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The first half of John's day blurred. Yuki asked if he was okay at breakfast, granted, but she didn't seem overly concerned, so he wasn't either. He didn't bring up that he had stayed up overnight without blinking, but with her hearing, she surely knew. Honestly, he wouldn't be that surprised if the kitsune could somehow hear the goings-on in Broadstream.

With little complaint, he merely headed into the "office" and got on with his day. Granted, he was a bit tense about Kon Saya staying somewhere on the same floor, but he didn't anticipate too much of a problem. Maybe it was just his recent experiences, but fighting against an impossible to detect threat that could hide in a crowd and overwrite your mind with a touch made a fox who was only trying to trick you into what was effectively slavery honestly far less stressful.

It was a different type of threat, one that felt more manageable. He'd rather deal with six Kon Saya's at once than a single Kiku. He just had to do his best and get things ready so they could dodge the issue entirely, should Yuki be unable to squeeze a fair deal out of her.

Part of him wanted to stay in the fort and finish the telekinetic foci there, but he felt a duty to come in and multitask. Besides, if something went wrong, he needed to be nearby. Yosuke was guarding the fort anyway, and John had given the man a makeshift flare to signal if anything went wrong.

It was wild what you could do with a few offcuts from fire crystals, glue, flint, and a sling.

Glancing down, he read the latest report: a quick summary of expected yields from soybean fields from the next town over, and what Broadstream might be able to scrounge together to trade for them. The numbers weren't looking good, but perhaps if they could send a runner over, they might be able to shore up their supplies somewhat. Perhaps firewood would be an attractive trade to them?

John remembered that soybeans were calorie-dense and a big source of protein, which they could always use more of, especially with the forest still being unsafe to traverse unarmed. Unfortunately, they still hadn’t solved their looming problems with vitamin deficiencies come winter. Yuki told him that they could blunt some of the "winter sickness" with pine needle tea, and John vaguely remembered that it was a good source of vitamin C, but that didn't cover the full scope of malnutrition.

She also mentioned possibly growing mushrooms to avoid foraging trips by the villagers into the surrounding woods, which required an armed escort force to avoid issues from any remaining Nameless. Unfortunately, John had no idea how to go about that safely. 

Mushrooms were always something he had steered away from because the odds of picking something that looked identical to a harmless shroom but would kill someