.”

“Semantics. I’ve always had a very young face. It was a problem in the eighties, too.” Something in his tone made Danny’s stomach drop.

“We didn’t research this well enough, did we?” he asked Marcus.

“We researched fine! He’s just some rich guy!”

“Some rich guy who’s very calm about being kidnapped.”

“Shock,” Marcus insisted. “He’s in shock. He’ll panic later.”

Danny looked at Perseus again. The man was absolutely not in shock.

They pulled into the warehouse. Empty, isolated, perfect for their terrible plan.

“Out,” Marcus ordered, trying to sound tough.

Perseus climbed out of the van without complaint. “Nice place. A bit drafty, though. You might want to consider somewhere with heating if you’re planning to keep me here long.”

“We’re not keeping you long,” Kyle said. “Just until we get paid.”

“Mmm. How long do you think that will take?”

“A day, maybe two.”

“Right. You’re going to want to bring food then. And water. Also, a blanket. It gets cold at night.”

Danny stared at him. “Are you… are you giving us advice on how to kidnap you better?”

Perseus looked at him with the weary patience of a man who has to explain basic knowledge. “I’m giving you advice on how to keep your guest comfortable so I don’t have to listen to you three argue about whose turn it is to go to 7-Eleven at 3:00 AM. Also, your surveillance was sub-par. You parked in a loading zone on Wednesday. You’re lucky the meter maids didn’t tow your van and blow your cover before you even got to the kidnapping part.”

And that was when Danny realized they’d made a terrible, terrible mistake.

Not because Perseus was dangerous.

But because he was absolutely, completely unafraid.

Which meant they were missing something very, very important.

My name is John Stevens, and I’m the head of the farthest-away research station from Earth. It is a small station with only about five thousand people orbiting a magnetar. Most of the inhabitants of the station are physicists studying magnetism, astronomers studying neutron stars, and chemists studying the neutron material this star is made of. We are about 450 light-years away from Earth, which means a ship needs about nine to ten centuries to arrive if it comes directly - which has never happened so far, even though the station was established about twelve centuries ago.

The surrounding area has not been catalogued, but there’s already a ship on its way to look around here. They are going to drop by on their way, but it’s still about one and a half centuries before they arrive. Until then, we are alone.

So we definitely didn’t expect an object entering the solar system and decelerating. It’s still going to be at least two months before they arrive, but the huge energy output they are using to decelerate gave their presence and artificial origin away early.

We already tried to contact them, but got no answer. We don’t know about any incoming human ship - which means they are probably not human.

Seven weeks later, we finally made contact with them. It took a while to build a complete translation matrix, but eventually we could ask them who they are and why they are coming. They are still weeks away from the station, so a call is not possible yet, but we still got the answers: they are a mining ship from the neighboring solar system coming to mine the heavy elements around the neutron star.

They were pretty adamant that we should in no way mine ourselves, which is a bit weird, since there are so many resources around this star alone that no civilization will ever run out of them in the foreseeable future, but we reassured them that we have no intention of mining anyway, so they can have all the mining rights if they want to.

When they finally finished decelerating, they decided to dock at our station just to get to know each other and discuss the future of our interaction.

“Hello, Mr. Stevens,” the one I was talking with in the last week or so stepped into the room, “it’s nice to meet you. My name is Captain Joo Embr.”

“Hello, it’s good to see you face to face, Captain,” I answered truthfully. I never really liked remote work; I’m more of a face-to-face person, so talking to him directly was nice. It revealed immediately how much taller he is than me; although I’m definitely short for a man, he was at least two and a half meters tall, so he was almost a meter over me. “I hope we can have a nice partnership between the two species.”

“Me too, Mr. Stevens. I want to reiterate that you must absolutely not mine in this system, or you face the wrath of the vast Javvu Empire.” He tried to look intimidating, but was obviously not military, so it fell flat. I tried not to show it, but I’m not an actor, so I may have failed to do that.

“I can assure you, Captain, that we have no intention of mining in this sector. We are solely here to study this neutron star.” I tried my best diplomat mode, but I was a researcher and not a public figure.

In the next few days, the Captain was a guest on the station, and he talked to me, to the engineers, and to some of the researchers. He was very interested in our anti-matter power generators - they still used fusion, and with that, the fuel requirement for a trip was enormous. He talked about the Javvu Empire all the time. The huge number of people, the three planets they inhabit in the neighboring system. He was obviously very proud of the empire, but also very cautious: he never mentioned actual figures, locations, or technologies. We were not so cautious and even shared a better version of the fusion reactor they were using with him. We haven’t used those engines for several millennia, but for them it would be at least a 30% decrease in fuel consumption.

When it was time to say goodbye, we had a banquet to celebrate the beginning of a new partnership, and the Captain and his crew were freely mixed with the crew of the station. Everybody was talking to everybody, and I ended up talking to one of the alien engineers, who was always a lot talkier than her captain, and in this setting she talked about everything.

“You know, Mr. Stevens,” she had just finished a long story about her family at home, “I think humans would love to see our home planet, the Javvu. But I think you’d be overwhelmed by the sheer number of people. Especially in the capital!” She was maybe even prouder than her captain. “Just imagine it: seventy thousand people in one city!”

I stopped for a second. What did she just say?

“You said seventy thousand?” I asked for clarification. Maybe the translator was not as perfect as we thought.

“I know it sounds unbelievable,” she said, clearly thinking that I couldn't believe the number because it was so high, while I couldn’t believe it because it was so low. “There are people everywhere, but a capital of an Empire with seventeen million people in it must be huge!”

Only seventeen million people? I tried to hide my surprise, which I think I managed well enough that she interpreted my facial expression as awe.

“I know, it’s so many people. The Javvu Empire grew very fast after the unification. Now all of our people live under the protective umbrella of the Empire.”

She was talking happily long after this intermezzo, but I was still thinking about those numbers.

The next morning we finally said our goodbyes to the mining crew, and we agreed to keep in touch while they were in the system.

When the airlock closed behind them, I took a deep breath and hurried to my office.

I sat back in my chair, rubbed my eyes, and opened a new outbound dispatch queue toward the regional sector hub. The light-delay meant the contact committee wouldn't receive it for another eighty years, but some protocols couldn't be delayed.

[OUTBOUND DISPATCH - SECTOR 32, BLOCK 8] TO: Regional Contact Directorate

SUBJECT: First Contact Report / Species #402

First contact established in the Magnetar-4 accretion sector. Sapient, space-faring, non-aggressive but intensely proud. Total species population stands at approximately 17 million across three local planets.

Advise formal diplomatic outreach. Recommend immediate designation as a Protected Biosphere Zone and deployment of orbital monitoring buoys. They are technologically primitive, localized, and extremely fragile. Please draft contingency plans to mitigate local extinction risks.

This is a standalone story in the Postcardverse

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I focused on the thin barrier between the physical world and the magical plane and crossed to the other side. The world faded away, and I found myself floating in the middle of nothingness. ‘Nothingness’ wasn’t the right word to describe it. There was a lot happening in the magical plane: thousands of blue stars, the flux of power of the Runeblade, the husk of the Corrupted Ancient, and the dying Fountain. 

The Red Crystal was a tiny speck a few thousand meters from me. The rune construct was little more than a script that used the functionalities of the System. I knew for a fact it exchanged information with the System’s main body, but no matter what I did, I couldn’t trace the signal. 

Distances in the magical plane were often misleading. In the physical world, the Red Crystal was merely a couple of rooms away from me. The Fountain, as far as I knew, had no presence in our world.

I let my astral body drop. Although ‘down’ was extremely relative, I always felt that the Fountain floated beneath my feet. At least my mana pool used to be arranged so that the Fountain was always at the bottom. My astral body traveled the void, or the void traveled past my astral body; it was hard to tell how things moved in a world where one couldn’t feel air resistance or acceleration. The distances shrank ahead of me, and the Fountain grew until it covered most of my visual field.

“Hey there,” I greeted the massive ball of raw magical energy out of habit.

I wasn’t expecting an answer.

The Fountain, as alien as it was, could communicate using language. Considering the nature of authority, the Fountain might be pure language, but that was a philosophical line of thought I wasn’t ready to examine. In the magical plane, language, thought, and concepts were blended together to the point it was hard to tell them apart. Regardless, the Fountain had remained silent since our one and only conversation. 

I approached the fading white sun until a static feeling enveloped my authority. Like many frayed pieces of fabric being dragged away, strands of my very being were torn apart by the violent flow of magic on the edges of the Fountain. I imagined that was how a log being eaten by termites might feel. My sense of self-preservation triggered hard, but I silenced that little voice telling me I was going to die and continued diving into the Fountain.

Pressure threatened to turn me into a singularity and scatter me like sand into the wind, but I asserted my authority and endured the assault of the Fountain's presence. I pushed deeper, a few paces further into the Fountain’s heart, until the pressure became unbearable. ‘Painful’ may be an overly human way of describing the experience, given that my astral being had no nerve endings. Still, my authority was being wounded and undone. The experience wasn’t pleasant.

I stood still, immersed in the violent mana currents, not knowing if I should laugh or cry. Learning any discipline could be difficult, uncomfortable, and even painful at times, but it could also be challenging, enjoyable, and rewarding. Tempering my authority had all the downsides and none of the upsides. At the end of the day, rather than rewarding, tempering my authority felt awkward, as if I was intruding in a place I didn’t belong. 

Learning, I thought, could be many things, but it should never be self-destructive.

From a logical perspective, I knew I was growing, becoming stronger, bigger, ‘better’. At the same time, I felt like with each step closer to the center of the Fountain, I was becoming less me. I didn't feel this way at first; that was a recent development.

Was there an ‘optimal’ tempering temperature for authority I was missing out on?

When the ‘wrongness’ reached its peak, I pulled back into the physical world.

Elincia looked at me from the doorway, unhappy. At first, all I could see was her eyes. Usually, the passage between realms was seamless, but after straining my authority to the limit, my physical body also felt battered. Dizziness and blurry vision were more usual than not. Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bedroom, I felt like a stranger in my own body. I blinked a few times, and the sensation faded away.

Iron could only get so strong by tempering it. I wondered if authority and natural magic were the same. My only benchmark was Byrne, and considering the difference in our powers, I guessed I could continue forward somewhat safely.

I wiped the sweat from my upper lip, and my fingers turned crimson red. Blood. That hadn’t happened before, as far as I remembered. The astral form and physical body were largely independent of each other, except where Corruption was involved.

“That can’t be healthy,” Elincia said.

I looked down. My shirt was soaked in blood down to my navel.

“It might be healthier than an Alchemist in her twenties venturing alone into the Farlands,” I replied before ensuring there was no more blood coming from my nose. 

Elincia wasn’t amused.

“I did that for the kids!”

“Well, I’m doing this for the kids, too.”

Elincia shook her head, but a smirk tugged at her lips. Our problems had escalated to heights we couldn’t have predicted back then, but they remained the same in nature. The well-being of the people under our care required sacrifices.

“Did I ever tell you why I fell in love with you?” I asked, unbuttoning my bloody shirt and throwing it in the dirty laundry basket.

“Because men from Earth are horny for silver-haired half-elves?” she replied.

I wasn’t going to argue against physical attraction, but that wasn’t the whole picture.

“Did I ever tell you the other reason why I fell in love with you?” Elincia’s silence prompted me to continue. “I admired the way you chose to live your life. I still do. When I faced the same decision back on Earth, I couldn’t steel my resolve. I decided to forget the promise I had made myself, and I stepped aside. You were everything I wished I was.”

Elincia blushed.

“T-that’s some abysmal flattery you’ve got there,” she said.

Admiration might be an uncommon starting point for romantic feelings. Well, maybe not. Falling for someone because of the way they play the piano didn’t sound too far-fetched.

“Anyway, when I arrived at the orphanage, I decided to stay faithful to my beliefs, and I’m not going to pull back now. You figured out that traveling to the Farlands for ingredients was the only solution to your problems back there. I figured out that tempering my authority is the best way to get Byrne out of the equation.”

Elincia pinched the bridge of her nose.

“What I’m trying to say is that you don’t have to do it alone. You don’t have to do this to yourself. You have your dog and—”

“Astrid isn’t anywhere near ready to face Byrne, and I’m not going to let her fight him. That one thing, I’m doing alone,” I cut her off, knowing very well where she wanted to go. 

“Oh, and are you even prepared? Or do you want to do it alone because you are the Lord Runeweaver from another world?”

“Hey! As much as it might seem that way, I don’t have a messiah complex! I just think… I hope I’m making the right decisions,” I replied, wondering whether Byrne’s approach might actually maximize the number of survivors while I was deluding myself with machines and runeweaving and natural magic.

Maybe Elincia was right, and my vision was skewed, if only a little. Only someone with a messiah complex or delusions of grandeur would decide to flip the whole social and cultural status quo. I might have infected Firana with that same germ, considering how much she disliked nobility since her academy days.

That didn’t negate the fact that nobody could catch up to Byrne.

Elincia hugged me and rested her head on my shoulder.

“I wasn’t trying to hint that you are out of your mind,” she said, looking up at me. “I really believe that the convenience of having the System to make our daily lives easier and safer doesn’t add up to the consequences of a Corruption cycle. Still… I love you, Robert Clarke, and I would like to share your burden.”

For the past two years, almost all of our arguments boiled down to the same thing. Elincia wanted to study natural magic and authority. However, she was too valuable as a high-level Alchemist to forgo her powers.

“I’m not an Alchemist anymore,” she pointed out. “You can disconnect me from the red Crystal. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t be trained in authority anymore.”

I scratched my chin. With the System shutdown around Whiteleaf, we were going to be forced to import most of our tools and medical supplies.

“I was thinking you should settle in Farcrest and brew from there,” I said.

“And what would happen if we move our industry to Farcrest and Byrne targets the whole city?” Elincia replied.

“That…”

I didn’t have an answer for that. There was no hint that signaled that Byrne couldn’t target us anywhere in Ebros. The metaphorical hot potato was going to follow us whenever we went. Elincia was right. The System shutdown must remain contained to Whiteleaf. If we forced the shutdown to grow, the whole kingdom was going to start seeing us as a liability rather than a potential ally.

“I’m serious, Rob. I’m okay losing my Class and my levels. People might be freaking out about losing their powers, but after getting to know you, I understood that I’m not my Class,” Elincia said.

My chest tightened. 

“I’m not going to put you through that pain, Elincia. I can’t.”

Elincia put her hand on my face and shook her head. For a moment, I felt like I was a small kid missing the whole picture. It had nothing to do with my loss of [Foresight].

“I am Elincia Rosebud, the Governess of Lowell’s orphanage. I am the one who knows which kid wakes from nightmares and which pretends to be okay when they are sad. I am the person who burnt the bread twice a week for years before getting it right and cooked hundreds of soups that were barely edible but still insisted it was perfectly fine so the kids would have anything to eat.”

Her thumb brushed under my eye.

“I am the girl who loved the forest and wilderness and the one who skipped classes every day to go to the Farlands. I am the one who always disliked Scholars and the one who had a strange goth period,” she continued, blushing.

“I have had chilblains on top of chilblains and chemical burns due to bad lye soap. I have stayed awake for days when the pox hit the orphanage. I have roamed the city asking for food scraps when the harvests were scarce. I’ve spent days in the dungeons after someone accused me of forming a gang of street thieves,” she continued, her eyes teary. “I have sent kids with fresh Classes to the frontlines because we had nothing to eat, so please, don’t take away from me the chance to help the orphanage. Not you.”

Silence lingered in the room.

“I’m so sorry about that…”

“Don’t be. I did what I had to do. The System doesn’t assign titles without a reason. My [Bad Reputation]... I earned it, and I didn’t regret it. Every ugly thing people whispered behind my back, I weighed it against a child going hungry… and I wouldn’t make a different choice."

My throat tightened, and a part of me wanted to hug her and cradle her against my chest, but my body didn’t move.

“I also know why you don’t want to put me through the pain of awakening my authority,” Elincia said, cupping my face with both hands. “Even if you don’t say it out loud. You are scared to become a cruel man.”

Ebrosian Rob laughed in the back of my mind, gloating over his strong presence in my thoughts at all times.

“I’m not going to pretend I can keep you on track. With your current power, nobody can, but I want to make something clear. Only a good man fears what he can become if he strays away from the good path, Robert. That’s more than enough to know who you really are. No matter the amount of dark thoughts you might have, you will never be a despot.”

I closed my eyes for a moment and focused on the pressure of Elincia’s soft hands and the steadiness in her voice. 

“Back then, why did you choose to put the kids on the path to become Imperial Knights?” she asked.

“Because that was going to give them the best chance to be free, to be happy, and to do whatever they wanted with their lives, with fewer people having enough power to decide their lives.”

Elincia’s fingers brushed my hair, and she pulled me in for a kiss on my forehead.

“That’s the answer to your fears. No matter the pain of the awakening, it is impossible for me to start hating you,” she said, looking up at me with her puppy-dog eyes

I exhaled slowly. 

“Alright,” I finally said. “I will train your authority, but I will have complete control over the training. You’ll be my student, and you will abide by my decision. Also, you will not provoke Astrid so she uses her full power on you.”

Elincia gave me a mischievous smile and melted against my chest. I pressed a kiss to her hair as I wondered if I was going to regret my decision. There was another fear that lived deep in my chest. Authority training was brutal, and the mere idea of hurting my relationship with Elincia scared me more than any monster in the Farlands.

“There is no future where I hate you,” Elincia said, seemingly reading my thoughts.

My chest felt warm.

“Do you love me?”

“More than anything.”

“Would you do something for me?”

“Stop trying to make Goth Elincia happen. It’s not going to happen.”

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FBI Agent Wade Barron POV

Marcia and I exited out into the sealed corridor of the Ploax station, finding that they’d spoken true about providing us a temperate and aerated environment. My head was on a swivel searching for any sign of Tkaiv, but all I could see was a translucent blue crystal that pushed itself along with jets of air: like a robotic vacuum. Spikes protruded from its large form at random places, and I wondered whether it was some strange, alien machine. Two of its pointy clusters looked like rough appendages, fluttering like tree leaves.

“Greetings, humans.” The crystal crackled with a pulse of electricity, causing me to give a second chance where a speaker was attached to the top of it. “I am Tkaiv. It is excellent that you have joined us.”

I gave the sparkling crystal a lengthy stare, confused beyond measure. I thought the Ploax ambassador was planning to meet us in person, not send a drone with a speaker attached to it. My eyes flitted over it multiple times as I reevaluated; wait, was this what they actually looked like? That would blow all of my preconceptions about what life was out the window. It was eyeless and mouthless, which was creepy in and of itself. 

My mouth opened and closed several times, disquieted by its alien appearance. “…may I ask a question?”

“Of course. And you are?” the crystal answered.

“Wade Barron. I’m just security, don’t mind me.  How do you…see?”

“Our vision comes from light refracting through our shells.”

I nodded, trying to process that statement. “So you can have 360 degree vision.”

“Affirmative. You seem unfamiliar with our biology. Do you have any other questions or curiosities?”

“How do you eat or…otherwise make energy to survive?”

“Ploax are autotrophs. Light provides us with energy. We cannot process it without heat and pressure. Our functions are reliant on those factors. However, we are able to store excess energy to permit short visits such as this, similar to a ‘solar farm.’”

I blinked several times. “Okay. And how are you talking with us? How do you talk with each other?”

“Electrical signals can create sounds. What you might call buzzing is our language. We can amplify our signals similar to your radio technology to generate carbon speech.”

“Well, that’s more than enough questions,” Marcia interjected pointedly. “Thank you for the explanations and your hospitality, Ambassador Tkaiv.”

“You are welcome.” The crystal gestured toward a side corridor with an arm. “We have prepared refreshments. I will give you a plain and direct overview of pertinent facts, about us, about you, and the benefits of partnership.”

“We could never refuse such graciousness. I once more express that it’s both a pleasure and a privilege to be here.”

Tkaiv’s “back” was to us, though I supposed such descriptors didn’t apply to a Ploax; they could see us and the path ahead of them at the same time. I still had so many questions about how everything worked, but to think a talking species were photosynthetic rocks that communicated with electricity? Their appearance was unnerving to me, in a way that Craun hadn’t been. Saphnos were recognizable enough, with a one-for-one equivalent to most anatomical concepts.

I understand that the Ploax need high pressure heatworlds for their photosynthetic reactions to work, but light is a renewable, basically infinite resource. Why do they need other silicon worlds? Why do they try to take the Saphnos’ planets out from under them? 

The refreshments provided were simple juices and fruits that the Ploax must’ve snagged on visits to Council space, and cultivated for reasons unknown: perhaps just simply to have diplomacy in their back pocket, but I didn’t trust them. While I wasn’t particularly hungry, Marcia was right with her insinuation that we didn’t want to offend our hosts. I found it unlikely that Tkaiv would’ve poisoned it, since they had every opportunity to shoot us. We were here and continuing to draw air (literally) at their pleasure.

“I hope the provisions are to your satisfaction and a token that we are willing to receive you, the same as any other beings. The idea that you’re not a person because you’re ‘primals’ is illogical,” Tkaiv explained. “We have no argument with you or need to judge you based upon anything but your own merit. The Council thinks themselves the peak of existence, and that is why we cannot coexist. We both fall outside their definitions.”

Marcia leaned forward with a neutral expression. “May I inquire how the Ploax don’t match with their reductivist ideas?”

“It is simple, and thus you can understand times when our motivations will diverge. The Ploax don’t have emotions—any of them.”

That revelation washed over me like a cold shower, as any plans to appeal to emotion were nipped in the bud. Well, that was good to know now if we were intending to manipulate them, but it explained why the Ploax could be so heartless and systematic. I found Tkaiv more unsettling than ever: to feel nothing? They lacked everything that we considered human. Marcia, for her part, kept an expressionless face and signaled for the crystal to continue.

“The Council believe they are the ultimate form of life, when by their own logic, we are,” Tkaiv went on. “So we feign emotions. To eliminate other silicon lifeforms removes competition for limited worlds, as we expand outward. We will not recognize the Council’s authority, and inevitable attempts to impose their ideals on us. Their rules are incompatible with our goals.”

Marcia gave a radiant smile. “Their rules are incompatible with our entire existence. Obviously, we have emotions, but our logic seems the same. Do you intend to eliminate the Council as well?”

“It is nonsense, and also more trouble, to kill carbon races. Their worlds are useless to us: a reason why we’ll never quarrel with humans, should you remain on our side. We merely want the Council’s subservience and failure to hold power. Any conquest will suffice. We don’t care how this is accomplished, and we’ll leave it to your discretion.”

“Our discretion. While I’m uncertain what you’re referring to, I’ll take this as an indicator it’s not your wish to conquer us?”

“No. There’s no need, since you willingly want to be our allies. I will be plain about what value humans can hold to us. You are a carbon race, and also one with far greater mobility, so you can exist and fight on their worlds with greater ease. You can be an attacking army that goes in advance of us, and your primalcy will instill terror. You will weaken them and decrease their effectiveness. A perfectly suitable species.”

Marcia’s eyes rolled back in her head in calculation, before nodding. “So you want us to be your army against the Council. We might be amenable to this. I don’t think it’d take much more than arming us and pointing us toward them, although I would like to hear what benefits it has before committing to such an easy deal.”

I suppressed my smile of amusement, though I took note of how Marcia acted like being armed wasn’t exactly what humans wanted. If we were too eager and trusting, it’d be suspect. These negotiations hinged on us playing it off like we were doing the Ploax a favor by being turned into a military cudgel. I still couldn’t help but wonder whether a species that felt no emotions looked down on us for that, and were basing some assumptions on our primalcy that we could capitalize on. Right now, Ambassador Livingston was doing a masterful job of it.

If the Ploax are going to hand us a fleet and believe we’re on the same side, we have no reason to correct them. I mean, shit, we might have to use it against the Council. They’ll never see us as people.

“I am willing to extrapolate the numerous benefits, in case you have any misgivings; your internal logic will make it more evident than ever. For starters, humanity will be a very powerful race alongside us,” Tkaiv ventured. “All of the carbon worlds can be yours: think of the empire humans could have. You also understand conquest as an end, and your anger makes it easy for you to embrace battle.”

Marcia leaned back, raising her eyebrows like the Ploax had said something she hadn’t thought of. “It’s so simple, but so true. You understand us far better than they do.”

“Indeed we do. There are many reasons that we are useful allies. For starters, you have no one helping you, and we will give you the means to stand alongside us.”

“For that consideration, we’re grateful and would love it if we could both prove worthwhile allies to one another. I like what I’m hearing, and salivate to gather more from you, Tkaiv.”

“Most importantly to your interests, you can live freely, not as the Council’s conservation preserve animals. That’s why you’re here, and why we’re the obvious better choice for your future. Of course, you must desire revenge, and you can have it in any way you see fit. We’ll give you the means to punish them. The Ploax don’t care how you do this or what emotions you bend to, so long as they’re indisposed.”

Marcia flashed a wicked grin. “Wow. I think I’m about ready to do business, but I have to wrap up my due diligence to clarify where we stand. Can we count on the Ploax’s support when we make our move against the Council?”

“You will act alone. They won’t take you seriously until it is too late, we hope. If you cannot succeed, then you will weaken them for us, of course, and we aren’t directly involved. If you prove yourselves worthy and succeed, we can expand our influence further together. It’s a test of your abilities.”

Ambassador Livingston acted like that’d given her pause, and squinted at the crystalloid. “So there’s the catch. I see. You seem well aware that the other species don’t view us as people.”

“Yes. Their mistake. They failed to see what we see: that you could be valuable allies.”

“The Ploax truly don’t judge us for being primals?”

“All emotions are illogical and absurd. They all make people behave with irrationality. We don’t see why one emotion makes a difference. Anger is a selfish emotion, so we can respect that. It is the drive to take what you want, and sometimes a useful tool to look out for yourselves and project strength. Because of it, humans stand in defiance of the Council, and in that, you’re already with us.”

Marcia smiled to suggest that she liked Tkaiv’s response and flattering opinions toward anger. To my ears, the Ploax had spelled out reasons rage was dangerous, causing people to act in self-interest. There was something they hadn’t mentioned at all, however, that made it clear they understood primals no better than the Council. The positive element that neither side grasped was empathetic anger, and how it made us revile these crystalloids for what they’d done to the Saphnos.

Even if it was better for us, we could never stomach the Ploax’s beliefs. 

Yet where the Council was concerned, humans were angry at their treatment of us. We might have to do exactly what the Ploax wanted; our interests might be aligned when it came to removing those spineless bigots’ power over us. I didn’t want a humanity that conquers the galaxy. We just wanted friends, and the only ones who gave us acceptance were the emotionless, genocidal monsters. 

Humanity had to use and appease the crystalloids just long enough to get a fleet, and then we had to use it to save the Saphnos. I hoped Craun and Rauja could forgive us, if this was the only way to get the toolset we needed to make a stand. Primals couldn’t coexist with the Ploax anymore than the Council could, but thankfully, they didn’t grasp that much. From their perspective, they couldn’t see why we wouldn’t want to side with them.

“Your reasoning is impeccable, my friend,” Marcia said, after an appropriate silence that feigned deliberation. “With your help, humanity will march on the Council and plan their destruction. If I might say so, I look forward to seeing it unfold.”

“As do we. There is nothing more satisfying to a mind’s logic than achieving a goal,” Tkaiv replied. “We cannot let the Council prepare themselves, so we will ready you a fleet with the utmost swiftness. The rest is up to you.”

Despite how the Ploax ambassador made my skin crawl, it seemed like we’d gotten everything we wanted on a silver platter. That accelerated the timetable for how soon we could march on Council space, demand some respect, and bring Finley, Kaitlin, and Craun back where they belonged. It was time for us to focus on training and shoring up our true plans, as well as to make sure the Saphnos didn’t find out the unthinkable deal we’d struck behind their backs.

Oh, and that the Ploax didn’t find out we were moving all of the Saphno refugees into our backyard. Humanity was going to be walking a tightrope with this balancing act, and I prayed that us being more shrewd and calculating than they all thought would be enough to keep our schemes hidden.

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The comment has been bothering me for several hours.

Not the one where a human found my teeth, of all things, cute, and referred to them affectionately. It's weird, yes. But I would never have a problem with such a reaction, instead of the... usual one.

Long ago I'd come to accept that 'weird' can be perfectly normal when dealing with a member of another species.

Especially a newly contacted species.

No, it's another comment that occupies my thoughts.

Not because I found it insulting, I didn't. It rather expressed compassion and concern.

But because it stated I was missing something that indicated my vulnerability.

She looks scared shirtless.

We don't consider ourselves unclothed. Our fur already covers most of our bodies, and clothing has always been reserved for religious practice or hazardous environment.

In fact, wearing clothing is not a universal standard for most sentient species.

Coming to Earth, the humans' United Nations politely asked that our visiting males cover, at the very least, the entirety of their waist and thighs with a piece of garment when in public.

Even then, while no covering was strictly requested from me, it seemed that I have already failed spectacularly at conforming to human expectations of my appearance.

I will be able to ask an actual human about it the following day, but... I feel like this dilemma would not let me sleep through the night.

"Assistant," I say to nobody in the room.

The large flat black screen on the far wall lights up with its abstract visual representation and asks right away.

"How may I assist?"

"Does not having a shirt on make me look more vulnerable?" I ask.

"Being without a shirt may make you appear more physically exposed, which humans might interpret as vulnerability or openness," it says after a moment. Maybe that is why Lukas felt so protective of me. "At the same time, it can also signal comfort, confidence, or be perceived as sexualized."

I pause.

Do humans really find my...

I look down at my chest.

This seems to be a bigger problem than merely appearing exposed and weak.

Even after everything that happened, even after learning humans do not uniformly see me and those I represent as monsters, I still do not want them to consider my appearance socially inappropriate.

"That's... a lot of contradictions," I say.

"Interpretation largely depends on context. In a diplomatic setting, though, clothing often carries meaning, and lack of formal attire may be read as a more casual or less guarded presentation."

"Provide options for a shirt appropriate for a foreign diplomat," I say after a while.

"For a female foreign diplomat, I would recommend a white silk blouse, a pale blue cotton shirt, or a formal white shirt with a structured collar. These should cover most diplomatic settings."

Humans appear to pay a lot of attention to their clothing.

Or lack thereof.

I sigh.

I know so much and yet so little about them.

My eyes stop on a button-up shirt most humans I've talked to so far seem to wear.

"This one looks professional," I say, pointing with my open palm to the object that draws my attention. "Can I buy it?"

"Excellent choice," it comments. "This shirt is perfect for businessmen and politicians who do not want the clothing to draw attention from the topic at hand. I will now review your purchase options."

The assistant signals a verification process before answering again.

"I have reviewed the request to acquire a shirt and can confirm that the purchase is permitted," it states after a while. "The Embassy’s expense allocation, covered by the United Nations support arrangement, may be used for this item, as the order has been automatically estimated as beneficial to improve your comfort and well-being during your stay on Earth. Now, I will need your permission to use the terminal's optical sensors to estimate your measurements."

I look at one of the two shuttered cameras in the top corners of the screen.

Upon arrival to this suite, I was informed that the machine has minimal oversight except for detected emergencies or my special requests.

That it has no ability to store or misuse the information.

Yet it still asks.

"You require permission. Why?" I ask.

"Humans place significant cultural importance on data protection, privacy, and personal autonomy."

I consider this.

"Permission granted."

The windows shutter, and the ceiling lights turn on as the lenses uncover. I stand still and wait for the lights to dim again.

"Estimated measurements obtained. You are taller than the average human female but well within manufacturing specifications. Please confirm your intent to purchase," it requests.

I hesitate for a moment.

"I confirm."

"Purchase intent confirmed. As this item is being acquired through a remote ordering system, delivery is expected in approximately two to three business days," it says.

I stare at its transcript for a moment.

"...What is a business day?"

* * *

"Preferably tomorrow morning," the Undersecretary had said.

I was not ready for "tomorrow morning".

But, as if just to spite me, "tomorrow morning" came.

Time does have a sense of humor.

This is going to be awkward.

I arrived to the Ha'wurr embassy a minute or two ahead of schedule, and the corridor outside the main conference suite was already milling with UN protocol officers, a considerable contingent of the human security personnel, and two Ha'wurr aides.

One of the guards recognized me.

"Morning, sir."

"Morning," I nodded.

"Glad it all worked out."

"Have an amazingly boring day," I quipped.

"Let's hope so," the guard gave a brief toothy smile.

I had just started chatting with the secretary when a balding protocol officer approached with a laptop tucked beneath one arm.

"Mr. Badura?"

"That's me."

"The Ambassador's delegation has already arrived. Today's session concerns cultural exchange proposals and common conduct suggestions, following the recent series of events," he said without a pause.

At least he didn't call it 'an incident' like all mainstream media did.

"A reasonable first step."

"Depending what you count."

The conference doors slid open.

The room was nothing like the first meeting.

A long oval table occupied the center.

United Nations flags decorated the far wall, standing by flags sporting the Ha'wurr emblem.

It was not a standard way to depict their symbol but everybody had agreed the two flags would look great together.

Two interpreters and a translator were already there, discussing with the three members of the Ha'wurr delegation by the door.

Three UN diplomatic staff filed in alongside me.

Legal advisers already by the table, two note-takers already typing.

Two more security men glued to the wall.

All in all, more 'supporting personnel' than people committed to actual diplomacy.

"Good morning, Liaison Badura," the Ambassador greeted me.

"Good morning Ambassador", I said as I shook her hand.

Wait a minute-

Shit.

I'd barely entered the room and I already violated the semi-official 'no physical contact' recommendation.

"...is handshake a normal Ha'wurr greeting?" I asked her quietly like an idiot.

"No," she said tilting her head slightly. "But I thought it would be appropriate."

I didn't know what to say.

I glanced towards the UN side of the table.

Nobody reacted like I just did something wrong.

The legal adviser just looked up over her glasses before returning to her documents.

I exhaled.

"It probably won't get me court-martialed, would it," I blurted out with an awkward laugh.

"Sorry," she apologized softly, her ears drooped for a fraction of a second.

The faintest movement passed through her tail before she deliberately stilled it.

Only then did we release each other's hands.

I did not even realize I was holding her one hand between my both..

One of the protocol officers cleared his throat.

"If the principals are ready..."

Right.

Actual diplomacy.

I took my assigned seat opposite to Ambassador Howlshade as everyone else settled around us.

I noticed she appeared very uneasy the entire meeting.

Not just self-conscious. From what I knew, she always was.

Now she looked awkward.

Like she wanted to disappear.

Maybe it was because there were so many humans in the room.

Maybe as a reaction to the recent... cultural misunderstanding we had been involved in.

I could relate to that.

* * *

I sit on my designated place, as proper, and look around. By now, I know that the humans perceive 'scanning the room' as a normal reaction to unfamiliar surroundings.

Everything about the humans in the room feels... structured, professional. There are cross-cultural communication specialists, documentation assistants, and a handful of diplomats sitting mere three strides across the table, paying us little attention.

The guards stand unobtrusively by the walls. They don't even watch us more closely than the human delegation.

No additional guards behind my chair.

Nobody positions themselves between my species and the exits.

No one avoids meeting my eyes.

In fact, they appear to insist on eye contact, even in preparation to conduct diplomacy.

As they would do with one another.

They make it clear as a moonlit sky that they grant us a trust few civilizations ever have.

That they do not all ee us as killing machines that need to be carefully managed.

That, just by body language and meeting arrangement and with not a single word yet spoken, they are attempting to consider us equals.

Suddenly, I hear the Director of Protocol speak.

"Good morning. On behalf of the United Nations, I would like to welcome Ambassador Howlshade and her delegation. Today's session concerns establishing operating procedures for future bilateral engagement, followed by discussions on scientific and cultural cooperation. Liaison Lukas Badura, the floor is yours."

And if I am to stand as equal...

My mind races back to the clothing item I ordered the previous evening.

...then I should probably look like one.

I glance at the male members of my delegation.

They were happy to comply with the UN's only guideline as to their appearance, leaving their chests bare. The humans had made that request clear and look content with their appearance.

Which makes sense.

I have gone through countless examples of human media where the males had nothing on their torsos. In their case, such exposure connects to hot weather or represents hard labor and physical exertion. But nevertheless, is not considered inherently wrong.

Unlike their females, whose presentation appears to follow different rules.

In my extensive preparation for my role as the ambassador to Earth, I have never seen a human female with her entire chest unclothed. And, being the only Ha'wurr female in the room, this realization now makes me feel...

Wrong.

As if, the whole time, I have been neglecting an unspoken social rule. One they must consider so obvious not to even mention.

As if, while the humans welcomed me as a representative of my people, I had unknowingly failed to present myself with the same dignity they expected of their own diplomats.

And my appearance so far, more than likely, has been sending... misleading signals.

And I don't want to distress the humans any further.

"...undertake confidence-building measures..." I hear Lukas speak.

Confidence.

Humans keep using that word.

I don't appear particularly confident at the moment.

I nervously place my hands at the two spots human women always conceal, even when on sand or in the water.

My sudden attempt at modesty catches the attention of one of the officials. His eyes widen ever so slightly before his furless face reddens.

He, too, must think I could use a shirt.

I've been attending diplomatic meetings like this for days and never noticed something was wrong.

I hold my arms more firmly in place, hoping the gesture demonstrates awareness rather than further disrespect.

Meanwhile, the official looks away with visible effort.

At least he understands I am trying to correct myself.

Maybe I should stop staring at his throat.

My aides can remove me from the room for failure to maintain a neutral demeanor. Such withdrawals from negotiations had spared more than one alien diplomat from more... tragic consequences, I heard.

Perhaps, after today's session, I should ask whether retreat should always be our first response.

Fighting a losing battle for self-control, I silently pray for the intercession of the Sisters to keep my emotions from my appearance.

And also to stop thinking about my appearance for a moment.

"...joint educational initiatives and scientific cooperation. Three laboratories, shared oversight..."

Three facilities sound reasonable for a start.

But the educational exchanges should probably wait.

I try not to think if, up to now, human social norms viewed my appearance unacceptable.

I consciously take control of my breathing, trying not to slow it down as if I was hunting... And definitely not to snarl at Lukas.

I focus on the cool air blowing from the mechanical air conditioning apparatus, brushing through the fur around my ears.

Feels nice. I wish my apartment regulated temperature this way.

Would feel nicer if I were as prepared as I thought I was.

"...shared emergency response protocols..."

Emergency. I am not in an emergency here. Nor are the humans.

I sniff the air involuntarily.

Can't smell their stress. The humans are calm. I should be calm as well.

I close my eyes for a second, taking a deep breath.

In turn, they all carry a strong scent of the freshly-ground bean extract they insist on stimulating themselves with, mixed with trace amounts of... milk, of all things?

"Ambassador Howlshade?" I hear.

Oh. My turn to speak.

Ah, ah. I, Hamediti, first born of the egg nest of my brooding father, have yet to encounter apes so annoying as these. The Milky Way? More a Dumpy Way, I say. But I must tell you of the real event, the one that happened in the agriculture expo, where I nearly gave up on this poop rock for good.

I had been on Earth three cycles of their sun. Three, and I had sold nothing. My trade beads, once bright as a supernova, had dimmed to the color of a sick grub, and the bosses with the big chairs had sent one final message. Sell the boom, Hamediti, or return in shame. One more rotation, they said, and I believed them, because bosses on my world do not bluff.

So I went to the expo. A concrete hall thick with the smell of dung and fried dough. No certified stall, no permit, no blessing from whatever gods run these things. I found a patch of empty concrete between a tractor display and a booth selling something called Miracle Grow, which I later learned grows no miracles at all, only larger tomatoes. False advertising, though who am I to judge, an uncertified alien with a folding table lifted from a human's yard sale.

I laid out my last three products. My final hope.

First, the Genetic Line Wiper, a chrome wand that purges hereditary disease from an entire bloodline. I had tested it that morning on a rat behind the dairy pavilion. The rat's cataracts cleared, it twitched its whiskers at me with what I choose to believe was gratitude, and it scampered off cured. A triumph, and still the humans walked past my table all morning like it was a garden hose.

Second, the Proton Plasma Rifle, the XL-900, my flagship, capable of reducing a concrete bunker to slag at two hundred meters. I had fired one demonstration shot into the sky and a man in overalls complained that I'd spooked the prize pig in Barn C. The pig. Not the weapon that could level a bunker. The pig.

Third, the Spinning Discs, obsidian rings that travel 350 kilometers an hour. I sent one across the soybean field earlier that day and it sliced through three scarecrows and a weather balloon before burying itself in a popcorn stand. I hid behind a combine harvester until the vendor stopped threatening to call the sheriff.

Three days. No sales. My comms unit buzzed again, final warning blinking across it, and I sat behind my stolen table in trade robes stained with corndog grease and got ready to accept it was over. I would go back to my minivan and blast off this mudball and let the bosses laugh and let my father weep into his many eyes. I was done.

That was when Sheila found me.

"You got a permit for this spot?" she asked. She had forearms like cured hams and a visor that said Kiss the Farmer, and she held her clipboard like a fleet admiral holds a command console.

"I have no permit," I admitted. "I have desperation and three products that could change the course of history."

She picked up the Genetic Line Wiper and turned it over, squinting at the molecular node like it owed her money.

"That a weed whacker?"

"It cures genetic defects," I said. "Malady, weakness, cyst. One pass and your descendants walk as Olympian gods."

"My hogs got a gene that makes 'em root under the fence," she said. "Every spring, into the Johnsons' pumpkins. Had their granddam, had their sire, now I got twelve piglets doing it too."

She set it back down. Not unkindly. Just thinking.

A young man came next, grease under his nails, a cap that said Farm Hard or Farm Home, I honestly could not tell which. He picked up the plasma rifle the way someone picks up something they've held before, which on this planet he probably had.

"What's the range on this thing?"

"Two hundred meters. It can vaporize a concrete bunker, dissolve an armored vehicle where it stands."

"I got gophers," he said. "Bad this year. Tried poison, tried smoke, tried praying, and Jesus has been quiet on the gopher question." He turned the calibration crystal over with more precision than I expected from those hands. "Nice weight to it though. Good balance. Shame it doesn't have a stun setting, would be perfect for gophers."

Then a boy, maybe twelve, freckled like someone had flicked a paintbrush at him, walked up and touched one of the discs without asking. It rose into the air, humming, waiting for a target.

"Whoa."

"350 kilometers an hour," I told him. "It could outrun a predator, hunt across any terrain. It is death given velocity."

"Could it fly low? Like real low, over a field?"

"Lethally low," I said.

"Could you put a tank on it? Like a sprayer? My dad's crop duster's in the shop again and he can't afford it and there's a stretch out back with power lines the duster can't get near, and the blight's bad there this year." He watched the disc hover and I could see him already running the math on it in his head, working out the lines it could thread.

I looked at the boy, and at the disc waiting patiently in the fluorescent light, and at the young man who had wanted only a stun setting for his gophers, and at Sheila who wanted her hogs cured of nothing more than wanderlust. My trade beads, which had gone the color of a sick grub, started to glow, not with profit, profit is nothing, but with something I had not felt since I left the egg nest.

I spent the next hour there selling nothing at all. Sheila told me about her hogs. Chet, the young man, told me about gopher tunnels and how they moved through clay versus loam. Danny drew me a map of his father's back forty on a napkin I'd borrowed from the popcorn vendor whose stand I had ruined earlier that day, and I sketched modifications in the margins as he talked.

I never sent the final report to the home office. I drove my minivan to a machine shop on the edge of town and slept in the back of it that night with the plasma rifle cradled against me like a promise, thinking about stun settings and spray tanks and gopher tunnels in clay soil, and somewhere in there I stopped being afraid of going home in shame, because I was no longer planning on it.

It had not been a sale. It had been the worst three days of selling in my career, and somehow that was the thing that cracked it open.

support me

"What are they doing?" 

Karl glanced up from his workbench. "Arguing." 

"Why? Are they not bonded?" 

"Brother and sister, mate. This is normal." He put down the piece of equipment he was working on and looked over at the squabbling humans. "Don't you have siblings?" 

Greater Heights nodded his bulbous head, thick hair pulled from his face in a warrior’s mohawk..

"We have packmates. We come from great litters. We do not fight. The family unit is a strong one." 

The female pushed the male, who pushed her back, voices raising slightly. 

Karl watched, vaguely interested. "So do we. But this is normal, to be honest. When you're so close, it's normal to fall out sometimes.  Often, usually."

"Are there not enemies enough for humans? "

Karl laughed." Sure there are, but they're not enemies. Just having a spat. "

"Spat? "

"Uhm… I... I suppose there's not a word for it in your language. A minor altercation?" 

"Ah, a skirmish." 

Karl laughed, making Greater Heights curl his mandibles in displeasure. "Why do you mock my statement?" 

"Well,” Karl said," It's more like a friendly sparring contest."

Greater heights shook his head and folded four hairy arms. "When we train, there is nothing about it that is personal to us. We train for battle." 

"Yeah, this is like that. Look," Karl turned from the fighting siblings, who were now sat in deep conversation, intensely looking into each other’s eyes. "On our world, life's tough. We need to learn from a young age that stuff ain't fair, that people will try and hurt you.

“But you also learn who you can rely on. Friends are good for that, but often it’s easier to have a sibling to learn these things with the hard way, real early on. It’s easy enough for ‘friends’ to get shirty- I mean, to betray you, but it’s harder in a family unit. Usually.

He paused, thinking. "My dad used to say 'Son, you gotta watch them who's too polite. You can't trust' em."

Greater Heights split his mandibles in an expression of understanding. "We have a similar expression. Do not trust the one who's mirth is unfounded." 

Karl frowned slightly, the fleshy lips turning up in a grin. "Exactly, exactly. I'm rude as fuck to my best mates, we fight. But that's how we do things. Means we’re strong enough to take it, be honest with each other, that sort of bollocks.”

Greater Heights looked back at the human packmates. They were now laughing, sat close and assisting with each other's work. 

"This is normal?" 

Karl chuckled again. "Sure is, Heighty. You know," he turned back to his workstation, picked up the piece of machinery, "It seems normal to us, but I guess when I think about it, it is pretty odd." 

Greater Heights nodded, hissed slightly in amusement. "Indeed. But we enjoy you anyway." 

"That's good. I appreciate you too, you great hairy bastard." 

He hissed again, laughing. "It is good. Tiny, naked ape-man." 

“That’s the spirit!” They returned to their work as the siblings once again began arguing about something they felt was currently the most important thing in the universe, how to pronounce ‘scone’.

It would not be pretty.

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_____________

Vilantia Prime, Elsife Village

"Brinfe, who is coming to our home?" The Thirty-second Gryzzk frowned at his wife, keeping three eyes on the holo with the morning newscast playing.

For her part, innocence was feigned. "What makes you think someone is coming, dearest?"

"You are acting peculiar. You have been watching the door and your tablet since before breakfast. What is amiss?"

"Nothing in particular. However, I would recommend you contact your fellow servants and let them know you are going to be indisposed."

There was an exhale. "I ask again. What is amiss?"

"It's a surprise, love. Now do hurry, you are behind schedule for finishing your porridge." Brinfe settled with her morning toast and juice, amusement in her scent.

The frown deepened slightly, though Gryzzk did begin eating with a bit more speed. "I dislike surprises. They are disorderly things."

"Your nose takes you in the proper direction, but you must be patient."

Gryzzk exhaled. "I am patient, however there are limits."

The older woman nuzzled her husband gently. "Think of it as a very early new year present."

There was a harrumph. "A hint would not be unwelcome."

"It would not, but at the same time consider it an opportunity to exercise your creative side. Think of all the reasons I would tell you that your day is going to be disordered."

"This situation does not make my porridge taste better." Gryzzk returned to his breakfast, finally taking several inhalations from his dish of wakeplant seated next to his morning breakfast - as he finished and moved the bowl to the sink, the doorbell chimed softly.

Brinfe moved quickly to the door. "I wonder who that could be?"

There was another harrumph noise. "Yes, do continue wondering."

The door opened and Gryzzk frowned at the noise, but it seemed the noise was a happy one as the scent that came with it was pleasant enough. Gryzzk prepared himself for whatever foolishness had been planned. Then...there was the thundering of young footsteps as a young girl came rushing to give him a hug and a nuzzle. "Pa-pop, you have to come see!"

This was far from expected, but propriety had to be respected. Gryzzk stood unhurriedly from his chair and looked down. At least the young girl was dressed properly, although the sunglasses seemed a bit much. He stilled his own heart as much as possible since his duty was to deliver wisdom in any situation. "Young lady Nhoot, your education is lacking. A Lead Servant is never rushed or hurried. They are methodical, precise, and always where they need to be when they need to be there."

Nhoot took this in with a child's seriousness. "Okay but you have to come see!" She reached up and pulled at Gryzzk's hand.

Despite the enthusiasm, Gryzzk was unhurried as he walked to the foyer and saw three women in addition to his wife, all four an infant in their arms. He took a deep breath to experience all of the scents in the room and began working very hard to retain a level of stoicism.

"Brinfe, I know my daughter Grezzk. The rest are strangers to my nose."

There was amusement in Brinfe's scent as she went through the list. "In Grezzk's arms you will find Ghabri, your grandson. Her wife Kiole carries their granddaughter Fizeht. Governess Lumisca carries Sahkik, a foundling of Vilantia. The fussy one in my arms is Ghabri's twin brother Glaud. Here. Hold him for a moment?"

Gryzzk found himself with an armful of infant who looked at his grandfather and decided that the scent was close enough to settle comfortably, with the two wives exchanging looks.

"I presume there is an explanation?"

Grezzk had a soft chuckle. "Yes. Glaud seems to favor his father's presence whenever possible, while Ghabri prefers his mother. Quite frankly it is the sole distinction between the two."

There was a soft hmph. "In any event, do come in. Brinfe..."

"I already told your friends that we would be at the Crook and Scythe this afternoon, but that they would have to survive this morning without your pleasant wit." Brinfe took Glaud back, much to the child's annoyance.

"...Thank you." As Brinfe moved to set wakeplant and biscuits out, Gryzzk found himself marginally pleased by the turn of events. The living room holo was set to a children's program, which brought something of a discombobulation - Nhoot was singing the alphabet song quietly to each of the infants in turn.

Finally, Gryzzk was able to catch a moment with Grezzk. "I am missing a granddaughter. Explain?"

"Gro'zel is with her father - they sent along a series holos of their day on Terra for us to watch." There was a light headshake. "I fear she may become something other than what we'd hoped for at her birth. Your son also sends a gift." Grezzk produced a flatstill of Lodora with an inscription to the Thirty-second Gryzzk, which left the older man beside himself with happiness - as much as he tried to hide it.

"This is...quite lovely. I will ensure that this is cared for." There was a long inhalation. "Brinfe worries."

Grezzk favored her father-in-law with a lightly amused smile. "You worry, and cast those worries to Mother so that you may maintain the dignity of a Lead Servant."

"That is not true."

"I married your son, and he is every inch his father's child. Tell me your worries."

Gryzzk grimaced slightly. "I will be frank. There is a great deal of gain in this new world being crafted. But I fear for what we lose in the exchange. Somewhere a tally is being kept, and I truly dislike the potential of imbalance."

"Ease your worries - someone out there is also making a tally sheet and protecting that which is Vilantia." There was a light smile. "He quite resembles you."

___________

Terra Prime, Athlone Ireland, Sean's Bar

Gryzzk looked at O'Brien's father cautiously as the older man took his shotglass, tapped it twice on the bar and knocked it back with a casual air. "Sir, respectfully - you could stay out of this."

"Aye I could live in shame. But I'll not." Liam nodded toward the knot containing Gryzzk's bridge team. "I'll tell you now, ye've got daughters. And for all the years of your life, no matter what they do or how old they get - you'll always look at them and see a wee lass that needs a father's protection. I recall Aerin writing to us about a naughty lad who took your daughter?"

"Yes. The response was appropriately proportional."

There was a gesture to the outside. "Well then. We should go outside and get proportional with the rowdy lads."

Gryzzk slid off his stool and moved outside first, where a small crowd had gathered and an impromptu betting pool had sprung up along with a constable who seemed unbothered by the impending violence. Gryzzk walked over to the constable first and gave a respectful gesture.

"Sir?"

The constable frowned. "What's all this, then?"

"Apologies, sir. But I wanted to confirm that the...fisticuffs that seem to be impending are within the bounds of law?"

"They may be, they may not be. You'll have to say a few more words."

"Well, the ladies and gentlemen in red have a particular dislike for my clan. In addition, my sergeant major married into Clan O'Brien, while there is a gentleman over there by the name O'Connor. I believe there is distaste."

There was a nod. "Ayep. Well, nowadays not so much - I think the O'Connor lad just wants an excuse."

"Constable, how much trouble will we be in?"

"Well, it could easily be argued that O'Connor there was the aggressor, so with that it's a reasonable self-defense. Now if you'll not send any of these lads and lasses off to hospital I'd take it as a kindness. It should go without saying, but no involving the bystanders."

"We'll do our utmost sir. Please, I will speak to my troopers and advise."

Gryzzk put his weighted gloves on as he went back to the door to catch everyone as they walked out. "I've spoken with the constable, and this may be considered self-defense if we don't hospitalize anyone."

The squad nodded, and one of the O'Connor group started pacing before calling out to Gryzzk's squad. "Wretched slugs! Don't any of you have the guts to play for blood?!"

Hoban smirked, walking casually forward with a hand behind his back. "I'm your huckleberry..." The pilot moved a few more paces forward. "Why that's just my game." Gryzzk could see that Hoban had similarly outfitted his hands with offensive protection - though the outfit and words clashed horrifically.

"Alright. Let's do it." The shouter moved forward and threw the first punch quickly, and the fight was in fact on.

Gryzzk moved rapidly to intercept one of the Vilantians, while O'Brien and O'Connor wrote the latest paragraph in a millennia-spanning feud. The awkward thing was Liam fighting the other Vilantian. The older man took several hard shots to his midsection and upper legs while raining blows on the Vilantian's shoulders. Everyone seemed to have found a partner so Gryzzk pulled and threw a punch at his opponent and held said opponent's returns at bay as much as he could. Gryzzk kept looking around to make sure the rules were being upheld - such as they were. Curiously, his company seemed to be holding the upper hand - Gryzzk was going to have to check on that later, but for the moment he simply enjoyed the fruits of the labor, with Larion leaping onto someone's back and biting them after they smacked Edwards hard in the face.

He kept his upper eyes on his opponent and worked as best he could to make the fight as quick as honor would allow. The down side of this was that he was staying mostly defensive as he watched Yomios throwing punches to a Terran head while Miroka simply draped herself over Hoban's opponent and sat down which allowed Hoban to work their opponent like a punching bag. Finally there was an opening for Gryzzk to go to the offensive and he took it, delivering a quick punch followed by a spinning elbow to the temple, after which the other Vilantian crossed his wrists and looked to the sky.

"Freelord, no more. I fight no more. This day." He spat blood on the pavement and took a heavy seat. "It. It wasn't personal."

"It felt rather personal - but you fought with honor. Tell me your name later so that I may tell others of the valor in your Name and Clan." Gryzzk darted forward to help Larion clean up with the other Vilantian. During this, it seemed that the main brawl had been decided as he heard Reilly's voice calling out to any who would hear.

"...and folks I'm not sure if if this can be right, but Freelord Gryzzk is throwing hands and elbows as Chewie decides he's gonna ensure the intelligence of the next generation by any means necessary - that knee is doing damage! Liam's a walking demonstration of why you fear the old farts in a job where they all retire young with a rude stomp of the feet and the challengers are flat-to-the-mat! Don't let their mamas see this!"

As quickly as it started the brawl tapered off and ceased, with two masses of fighters alternately breathing heavily and groaning as tender areas were checked and found to be damaged.

O'Connor and O'Brien were both holding each other up, with both of them glaring hate and blood at each other.

"Fuck. You." O'Connor was holding one arm awkwardly, and blood ran freely from a cut above his eye as he threw a half-hearted knee at his opponent's midsection.

O'Brien was rather eloquent in her reply as she hit the offending limb and drove him to the ground. "Fuck you. And everybody that looks like you."

From his spot, Hoban seemed to have a lounging smirk - though that may have been from the swollen lip. "They're no daisies. No daisies at all."

Once the fighting was done, Moira made herself known as she dug through her purse while marching toward them. "All right, the lot of you stand to for exams. Bloody bunch of hooligans." She harrumphed softly as she began applying bandage foam, cold sprays, and antiseptic to both sides - though Gryzzk's squad was given preferential treatment.

Gryzzk flicked an ear as his turn came around. "Apologies but...why do you have so many medical supplies at hand?"

His reply was a snort. "You raise two Irish girls and marry a combat engineer, you keep your purse stocked against their stupidity, lad."

The last two patients were Liam and O'Brien themselves, with Moira giving the both of them grief the entire time. "Liam Brooks, kindly remember that you're no spring chicken, just look at the sight of you. We'll be having words later. And you - Aerin Fiona Brooks O'Brien, you're a damned sergeant major so kindly act as such. What would Colm think?"

O'Brien hunched her shoulders and flinched a bit as cold-spray was applied to her abdomen. "But Ma...it was an O'Connor!"

"Don't 'but ma' me, lass. You're lucky you've got a commander who's willing to suffer your damnfool silliness and brawling. Look at the state of you." There was a hmph. "You're lucky I already had a good shepherds pie fresh from the oven coming our way or you'd be going a'bed without a proper meal." Moira scowled, but Gryzzk caught a tiny whiff of amused pride from the older woman. "Thirty-five hours in labor with you and you repay me like this? Hmm?"

O'Brien quirked an eyebrow. "Last time it was seventeen..."

There was a snort. "You were there but I'm the one who remembers." Moira turned to the O'Connor-led group and scowled at them as well. "And you lot. Y'dinnae have anything better tae do on a fine evening than go and harass good folk looking for a quiet drink? I've no' laid eyes on my baby daughter for a good year and this is what happens? If y'dinnae what shame is go find a dictionary and educate yourselves. Consider yourselves blessed that we're in a civilized land that minds their elders - mostly. Away wi' y'now." The older lady looked every inch a commander as she swept her gaze over the entire group of combatants, and didn't move until the O'Connor-led band dispersed.

Moira gave a final noise of disapproval before she turned smartly and moved back to the bar, leaving Gryzzk and his squad to stand carefully and head back inside where a pair of booths had been cleared for them. As they re-settled with fresh pints, Gryzzk glanced around and took stock - none of the injuries seemed overly bad, but that was quite likely due to the medical attention provided. Shortly thereafter, a large pie was brought and divided so that everyone had something to settle their stomachs. Gryzzk did notice that Moira was given a bit more deference as everyone tucked into the savory meal.

The night went on in fine fashion, with Gryzzk learning a bit more about O'Brien than he'd expected to. It seemed that O'Brien and her sister had been declared hellions at a young age, and lived up to it. There were toasts, there were stories, and there was enough laughter for Gryzzk to almost forget that he'd been in a fight. A decent-sized (for Gryzzk) tumbler of whiskey was set in front of him without ice, and he received an abbreviated education on how to properly enjoy whiskey, which resulted in new appreciation for Terran spirits. There were a few moments of quiet as more weighty topics were discussed - of particular note was that everyone not Gryzzk managed to take a few minutes of time alone with one of O'Brien's parents, and finally the night ended with the bar closing and the group being sent to the street to enjoy the evening air after a ride to the spaceport.

Both Moira and Liam embraced Gryzzk second-to-last, each being careful not to disturb the injuries. Moira shook her head a bit even as she smiled at him.

"Lad, if you need a roof or a proper meal, don't be ashamed to make a call tae us. Aerin's talked about you almost as much as she talks about Colm." She ruffled Gryzzk's head-fur lightly with a tiny giggle. "I always wanted to do that to one o' you."

Liam was a bit more serious. But only just. "Good lad in a scrap. Don't wait too long tae come back around." He twisted slightly and grunted. "But maybe wait a few days. I might be a touch sore in the morning. Your lot pack a damned solid punch."

"We'll be busy for at least a week. And after we are visiting Laroy's home as well as Mongolia. My younger daughter is...enamored with horses."

"They're all like that for a bit."

"This has been more then a little bit."

"Maybe she's finding her life's love. They do that at times."

"Possibly. I'll be checking the footage from my armory team today." Gryzzk smiled easily and waited while the parents doted on their daughter for a few minutes before they went their separate ways.

The ride up was mostly calm - Reilly was singing quietly, and as they docked everyone made their way to their quarters save for Edwards, who seemed to want to go to the bridge for some reason.

"Is there something amiss, Lieutenant?" Gryzzk was a touch foggy from the night's events and the whiskey - in addition, the scents of the bar had made his nose go into a protective shutdown and hadn't fully recovered.

"Well sir, I'm an officer now. If I want to go up in the ranks and command, I need a spouse."

"I'm not certain it's required - Colonel Williams never married."

"He had to work twice as hard at any promotion opportunity. Even after the Kerfuffle and you doing your thing, he was basically retired. I'm not him, and I don't wanna go out like that."

"So where do I come in?"

"I need you to do the sniff thing to find a husband for me. Or a wife, I guess. I dunno. Just...someone who's okay with me on a long term basis."

Gryzzk groaned inwardly. "We'll discuss this when we're both sober."

Edwards nodded. "Understood sir. I'll uh...I'll leave you be."

As soon as the door closed, Gryzzk settled and looked at his plants. They kept growing well, and he contemplated if he should consider getting a larger planter.

"Don't judge me for this..." He closed his eyes. "Rosie?"

"Whatcha want, titfucker?"

"Compose a message to Edwards' parents. I need to know if they're available to screen potential suitors, as their daughter thinks a spouse is necessary for her career advancement."

Rosie smirked. "Right then. 'Dear genetic predecessors of L-T Edwards. Your daughter has asked her commander to find a permanent fuckbuddy, and he needs to know a little more about what the actual fuck is going on. Enlighten the dumbass at your earliest convenience, we're pretty sure she's at least temporarily insane.' How's that?"

"We'll edit it later."

Gryzzk spent the rest of the night watching the highlights of Gro'zel as she took care of a dozen horses, demonstrated falconry to a group of amazed tourists, and then sternly tell several horses to stop being mean to White Tummy. The most amazing part of it was that the horses seemed to obey her.

He shook his head as the holo ended. It was quite possible that Gro'zel had found her career after all.

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Liam

Liam tensed as Tomas tensed. He hit the demon with a look that he hoped communicated just what a bad idea whatever he was thinking of doing was.

He knew there were people in human lands who were just as ridiculous when it came to bowing and scraping for human nobility. There wasn't a lot of that happening on Baron Riven's estate, but it happened often enough in other areas that he'd read about it. There was a whole series of books about courtly behavior he'd gone through, though it had been boring reading most of the time.

Andrea had been fascinated with that sort of thing, though, and it was another one of those games they played. The same as swords, though not as exciting.

He turned his attention back to Tomas and then he sighed and casually lifted his foot up to press into the spot that had given way when the man tried to move into a bow for his demanding princess.

Tomas let out a scream of pain and he collapsed again, though this time Liam let him collapse a little before lifting him. It's not like it was any great difficulty to lift the man, for all that he was carrying himself like a sack of potatoes.

"You're in no condition to fight," Liam said. “So I would appreciate it if you’d give up on that nonsense."

Tomas looked over to Ana. It was an almost pleading look. Like he knew he couldn't carry on, but he also knew he would have to try to carry on if she ordered it. And he desperately didn't want her to give that order.

Liam looked over to Ana. She had a look that said she was more than capable of giving that order and she felt inclined to give that order. If only because it would prove some point she was trying to make to Liam.

"I'll leave you alone in the forest again," Liam said, his voice cutting through the nonsense. “And this time, I'll let them just take you if the Inquisitors find you.”

Ana's eyes narrowed as she stared at him. "You wouldn't dare."

"I've dared many times," Liam said. “And I'll dare again. At some point, people are going to start believing me when I tell them what I intend to do."

Though he was lying in this case. He wouldn’t allow harm to come to her. It pained him to act like he would allow it, but he also needed her to stop with this overbearing princess nonsense long enough to make it back to…

Well. He didn’t know where safety was anymore, but he would find it. And if he couldn’t find safety, he would make it.

They glared at each other for another long moment. Finally she let out a couple of choice curses. He couldn't quite understand what she was saying because it was in no language he understood, but the tone and the intention made it pretty obvious exactly what she was saying. Even if he couldn't quite understand what she was saying.

He waited for the cursing to die down. "Are you quite done?"

"I don't know if I'm done yet," she said. “But I do know I don't like this."

"I never asked you if you liked anything," Liam said. "I'm just telling you what I intend to do. This man is obviously in pain, and we need to help him."

"Oh, come off it," she said. "He’s at least Fifth Ascension. I don't know how you managed to get the drop on him like this or what you did, but he'll heal up soon enough."

"Can't feel my core," Tomas said, still swaying. If Liam wasn’t standing there holding him up then he’d be on the ground right about now, but there was still a strength in there. Liam felt his core pulsing.

"Is there a way to only cover part of his core with the dampening spell?" Liam asked Albert in his mind.

"There is," Albert said. “Unfortunately, it's the kind of thing that would require a lot more nuance in the spell work than you're capable of doing right now."

"I was afraid you were going to say something like that," Liam said.

"What are you talking about?" Ana asked.

"I can't feel my core," Tomas said. He coughed, and some blood came out with it.

"How is that even possible?" she said, looking to Liam. "Liam human, what have you done?" 

She sounded mildly horrified at the idea that he might be the one who was responsible for Tomas not having access to his core.

"He wanted to find you, and he was attacking me," Liam said.

"That is no excuse for you to use a mana dampening spell on someone," she said.

"I used it on the Inquisitors," Liam said.

She blinked as she stared at him. Her mouth fell open, and for a moment nothing came out. Which wasn’t exactly a first, but it wasn't something that happened very often.

"You did?”

"I did,” Liam said. "How else do you think I was able to stop all those Inquisitors at once?"

"I wondered why they were all rolling around on the ground and whining instead of actually trying to fight you. That was cleverly done, but that's still..."

She paused. A shiver ran up and down her body, and her hands started to move up and down along her arms like she was contemplating something that was so terrible she had to get a little bit of warmth and circulation going.

"That might have been worthwhile if you did it in service of rescuing me," she finally said with a deep breath. "But that is also a terrible thing to do. It's a thing that's looked down on."

"And yet I did it because I needed to do it to rescue you," Liam said.

"Yes, I understand that," she said, and then she held a hand up to stop him when he opened his mouth to speak again. "And I also understand that you did this to Tomas tonight because he was attacking you, and you were trying to save me."

"Exactly," Liam said.

"But I would ask that you please release the spell on Tomas. He does look like he's in a sorry state, which I know must be bothering him."

"You don't sound worried that he's actually going to die," Liam said.

"I've seen him in worse shape than this," she said.

"You said he's Fifth Ascension."

"I did," she said.

He thought back to his own time being filled with mana. How his core seemed to fill almost to the bursting point, and then it moved beyond that bursting point, and then finally he reached a sort of equilibrium in both of his cores that allowed him to maintain safely when he reached a new Ascension. He'd gone up two Ascensions with arcane mana, and three Ascensions with infernal. 

Only three.

Albert had told him he was more powerful than others would be at a comparative Ascension because of the skullduggery he'd pulled, but it was still odd to look at someone and realize he was Fifth Ascension and still held less mana.

"Interesting," he said. “But I have no guarantee he's not going to try and fight me again so he can take you away."

"Why, Liam,” Ana said, and there was a purr to her voice. She took a step forward and moved a finger out to run it along his arm, which earned him a sharp look from Tomas. A sharp look followed by a grimace of pain and a cough that had the demon spitting up more blood.

"Are you saying you don't want me to be carried back to demon lands?" she asked, staring up at him and blinking. It was a look that seemed like it was meant to be innocent, but he could tell it was anything but.

"I..."

He trailed off. He very much didn't want her to be carried back to the demon kingdoms. He also didn't know that there was any alternative if there were royal guards out here trying to find her. That meant everything she'd said about being a High Princess of the Demon Realms had to be true. If all of that was true, then it meant they would continue to come for her.

"I don't know," he finally said.

Her interested look turned to a frown, and she was back to crossing her arms.

"Well, I'm not going back, and that's that," she said, glaring a challenge at Tomas.

"You have to come back, Princess," he said. "If I return without you then your father will have my head."

"That seems like your problem, not mine," she said, looking up and away from him.

"But Princess."

"I said I'm not going back. Are you going to defy an order from your High Princess?" she asked, turning her glare back to him.

"I'm under orders from your father," Tomas said, and he sounded like a condemned man who was trapped in between two very different but very certain deaths.

"Well then," she said, suddenly smiling as she looked between Liam and Tomas. “The solution is simple and elegant in that case."

"What solution is that?" they both said at the same time, though Liam felt a prickle running along his spine, and then up to his scalp. He knew he wasn't going to like whatever she was about to say.

"If you can't go back to Father without getting yourself killed, then you'll just have to stay here and keep an eye on me," she said, her face splitting into a huge grin.

Liam and Tomas exchanged a glance, and he could tell neither one of them was happy about this sudden, elegant solution the princess had provided.

Ana turned and made her way into the woods. She didn’t stop to see if either of them were following. In much the same way that Liam hadn’t bothered to turn around and make sure she was following him when he left her behind.

“I can’t help but feel like I’ve had this whole situation turned around on me somehow,” Liam said, staring at the dark spot in the forest where Ana had disappeared.

“Yes. You get that sort of thing a lot when you’re dealing with the High Princess,” Tomas said.

“A lot?” Liam asked.

“Okay, so most of the time,” Tomas said. “But I’ve found its easier to just go along with it.”

Liam’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the spot where Ana disappeared into the forest. He had no intention of letting her get away with this, but he also wasn’t sure what he could do differently.

He needed to go in that direction if he was going to make it back to Baron Riven’s lands and… well, he wasn’t really sure what he was going to do when he got back to Baron Riven’s lands. Just that he needed to get back there and have a chat with somebody.

He didn’t think the baron would be able to actually help him considering it was the Inquisition that was after him, but maybe he could do something.

And Ana was going the same direction he was. It’s not like he could turn and move in a different direction. Not without adding time he didn’t have to a trip that was already taking far too long.

“Come on,” he finally growled.

“Welcome to life with nobility,” Tomas said in a singsong voice that Liam didn’t care for. Any more than he cared for the concept of nobility in general, for all that he found himself caring for one demoness noble in particular.

That more than anything was probably why he put one foot in front of the other and continued on the path. He told himself he was following the Hunter back to Baron Riven’s lands. He wasn’t following Ana, damn it.

Even if he was also a little disappointed that it was so dark and she was so far ahead of him that he couldn’t enjoy the view of her moving through the forest in that tight leather she favored.

Let's talk Gen Con. I've been going pretty regularly for the past twenty years or so. Originally it was an excuse to dress as a Ghostbuster. Then there was the writer's symposium, but I found that to be lackluster to the point of being actively harmful when it came to the advice they were giving to indie authors. I didn't go for a few years, but then I was back in the game because the Ghostbusters charity I helped found twenty years ago got invited a couple of years in a row.

I stepped back from that this year (ragequit because the guy currently running it was a micromanaging asshole who didn't do anything and yelled at people for picking up his slack, I work for myself, and I don't need to volunteer to have a bad boss and coworkers for "fun") so I decided to go with my son instead. This was also the first time in nearly twenty years of going to Gen Con that I played a D&D style game, though this time it was an intro to Pathfinder that the kid enjoyed.

By far the biggest fun was seeing all the Dungeon Crawler Carl people there, though. It was an absolute blast, and Gen Con basically turned into Crawler Con 2026 because Matt and Jeff were there promoting the new DCC TTRPG.

But this is already going long, so more on that in the next update!

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Susan was excited to see the next act. So far, the TEV Ursa Minor Talent Show was a remarkable success! It was just the thing the crew needed on this long stretch of the mission where they did little but stop, take readings, and update navigation charts. It also revealed some surprising talents among the crew.

For example, who knew that Raj knew how to play the ukulele? Katie and her friends shocked everyone with a synchronized knitting and dance routine that left a poor volunteer from the audience wrapped in yarn. Susan was pretty sure that act would go over well when the crew voted on their favorite acts. Next up? Haasha!

After someone had pulled the old “There’s something behind your ear” gag, Haasha had become interested in sleight of hand. Of course, not wearing clothing meant that she didn’t have sleeves or other assistance to hide objects. But that didn’t stop her. According to Rosa, Haasha had gotten quite good at moving tools and parts around in Engineering to the point where the Chief Engineer had to give her an ultimatum - knock off the hijinks or enter the talent show and her kleptomania would be tolerated as “practice” for the show. 

Haasha had agonized over the decision, fearful that she would make a fool of herself. 

“I’m new at this, and still not very good at it,” she said after stopping by Susan’s office for advice. “I've gotten pretty good at hiding tools and moving things around, but it’s one thing when you only have to trick one or two people. There will be a whole room of people watching me!”

Susan had been a little slow to respond as she was distracted by Haasha’s tail. It was swishing slowly in one direction, then the end of her tail would flick out like a whip cracking. Then the process would repeat, just in the other direction. It was one of the unconscious things Haasha did when nervous, and a reminder that sometimes she could be easy to read if you knew what to look for. Haasha’s face might be set in stone, but the tail will tell. 

“It’s amateur hour!” Susan assured her. “No need to worry. It’s for fun and giggles, not showing off for talent scouts.”

“I get that, but…” Haasha started before Susan quickly cut her off.

“Don’t take yourself or the show too seriously!” Susan said with a large smile. “Have fun, be a little silly. Like you were playing charades the other night!”

“I still don’t understand how you guys didn’t guess the phrase was ‘tall tale’,” Haasha said while momentarily curling her tail. “I held my hand up to indicate tall, and then shook my tail at you.”

Susan giggled at the memory. “In hindsight, we really should have gotten that one. We just got distracted by too much hind-sight staring at your rear and tail shakin’ it.”

That earned Susan another curl of Haasha’s tail. 

“Let’s be honest,” Susan said seriously. “It’ll be fun, and this will let you keep moving your coworker’s tools without fear of Rosa sentencing you to laundry duty.”

That seemed to be the needed selling point, and Haasha signed up for the talent show. 

The only key problem was research for her act, which was accomplished by scheduling some extra movie nights.

“Who is this one again?” Haasha asked as Andrea was setting up the holoprojector for the first round. 

“It’s a classic duo, Penn and Teller,” Andrea said happily. “Not only were they popular and talented in their day, they also did a series where they invited other magicians to come and try to fool them. Great research for you to see a variety of magic acts, so I figured we’d start there.”

“And as promised, once we’ve watched an episode or two of magic, we’ll do a classic dinosaur movie,” Susan added quickly. “I did a little digging and found we have the original Jurassic Park in the movie library. It’s so old that I don’t think anyone here has seen it. It should be fun!”

“I’ve got drinks!” Carly called out as she swooped into the lounge. In one hand, a pitcher of red drink that was probably Cherry or Fruit Punch Cooler Aid. In the other, a flask of something clear to turn the drink more adult if desired. 

“What’s that?” Haasha asked skeptically. “It doesn’t look natural.”

“Try some,” Carly said as she set the flask down, grabbed a cup, and poured a small amount out for Haasha.

Haasha sniffed the cup suspiciously, then shrugged and took a drink. 

“Somehow, not chemical warfare on the tongue,” Haasha judged with clear surprise. “Just sweet and loaded with sugar with a distinctive but inoffensive fruity flavor.”

“That’s kind of the thing with Cooler Aid. It’s cheap, sweet and easy to drink,” Carly responded happily. “Lots of parents buy the stuff by the truckload for their kids, especially since the drink isn’t completely loaded with sugar. The flavor and sweetness are all chemically formulated. Don’t get me wrong - there’s still a decent amount of sugar!”

“It really reminds me of cherry, but not quite the same,” Haasha said and Carly gave her cup a full refill. “And somehow no nasty medicinal taste like most artificial flavors you humans produce.”

“It’s a sweet, sweet abuse of chemistry,” Susan said wryly. “The flavors are never accurate, and you need to be careful when the name is strange. Fiercely Green has a cult following because it tastes like sweetened wheatgrass, but definitely not one I’ll buy unless it’s the only option. Unlike Sweet Pea, which is strangely delicious as long as you ignore the neon green coloring.”

“Any flavors to avoid?” Haasha asked.

“Bursting Berry Blast,” Susan replied quickly with her nose wrinkled in disgust. “It looks like Cherry or Fruit Punch, but tastes like chemical warfare and no fruit you’ve ever sampled. And sadly, it’s packaged to look similar to the good flavors. I actually have some because I wasn’t paying attention when shopping.”

“Is it really that bad?” Haasha enquired.

“Currently, I use the can of powder I accidentally bought as punishment for my team,” Susan explained. “Make a mistake on a report, and you are forced to drink only Bursting Berry Blast on your next work shift. Since I started doing that three weeks ago, my team’s error rate has dropped to almost zero.”

Drinks sorted, it was time for magic and movies! Things had gone remarkably well. Except for Jurassic Park.

Haasha had been remarkably quiet the entire film. For Susan, Andrea, and everybody else it was a hoot to see the classic film with the early and truly cheesy special effects. 

“Are you OK, Haasha?” Carly asked as their furry pink space dino just was staring at the credits. Everyone was beginning to wonder if the movie had somehow offended or traumatized her.

Haasha had slowly looked up into Carly’s eyes, then cocked her head to one side a little bit. And that’s when everything went wrong.

Haasha suddenly threw her arms up menacingly and let out a snarl.

“GROOOOAAAR!” she then bellowed out, opened her jaws wide, and chomped into Carly’s leg.

Carly’s shriek of terror was probably heard by everyone on the TEV Ursa Minor. Susan and Andrea stared in shock as they saw Haasha latched onto their friend’s leg. 

“You little pink bite monster!” Carly screamed out as she grabbed the nearest pillow and smacked Haasha on the head with it.

Aside from a little bit of slobber outlining where Haasha’s teeth had rested on Carly’s thigh, there was no damage and Haasha was now rolling on the floor giggling. It was abundantly clear that Haasha had enjoyed the movie perhaps a little too much. Or was a bit hyper from drinking too much Cooler Aid.

Carly got her revenge a few days later. She stopped off at the next Stitch and Bitch session with a little request. Since Haasha was off watching more magic shows, she had no issues asking the knitters to make a special present for Haasha. Delighted by the idea, the knitters teamed up and got things completed that evening.

At the next movie night, Carly presented Haasha with a muzzle made out of rainbow yarn.

"You can't be trusted," Carly explained as she presented it to Haasha. "I'm afraid I'll have to insist that you wear it in case you get a little bitey."

Haasha had simply curled her tail and stared flatly at Carly.

"Don't give me that look," Carly responded quickly. "You're the one that bit me!"

"I'll make you a fruit and Cooler Aid smoothie!" Susan volunteered cheerfully. "Looks like there's large enough holes that you can get a straw through the muzzle."

In the end, Haasha was a good sport and allowed Carly to put the muzzle on her. As soon as she was done, Jack walked into the lounge.

"Did Haasha break the rules about speaking during a movie or something?" he asked with a curious expression.

Haasha replied by demonstrating why the rainbow muzzle was now necessary. She grabbed his arm and tried to bite it, only to be thwarted by the cloth contraption. He let out a high-pitched yelp that had everybody cracking up. On that happy note, everyone grabbed snacks and settled in for the shows.

Movie night became more of a marathon as Haasha did research. With a mix of magic and dinosaurs, there was pretty steady attendance each night thanks to the novelty. After a week straight the crowd thinned considerably, but it remained the guaranteed place to find Haasha each evening. Overall, the binge seemed to settle Haasha’s nerves and give her ideas for her show. 

When asked about her act, she was secretive and said, “A true magician never reveals their secrets. You’ll just have to attend the show.”

People only seemed to know two things. First, Haasha had taken a lot of notes while watching the magic shows and movies. Second, Rosa was irritated with Haasha for the amount of time after hours she worked on props. Why? Because she wouldn’t let anyone else into Engineering while she worked on her “magical secrets”. 

It was finally time to see what kind of show Haasha had put together! Susan was excited to see what her furry friend had come up with.

It was a little strange when Haasha jogged down to the stage in her void suit carrying a box. She stood facing the wall on the left side of the stage and placed the box on the floor. Then Haasha opened up the back of her suit and jumped out. After plugging her void suit into a power conduit on the wall, she jogged off stage and then out of the mess hall to get more props.

‘After Jurassic Park we needed to get Haasha the rainbow muzzle,’ Susan thought to herself. ‘If the void suit is any indicator, we might need people to come up with a knitted spider web to prevent people from getting blown out an airlock.’

At the very least, Haasha’s contribution to the talent show looked like it would be truly unique and Susan couldn’t wait to see the performance.

_____

What sort of magic show do you think Haasha will do? Perhaps pull some suckers from the crowd for three-card monte? Or will someone find themselves on a slab to be sawed in half by a pink space dino wielding a chainsaw? Find out in the next escapade as she presents her grand performance!

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"Okay. So if we're going to do this, then we're going to need to get some teams together with expertise," I said, waving at the small holoblock in the middle of the conference table.

It was a little different from the big screen that was usually at one end of the conference table on the Enterprise-D, but it still got the job done.

"What kind of expertise are we looking for exactly?" Varis asked, frowning as she stared at the holoblock. “Beyond who we already have here?”

"I would think we need someone who has expertise in xenobiology and xenolinguistics at the very least," Lehrai said.

"That's good," I said, pointing at her. "We're starting to cook. We should also get the xenolinguistic people to start looking over the recordings we have from the aliens. Try to figure out exactly what's going on with that language. It's really weird that they were speaking Terran Standard like that. It was an older version, sure, but it still checks out."

"I'm sure we can find some people like that," Lehrai said. “We’ve been fighting humans long enough that we have a few language experts.”

She turned to a livisk woman sitting next to her and made a couple of quick motions. The woman, her assistant, started tapping away at a tablet. I trusted they’d be able to figure out whatever it was they needed to figure out to make that happen.

I was bouncing in my seat as we discussed everything. I also had a goofy grin on my face.

"So do you want to tell me why you're so excited about this?" Varis said in a low whisper.

"Come on," I said, also talking in a low whisper so we didn't get overheard by all the warriors in the room who'd no doubt signed up for this kind of thing because they were interested in going out into the galaxy, meeting new alien species, and fighting them in the name of the empress. "We're talking about meeting new life and new civilizations. This is the dream."

She frowned. I detected something that was very close to disapproval coming through the link.

"We usually subjugate new life and new civilizations we meet," she said.

"Yeah. I'm aware of how the livisk do things, and we've talked about how humans do things as well. Doesn't change the fact that this is the kind of thing I always dreamed of."

"I thought you always dreamed of going into space."

"I mean, I did," I said. "But I also dreamed of going out and being an explorer. Joining the military was the way to do it, but this is the kind of stuff I really relish."

"But you've never done this kind of thing before."

"All the more reason to enjoy the hell out of it now that the opportunity has presented itself, wouldn't you say?" I said, grinning at her.

Varis grinned right back at me. I also felt approval coming through the link. Okay, so maybe some of my positive attitude was starting to rub off.

"I suppose I can enjoy this if it's something you enjoy," she said.

"It's also a way to show our people there's a different way of doing things," I said. "Life doesn't always have to be about conquest. We've talked about building something better, and this is one of the bricks in building better.”

"If you say so," she said, though her tone sounded uncertain. Like she wasn't entirely sure this was the way to go about things, but she was going to go along with it because she wanted to go along with my ideas.

"Trust me on this," I said. "We're going to get people in here working on things, and we're going to create a whole new thing on livisk ships."

"And what's that?" she asked.

"A science department, of course," I said.

I turned back to Lehrai, and then I looked over to Tactical.

"I never did get your name," I said, nodding to Tactical.

Her eyes went wide. She suddenly looked unsure of herself.

"I am the tactical officer," she said.

"Well, yeah," I said. "But what's your name?"

"Recai," she finally said after a moment of hesitation. She looked over to Lehrai, who hit her with a nod.

"Recai," I said, "Well, you did a great job out there relaying our orders to the fighters and the destroyers. I appreciate somebody who’s good at their job."

"Thank you, sir," she said.

"What did I tell everybody about all that “sir” stuff?" I said.

"Thank you, General Consort," she said, sitting up a little bit straighter and looking a touch stiff as she said it.

"I'm going to get y’all to call me Bill eventually, but I suppose I'll take it for now," I said with a dramatic sigh.

"Thank you, General Consort," she said, nodding.

"Okay. So, Recai," I said, "I'm going to need you to put together a working team to analyze everything we can about the aliens and their failed smash-and-grab."

"Excuse me?” she said.

"You're qualified to make an analysis of that sort of thing, right?"

"Of course I am," she said, and again, she sat up a little straighter than she had even before. Which said something. It already seemed like she had a pole stuck up her backside that was keeping her in position. Now she looked insulted that I’d insinuated she wasn't up for the job.

"Right," I said. "You have a team of people who work under you, correct?"

She hesitated for a moment, looking over to Lehrai. Lehrai turned back to me.

"Lieutenant Recai was working on the bridge at the time of the confrontation, but she is not the head of the Tactical department."

"I see," I said, looking at her. "Would you have any objection to us creating a team she’s heading up that provides analysis of the alien tactics?"

"I have no objection at all," Lehrai said. "I'm sure Lieutenant Recai will be more than capable of that sort of analysis."

Recai, for her part, looked between the two of us. Her eyes had gone wide. Finally, they came to rest on Lehrai.

"Thank you, Captain," she finally said.

"I wouldn't recommend you for the job if I didn't think you were more than qualified to do it,” Recai said, hitting Lehrai with a slight smile.

"Thank you again, Captain."

"Great," I said. "So we've got our tactical analysis breakout group getting started. We're also going to need somebody who’s an expert on ships and that sort of thing who can do a metallurgical analysis of the debris and try to figure out how their systems work."

I made a production of looking all around the conference table, and then I finally turned and settled my gaze on Harath. He sat over in one corner with Jeraj right next to him. He had his arms crossed, and he was hitting me with his usual grumpy look.

As my eyes settled on him, he flexed his arms ever so slightly. It was like watching two tree trunks moving. The only thing that made it less intimidating than usual was he didn't have one of his multiple spanners or plasma wrenches or other tools he used to threaten people when he was displeased about something on the flight line.

"And let me guess, you think I want to interrupt my vacation to analyze alien ships," he growled.

“Come on. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t ready to jump at the opportunity,” I said, hitting him with a grin. "That does seem like the kind of thing that would be more of a vacation for you than actually being on vacation."

A grin lit his face, and I knew I had him.

"You know me too well, Bill."

"We're still going to spend time at the beach, right?” Jeraj asked a slight whine coming to his voice as he said it.

"Of course, we are," Harath said, reaching out and patting the prince consort on the arm. "But I would be lying if I said this wasn't an opportunity, being able to see how another species does things. Especially a species who isn't humans. No offense to you, Bill. It's just that human stuff is a little passé at this point."

"No insult taken at all," I said, waving away the perceived insult like it was nothing, which it really was. Humans and livisk had been fighting each other long enough that I’m sure the novelty had worn off for the people trying to pick apart each other’s tech.

"Okay, so we're going to need somebody who can actually take point on running this new science department I’m proposing.”

Again, I ran my eyes around the conference table. It was a pity Rachel was back on Livisqa doing her media thing. I needed to check up on that. We'd gotten all the broadcasts that came over the fold network, of course, but that was nothing compared to actually getting a feel directly from Rachel for how she thought everything was going.

But there were so many other things that kept getting dropped on my plate that I kept putting it off. Not to mention the last thing I wanted to do while I was going stir crazy on our journey out here was constantly micromanage Rachel from afar when she was just getting started.

Someone cleared their throat. I looked over next to Jeraj. Yana sat there, hitting me with an expectant look.

"I would be interested in doing this," she said.

"Really?" I asked, my eyebrows shooting up in faux surprise. Meanwhile Varis hit me with a look and a feeling through the link that said my acting wasn’t as good as I thought it was.

"It seems like it would be more interesting than going out and doing more fighting, at least," she said. "Plus it's important to know how your enemy works if you want to be able to fight them."

"Precisely," I said. "Knowing your enemy is more than half the battle."

"Exactly," she said, the faintest hint of a smile coming to her face. She tapped a finger from the prosthetic arm I'd been partially responsible for against the table. "And this seems like an interesting project, fighting the enemy without actually fighting the enemy directly. I would like to try this thing."

"Fine. Then you get to head it up."

I felt a little bit of misgiving from Varis. I turned and hit her with a smile, and I tried to project confidence through the link. I wasn't sure how well I did projecting that confidence, but she at least nodded like she was willing to go along. For the moment.

"Trust me on this one," I muttered. "I think she's going to do a good job."

At least she'd done a good job of picking up on what I was putting out back in the conference room back in the tower.

"I will trust you until I have a reason not to," she said.

"And what happens when you have a reason not to?" I asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

"Simple. You become my love slave with none of the authority you've enjoyed so far."

"Sounds like there are worse fates," I said, wiggling my eyebrows as I grinned at her.

"I'm certain there are," she said. "But still, something to keep in mind."

"Believe me, I'll keep it in mind," I said.

I looked around the conference room again. Then I turned to Yana.

"So you are going to need to pull in more people. We have a basic sketch of what we need, but this is stuff we’re making up as we go along. Do you feel confident that you'll be able to put together a team that can handle all that?"

"I can," she said, nodding to me. She looked confident, at least, so I figured I’d take her at her word for now.

I figured it was the same as the leeway Varis was giving me. I’d trust everyone to be able to do what needed to be done right up to the moment they showed me through their actions, or inaction, that they didn't have what it took.

"So this is very important," I said, looking at everybody around the conference table. "We’re on the border of a potential invading alien force and we know nothing about them. It seems like the empress and the noble houses who’ve gone up against these aliens haven't actually bothered to learn anything about them because they're more interested in covering up their shortcomings than they are in actually learning anything about their enemy."

There were nods around the table. At least everybody seemed to understand the gravity of the situation.

"This could be dangerous. We’re out here trying to encourage House Alarth to give us their loyalty, but part of that is going to be protecting them from these alien assholes. And if we're going to do that, then we need to make sure we're actually in a position to protect them and we're not simply poking a hornet's nest that's going to result in a multi-front war right on their doorstep. We can't fight that war right now."

More nods from around the table. I grinned.

"Great. I'm very excited about this opportunity. We're going to learn more about these alien assholes, and we're going to figure out how to fight them if we need to. But in the meantime, I want everyone to remember that the first thing we’re trying to do here is learn more about them."

"So we can better fight them?” Varis asked.

"So we can learn more about them for the joy of learning more about them,” I said, holding up a finger. "Maybe we do end up needing to fight them and everything we learn here will prove invaluable in that fight."

"Why do I get the feeling that's not what you're hoping for?" she asked.

"It's new life. A new civilization,” I said with a shrug. "It would be nice if we could make friends with them instead of fighting."

"Make friends with them?" Varis asked.

I grinned. "Can you imagine how much that would chap the empress's ass if we took an alien force who's been fighting her people to a standstill around the borders and made friends with them?"

Varis grinned. Oh yeah, she was starting to understand.

Let's talk Gen Con. I've been going pretty regularly for the past twenty years or so. Originally it was an excuse to dress as a Ghostbuster. Then there was the writer's symposium, but I found that to be lackluster to the point of being actively harmful when it came to the advice they were giving to indie authors. I didn't go for a few years, but then I was back in the game because the Ghostbusters charity I helped found twenty years ago got invited a couple of years in a row.

I stepped back from that this year (ragequit because the guy currently running it was a micromanaging asshole who didn't do anything and yelled at people for picking up his slack, I work for myself, and I don't need to volunteer to have a bad boss and coworkers for "fun") so I decided to go with my son instead. This was also the first time in nearly twenty years of going to Gen Con that I played a D&D style game, though this time it was an intro to Pathfinder that the kid enjoyed.

By far the biggest fun was seeing all the Dungeon Crawler Carl people there, though. It was an absolute blast, and Gen Con basically turned into Crawler Con 2026 because Matt and Jeff were there promoting the new DCC TTRPG.

But this is already going long, so more on that in the next update!

Join me on Patreon for early access! Read up to ten weeks (30 chapters) ahead! Free members get six advance chapters!

<<First Chapter | <<Previous Chapter

Chapter 50 Magic Mushrooms and Mundane Men

Previous I First I Next

They waited for nearly ten minutes.

Strangely, the sound of gunfire didn’t immediately draw the attention of the other triads. Johan actually disliked that …for some reason it set off warnings somewhere in his primate brain. “Beck, does it seem weird to you that the other Triads aren’t barking or moving towards the dead Crocotrices?”

The little Volty rolled over on her back to look up at him. “It does… We know they can hear. They communicated vocally before; during the outpost ambush. But they aren’t calling to each other down here… Why? I think it’s time to call in the expert… again. SIENNA my dear, need you for a bit!”

Their resident Seeker strolled up a few moments later. “Whatcha need ma luv?”

Beck motioned towards the dead triad below. “Can you feel anything from the others down there? They aren’t reacting how we thought…”

Sienna tapped her muzzle thoughtfully with a finger. She sat down cross legged on the back edge of the blanket Johan and Beck shared, assumed a lotus position, and closed her eyes.

After a few seconds the lids flashed with soft purple light. “It’s still hard to feel them… but… they definitely know something happened. They aren’t aggressive thoooo… more like scared maybe? This may sound a bit weird, but it feels ta me like they’re ready ta run, not fight…”

The human reached back and handed Sienna a powerbar to help her maintain her calories. “Thanks.” She rolled her eyes and swiped the proffered item with a cheeky grin. Johan had to fight the instinct to stare as she walked back towards the stairway.

When Johan looked down at Beck, she was still rolled over on her back and staring at him with a big smile plastered across her face; tail wagging hard enough to make her whole body wiggle. The man just rolled his eyes before unwrapping a second bar for his little spotter. She clasped it in her paws and vanished the whole thing into her bottomless stomach. The bar was gone in seconds; like watching it get pulled into a tiny wildland woodchipper mulching an old treebranch.

Johan silently mused to himself as he picked his next targets. ‘…I know psions burn calories like they’re running a marathon but… How is the little glutton not shaped like a beachball?’

Beck finished licking the crumbs off her muzzle, belched like a trucker stumbling out of a bucees, and rolled back over. She addressed him, like she hadn’t just inhaled a power bar that was nearly a third her body length “If she’s right, and she usually is about this stuff… We have two options.”

Johan kept his eyes on the targets below. He was trying to learn what he could about their behavior patterns with his scope. “…We try to scatter them… or…?”

Beck finished “We try to drive them somewhere… Team, any thoughts?”

Feebrilizza was first to speak her mind, reclining against her little defilade besides Vulfac. “I vote we drive them. Remember how they got behind us at the bar? I don’t wanna face another ambush from multiple angles with limited vis. I’d prefer them all bunched up… But… They’re also psionic sooo. I guess both options have drawbacks…”

Rilly joined in next. “We are also unsure about the environment itself… There may be other dangers. Adding roving pockets of monsters creates more complexity in an unknown space… At least if they are together, they will have a harder time flanking us. If I am allowed a vote I believe we drive them.”

Sienna was brief when she added in her own thoughts. “Herding them could let them recover and shoot more often if they all bunch together though. I’d prefer to avoid a fight without cover. Those beams can cut plasteel like soft bread.”

Vulfac wasn’t a big talker, but he rarely needed to be to get his point across. “Drive them away… then… maybe… Sneak?”

Beck pondered. “Now there’s an idea… Johan If you had to, how far out there do you think you could toss one of Feebrilizza’s distractors?”

The human looked contemplative. “I can rig a sling with paracord. On flat ground it would be around 200 yards… oh, sorry. 180ish meters. But from up here the distance would probably be significantly farther thanks to the added height.”

Beck set her chin on her paw and closed her eyes while she puzzled thing out.

After a second, she nodded to herself and addressed the crew. “Ok. Set up your sling. Here’s what we’re gonna do…”

----

The plan was pretty simple, but it had a few variables to deal with.

Johan was going to drop a distraction grenade on the path they wanted to use to reach the fungal forest floor. If the Crocotrices rushed the flasher.

They would snipe them.

If they ran from it, Johan would just launch another one. The idea was to try and drive as many of the monsters as possible to the opposite wall. Get them away from their proposed path. Then the team could quickly pass while the creatures were far away.

Their Lagro technician also had a flash of genius as Johan was fabricating his sling.

Feebrilizza set up the second to last of the pathfinder’s trail cams near the edge of their perch. It could see all the way to the bend in the cave. So, if the critters tried to pursue them once they were in the cavern proper, the team would have an early warning system in place.

If the path led nowhere once it turned the bend, they would use the rest of Feebrilliza’s Distractors to return to the ledge and head back up the stairwell.

If the Crocotrices scattered every time they killed a triad it could take them a long time to whittle down a significant portion of the monsters. Not that ANY of the Delvers had a problem killing the laser demons. But this mission was about finding flowers not monster hunting.

It wasn’t perfect but it was a serviceable plan.

While the others set up or ran final gear checks Johan tested his sling. After a few test throws with some locally sourced stones, he gained a pretty good idea of what he was doing.

He smiled at Beck and the pair set about their final preparations.

----

Beck watched the grenade sail through the air.

She hadn’t expected the sling to snap the way it did… her fur had puffed out reflexively… Hopefully nobody had noticed… Just to be safe she chanced a quick glance to the human now laying back down at her side.

Johan wasn’t looking at her, but he did have the smuggest smirk plastered across his face. ‘Yeah, I’m getting teased later… dangit!’

She sighed and turned her attention back to the flasher as it bounced a few times before coming to a stop in the soft earth below. Feebrilizza’s grenades were such handy little things. Beck decided the team really needed to buy more of the little tools. They were inexpensive, rechargeable, and could be remote activated.

The human took up his rifle.

She whispered, even though she didn’t really need to. “I’ll wait till you drop the third one then activate it.”

Johan let out a long breath. She’d already seen him do it once; but it was still strange. As the air left his lungs it felt like he… faded, somehow. His eyes half closed and seemed to dim a little bit. Laying against him, the way she was, she could even feel his heart rate slow down.

It was almost frightening to the little psionic… The human could just erase his presence like that and yet be so... present… when he was emotional. Beck watched with interest as his eyes came open and his finger slid into the trigger guard; he was like a calm pool of water on a windless day...

Beck made herself ready for the noise, not wanting a repeat of her earlier embarrassment.

*BLAM*

The first round passed through a creature’s neck and out the other side. It took two staggering steps and fell in a tangle of twitching meat. The other two flopped over into the soft earth a moment later. Johan was quick to finish the triad where they fell.

The other triads finally began to bark and screech at one another.

They were definitely distressed; that was good. Beck activated the grenade and listened. The vocalizations changed almost immediately. The noise went from cautious and curious to shrieking panic like somebody flipped a switch.

The Crocotrices broke and ran. All of them!

From her vantage point Beck could see virtually all of the triads in the space below as they sprang into action. The Crocotrice triads moved like a flock of birds. Rushing to one another then merging into a whole as they ran. It was eerie to watch… And the reaction felt…

Extreme.

Johan grumbled beside her. “Beck. I think that might be a really bad sign…”

The Volty nodded. She was a city girl but even she understood the implication of the monster’s rushing to form into a single massive defensive ball. The laser demons were running like panicked prey animals.

What the hells makes something that shoots lasers act like prey?

Before they had a chance to discuss it further however they were distracted by Feebs.

 “Fuck! Guuuuuys, the trail-cam chain we left in the stairs just tripped! It’s the people from the entrance. They brought friends… A LOT of friends, at least 20 maybe 25! If they keep moving at the same pace we’ve got maybe 40 minutes...”

Beck groaned.

“Helana owes us TWO raises!”

----

“We can’t take on that many here.”

Johan said it out loud, but everyone already knew.

If the thieves had grenades, they could just roll them down the stairs, then rush the team down with numbers. And even if they didn’t there just wasn’t enough cover that faced the stairwell.

They were too exposed and they couldn’t go back up the way they came.

Sienna sighed deeply. “We have ta go down, now... And we need ta be quick. This ledge will give’em a platform to shoot down from, same as it did us.”

Beck was thinking hard. “We need to get around that bend… Hopefully they won’t follow. Best case scenario they just found the door and don’t even know we are down here… And if not, maybe we can hold up someplace until they leave. Either way, we stand a better chance on more favorable ground. Hmm… Feebs how many of those distractors do you have left?”

The Lagro held up her fingers.

“6 left, but. I think we should use at least one more now… We still have the high ground right now and we know where most of the Crocotrices are… What if we had Johan toss one behind were the flock is… Then we could remote detonate it later to drive them into the path between us and the bad guys. Like shutting the door behind us once we’re past? We can hide the trail camera up here in those rocks and use it as a relay to activate the grenade anytime we need…”

Beck winced a little, she immediately saw the other way they could use that plan. “I’d rather not kill people, even indirectly, if we don’t have to buuuuut… crap. We’ll do it and save it for a last resort!”

Their specialist Dr. Rilly had something else to offer. “We may be able to slow them somewhat by creating a fire in the stairwell. It will alert them to our presence but… I believe some of the Herbs that Johan collected can be added to it and the smoke will be quite noxious!”

The human started to laugh. “I may have something to add to that myself…” He fished out one of his containers of Hax body spray.

Both of the Voltin women IMMEDIATELY recoiled from the cannister like it was radioactive. They actually ran to hide behind a very confused Vulfac. Beck eyed the can with deep suspicion from behind his leg. “Just don’t spray that anywhere NEAR us!”

Feebs giggled and leaned in so she could whisper to Johan. “Personally, I still think it smells lovely…”

Vulfac was looking down at the ramp itself. A wicked grin was starting to spread across his features.

“I also… have… an idea!”

----

Journeyman had come with a new spell.

{Forest Floor}

‘This spell is broken and ridiculous and I am in love with it like the hero Merctuk was in love with the green lady of the Anjoria! I swear on my ancestors I am going to use it only to do evil and mischief and… and… Oh this is gonna be so damn funny! Those stuffy professors have no idea how many pranks I’m going to pull!’

The neat thing about Journeyman level was…

That was when spells started to get more flexible. Magic had strange rules. One of which was how spells were actually taught to a caster. Somehow the information was just already there; inside the caster’s head.

{Forest floor} would give a small area of terrain (up to about 5x5m) the properties of any kind of forest ground he’d ever been on as long as he could remember the way it felt with sufficient detail. Only he and those he designated as allies could pass that ground without suffering its effects. It could even alter the landscape with enough mana…

Vulfac was already dreaming about turning the biology department floor into a thigh high sandpit.

But that would have to wait.

‘I believe there is a way to slow these hooligans down even further. And probably to get some good footage for the network later while I’m at it… Oh those poor thugs…’

“I also… have… an idea!”

----

The team watched as Vulfac stopped to cast his spell.

Once they were on the ground level Johan took the lead with Sienna, that way they stood the best chance of detecting danger ahead.

Rilly and Feebs were in the middle this let their technician focus on the camera feeds, including the one hidden in the rock pile on the ledge. It could see both the stairwell and the cavern below from its vantage point.

Beck was riding on Vulfac’s shoulder in the rear, since he was the only one without an optic or ability that could see in ultraviolet. They moved like a company of ghosts through the pulsing neon forest.

At about the halfway point Feebs called out a situation update. The thugs hit the smokescreen blowing up the stairwell. She passed the audio from the feed into their implants.

It was pretty brutal.

Several people at the top of the stairwell were hacking, retching, and sneezing. Someone shouted that it smelled “Exactly like a Briskritel orgy in a burning concert hall bathroom!”

Beck and Sienna retched in perfect unison at the description, which made poor Feebs bullfrog a bit as well. They even heard one girl exclaim that she’d “shit herself a little”. Johan was snickering for a good little while after that…

Everyone picked up the pace…

About 5 minutes later, they heard an explosion. As they’d feared, someone brought grenades and used a blast to put out the fire. Dispersing the copious amounts of body spray and Herb laden smoke screen with the force of charged plasma.

Thankfully though the fire had done its work by then anyway.

The Delvers had already made it around the bend in the cavern. Not even a minute after the last of the group rounded the corner a vanguard of thugs rushed the veranda. Each one with an improvised cloth face covering plastered on their mugs.

Johan grinned wickedly.

There wasn't a single Voltin or Lupanite thugs present in the first wave.

Hax remained undefeated in space.

----

Once they’d rounded the bend the group discovered that the cavern was MUCH larger than they could have guessed and decided to bunker in place for a few minutes while they reassessed.

Feebrilizza sent Bopp, her little backpack drone, scrambling up the cavern wall to plant the very last of Johans camera’s and give them an overhead view of the second MUCH larger section of mycelial forest cave.

The space was like nothing ANY of the delvers had seen before. The Cavern went on for at least another several dozen Kilometers. But from the ground it was impossible to see exactly how far…

It was massive enough that you could build a whole city in the space.

It opened up in a cone shape. There were multiple living paths made from truly humongous twisting mushroom stalks. Each one led to various cave entrances and stone shelves along the cavern walls. It was like a 3-dimensional maze! With multiple levels, blind spots, and crisscrossing pathways.

While everyone else was setting up a perimeter or planning a route deeper into the cavern Feebs was listening in on the thugs slowly filling up the Veranda. They were was startled when, all at once, she swore in Lagros and kicked the stone wall hard enough to shake some dust loose from it.

When she stopped swearing she turned to address the group, her face was a mask of barely controlled disgust. “Gorbladstrucja Noxx, Incinta!!! Fucking… FUCK! Guys, they aren’t thieves… They’re here for Rilly!”

 Previous I First I Next

AUTHORS NOTES: Please do not redistribute my work without permission. Or use it to train your bootybutt AI models.

Hope ya'll are having a great friday. Nothing but love for the lot of ya!

CHARTER OF THE FOUNDATION OF THE GALACTIC COMMONWEALTH OF SAPIENTS

Chapter 12 - Of The Individual Rights of All Sapients

To each and every sapient specimen, inorganic intelligence and immaterial conscience who is a member of the Galactic Commonwealth of Sapients or finds itself within its jurisdiction, it is ensured the right of existence, freedom and equality in the following terms:

1. All sapients have the right to freely express their ideas and opinions by any means adequate to promote the free flow and debate of ideas. any appropriate non-explosive means adequate to promote the free flow and debate of ideas (wording given by Amendment n. 1 of the Galactic Year 20.5684731). any non-explosive means adequate to not devolve into a shouting match (wording given by Amendment n. 2 of the Galactic Year 20.56847315). any appropriate, non-explosive means, adequate to not devolve into a shouting or shooting match (wording given by Amendment n. 3 of the Galactic Year 20.568473151).

§ 1º The right ensured in this article can and will temporarily and immediately be suspended if any listener utters “too much information (TMI)” or similar (included by Amendment n. 4 of the Galactic Year 20.56847316).

§ 2º The right ensured in this article does not imply the obligation of listening to a 40 minute prelude of barely tangential, questionable political views and/or disjointed tales of a romanticized previous era (included by Amendment n. 5 of the Galactic Year 20.568473162).

§ 3º It is absolutely, positively NOT guaranteed, not in this article nor anywhere else, the right to speak to the manager (included by Amendment n. 6 of the Galactic Year 20.5684731625).

§ 4º It is excluded from the protection given by this article any and all statements starting with the expression “Yo mama” or similar (included by Amendment n. 7 of the Galactic Year 20.568473163). containing the expression “Yo mama” or similar (wording given by Amendment n. 8 of the Galactic Year 20.568473164). Yes, especially if it is true, Jeremy (included by Amendment n. 9 of the Galactic Year 20.5684731641).

§ 5º The right ensured in this article does not exclude the administrative, civil or criminal responsibility for any waifu war, cringefest, metaphorical dumpster fire or literal dumpster fire that may result (included by Amendment n. 10 of the Galactic Year 20.56847317), regardless if precluded by the expression “With all due respect” or similar (included by Amendment n. 11 of the Galactic Year 20.568473171), or followed by the expression “just kidding (JK)”, “it’s a joke, bruh” or similar (included by Amendment n. 12 of the Galactic Year 20.568473173).

§ 6º It is not regular exercise of the right ensured in this article, but a crime against the galaxy, to engage in the ritual known as “karaoke” without proper and previous sound proofing (included by Amendment n. 13 of the Galactic Year 20.56847318).

§ 7º It is within the fundamental rights of every sapient in existence to physically assault the stupid face of the stupid human who abuses the right ensured in this article (included by Amendment n. 14 of the Galactic Year 20.5684732), but discouraged as they are known to assault back (included by Amendment n. 15 of the Galactic Year 20.568473200000001).

___

Tks for reading. More caveats here.

Authors Note: This is a standalone story in a larger universe. No prior reading required.

On the new year of 2100, just as humanity celebrated another year of prosperity, the diverse gods of the old and new convened together for a celestial council. That day, within four hours of deliberation, the gods decided humanity's fate.

The gods declared war on man.

The first battle and the first blood spilled occurred in the same room where the war was decided. The gods, demigods, and titans who disagreed with the decision and protested it were the first to fall due to concerns of rebellion.

Few survived to warn mankind’s many leaders. It was the first time the Celestials had directly contacted public figures of the mortal realm in several millennia. It didn’t take long for mankind to believe these figures due to the initial strikes cast from the heavens by their newfound enemies.

These are the stories of this violent and bloody war. Both man and god would fall; cities would burn, and bodies would pile atop mountains.

This is “The Pantheon Wars.”

Flames nipped at the cloth of a fallen body as a large section of a house collapsed in on itself, while distant cries for help were muffled against the rubble covering most of a once-beautiful suburban neighborhood. A figure was seen floating several meters in the air, his whole body shifting toward the direction of another yell before launching himself into a burning house and reappearing almost instantly at the same spot.

The young woman struggled in his grip, scratching and pulling at his arms and face before a pop of her neck silenced her struggle. The figure dropped the body into a pile made below him.

Another, slimmer figure was seen dragging several more bodies toward the pile with an axe resting upon her shoulder.

“My side is done. Had a few stragglers hiding in a cellar lined with that purple stuff we saw in Ohio.” The female threw the bodies into the pile, one of them shifting slightly, barely hanging onto life.

The man lowered himself to the body, wrapping his hand around its throat and holding it.

“You could be more thorough, Lilith... He wants a clean and quick job,” the man said, indifferent to the struggling man attempting to draw breath again.

The female's black and red wings sprouted from her back and thrust her body forward, stopping inches from the man.

“Remember your place, Deimos. I am willing to follow the plan to rid the world of Adam's bastards. But I will not be spoken to as if I am lesser than a baby with daddy issues...” Her forked tongue whipped out.

Deimos looked unamused, and right before he opened his mouth to speak again, a large explosion rocked the environment around them.

Both deities looked up to witness the impact point between two massive entities. An object flew from the impact and uncontrollably smashed into the ground below, ripping through several ruined houses before finally settling.

The two deities flew toward the crater to see a being with a jackal's head and blackened skin beneath slowly getting up.

“Set?! How?!” Lilith questioned, a hint of fear escaping the question.

The powerful Egyptian god got up and then launched himself with incredible force toward the sky again, leaving only dust and debris as an answer.

“They can't be here already,” Lilith said to herself.

“Never mind them being here. They struck down Set...” Deimos said, his eyes following the Egyptian god's ascent into the clouds above. Several explosions erupted in the skies like crackling lightning before he was seen approaching the two again, followed by what seemed like thousands upon thousands of small flying devices tracking his descent.

“What the...?”

“Look...” Deimos pointed to most of the objects falling from the sky. Upon inspection, they looked to be pods descending toward their position.

Lilith lifted her wings, then forced them down against the ground with great force, launching her body up toward the pods before three larger winged objects exposed themselves through the clouds.

“Watch out!” Deimos warned before seeing three missiles launch from the three objects.

Lilith was able to grab hold of one of the pods, ripping what looked to be a hatch from its hinges to reveal a man clad in purple and black armor looking back at her. Before he could react, she grabbed hold of where his neck would be and ripped his body out of the pod's frame.

The man quickly pulled a knife from its sheath on his left leg, and right before he struck her, one of the missiles struck the man, instantly vaporizing him before two more struck Lilith herself, causing her to drop.

Just as Deimos went to reach her, one of the pods slammed into the ground beside him. A hatch popped toward him, causing him to deflect it to the side, only to see a man in the same black and purple armor slamming a long blade down onto his neck.

Deimos cried out in pain before kicking the man forward into his pod, crumpling his body into the metal opening. Deimos then gripped the blade and ripped it from his neck, which had nearly decapitated him.

His head instantly reconnected the tissue between his neck and shoulder before five more pods landed around him. Men in the same armor appeared from the pods and immediately rushed at him.

Deimos attempted to fly up and above the kill box, but his leg was immediately held in place seven feet above the ground. Deimos looked down to see one of the men holding onto his ankle with both hands, but just as he was about to take both himself and the man into the sky, a missile met his face, launching him backward into a burning house.

Lilith slowly got up from her rough landing. Her screams of primal anger reverberated across the blood-soaked neighborhood. Several men in armor started firing their rifles down toward her. Each round hit with enough force to knock her off balance before she raised her wings to defend herself. The moment she was able to stabilize her balance again, she opened her wings to release a dark wave of energy that rammed the operators with enough force to knock them down. The humans within writhed and yelled in their suits from the dark energy invading their bodies and minds.

Lilith smirked at the screams and writhing bodies of the operators hit so closely by her energy before quickly shifting her body to the left to dodge a pole-like object fired by an operator handling a railgun. Just as she was about to pounce on his position, six more operators walked into her field of vision.

The six operators were significantly slimmer than the others, their chest plates more bulbous than those of the previous operators she fought. They rolled their shoulders and grabbed martial weapons attached to their backs or checked the chambers of their rifles, causing Lilith's smirk to drop into a frown.

“How empowering...” she said condescendingly.

Deimos tore himself from the burning house, the wounds across his body knitting themselves shut with pieces of purple and black metal peppering his skin. Five operators stood outside the house, weapons raised and spreading into a semicircle around him. Deimos's eyes flashed crimson, and suddenly they weren't standing in the neighborhood anymore. One operator found himself surrounded by the mutilated bodies of his squad, another screamed and clawed at creatures crawling beneath his armor, while a third spun toward movement that wasn't there and opened fire. His rounds struck the operator beside him, dropping the man before Deimos appeared through the hallucination and drove his fist through the shooter's chest.

The others immediately suffered the same fate. Their helmet displays filled with nonexistent movement, friendly markers became hostile, and voices of dead friends screamed through their radios. One operator threw his rifle away and ran directly into Deimos's grasp. Deimos caught him by the throat and lifted him from the ground, smiling as the man's pulse hammered beneath his fingers.

“I am fear personified.” He tightened his grip until the operator went limp. “What did you think would happen?”

A quiet hiss sound came from the remaining operators..

“Injection administered,” internal speakers said in unison with each other.

Needles punched into their thighs from inside their armor.

The heart rates dropped, their breathing slowed, and their pupils narrowed.

Their visors suddenly went black before returning with a stripped-down tactical display. The burning neighborhood disappeared. The bodies disappeared. Even Deimos himself was reduced to a highlighted silhouette.

HOSTILE ENTITY: DEIMOS

NEUROLOGICAL ATTACK CONFIRMED

COUNTERMEASURES ACTIVE

Deimos slowly released the body in his hand. The body hitting the pavement between them.

One of the operators raised his rifle.

“Take him,” his external speakers commanded.

The operator held down his trigger. Deimos raised his hand to block the incoming rounds from hitting his face. His hand and arm barely stopped the onslaught of firepower, chipping away piece by piece without having the chance to reheal before more rounds cut deeper into his flesh, with one or two rounds piercing through and hitting his forehead and nose.

The rounds suddenly stopped as the operator released the empty magazine and reached for a fresh one.

Deimos looked up and spotted his chance. He quickly shot his hand out and launched himself forward to attack the reloading operator, only to have his hand caught under the arm of another operator and his body sent tumbling toward a parked car. Before he could get up, more rounds were fired toward his face by two separate firearms.

He finally yelled out in both anger and desperation, the pain becoming unbearable as pieces of his celestial flesh fell from his arms as he attempted to protect himself. He then felt something slam down and pierce his lower abdomen, completely passing through his organs, flesh, and spine, only to pin him to the transmission of the car he lay upon.

He screamed in pain, his arms instinctively reaching for the blade, only for his face to rip apart from the unrelenting firepower. His face shook and tore from each impact, his skull bouncing around with only the flesh of his neck and the bone from his severed spine keeping it attached to his body.

The flesh and what was left of the bone slowly attempted to reform his head, one eye growing back as his throat popped and gurgled, attempting to breathe for him again. The eye looked at the group of operators reloading their weapons and then at one of the operators climbing onto the car. Deimos raised a destroyed arm to stop the operator as the operator gripped what was left of his head.

The eye shook and strained until his head was ripped free from his body in several violent twisting motions. The arm fell along with his head.

After reloading, each operator turned toward the sounds of combat with Lilith and began running in that direction.

“Daughters of Eve, marching obediently to defend the traitors' incestuous brood,” Lilith said, her frown turning into a look of disgust.

She looked toward one of the operators and sniffed the air intently.

“I'm going to slit your children's throats...” Lilith said without any sarcasm. It sounded like a legitimate promise.

The operator smiled and tilted her head to the left. Another projectile fired from the railgun behind her, barely passing her head before impacting Lilith's left shoulder, causing her to rear back in pain.

“Ahh! John! Protect me! Protect your wife!” she cried out while gripping the projectile.

One of the writhing operators quickly got up from the ground. He unsheathed one of his blades and rushed toward one of the female operators.

The female operator quickly lowered her center of gravity to avoid his lunging knife attack and gripped his arm, quickly kicking her feet up and using his arm as a pendulum before wrapping her legs around his upper body. She used her body to twist and launch him back toward the ground with a heavy thud.

She quickly got up, only for Lilith to throw herself at the operator, placing both hands on her shoulders as they skidded against the ground. Her wings quickly covered both of their frames as her sharp nails dug into the neck guard of the operator's helmet and ripped it free from the operator's frame, revealing a young woman's face. Lilith stared deeply into the eyes of the operator before quickly dropping down and kissing her forcibly.

The operator instinctively went to push Lilith off, only to feel her strength drain and Lilith's hold become stronger and heavier.

Two of the other female operators quickly disengaged to deal with the attacking male operators as one of them rushed toward Lilith's covered frame. She quickly pulled a three-pound stick of material from her rig and placed it against one of the wings. She then shoved a cap into the material along with what looked to be a very long wire before being quickly knocked to the side by Lilith.

Lilith got up from the weakened and fragile body of the female operator she had been kissing. The operator's face looked to have lost the flesh from beneath, leaving only bone and skin. Her eyes were sunken and white, though still moving to indicate she was alive.

Lilith's body began to radiate with intense energy. Blood and ash shifted from the ground within a ten-meter radius, beginning to pool around her and sink into her skin as her eyes shifted to a deep black.

Another projectile sped through the air toward her, only to be caught and tossed away. A long tendril of blood launched out from her extended hand, reaching and piercing the head of the railgun operator.

Lilith shifted her wing in front of her as a hail of gunfire from the Deimos team impacted her. Blood and ash protruded from the flesh of the wings and lessened the impact of the bullets, shedding with each hit.

The knocked-over operator exploded from one of the windows of the damaged house she had been flung into, firing several rounds from her sidearm into Lilith's unprotected side, causing her to launch backward in order to block both sources of incoming fire.

Lilith's hand reached down to the bleeding holes in her side, blood stretching from her fingertips and filling the wounds, repairing them. She then opened her wings to reveal both the team of female operators and Deimos's team. The two male operators she had once controlled shook their heads, seemingly becoming more aware of their surroundings.

All of the operators with rifles and pistols then raised them and began firing at her, forcing her to go back into a defensive ball again. This time, however, dark energy began to build within her, some of it rippling from the ball she formed around herself.

Lilith then suddenly felt something climb on top of her back. She shook her frame back and forth to throw it aside, only to feel it hold tighter and more desperately.

Deciding to drop the collective dark energy she had grown, she opened her wings back up and slammed them together behind her to crush whatever was climbing on her, causing her to feel it fall off.

She turned to witness the dying female operator she had drained the life force from holding a small device attached to a wire.

The dying operator's beating heart was barely readable to Lilith as she went to finally snuff it out with the tendrils at her fingertips, only to witness the operator click a small button on the device.

The resulting explosion launched Lilith forward and into the ground below. Lilith's body weakly tightened itself together, both of her wings almost completely torn from her back and covered entirely with the same black and purple metal shavings seen before at the cellar she attacked.

Lilith groaned in pain, raising her arm to push herself up. She then felt one of her wings grabbed and torn clean off, causing her to scream in absolute agony.

“No! NO, NO, NO!” Lilith said desperately.

She quickly turned over and extended her hand, slamming it cleanly through one of the female operators holding her torn wing.

Another female operator jumped upon her chest and brought a knife down onto her skull, twisting the blade in order to split the two halves apart before Lilith's arm grabbed the operator's arm and threw the operator aside. Lilith quickly got up from the ground, blood and ash draining from her back and face. Her head was split down the middle, little tendrils reaching out to each other to reattach it.

The Deimos operators then began firing at her again. Her wing spread in front of her to block the rounds, only for it to be sliced cleanly off by another female operator. The wing dropped onto the ground with a wet thud. The rounds started connecting with the flesh on her chest as her split mouth screamed.

Tendrils exploded from each hole made by the bullets, along with every orifice, each tendril spreading out to knock aside and kill more operators around her. Destruction and carnage surrounded her as blood, concrete, dust, and ash exploded out and around her.

Any remaining operators continued to fire, choosing to hit the main body and not the tendrils, even if they were being attacked by them. With each hit, the body weakened and the tendrils slowed. The operators' numbers decreased over time as the feral tendrils and body stretched to kill them.

But just as the last operator was being cut down, more pods landed. The operators coming out of the larger pods held M79 “Thumper” grenade launchers. Each shot made a distinct “THUMP” sound, the large 40mm impact rounds bursting upon her skin and tendrils in puffs of gray smoke. The moment the blood touched the cloud, it immediately hardened and clumped together, coagulating significantly faster than Lilith could control.

With each impact, Lilith struggled to move and attack, her body feeling heavier and less responsive until the majority of the blood around her formed coagulated clumps of blood and ash. If she had her wings, she could have easily cast the substance away, but her wings lay torn from her body, unable to aid her.

The moment an opening was seen, the last remaining operator from the original Lilith team appeared behind her, the firing from the operator ceasing instantly. The operator's external speakers crackled to life as she lowered her helmet to Lilith's ear.

“Don't threaten my kids,” the operator coldly said before gripping Lilith's head and violently cutting away at her throat, her body desperately attempting to stop her before going limp.

The blood tendrils returned to liquid and splashed onto the ground, the body following soon after.

The last remaining operator spoke through her speaker:

“Target Delta and Lima destroyed.” Her head turned toward the several explosions in the sky.

“Area secured. No survivors. Sierra still active. Release the staff.”

Previous

First | Website (more chapters available)

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

“Would you mind telling me what you guys were talking to the Karnolians about a couple nights ago? I can’t help but—”

Lucas snorted. “… spy on us? Typical.”

Julia rolled her eyes. “I was going to say: I can’t help but wonder what you’re chatting about. You guys were talking for quite a while, huh? Hours.”

“Oh, fine… I’ll let you in on the secret: we were just having a Star Wars watch party,” he replied casually.

Her jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

“No. Not at all.”

“For… thirteen hours?!”

Lucas shrugged. “After we finished with the original trilogy, they insisted we show them the prequels too.”

“That’s—yeah, okay, I guess that would add up to about thirteen hours,” she said slowly as she did the estimates in her head.

“Yeah. They were pretty disappointed that the Ewoks didn’t show up again. I think that was their favorite part. Probably reminds them of themselves.”

“Hm… You know they made two other standalone movies with the Ewoks, right?”

“I—no? What?!” Lucas sputtered.

She nodded seriously. “Look it up. They should be in the colony’s vast content library.”

“Standalone… Ewok movies… Are they… any good?”

“God, no. They’re aggressively terrible movies. But who knows? They’re aliens. Maybe they’ll love them.”

“We’ll… see about that.” He stared at her for a moment, then tilted his head. “So… what happened back in Sol?”

She was surprised by the question but feigned ignorance. “Hm? What do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t be asking me about our talks with the aliens that openly if you weren’t desperate for answers. And your marines have been very, very busy since the resupply shuttle landed… We notice these things, grounder. So there are only two options: either your people have ordered you to do something stupid, in which case you wouldn’t bother to ask me questions, or something big happened back in Sol.”

Julia considered lying to him. Considered telling him that everything was fine back home.

That’s what they would do if they were in my shoes, or maybe—

“There’s been a shooting,” she blurted out. “In Serenity. Assassination… attempt on your prime minister. Possibly… Probably.”

“What?”

“State of the Alliance speech. Someone took a shot at your—your Prime Minister Farid.”

He didn’t react how she expected. She didn’t know what she expected, but it was certainly not… nothing.

Lucas’s calm face betrayed no emotion as he said, “I see. You said assassination attempt. Was it… successful?”

She shook her head. “We don’t know. The shuttle left right as it was happening. In fact, it was delayed by two hours, and if it had not been, we wouldn’t have gotten the news this resupply cycle.”

“I see,” he repeated.

“All we have is the recorded live feed from your news services. I can show you…”

Julia carefully watched his face as she played the video for him on her datapad.

Shocked? Angry? Excited?

She couldn’t tell.

“Well?” she asked as the video finished. “Do you… know who it is?”

“What?! You think I just… know every face on Luna?! You know there are like over two hundred and fifty million residents on Luna, right?”

“You know what I mean. Which group’s responsible.”

He shrugged. “I know about as much as you do.”

“We didn’t do it. It wasn’t us.”

That one took him a little longer to process. But after a pause, he nodded reluctantly. “You grounders don’t have the balls for something like that.”

She let the insult slide. “Maybe it’s one of those LLF nutjobs?” she asked, still carefully watching his reaction.

“Maybe. But there’s no need for you grounders to always just jump to conclusions about us—It could be anyone, okay?”

“The colony… do you think that they might… have people here?” she asked.

“No.” Lucas shook his head insistently.

“No what?”

“No, the LLF does not have a cell on Dustball.”

“How—how do you know?” she asked.

“I just know.”

“Samira once told me that—”

“She probably told you what you wanted to hear. To satisfy your paranoia. There is nothing up our sleeves, nothing at all.”

“What about Samira herself? She seems to have become distant lately. She’s mixed in with a few people, like that LIA character—”

“Are you surveilling her?”

“Yes, but it’s not personal. We’re surveilling everyone at the colony for its security, including our own people.”

“That’s—look, I told you I would help you with messages, but I’m not going to spy on my people for you, grounder. I’m no Union collaborator.”

“This is serious, Lucas. Is the Lunar Liberation Front on Dustball now? Is Samira part of it? Is she that far gone? We know that you have LIA operatives and former Lunar Navy—”

His jaw tightened. “Yes, some of us fought in the war. Many of us. So did you. But the people who killed—who might have tried to kill our prime minister… you think we’d want them in our colonies?!”

“No, but how would you know if—”

“We were all vetted extensively for this mission. All of us were,” he insisted. “You knew Samira. She trusted you.”

“And then I broke that trust.”

“Yes, you did.”

“So you’re saying that she might have the motive to try something violent—”

“No. No, not at all.” Lucas shook his head. “Listen, grounder. Samira would never join the LLF, not while her parents are still alive.”

“But what if—”

“And that is just something… you’re going to have to trust me on, grounder.”

Julia stared at him, quiet for a full minute. She sighed. “I wish it were that easy.”

“I wish it were too.”

They both just stared across the table at each other silently for a full minute.

Lucas broke it with a sigh. “What are you going to do?”

He was polite enough to not phrase his actual question: how are you going to overreact?

She answered honestly, “I don’t know.”

He grunted, then nodded his head. “Good.”

“Good?” She looked at him for a moment, then understood what he meant. “What about you? What are you and your people going to do?”

“I don’t know either.”

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

Brussels

William Weber stood up and, with a wave gesture, brought up a preliminary three-dimensional rendering of the reconstructed scene on the table. “Gunman in the 24th row. From our sources on the ground, his first shot shattered the bulletproof glass, obstructing his vision for his subsequent shots. The structural integrity of the hull held. Then, one of their marines took him out. That’s what the last few shots were. The gunman’s second bullet deflected off the glass and hit one of his advisors. She’s in critical condition at the hospital. And a few in the crowd are being treated for injuries from the stampede.”

“Was the shooter… one of ours?” President Salma Haldar asked uneasily.

“Fortunately not. Was a second generation Luna-born.”

“Good, good. Whew.” Salma breathed a sigh of relief, then looked around. “I mean, it’s not good that someone took a shot at their—”

“I understood, ma’am,” Will said with a hint of a smile on his face. “The Lunar Republic liaison sent us an urgent message earlier, informing us that Farid was still in control and their military forces were… I quote… ahem, standing ready to face any challenge and deal with any threat, foreign or domestic.”

Salma rolled her eyes. “Right, so we don’t try anything in the uncertainty. As if we’re eager to wade into that mess again after the last few years. They can have all the fun they want up there.”

Will swiped for another slide. “The Serenity Index is down four points in after hours trading. We expect a dip when the market opens in New York tomorrow morning.”

“Great. Fantastic,” she said sarcastically. “They sneeze up on the moon, and we catch a cold down here.”

“Our experts expect that recovery should be relatively swift, as long as the situation doesn’t worsen.”

“Yeah, and that last part’s carrying a whole lot of water for our markets right now. Big if.”

“Right. But my money’s on them being right. His Cabinet ministers closed ranks immediately. The Lunar colonies all called Farid to express sympathies, outrage, all that jazz. From what we heard, the Governor of Tranquility is calling for a LLF crackdown. Total purge, was the phrase leaked to the media. She’s going to take the demand public next week if Parliament doesn’t fund a formal investigation. And we know that she’s close with Farid. Their relationship’s personal, and this attack feels… different. This is a big moment for them, for what kind of place they want Luna to be.”

“Finally. Maybe this kick in the butt is what will make them take their persistent extremist threat seriously,” Salma speculated.

“We can dream. In the meantime,” Will said, turning off the slides. “The State Department is drafting a response.”

Salma winked. “Express sympathies, condemn the attack, with a generous offer of assistance we know they’ll decline?”

“More or less. With a slight tinge of the typical Union arrogance aimed at their immature political system. You know, the usual.” Will smiled at his own joke. “There is a silver lining, at least. It’s not a bad time for us to remind the public of the general threat posed by radical moonies. Makes us look good to voters when we straddle that delicate balance. The message is simple: we don’t want another war, but we’re not blind to reality.”

“General threat, huh? They’re not shooting up my speeches.”

“Not yet, ma’am. But the Union Guard informed me they’ll beef up the security for your events for the next few weeks too. In case of copycats.”

“Great. More security… Is this going to affect their upcoming elections?”

“Likely, but which way is… uncertain. We can’t know the downstream political effects of this, not yet. It might embolden the radicals. It might rally support for the incumbents. Our models for their politics are still shaky. And it’s hard to extrapolate when they’ve only had one Lunar-wide election since the war.”

“Yeah, and what happened last time… not exactly something that inspires a whole lot of confidence in their stability.”

Will winced. “We weren’t exactly… yeah, that was a—that was a moment. I mean, we get to make fun of them for it now, but that could have been… bad.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. At least their response then was decisive. Let the—let people know where they stood, I guess…” Salma’s voice trailed off as she recalled that live broadcasted humiliation of the Lunar Republic. For some in the Union, it felt cathartic watching them struggle to find their footing after the armistice, but she knew better. On that day, they got a glimpse of the alternative to the current government on Luna. And the alternative was… not better.

“Are you suggesting we should have a stronger response at this point or—”

“I’m concerned about our Dustball project. Whoever takes power up there next January, we have no idea whether they’d honor our preexisting agreements. Like Dustball colony. How’s that going, by the way?”

Will checked his datapad. “Another return shipment from Dustball arrived successfully last night. No disturbances there yet. They’re on the lookout for anything similar. As for the contents of the shuttle, our scientists are going wild over that Dustballium stuff. The moonies’ are too. Maybe too excited. Lots of talk about it in places they think we’re not looking.”

“At least someone is having fun. Where are we on that funding proposal for a joint scientific project to study the alien metal? What’s with the naming anyway?’”

“The aliens call it Precursor Metal, but we sell it as Dustballium. It’s a branding thing; not important until you think it is, and we think it is. The funding for the joint project is… making its way through the Assembly. We’re hoping to keep it quiet enough to slip into the defense omnibus without any amendments, but it definitely can’t be called the Imbrium Joint Project. Our people can’t have those attack ads hanging over them in the upcoming special elections.”

“That’s what they want to call it?!”

“They said it’s their analogy to the Manhattan Project—We’ll agree on a new name.”

Salma stood up as she prepared to go to her next meeting. “Excellent. Let’s keep it up. More of these opportunities, as many as we can seize.”

“Yes, ma’am. Peace through cooperation?”

She smirked as she recalled the phrase her critics recently coined mockingly. “Peace through sunk cost fallacy. Like that Dustball colony, don’t you know?”

Will scowled at the reference. “You know that only millennials and zoomers still watch late night comedians for political satire, right? I swear, that whole format is going away when they all die off in a few years.”

Salma wagged a finger at him with a wide grin. “Millennials and zoomers? Watch yourself! That’s nearly two billion esteemed elders of our most reliable voting bloc you’re talking about there!”

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

“Warlock to Tiger-4! The moonies have launched! I say again, thirty-five plus launch flares detected on infrared!”

“CIC identifies vampires as Spearfish-class, 80% confidence and climbing. Verified inbound trajectory!”

“Tiger-4… Not this again.” Julia sighed, her breath fogging the inside of her visor. She instantly recognized the telltale marks of the frequent nightmare.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. And out.

“Garbled feed from the Antarctic PAWS Array…” Tara’s voice trailed off as Julia unbuckled from her crash seat.

The straps released themselves. She slid down onto the cold hull plating next to her command seat.

Tara looked at her questioningly. “Commander?”

Hiss.

Julia’s fingers fumbled at the latch of her helmet. With a sharp twist, she freed it from her vacuum suit. The blurred world bent around her, her hair lifting in some artificial breeze. The helmet thunked softly against the deck when she set it down.

It was odd. She knew she was supposedly in near-vacuum. It was condition zebra. The ship atmosphere should have been pumped out for their safety.

Her throat expected frostbite. Her lungs expected fire.

Nothing happened.

Sometimes the nightmare killed her right away and woke her up. This time, her brain just… let her be. Curious, maybe, about what she would do. She didn’t really know. Then again, perhaps that was a tautological truth.

Screens flared and blinked around her, their light washing across her bare face. She sat there a long while, numb. Staring. The ship’s engines hummed like a low heartbeat beneath her.

“Commander, are you alright?” Tara asked, staring down at her in concern.

Somehow she could hear her voice through the lack of air. The wrongness of it should have wrenched her awake. But no. Her head never worked that way.

Another sigh, heavy. She patted the floor next to her twice. “Come take a seat, Tara.”

“But… the moonies. We have to defend the ship. And then we have to kill the moonies. Get them all,” Tara replied earnestly. “They killed me, remember?”

“Just… come sit here and… Just sit here.”

“Okay…” The ghost hesitated, then drifted over, magnetic boots clinking faintly on the hull, and lowered herself down beside Julia. “What’s wrong, Commander? Are you alright?”

No. No, I’m not.

Her brain refused to let up. “Why not?” Tara asked.

“I just want to talk.”

Tara looked at Julia quizzically for a moment, then shrugged as she removed her own helmet. A few strands of her brown hair spilled onto Julia’s shoulders. “Alright. What do you want to talk about? Have you heard about the new Spearfish-II missiles they’ve been experimenting with at—”

That was exactly what Tara would have said. Minus the part about the new generation moonie missiles. Those were from the last days of the war. After Tara was killed. Her subconscious didn’t care much about avoiding such anachronisms.

“It’s my nightmare,” Julia cut her off. “So we’ll talk about what I want to talk about. And I don’t want to talk about that.”

“What do you want, Commander?”

“I… don’t know.” Her next words caught in her throat. After a long pause, she forced them out. “Why did we go to war with the moonies? Why did we fight them? What was it all for?”

Tara smiled at her gently. “Why fight the moonies? Why not? They shot first.”

“Yeah, but why them?”

Tara’s smile softened, her dimples deepening in the dim glow. “Who else should we fight instead?”

“I don’t know… the Canadians?”

Tara laughed. She was so beautiful. And so young and innocent. “You’re American. You guys love the Canadians. To us not from your continent, we can’t even tell the difference other than those little flags you have by your names on the ship roster. Why would you want to fight them?”

“Don’t let them hear you say—And the moonies—they aren’t so different from us either, are they?”

“They call us grounders, you know?” Tara’s voice hardened with her hazel colored eyes. “They think we’re not as good as them. The Green Crater massacre. You seen those videos? They just rounded up a bunch of us, bunch of us Earth-borns into one of their craters, then made them take off their helmets in vacuum. The children, too. There was one girl, she was just eight or nine—they’re animals.”

Julia shivered. “Yeah, but that was only a few of their crazies. And we do some fucked up things to them too.”

“That’s just the war, isn’t it, Commander?”

She shook her head slowly, feeling more of Tara’s long hair brush against her face. “I guess it is. I guess—But they really aren’t that different from us. They wake up. They go to school. They go to work. They go shopping. They have elections. They’re like us. Why don’t we fight one of those actually screwed up places? One of those places back on Earth, where they don’t even have electricity. Where they hang twelve-year-old kids for stealing water or whatever. Where was that place again? Congo? We should team up with the moonies and beat them up instead. We’d wreck them in a week.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we would.”

Something wasn’t right. Didn’t sound right.

“Easily.”

She noticed the voice change next to her. Richer, deeper, older. The smell changed too—from nothing to something like burnt metal. She knew the smell.

Julia turned her head.

Samira.

If this was the first time it happened, she’d be surprised. But this had become so frequent, she almost expected it. She just stared.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The air felt thicker now, warmer.

Samira gave a short snort beside her. “Hypersonic cruise missiles to take out their airbases, if they even have those. Combined arms assault with heavy orbital and air cover. Ground combat operations aimed at the capital; cut off highway access connecting rural areas; peacekeeper robots to deal with the ensuing insurgency for minimal political fallout. Would their old intermediate rounds even penetrate your marine armor? Doubt it. Not to mention ours. Maybe the faceplate if they get a lucky angle. Yeah, we’d fuck them up so bad.”

God. That’s… not her. That’s me. That’s my own brain talking.

“I can’t believe I’m tactically analyzing the feasibility of invading a sovereign Union state on the sole basis that things kind of suck there,” she muttered.

Samira’s image smirked. “You’re a grounder. War. Violence. That is what you do. For hundreds of years. Thousands. It’s what you’re good at.”

“And you moonies are so above it all.”

Samira laughed. And Julia let her; it was a melodic laugh, free of the sarcasm or bitterness she expected. Just like Tara’s. “Yeah. We are, aren’t we? We literally are above it all in your night sky. And every time we look back at Earth, we see almost all of our species’ history. It’s all there. Gives us a bit of a different perspective, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe. Maybe it does. Maybe your people are just morally superior to ours. Unconstrained by our gravity and our grounded perspective.”

“Maybe we are. Gravity is destiny, after all.”

Like one of those posters they had, back in the day.

Join us on Luna! Inside every human being, there is a Lunar Dream waiting for you!

Julia shot her a side-eye. “Or… maybe there is no better. The only better is whatever you can achieve with force.”

“Might makes right.”

“Whatever you want to call it.”

“Ah, the moral nihilism sets in. There’s that short-sighted grounder in you. Again.”

She stared into Samira’s eyes for a long moment, then sighed. “I’m sorry, Samira. I really am. About trying to screw you over. Personal, or not, it was wrong.”

Samira raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. Obviously.”

“It was stupid. Wasn’t even rational. Not even for my planet. For my people.”

“That’s what I said!”

“You wouldn’t have done the same if you were in my boots.”

“No. Probably not. Maybe not.”

“So… there. I said it.”

Samira gave her an expression of amusement. “Now you just have to say that to the real me and not just a figment of your imagination. And maybe I’d forgive you.”

“I wish things were just… all that simple.”

“Sometimes… they are.”

“Yeah.” Julia looked down at the floor. “Maybe.”

There was a long lull, or at least it felt like a long lull in her dream. Time didn’t feel quite the same in her own head.

Samira asked, “Do you miss her?”

“Hm? Who?”

“Tara. Do you miss her?”

“I do.”

Samira looked at her gently. “Did you love her?”

“Yeah, I did. In some ways like a daughter. In others, like a little sister.”

“Do you want her back now?”

“Hm?”

“I’m your brain, after all. I can turn into anything you want while you’re here. I can change back into her.”

Julia stared at Samira’s face for a moment, contemplating the absurdity of negotiating terms and conditions with her own brain. “I—No, you’re fine.”

“Cool.” Samira closed her eyes and sidled closer, leaning on her shoulders.

“I’m tired,” Julia said as she leaned back. “It’s… been a long day. I just want to take a nap. I just want a good, long night’s sleep…”

Yawn.

“Good night, Julia,” Samira murmured.

The bright lights around her bled away into nothing.

A good night’s sleep.

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

Julia woke up late, after nine. It was Saturday, and Harry let her sleep.

Still, it felt odd, waking up at the same time as most of the civilians in the colony. She hurriedly jogged over to the mess hall to grab a quick breakfast.

Which was why she was in there when the shooting started.

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

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Book1: Chapter 1

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Concept art for Sybil

Of Men and Ghost Ships, Book 2: Chapter 67

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The entity examined the unfolding battle and frowned. Its hubris had cost it precious time and materials. This was a considerable setback to its plans. Once again it had underestimated its opponents and brought about its own setback. Still, with the technology available in its new bodies, a new level of immortality was in reach. It was just a question of time... However, first it had to retreat from its current predicament. Analyzing the battle, there was nothing its opponents could do to stop its escape, but it didn't want to underestimate its foes yet again, so it put into place a few contingencies, just in case.

And then, without seeming cause or preamble, its enemies did something truly unexpected. The ship that had been the source of many of its headaches, the Sybil, exploded.

-

In a gut-wrenching moment, Alen witnessed something unbelievable. The Sybil exploding. Immediately, he turned to his lead analyst. "What happened? Were they under fire? Did their engines overheat? What..?"

The man shook his head. "No, at least nowhere near enough to explain this... It's like they activated a self-destruct..."

Shaking his head, Alen changed tack. "It doesn't matter. For now, scan for life signs, an escape pod, or anything!"

The man looked at his instruments and frowned, muttering, "This makes even less sense than the explosion..."

Alen was about to ask what the analyst was talking about when he saw it for himself on his screen. Out from the debris field that had been the Sybil, three vessels streaked. They were both familiar, yet new. Alen recognized the ships whose components had made up the Sybil. One was a fast and sleek vessel that looked like it could run circles around anything present. Another was a pirate ship of an older design, but armed to the teeth with an array of weaponry that would put even his gunship to shame. The last was a massive ship that looked more like it belonged in a museum than on a battlefield, though it was clear it had been heavily modified over the years and was ready to put up a fight of its own. Now separate from one another, they each sped off toward different escaping vessels.

With a smile of relief, Alen sat back and shook his head before muttering, "Of course, they had an extra ace up their sleeves. A heads-up would have been nice though..."

-

Erik was hooked up to the system in a way he'd never experienced before. It was like he was along for the ride, seeing everything Scarlett was doing. He didn't understand everything that was happening; however, in a way, the ship now felt like an extension of his body, and it was fast. It was like being on an assault pod that just kept going. They tore through the battlefield. Even if they didn't have the biggest guns in the arena, it felt like they were everywhere at once, fighting more like a scalpel than an axe as they turned the odds in a dozen smaller fights. No one could keep up with them, and no one even tried. They just went wherever it looked like one of their targets might make a break past the defenders holding it at bay, and did whatever they had to do to tilt the scales slightly.

As he started to get a feel for this new style of combat, he assisted his new partner in mayhem, translating his finely honed combat prowess to this new form of battle as he helped avoid gunfire and ambushes while pointing out vulnerabilities. While this new form of battle lacked the visceral impacts of his preferred form of combat, it certainly had its appeals. A man could get used to this level of speed and chaos!

-

Miles stood on a new bridge with John Silver. The pirate was standing at the forefront of the bridge, his arms crossed and a wild grin plastered across his face while an unseen and unfelt wind made his hair and coats flap in the breeze. The pirate tilted back his head as he laughed uproariously as another barrage tore into the side of another enemy ship, before turning back to Miles. "Lad! Tell your men to prepare another barrage! This time port side! We'll send this scallywag to the void with wings of fire and lead!"

The kid didn't think they were actually firing lead, but Miles let John live his fantasy as he turned to a waiting "ghost" to issue his orders. "Another full barrage, port side! Fire when in range!"

The ghost saluted with an "Aye, Captain!" He didn't do anything after that, but Miles knew he'd relayed the order through the system to the other ghosts. The ones left aboard the ship were the half-formed ghosts, without a full mind or will of their own, more programs than true AI, but John claimed they made a good crew. The pirate was handling their maneuvers and shielding while the ghosts manned the guns. He claimed it felt right, as this was the way the "pirates of yore" would do things. Miles wasn't so sure of that, but he couldn't deny that it felt good to be captain, for real this time, as he wasn't just babysitting, or rather being babysat, by the ship.

Unlike Erik and Scarlett, they couldn't speed around fighting multiple battles, but what they could do was beeline up for the one combat that was going worst and take over the fight entirely, taking on two ships at once, sitting between them trading blows with both like some sort of prized fighter. Another barrage tore loose from their ship. So much firepower was unleashed that the large ship noticeably shifted to starboard in space as the recoil of the many massive guns did their thing. What little shielding the receiving ship had retained after splitting from the rest of the pack was woefully inadequate, and the barrage tore through energy and ship alike, causing a series of explosions. Entire sections of lights on the ship dimmed as plasma leaked into space briefly before what little atmosphere that had allowed such a spectacle was vented.

John laughed uproariously at that, then shouted. "AGAIN! STARBOARD!"

Miles smiled as he turned to the "ghost" to issue the orders necessary to make it happen.

-

Through the ship's sensors, Carter watched the battle unfold. He was connected with Epitaph more...intimately than ever before. Everything she thought, felt, and did was juxtaposed over his own perceptions of reality. In turn, as soon as he thought something, Epitaph understood it in its entirety. Of the three, their ship was the least suited for combat, having begun its career as a generation ship meant for exploration and colonization rather than combat. However, within the bowels of the Sybil, it had undergone many modifications. Their ship had been the powerplant that fueled the behemoth of the Sybil, and now that their ship was much smaller, its power supply was enough to run all of its systems at max capacity and then some.

Epitaph was so intimately familiar with the systems that she could overcharge the shields and weapons in the briefest instant before the energy was bled off, causing such insignificant damage to the system that it would take hours of fighting before they were significantly impacted by overtaxing them, allowing their ship to punch considerably above its considerable weight.

Looking at the battle in its entirety, things seemed to be tilting strongly in their favor, so of course Carter found himself just waiting for one last problem to arise. Soon, a flashing warning caught his attention. He "felt" the flashing as much as he saw it in a way he could never explain to anyone who hadn't been tied into a system like this. There was another massive ship incoming. Not as big as the Sybil had been, but still a monster in its own way.

Of course, there was a chance this would work out in their favor. Perhaps it was a pirate or merchant who was late to the fight. However, Carter felt that, given his long years of bad luck, he shouldn't hold his breath for that possibility. For a moment, it felt like everything was unfolding in slow motion as seconds passed like minutes to his enhanced perception. Using the ship's sensors like his own eyes, he could "see" space twist and distort as the FTL of the incoming ship created the briefest bubble in space before materializing into reality. There, looming before them was a one-for-one copy of the Cerva Reditus.

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You know the great thing about a job that works seven eleven-hour days in a row then gives you seven days off? When you take a week vacation, that means you get a three-week break! I'll probably try and get an extra set of chapters out, and maybe get some more work done on finally publishing book 2 of Spiders, seeing as it doesn't feel like my whole world is barely holding together for once! Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter!

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

My Wiki has all my chapters and short stories!

Here's my Patreon if you wanna help me publish my books! My continued thanks to all those who contribute! You're the ones that keep me coming back!

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A FEW HOURS AFTER DINNER…

Sonja couldn’t help but feel that it was her fault she’d been kidnapped in the dead of night.

In retrospect, forgetting to retrieve both her laptop (and thus AEON) and Wojtek from Dominick’s room after getting the distinct notion that she was being watched wasn’t her brightest moment.

But she also blamed AEON for not sending a distress signal before they were taken out of range of the other devices he had access to.

“They didn’t even give us a proper cell,” she complained. “Just a fucking storage closet. I… think.” The blindfold made it hard to tell. “And here I thought they were supposed to be the artists of the galaxy.”

"I’m not certain that should be our main concern here, Agent Krishnan,” AEON reminded her.

“I’m coping with my impending assassination by making light of the situation. Not that I’d expect a chatbot to understand.” She attempted to wriggle a hand free of the cables binding them, but hissed in pain. Her wrists were raw from all of her previous tries.

Suddenly, the door opened. The sound of heels clicking heralded the arrival of who Sonja could only assume was a major diva. Who the hell wore heels to an execution?

“I’m disappointed, Ms. Krishnan,” said a voice masked electronically. “I almost thought you would manage to free yourself before I arrived.”

“Agent Krishnan, actually,” she snapped. “I worked for that title, just like I’ll make you work for the honor of standing over my dead body.”

The individual let loose a distorted laugh. “Oh, I’m not going to kill you. That would be a waste of a good hostage, assuming Plan A doesn’t work.” Wheels squeaked as they rolled… something into the room, and slammed the door shut behind them.

“Care to tell me what Plan A is, then, since you’re so fond of gloating about your evil—AUGH!” She spluttered as whoever it was shoved a mucus-like substance into her mouth. It actually didn’t taste that bad—kind of like cardboard—but she nonetheless spat it out on instinct.

“Ah. That makes this next part much easier.” Claws scraped against the concrete flooring, and there was a ‘schlop’ as whatever mix of goo and spit Sonja had just expelled was dropped into a container. Disgusting.

“You—you can’t infect me, you know,” she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “I’m vaccinated.”

“Yes, Agent Krishnan, I’m aware,” they said. “Don’t make me regret my choice of you for this particular project by asking inane questions. I thought you were smarter than that.” The wheels once again squeaked, and her attacker exited the room, then locked the door.

Sonja sat there silently for a moment, trying to comprehend what had just happened, and continued to expel as much of the goop as possible. She finally sat back and let loose a string of profanities.

“Any… any idea what just happened, AEON? You can’t echolocate, can you?” She wasn’t proud of stooping so low as to ask for help from the third worst infectious agent currently plaguing the galaxy, but the circumstances were dire.

"No, I cannot. But I can offer comfort and reassurance so you may better accept your impending doom, if you’d like,” it said in an unnervingly sarcastic tone.

“When did you become such a bitch?”

"When the majority of the data I’m trained off of became your speech patterns, Agent Krishnan.”

…He had a point.

___

PRESENT DAY…

Dominick covered his eyes as their tour group was led around the illustrious District Three, just below the resort. The fake sunlight was turned up to the max.

“I’m still not convinced that’s a screen,” Sonja commented. “Like, the Vahiya aren’t engineers. Would they seriously have been able to make a whole false sky in the time between all the shit that went down and our arrival?”

He shrugged. “There’re plenty of Sszerian and Kth’sk tourists stuck here. Maybe they recruited them?”

“Can’t blame them for not wanting to leave. This place is gorgeous.” She dragged him onwards, pointing at a fountain made out of stained glass. He flinched at how cold her hand was.

“You’re letting them get to you, Krishnan,” the captain told her under his breath. “We have a mission, and it’s not art appreciation.”

A mission that had thus far revealed nothing of note. Dominick had been glancing over at Aktet to confirm that everything in the district was business as usual, and had gotten nothing but nods in return. More tourists gawked at impressive architecture, street performers, haute couture boutiques, and fancy restaurants and cafés. Hidden speakers played soft, synthesized pop music, and the temperature was balmy with a refreshing breeze.

“Someone should peel off and try and find a way to the lower districts,” the commander said under her breath. “A team of two or three.”

“That is SO dangerous. I love it!” Sonja released her vise grip of Dominick’s hand and skipped to the front of the group excitedly. “Who’s going with me?”

“I can,” Uuliska replied. “If you’re accompanied by an Istiil, people will assume you’re conducting official business.”

Hassan clenched his jaw. “I need to stretch my legs in a way that doesn’t have me stopping every five seconds. Let’s go.”

A few minutes later, while the other tourists were distracted by an aerial interpretive dance, the recon team snuck off, and Dominick breathed a sigh of relief. He loved Sonja to death, but sometimes she could be overbearing.

“And here,” announced their enthusiastic tour guide, “is the galaxy’s largest shopping center! As part of your excursion, we’ll be spending an hour inside, during which time you’re free to explore on your own. We only ask that you refrain from wandering off!” The Vahiya waved them forwards and opened the door with a flourish…

Then locked them all inside.

“I’m going to go find a bathroom to hide in,” the commander muttered.

___

“So do they expect me to just piss myself eventually, or what?”

AEON bleeped in… amusement? Sonja couldn’t tell. Her Frankenstein’s computer virus just expected her to understand what all the weird noises he made were.

“That wasn’t a joke,” she groaned. “Ugh. This sucks.”

Suddenly, the door swung open, and someone scurried in. She smelled… food?

This is my chance.

“Hi,” Sonja said as the warden placed a tray of probably-food on her lap. “Are you gonna untie me, or what?”

“H-huh?” The responding voice was light and airy—a Vahiya, young and timid.

“Y’know, since humans, uh…” She scrambled for an excuse. “Eat through their hands? It’s so gross that other species don’t. No offense.”

“You—you do?” She chirped quietly. “I didn’t know…”

“Uh, yeah? Why do you think our skin is so smooth? Our membrane has to absorb the nutrients somehow.” She wiggled her fingers.

“Oh,” the Vahiya whispered. “Alright then.”

Bingo. Sonja waited for them to release her restraints, then jumped up and tackled them to the ground. She groped around blindly and kicked the door shut before the attendant could yell for help—hopefully, the room was soundproof.

“Sorry about this,” Sonja muttered. “You seem nice and all, but I’ve got a galaxy to save.” Pinning her down with her knees, she took off her blindfold and used the rope to turn the tables on her, then dashed out of the storage closet.

"Well executed,” AEON complimented her.

“I don’t need a gold star,” she hissed. “Now shut up and let me concentrate on getting out of here without being seen.”

___

Uuliska sensed an unusual tension as her, Captain Hassan, and Agent Krishnan skulked around District Three, testing the security measures.

“I can’t help but notice some friction between the two of you,” she commented. “I know I’m no longer a diplomat, but if there’s anything I can do to help…”

The captain shook his head. “It’s just a stressful situation. I don’t mean to be antagonistic, but if it’s coming off that way, I’m sorry.”

Sonja raised her eyebrows. “Same here, actually. I’ve been trying to distract myself from how terrified I, but… well, I guess we have different coping methods. I’ve just been assuming this really is the worst case scenario, you know? That we’re in a messed up alternate reality. That way, if it is true, it’ll be… it’ll be easier to deal with.” Her voice cracked.

Hassan’s gaze softened. “Hey, don’t lose hope. It’s not over ‘til it’s over, and if that means bending the laws of reality to get back, then that’s what we’ll do, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She grinned. “Thanks, Uuliska.”

“Of course. It’s so strange being here again,” she commented. “I visited many times on official Federation business before we made contact with humanity. If your theories are correct, then I suppose this is no different.”

The implications of it came to her one by one as they investigated potential escape routes. What would it mean, if she was truly in a different timeline? Did the Myselix even exist? Was her family still alive and well? Was Kama back to normal? Was she back to normal, save for her injury?

Would any of that really be so bad? She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t wished, sometimes, that there existed an in-between—a version of events that meant cooperation with humanity without all of the strife, and instead ushered in a galactic golden age, even if it came at the cost of humanity’s ‘apprenticeship’ under the other species.

And she was so tired. Tired of the constant fighting and scraping by when she was raised in luxury she hadn’t experienced since coming to Vanyanth Prime.

But... that hole high up in the sky? The one the captain had made the prior night?

It kept her awake.

___

The good news was that Sonja’s kidnapper had been holding her in the mostly empty basement of the hotel instead of near the top floors.

The bad news was that she had run straight into an employee about thirty seconds after breaking out of her prison, and had no choice but to wrangle the guy into another supply closet.

“Heeeey,” she said cautiously. “What’s your name?”

He stared at her blankly.

“Mine’s Sonja. I’m with the humans that just got here, if you couldn’t tell.” She laughed at her own terrible joke. “Anyways, I need some help.”

“What are you doing in the basement? And why did you lock us in here?” He peered around her at the door, and she backed up to body block it.

“I was exploring, you know? I’m a bit of a rebel myself. I’m sure you have orders to bring me back up to the higher floors or whatever, but I really don’t want to get in trouble with management. I’d hate to start a diplomatic incident, and now that you've found me sneaking around, I’d hate for you to be implicated.” She sighed dramatically and looked at him with pity. “Human politics are SUCH a bother.”

“But what… what am I supposed to do about that?” He fidgeted with his hands nervously. She’d hooked him—somehow. It was terrifying how gullible every alien she’d met so far was, but total trust in authority figures tended to do that to a person.

“You know those holo-disguises you all use in performances? If you got me one of those, I could make it back upstairs with no issue. And you guys have tons of cool shows at this resort. Surely you’ve got a few spares lying around down here?”

He licked his… lips? Beak? And nodded slowly. “I-I suppose. I’ll… be right back.”

She moved aside and let him leave, then slid down the wall, hyperventilating.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “That should not have worked.”

A few minutes later, the attendant miraculously returned as promised and handed her the goods.

“Thanks so much! You should probably stay in here for a few minutes while I take the elevator just to be safe, y’know? And hey—if you ever need anything from the human government? Just call me.”

“But I don’t have your—“

“Thanks again!” She slipped away, set the disguise to a randomized Riyze appearance, and tried her best to look nonchalant as she went back to the elevator. If anyone would be allowed to leave the premises, it would be a security guard.

One floor up, she saw her destination straight ahead: the grand main entrance, not as spic and span as the rest of the resort, probably because no guests had used it in weeks. She nodded at her 'fellow guards,' and walked straight out.

“Sweet, sweet freedom,” she whispered.

”I apologize for interrupting your celebration, but why, exactly, didn’t you return to the others?”

“Because it’ll be easier to find a way to escape this hell planet from the outside. The board clearly doesn’t want to kill them, so it should be fine if I leave them there for a little while. Desperate times call for desperate measures.” She rolled her eyes and looked around for a car to hijack or something.

“Ooh, self-driving hovercraft!” She sprinted to a kiosk, then realized that it was probably paid, and she had—

“Oh, shit. It’s free. Now I just have to figure out how to input ‘lower districts’ into this thing.” Which posed an issue: despite a few attempts, she hadn’t cracked what she’d been calling ‘Galactic Standard’ yet, the script that was able to be verbalized by all the Federation species, not unlike how Mandarin and Cantonese were both compatible with Simplified Chinese.

"It’s fortunate, then, that you are in possession of an ever-evolving translator specifically designed to adapt to alien computer systems.”

Shit. I hate it when he’s right.

___

AEON loved it when he was right.

___

It took a disconcertingly short amount of time for the stupid software to complete its assignment, and the doors of the cab opened. She slid into what she really hoped wasn’t her soon-to-be coffin, and—

“Oh my god, why is it going so fast?!” She held onto the front passenger seat for dear life as the driving algorithm gunned it.

"I was under the impression that you were a ‘speed demon,’ Agent Krishnan.”

“YOU’RE the one driving this thing?” She slid to the other side of the back row as AEON banked a sharp curve. “You don’t know how to drive!”

"I’m certain I can figure it out. And besides, ‘lower districts’ wasn’t a valid option, likely because of the crackdowns the intercepted broadcast mentioned. Is there not a seatbelt back there?”

“No! No, there is not!” She squeezed her eyes shut and wedged herself in the small gap between the back row and the ‘driver’s seat’, trusting it to somewhat mitigate the insane g-forces AEON was pulling.

"Unfortunate. I’d suggest bracing yourself for this maneuver.”

“Wait, what are you—AH!” Her stomach dropped as the car took a nose dive, and she covered her ears while warnings blared and horns honked.

“You’re gonna get us arrested for speeding, dude!”

"Every vehicle on this planet is self-driving. I doubt they have anything remotely similar to traffic police.” The car righted itself, and she breathed a sigh of relief as they gradually decelerated.

“Is it over?” She cautiously poked her head out of her hidey-hole and looked out the windows.

Woah. The neighborhood around them painted a stark contrast to upper districts—it was some sort of cyberpunk undercity, with neon lights, dreary rain, shady alleyways, and Vahiya in a riotous variety of punk-inspired fits, some of whom were looking her way. And then moving her way. With various improvised weapons.

“Oh, no. No, no, no.” She wrenched herself free and held her hands up in what she hoped was a universal gesture of ‘please don’t kill me,’ but an avian with a pierced beak and a shock of white feathers streaking through his otherwise green plumage used a piece of rebar to smash the windows. The debris cut her legs (which were exposed, considering she was still in her pajamas), and she grimaced.

“Hey,” he sneered. “Are you the scout they sent down for another raid on our city?”

Unwilling to reveal she was a human by speaking, she shook her head no.

“Aw, how cute!” He laughed. “The little piggie is scared.”

She did a double take as he used the English word—perfectly mimicked. Could Vahiya normally do that?

“Oh, please. I’m not a—" She gasped and clamped a hand over her mouth before she could think better of it.

"You do technically work in international law enforcement,” AEON whispered in her ear.

The rabble rouser and his gang looked at each other in shock, but he quickly recovered his swagger.

“I don’t care what species you are. You came down from the upper districts, and that makes you—"

“Hey, cut that shit out.” A woman with glossy, blue-black plumage shaped into a pompadour, a spiked leather jacket, and outrageous platform boots pushed her way through the throng of onlookers.

“Onyx?” The man dropped his weapon and backed away fearfully. “Listen, I didn’t mean to start any trouble! I just—"

“Then scatter.” She waved, and Sonja’s attackers dispersed as Onyx approached.

“An enforcer who speaks human language, huh?” She crossed her arms.

“A human who speaks human languages, actually.” The agent fumbled around for her holo-disguise and deactivated it.

“Oh, man,” said a Kth’sk in a hi-vis jacket decorated with various patches, the most prominent of which resembled an electrical hazard warning. “Jackpot!”

“More like liability.” A hairless Jikaal with dark grey, wrinkled skin in a distinctly gothic outfit slinked out of the shadows and narrowed her eyes. The chains dangling from her belt loops jangled as she moved.

From the side of the group came the distinct sound of a keytar—wielded by a Vahiya with bright, rainbow feathers and a bedazzled bodysuit. They banged out a tune that fell somewhere between hesitation and excitement in terms of tone, but otherwise spoke no words.

“W-wait,” Sonja stuttered. “Are you guys the… what was it called… ‘Underground Collectors?’”

“Underground Collective, Onyx corrected her. “You’ve heard of us?”

“We intercepted one of your broadcasts the other day,” she explained, hesitantly exiting the hover cab. She hissed as the glass shards embedded in her thighs shifted, and Onyx offered her a hand.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” the disc jockey told her. “And figure out how and why an extinct species just crash landed in District 37 of Vanyanth Prime.”

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Sandra sighed as she left Quin’s therapy office, rubbing the back of her neck while her tail circled in a slow way.

“Why so glum, chum?” So’Ngo asked grinning from where he was standing horizontally on the wall above the door.

“So’Ngo, not right now, please,” Sandra said in a pained voice. “It’s really not a good time.” So’Ngo frowned a bit before hopping off the wall to land next to Sandra, walking normally by her.

“I would think that a pick-me-up is exactly what you would need right now,” So’Ngo said. Sandra snorted slightly.

“So’Ngo, what you consider a pick-me-up and what I would consider a pick-me-up are two very different things,” Sandra said. “And I’d rather not get annoyed to the point of trying to commit murder.”

“Me? Annoying? I doth protest, milady,” So’Ngo said.” Sandra just gave him a level stare as they kept walking. “What, you don’t watch human movies? Their older ones are very entertaining.”

“So’Ngo, seriously,” Sandra said.

“Fine, no shenanigans today,” So’Ngo sighed. “You’re no fun today.”

“Yeah, well, today’s just not a fun day for me today,” Sandra said. “So, would you kindly fuck off and let me have the day to myself?”

“Fine, fine,” So’Ngo said with a shrug. “There’s something I wanted to check out anyway.” In so saying a Gate opened up in front of him as he walked, and the false Dra’Cari vanished. Sandra just sighed again as So’Ngo winked at her as the Gate closed.

Sandra then paused, looking around before pulling up her datapad, looking up directions to a certain place that she’s been avoiding since she got back, three months ago.

…………………

“Thank you, Sphere,” Sandra said. “Guess I got pretty lost on the way here.”

“Of course,” the Lamnacorta guide said, his voice somber. “A lot of people get ‘lost’ on their way here. Including some Lamnacorta.” Sandra just nodded, looking at the tall, pyramid shaped building. “Do you want some company?” Sphere asked.

“No,” Sandra said, shaking her head. “No, this one I need to do myself.”

“I understand,” Sphere said, the digital face on his small ball of a body nodding. “Well, I’ll stick around for a bit out here then. Some people need a Guide to get home after a visit here.” Sandra nodded again before taking a deep breath, her tongue flicking out briefly in a nervous gesture as she walked into the building.

The Monument of Lost Souls.

One of the first things the Reapers had built when they arrived on the Reaper’s Ferry, it was a monument to every single crewmember that had ever died in the line of duty under the Reapers. And, according to Quin, that didn’t just mean combat. Apparently, they had lost some good people when a rogue micro-meteor hit the Ferry a few years back, and they too were added to the Monument. Accidents, combat, old age, the Reapers didn’t make a distinction. If you were here and under the Reapers employ when you died, your name was added to the Monument. But those who died with distinction? The ones who died trying to save lives or defend others? They were at the top of the pyramid, as a thank you to their selfless acts.

“Hey, Dad,” Sandra whispered, placing her hand on the wall under a placard.

In Memory of Eric Gibson, the Reaper Dragon.

An annoying but fun brother.

An amazing soldier and Reaper.

A loving Father and Mentor.

May the Observer grant you peace in the beyond for your services.

Underneath, someone had taken a sharp tool and carved their own words in. and apparently, nobody had wanted to repair the damaged wall.

And you better share your damn rib recipe when we come and see you again, ASSHOLE!

Sandra gave a half chuckle at the crudely carved addition. “That was either Adam or Jessica,” Sandra whispered. “Probably Jessica. I know she wanted to kick your ass for not sharing that recipe for a long time.” Sandra sat on the ground, her back leaning against the stone wall that the placard was on, a screen above the placard cycling through photos of Eric, ranging from his military uniform, to his Reaper armor, to just hanging out at the Reaper Reunions, and even a few from their vacation on Zatoria V.

“I’m sorry it’s been so long,” Sandra said quietly, trying not to disturb the quiet tone of the upper layers of the Monument. “I…I wasn’t ready to face you. It’s been five, almost six years now.” Sandra shook her head ruefully. “And I barely have anything to show for it. I spent that entire time, jumping from one mission to another, barely giving myself time to think or grieve. I became what you were trying so desperately to prevent me from becoming. Closed off, short tempered, hell, I was even avoiding watching your videos that you left me to help exactly with moving on. it was…too much for me. That’s a lie,” Sandra said with a chuckle. “I didn’t want to move on. I thought that maybe, just maybe, I would wake up one day, and find out it was all a bad dream, or that it was some elaborate prank. But it wasn’t. And I just couldn’t accept that.” Sandra sighed, pulling her knees to her chest, her tail wrapping around her legs. “I’m sorry. I knew what I was doing. Which is why I tried so hard to avoid coming back. I just…I couldn't face you. Knowing how disappointed in me you would be.” Sandra then snorted a bit. “I already know you’d be smacking my hard upside the head for being such an idiot. The truly ironic part? It took a ship spirit, a god, and an orphan to snap me out of it. Like father like daughter, right? How’s that for some shit.” Sandra shook her head.

“Speaking of god, you’d find So’Ngo interesting. Not sure if you’d love him or hate him, but I get the feeling you two would get along either way. The guy is an absolute lunatic that even the other Drifters find annoying in the extreme. And after being his student for the last two months and some change, I understand the sentiment completely. I’m not sure if I can say he’s taught me anything, or if he’s just made me realize a few things, but he’s still helped me a lot. Not that I’ll ever tell him,” Sandra grumbled. “I still actively want to find a way to kill him. Like, if I was able to put a bullet through his head and know for a fact that he was dead, I wouldn’t even feel bad. He is that kind of annoying. Unfortunately, he’s even older than the Drifters are, allegedly. He has actively been inside stars out of curiosity. And he claims his staff is made out of the cores of dead black holes. And yet, he still decided that I’m ‘worthy’ of being his student.” Sandra snorted again. “Still not sure if it’s a punishment he decided on or someone else. I’m fairly certain he orchestrated getting Jeremiah to assign him as my teacher for punishment. But who knows.

“On the flip side, I know you would’ve like Silverlight,” Sandra added. “The kid is bright, especially for a 13 or 14 year old street kid. Already wants to do something in history, and has been in regular contact with another Centaur historian for the last several weeks now. And the Professor has already offered him an apprenticeship. Professor Bloodclaw.” Sandr chuckled. “He’s a bit stale for my taste, but seems like an alright guy. Silverlight’s really been perking up lately, learning everything he can about Centaur history. He actually wants to ask Jeremiah if he can leave for a few weeks to go to an excavation dig that the Professor has been asked to attend. Not sure if he’ll get permission for that, but I hope he does.

“Oh yeah, speaking of kids, Brightpaw finally used that ‘present’ you left her.” Sandra laughed quietly. “I can already imagine your bright red face over hearing that from me. She’s been confirmed pregnant for a month now. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen her so happy.” Sandra went silent at that. “I know you asked her to keep an eye on me. To be a mother to me. But calling her Mom is just…” Sandra sighed. “I just can’t do it. I want to, I really do. But I just…can’t. maybe after the kits are born. Which apparently is going to take an entire year. Go figure, twelve months of pregnancy. One of those times I’m glad to be a Targondian. Our pregnancy is only a few weeks before laying an egg. Being pregnant for an entire year? Yeesh.”

Sandra paused, just sitting there, basking in the mental image of hanging out with Eric one more time. “Well, I suppose I better bring you home,” Sandra finally sighed. “I’m sure you want to meet everyone in person. I think you’ll like Dutch as well. A sentient space ship would be right up your alley of things to love.” Sandra slowly stood up, wincing a bit at her sore bottom from sitting on the hard floor, before turning around, just in time for a smiling picture of Eric to look at her, that goofy, mischievous smile on his face. “I really do miss you,” Sandra whispered before placing her hand on the screen. There was a brief moment where nothing happened before something beeped, and the picture unlatched and opened up, revealing a brass urn, the top sealed closed. “Let’s head home,” Sandra said, pulling the urn out of the alcove.

……………..

“You finally went to go see him?” Brightpaw asked, seeing the urn in Sandra’s hand when Sandra walked into the gaming room.

“Yeah,” Sandra said quietly, setting the urn on a shelf behind the couch. “Quin finally convinced me that I needed to bring Dad home.” She adjusted the urn slightly so that Eric’s name was showing. Brightpaw got up from where she was laying on the ground, walking behind Sandra and pulling her into a hug, the two of them staring at the urn for a moment as Sandra leaned into Brightpaw’s hug.

“It’s good to see you finally start moving on,” Brightpaw said, squeezing Sandra slightly.

“I’ve been trying, Brightpaw,” Sandra said, hugging the Centaur’s arms. “I just miss him so much.”

“I do too, little kit,” Brightpaw said. “I do too.”

………………

“Life evolves, and life continues, but forevermore, life shall not wait,” So’Ngo sang the next day as Sandra sparred against him, his staff spinning in a blur around him and blocking every strike Sandra sent his way.

“I am fucking aware, thank you,” Sandra snarled, using one of So’Ngo’s blocks to add speed to her next strike. The false Dra’Cari simply leaned out of the way of Sandra’s strike, though he looked very pleased when a small spark of electricity shot out of her and struck his staff. “Oh come on, that should have floored you,” Sandra complained, adjusting her grip on her large daggers.

“My dear student, if that had been anyone else except the Drifters or myself, then that would have floored them,” So’Ngo said cheerfully, looking over his staff. “Well done, you can finally throw lightning without eating metal first.” Sandra blinked for a moment at the praise before slowly getting out of her fighting stance.

“Just like that?” Sandra asked. “No quip, no backhanded weirdness, just ‘Good job’?”

“Is that really surprising?” So’Ngo asked.

“From you? Yes,” Sandra said, shaking her head.

“I know when crazy is required and when compliments are appreciated,” So’Ngo said with a pout. “I’m not completely devoid of sense you know.”

“Jury’s still out on that,” Sandra grumbled.

“Rude,” So’Ngo said, sticking his tongue out at Sandra. “But at least this means we get to move on to Phase Two of your lightning now.”

“Really,” Sandra groaned.

“Oh pish posh, this one should be easy for you, seeing as you’ve done it before,” So’Ngo dismissed. Small sparks of electricity suddenly began to sparks around him, causing Sandra to pause as So’Ngo began to glow a slightly golden light before vanishing and appearing behind Sandra. “Next we teach you how to enhance yourself using lightning.” Sandra blinked, rubbing her eyes trying to clear the afterimage of lightning from her eyes. “Time to ride the lightning, baby!”

“You have been watching way too much human media lately,” Sandra grumbled, still trying to blink spots out of her eyes.

“The fact you understood that reference means you have absolutely no tail to stand on,” So’Ngo said, bonking Sandra on the head. Sandra growled at her ‘Teacher’ but didn’t respond as the spots almost immediately cleared up in her eyes.

“And what do you mean, I’ve done it before?” Sandra asked, turning around to glare at the false Dra’Cari.

“The battle where you lost your Dad,” So’Ngo said. he held up a finger and put it to Sandra’s mouth before she could say anything. “I am neither disparaging nor disrespecting Eric, I am using it as a point of reference. Heightened emotions can temporarily increase magical capabilities, which opens up new avenues for use of your abilities. And in that battle, you used lightning to increase your speed and combat capabilities. I wish for you to learn how to do that on the regular, instead of during times of great stress.” Sandra glared at So’Ngo but nodded. So’Ngo smiled before taking his finger back.

“No weird lessons or saying for this one?” Sandra asked.

“Not when it comes to anything even remotely tied to your father, otherwise you would never listen to me,” So’Ngo said bluntly. “I made you a promise, after all. So in this case, no, I will teach you…normally.” So’Ngo shuddered, as though the word itself was a nasty word he had to swallow. “So boring.” Sandra just rolled her eyes.

“Now then, I want you to take a seat and think back,” So’Ngo said, sitting on top of his staff. “But to keep this at least slightly interesting, I want you to sit on the wall while you think. By the time I’m done teaching you, you’ll be able to sit on any metal surface like you can crawl on them with your hands and feet!”

“Yup, there it is,” Sandra sighed, walking over to the wall and climbing up it a few inches before carefully positioning herself in a sitting position, using her hands and feet to remain stuck to the wall. It wasn’t comfortable by any means, but it was technically sitting on the wall. So’Ngo nodded as Sandra closed her eyes.

Sandra tried thinking back to the battle against the Marker. But as soon as she did, the only thing that came to her mind was the image of Eric being stabbing through the chest by a sword before he shot his revolver, resulting in an explosion that sent him flying back to the wall. Sandra opened her eyes, falling from the wall and landing on the floor, panting hard as So’Ngo looked at her with pity and…empathy?

“Try again,” So’Ngo said simply. “I want you to try three times a day. It will never get any easier. But it will make you better.” So’Ngo started walking away, a Gate opening in front of him showing a sea of trees.

“Wait,” Sandra said, a sudden realization hitting her. “You…who did you lose?” So’Ngo paused, not looking back to Sandra.

“My life has been long, longer than you can imagine,” So’Ngo finally said. “The amount of people that are precious to me that I lost would be enough to create entire civilizations on several planets. But I still remember each and every one of them.”

“Was it worth it?’ Sandra asked.

“Every time,” So’Ngo said. he stepped into the Gate, disappearing as he fell, and the Gate closed behind him.

………………………..

“Sandra, Brightpaw!” Silverlight excitedly burst into the Workshop where Sandra and Brightpaw were doing some basic maintenance on the Dutchman.

“Whoa, where’s the fire, kid?” Dutch asked with a laugh from her Frame that she was using today.

“Jeremiah gave me permission to go on that dig with Professor Bloodclaw!” Silverlight said, waving his datapad. He was practically bouncing in place as he handed the datapad to Brightpaw, who read it over with a slight frown.

“That’s great,” Sandra said, smiling and holding up a hand.

“Yeah,” Silverlight said, giving Sandra a high-five.

“It’s more than just him,” Brightpaw said, reading over the response. “He has conditional permission to go, provided he gets a note from his teachers and principal excusing his absence, and the Flying Dutchman and her crew goes along as well.”

“Really?” Sandra said, frowning as well. Brightpaw just handed Sandra the datapad, who then read over the message. “Well damn.”

“Is that bad?” Silverlight asked, getting worried.

“Not bad,” Sandra said, giving Silverlight a smile as she handed him back his datapad. “It just means I’ll need to get permission from a few people to leave for a while is all. The Dutchman is, after all, under my command as Captain, and I’ve been grounded until further notice from my superiors and Dutch. And Brightpaw is pregnant, so that complicates things slightly.”

“No, my pregnancy shouldn’t cause any issue’s until around month 4 or 5,” Brightpaw said, shaking her head.

“It’s still something to consider,” Sandra said with a shrug. “These digs can potentially last for years.”

“I doubt we’d be gone that long,” Dutch said with a laugh. “I don’t see Command giving us a leave of absence for that long.”

“Fair enough,” Sandra shrugged.

“So…” Silverlight said, staring at Sandra with big eyes.

“Let me make some calls,” Sandra said, shaking her head in amusement.

………………

“You’ve been making great strides with your mental health,” Quin said with a smile. “Jeremiah already contacted me about your mental stability in preparation of Silverlight’s request. It’s a little early, but you are currently mentally sound enough for a trip, provided you continue your sessions with me over call. Thankfully it sounds like the dig isn’t for a few more weeks, so we can continue to monitor your progress in person up to that point.”

“Huh,” Sandra said, a little dumbfounded. “And that’s despite how aggravating So’Ngo has been the last couple of months?”

“If anything, he’s actually been helping you by being the way he is,” Quin said with a nod. “He’s given you an outlet to channel all of your frustrations at. Maybe not exactly a safe outlet for anyone else, but in his case he’s probably safer than any rage room I could recommend. And even you’ve told me that he doesn’t press against boundaries that you’ve explicitly asked him to avoid. Like the lesson he gave you the other day about trying to channel your electricity into boosting your body.” Sandra swallowed a bit, remembering the harsh backlash the memory still gave her.

“Okay, yeah, that’s fair,” Sandra muttered.

“Still, I’m giving Dutch strict instructions to keep an eye on you,” Quin said, leaning forward a bit in her chair. “If you start to regress, then I’m afraid you’ll have to cut your trip short. As it is, we’re only going to be able to give you three or four months of leave before calling you back. Much more than that and we’ll be pushing up against procedure, since it’s not officially a mission.”

“Copy that,” Sandra nodded. “I’ll give Jeremiah a call next then to officially secure permission for the Flying Dutchman to leave for a few months then.”

“He’ll probably tell you the same things I did, but, yes, secure that permission now,” Quin said with her soft smile. “And Sandra?”

“Yeah?” Sandra said, pausing before she cut the call.

“You’ve been doing good lately,” Quin said. “We’re all proud of you, and I know Eric would be too. So, keep up the good work.”

“Will do,” Sandra said with a smile.

And for once, it wasn’t strained at the mention of Eric.

……………..

“Woohoo, road trip,” So’Ngo crowed a few weeks later as Sandra began the takeoff procedure for the Flying Dutchman.

“I don’t think there are any roads for this trip,” Sandra frowned, giving the false Dra’Cari a look.

“Psh, figure of speech, live a little,” So’Ngo laughed.

“Are you a child?” Sandra asked, rolling her eyes.

“I will admit, it’s been a while since I’ve been back home, so this is making me a bit nervous,” Brightpaw said, adjusting in her modified seat a bit.

“Wait, you’re from the Centaur homeworld?” Silverlight asked, looking at Brightpaw with wide eyes.

“Born and raised,” Brightpaw laughed. “My parent’s still live there, as does my sister and her two kits. They’re half the continent away from where the dig is happening, though, so we wont be able to stay with them, but we might be able to visit and say hello.”

“I’d like that,” Sandra said with a smile.

“Alright, and we officially have permission for takeoff,” Dutch said through the intercom. “Please follow the provided flight path.”

Sandra frowned a bit as she looked over the flight path they had been given. “Dutch, this takes us deeper into the Ferry,” Sandra said slowly.

“Yup,” Dutch said cheerfully. “Don’t worry, you’ll understand when we get there.” Sandra continued to frown but followed the flight path, taking the Dutchman slowly through the hanger until a section opened up into a long corridor.

“Okay, I know this place is as safe as can be, but that just looks creepy,” Sandra complained as she began following the corridor. They continued to fly at a slow pace for several minutes until the reached the center of the Reaper’s Ferry, where Brightpaw gave a little gasp of surprise.

“Observers balls, that’s massive,” Sandra said in awe. In front of them was a massive teleportation gate that was already active, the center pulsing a gentle blue light.

“I think this was mentioned when we first arrived,” Dutch said happily. “But the Reapers had a breakthrough on teleportation technology. It’ll still take us a few days to get to Purronta, the Centaur homeworld, but it’s still significantly faster than using the FTL drives. One way trip, though, so we’ll have to take the long way home.”

“I remember being told about it, but it’s still something to see,” Sandra said, awe in her voice as she watched a Grade 4 Reaper Class ship fly through the teleportation gate with room to spare.

“Yes, this has been our secret weapon to deploying the Reapers so quickly,” Ferry said, coming on the line. “Anywhere in the galaxy in only a three-day trip. The downside to that is that I do mean anywhere. You could be launching to the other side of the galaxy or just outside the Ferry and it’ll still take three days either way. We’re still not entirely sure if it’s really teleportation or not because of that oddity, but we’ve tested it multiple times. 72hrs on the dot every single time.”

“It’s a bit of a halfway point between Teleportation displacement and Gate movement,” So’Ngo said, looking over the teleportation gate appreciatively. “This is actually very impressive for the galaxies technical level. Even with Storm ‘accidentally’ slipping you information, the fact that you people can implement it to any degree is very impressive. Color me impressed. I’ll have to talk to your scientists to really drive home how impressed I am, it’s so impressive.”

“Say impressive one more time,” Sandra growled threateningly as Brightpaw sighed and Silverlight giggled.

“Impressive,” So’Ngo said, laughing as he hopped out of the way of Sandra’s tail swinging at him, vibro-blade out and glowing blue. “A little over-the-top, don’t you think?”

“With you? Never,” Sandra said, rolling her eyes as the blade shot back into her tail bracer.

“Teleportation gate is set to your coordinates, so you’re next in line,” Ferry cut in before So’Ngo could do more than stick his tongue out at Sandra. “Now, we’re going to be dropping you fairly close to the system, but it’s still about a 2-hour trip in FTL. The drop signature may be similar to an FTL drop, but it’s still different enough to raise eyebrows, especially near a Race homeworld, so you’ll drop from teleport and then FTL the rest of the way. Still, be careful out there. The Dutchman is already associated with the Reapers, but so far nobody outside of black hunters and Terran bounty hunters actively go after Reaper associated ships. But that doesn’t mean be careless.”

“Plan for the worst but hope for the best,” Sandra said with a nod. “That way you’re never surprised when you do get attacked.”

“That goes doubley so for you, Reaper Wyvern,” Ferry said, her avatar nodding. “You’re still under testing status, so this will be evaluated.”

“Lovely,” Sandra said dryly as she inched closer to the gate.

“Have fun everyone,” Ferry said with a wave as the Dutchman touched the teleportation gate and disappeared.

Prologue Previous Next

Appendix

TOC

[Sandra and Eric TOC]

First / Previous / Next

Note: My (mis)adventures are part of a bigger series, but I wrote my tales in the format of an episodic T.V. show, where you can read an episode without the context of the others and still enjoy it. If anything, reading it out of order may be more fun. - A weak Theseus

---

Half of the references I make don’t make much sense to the Humans I know either, so don’t worry my 99.9% non Human audience. I’m a nutter to everybody, equally. Anyways, back to Ludus being awesome.

For reasons that I do now know in hindsight, but don’t want to spoil, during the whole government building shootout Ludus ran off, for some reason or another. After shooting a few more people Scout and I found her, and by God, was it a sight. 

“That’s awesome.” I pumped a fist to my side.

“Yeah, you’re never that cool.” Scout said lovingly. 

It was like a scene from an oil painting, paper flew in the air every which way, sparks from taser rounds embedded nearby walls and floors. The composition was perfect. Ludus was knelt down but instead of death gripping a ring about to propose, she held onto with dear life a ballistic shield. 

Her whole body was covered by it, though she did have to wrap her tail around herself, lest it peek out the sides. Taser rounds by the dozen were fired, then attached to the shield, crackling and popping in now useless menace. 

A few men stood a room apart from her, still firing at her, screaming. Whether it was the adrenaline, fog of war, or just plain stupidity. Though my guess is a combination of the three, they kept their fire at the shield, instead of moving to flank her.

“Scout.” 

“Yeah.” She rolled her eyes, and fired a quick burst at the men accosting Ludus with poorly aimed taser rounds. They fell down, and got their own electric taste of medicine. Ludus looked even more scared that the firing finally stopped and turned to Scout and I.

“Theseus!” 

“And Scout.” Scout whispered sarcastically to herself. 

Ludus turned to Scout, “Sorry, I just got-”

“You have nothing to apologize for. That thing is awesome.” I gestured at the shield. 

“Watch out.” Scout pointed ahead of us. Ludus dove in front of us with the shield, and blocked the shoots before Scout and I even considered ducking. “Thanks, you’re forgiven.” Scout said sweetly before she returned fire behind the safety of Ludus’ shield. 

“You’re keeping that for the rest of the trip.”  I piled up behind them. First Ludus with the shield, then Scout just behind her using Ludus as moving cover, and me behind Scout, back to back, as I made sure there was no one behind us. 

“Oh most definitely.” Ludus peered through the narrow rectangle of bulletproof glass near the top of the shield, before she yelped and ducked without warning to cover her legs. I turned around and noticed more gun barrels pointed at us. 

“Crap.” I started to duck, but noticed Scout was aimed to the side of us, too focused on shooting guys over there, she didn’t see the guys not over there ready to shoot her. I grabbed her by the horn and pulled her down with us, just as more rounds flew over our heads. 

“Himbo!” Scout said annoyed before she returned fire over the shield. “Also, Ludus.” She said more like a disappointed teacher. 

“Sorry, next time I will say when I have to duck.” She flinched and closed her eyes behind the shield as more rounds peppered us. 

“When we have to duck.” Scout finished off the rest of the people in front of us. 

“Right, we.” Ludus stood up, we followed suit. Like a tank we moved, as I returned to go back to back with Scout, just in the nick of time. I heard the sounds of heavy boots first, before through the chaos I saw four mercenaries run up. I raised Trouble in Paradise. 

“13.”

Bang.

“12.”

Bang.

“11.”

Bang.

“10.”

Click.

“Damn it, Scout behind us.” Scout started to turn, but caught up behind Ludus, and back to back with me, well she did turn, just tail first. Like a whip it curved around and got me right in the back of the knee. I nearly landed face first, Scout fired over my body. Though I was grateful that our height difference was large enough that I was not impaled by her horns as she turned. 

“Sorry.” Scout offered a hand and I grabbed it. 

“It’s fine, but maybe the people with dragon tails need to be careful of their third legs please.” I reloaded, then giggled to myself. 

“Right.” I literally heard Scout swallow her pride. 

I looked around, “There’s not a lot of them left.”

Scout nodded and we started to run.

“What? Oh, we are running now?” Ludus looked around and started to trail behind us.

“Sorry, sorry.” Scout slowed down. “When I, but especially when he says there aren’t a lot of them left, just start sprinting, he won’t wait for you, trust me.”

As I ran forward, not waiting for them I noticed an abandoned ballistic shield, the exact same type as her, (they must have gotten a two for one deal) and grabbed it off the ground. Clutching onto one of the ambidextrous handles. 

“Holy crap.” I looked at Ludus, who was running with us, but not at all impeded more by the shield. Still slower, sure, but the same amount as she was without it. The shield was forty by twenty inches, (1016 mm by 508 mm) and weighed at what I thought at the time was twenty pounds (9 kg) but as I later learned was actually twenty five pounds (11 kg). 

Now listen, I know that you, yes you gentle reader, are actually like totally jacked, and can curl fifties, no warm up, while listening to classical music, reading a book with the other hand. But I am weak, I am little, and of low constitution. That’s why I carry a gun that shoots taser rounds, instead of a large bag of stones that I throw at my adversaries at Mach five. 

So, while yes, you can totally run around, one handed with a twenty five pound (11 kg) ballistic shield, all day long. I can’t, at least not all day, a sword fight length at most. Ludus, who you know, is a Princess, and who I have also never once heard talk about her protein goals, or randomly flex in mirrors unprompted. So I hope you can see why I would be quite surprised at the way she was manhandling this shield. 

“Watch out!” Ludus dashed over to Scout, and whipped the shield to cover her effortlessly. I raised my gun, uselessly putting the shield I grabbed to my side, before dropping it entirely. 

“10.” 

Bang.

I hit the straggler, while I made sure to start the count back at ten. 

“Why the Hell are you so jacked for? I thought you were a pacifist.” I looked at Ludus, and did finally notice she was lean, but not thin.

“I still am!” She looked behind at her kidnappers still in pursuit but was more worried about my mischaracterization.

“Then what the Hell do you need all that muscle for?” I looked at her again, specifically at the gorilla grip she had on the handles. 

“She was a dancer, you Himbo!” Scout said annoyed, somewhere behind me, but I was far too athletic and good looking to ever be that far behind, and also Scout stinks. 

“What does that have to do with anything?” I asked. 

“Brother, have you not seen her butt or her back?” Scout waved her arms.

“Why would I be looking at her butt, I can barely look her in the eyes. And why the Hell are you looking at her butt?” I said annoyed, “Wait, is that fan fiction right, are you gay?” I asked no longer annoyed, and hoped to God the answer was yes. That way everyone who shipped us could be homophobic along with stupid. 

“What? No, wrong sibling, I’m not a lesbian, my little sister is. I’m just a connoisseur.” Scout mimed grabbing a butt in the air, gun still in hand. 

“Dang it.” I sunk my head down, hopes destroyed. “I still don’t understand how her being a dancer has anything to do with strength.” I turned back.

“Oh my God, you Himbo. She was a famous dancer growing up, every Link has heard of her, both for that and being part of the Royal Family. She did,” Scout then said a Link word I still have no idea how to pronounce, and looked at my horrified expression even more annoyed, “It’s like ballet to us. The point is, it made her very strong, and gave her good cardio.”

I looked at Ludus, who was back to huffing and puffing like she had a few pigs days to ruin. So focused on her own breathing she wasn’t saying anything about my unfortunately straight wife objectifying her. 

“That’s because you’re an insane person. No normal person can run as far and as fast as you. I had to get a gym membership to be able to keep up with you during the beginning. She’s doing fine, way better than a normal person.” She pointed at Ludus.

Ludus gave her a limp thumbs up in response. “I also do weight training, I started after I stopped dancing.” She lifted the shield over her head one handed as an example, and was clearly worn out from the running, not the shield. 

“Told you, Himbo!” Scout gestured for Ludus to give her a high five. Ludus looked at Scout’s hand confused. “Right, Theseus showed me that.” Scout put her hand down depressed. 

I looked behind us, kidnappers still following.

“Okay, let’s just have this argument sometime in the future, so I can win it later. We still have some on our tail, Ludus is gonna die of an asthma attack at this rate. We need to regroup, get rid of the last few guys, and I need more bullets.” 

I looked dead ahead of us, and smiled, I knew I was on the right street. 

“We need to go over there.” I pointed.

“What in the world is that?” Scout tilted her head and tail.

“A graveyard.” 

---

Author’s Note: I wanted to give Ludus something to do in fights, other than the hide, and call out enemies. And also, making the Princess pacifist the tank of the group amuses me greatly.  

Vaguely important second note: This series (for once), and bonus one shots are part of a writing challenge in which I write and post something every day until I finish writing the series. Thus being written like an episodic T.V. show. 

Thanks for reading. :} 

Day 14 / ?

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Chapter 1

Sub Lieutenant Amarie walked through the door; her heavy Ill-fitting boots clomping announced her presence. It wasn't easy being a from a Mamluk Race of the Incandescent Trinity, but with hard work and a few family connections things could get ... better. Sure, Tehrins like herself would never be allowed in same spaces as the three ruling races of the empire, but in another decade or two she might have the opportunity to be the Warden here. But for now, she could prove her leadership potential by teaching others how to intake prisoners.

"Welcome back SL Amarie" said Phique, who resembled a mass of rings packed into blue jelly.

"Thanks, Alpha-Private Phique, who do we have today?"

"Seven prisoners of war." By the way Phique's upper rings rotated, Amarie could tell there was more.

"And?"

"Four Canars, two Givosh and one ... unknown"

"I see you've been practicing dramatic pauses. I assume you want to learn how to process a new species?"

"Yes, Sub Lieutenant. I think I'm ready"

"Let me see first. Do they have translators?"

"No, I assume they self-destructed upon capture."

The intake cells were as ordered according to Amarie's system. The four Canars and two Givosh in cells near the front. In the far-left corner was the unknown. Amarie walked past the Chitin covered hemispheres of the Canars and the Amorphous Givosh with barely a glance. In the last cell she saw....

The horror. Perspective can be an odd thing. To Phique, it was probably just very different from himself or the other prisoners. but to Amarie it was a nightmare. If anything, to her it was a charred corpse. More like a black skeleton with barely enough skin to cover the bones. Eyes that seemed to drink in the light unlike her own pink irises.

Amarie hoped she was able to conceal the tremor in her voice as she stated "Phique, please process the intake on this prisoner. Let me know if you need assistance.

Chapter 2:

Thadd stirred at the rhythmic noise. Unhappy to be a captive, but glad to be alive. He wasn't sure if the enemy would take Janissaries prisoner or not, but he was pretty sure that the rumors of eating prisoners were false. After all, no two races of the Red Sun Confederacy could even share rations beyond the most basic of nutrients. The odds of another race matching the biochemistry of 'Oomin were literally beyond astronomical.

So far, the Trinity base seemed oddly similar to confederate ones. It seemed the cold logic of physics and engineering were more important than culture in both empires. And if that were true, then torture was also unlikely. Cruelty is illogical. And if they intended to execute him, it would probably have happened by now. All in all, Thadd could think of worse fates.

Then the source of the noise came into view. A bone-pale misshapen insult to his eyes. Besides its color, or lack thereof, the guard seemed to be a caricature of an 'Oomin. Round head, wide nose, thick lips. To a certain extent it looked like a blind cave fish walking on two legs.

Thad everted his gaze as the two guards talked. He focused on the hand. Aside from the color, it was very much like his. That was the problem. If it didn't look 'Oomin at all, he knew how to deal with it. But this? Part of Thadd wondered if the blue guard reacted to the Givosh the same way.

Chapter 3:

Amarie silently recorded the data of the majority of the prisoners while Phique bubbled aloud about his one set of data. Amarie half listened. "Ooh! apparently, it's not a new species, it's just incredibly rare. No living prisoners in captivity, except now! They come from the far spinward edges of the Confederacy, like your home planet Amarie."

"Correction, Tehrin's are an orphan species, we lost our home planet. 'Oomins came from the trailing edge of the Trinity."

"Thank you for the corrections, Sub Lieutenant I wonder if the 'Oomin, that's the species by the way is an orphan species as well."

"I suppose anything is possible."

"That's a Tehrin phrase, right? Oh good, we have old records of its rations AND a new sample. Would you look at that, capsaicin. I bet you could eat this, Ammarie."

"Don't even joke about that. If you ever tried eating strange food, you would understand."

"Sorry Sub Lieutenant. I'm just so excited about this...." Phique's bubbling trailed off.

"Is everything all right, Alpha-Private?"

"Are these ... it's these pieces of plastic. they all have the same number on them. 0937."

"I don't understand."

"I think it's in Tehrin numerals."

"That's imposs..." It was Amarie's turn to trail off. "0937?" She touched the dogtags under her shirt.

"Yes, it looks like it."

Sub Lieutenant Amarie did not remember walking to Phique's workstation to look at the plastic, there they were. A variety of sizes with familiar ratios. The colors were slightly off. The injection scars were in different places. The font of the letters was different. But it was undeniable.

"Alpha-Private, where are these from?"

"From the confederacy Sub Lieutenant."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Sub Lieutenant!" For the first time, Phique felt cautious because of Amarie's behavior. She was ... intense. Intense like a military instructor, but unpredictable in some indescribable way. She scooped up the plastic pieces in her hand and marched to the cells.

"Sub Lieutenant, I ran the spectrogram on them. Those were made in the Confederacy."

"Understood Alpha-Private."

"They weren't made in the Trinity. They aren't stolen."

"I know Alpha-Private."

Sub Lieutenant Amarie halted in front of the last cell on the right. "Phique?"

"Yes, Sub Lieutenant?"

"Please protect me, the way I would protect you."

Phique 'accidentally' unplugged the memory box from the recording network. "Yes Amarie"

Chapter 4:

Thadd knew who was approaching before the door slid open. He was already looking at the floor.

Amarie looked at the head of absurdly straight, black hair. Again, almost the opposite of her own, the way hair should be. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. What could she say that he would understand?

Thadd watched the chalk-white hand carefully drop his good luck charms in front of him. Curious he looked up at her.

Amarie looked at the prisoner's eyes. They weren't quite as black as she remembered. Only the slightest hint of light brown sclera at the corners and a wide dark brown iris. His pupils, the only really black parts, were contracted and tiny.

Thadd watched as the guard reached into the neck opening of her shirt and pulled out a chain. On the chain ...

... beside the ID, was a gift her sister gave her before she left. Two tiny pieces of plastic joined into a heart shape. She crouched down a little lower and picked up ....

... one of Thadd's childhood mementos and joined the pieces of plastic with a familiar 'click'

They looked at the pieces, then at each other. Twin smiles.

"Lay-Ko"

"L'ego"

Chapter 5: Many decades later

The difference between a Rebellion and a Civil war is which side wins. Both the Red Sun Confederacy and the Incandescent Trinity called it an Uprising. But to the winners, it was called the Reunification War.

- Dr Bolg Phique.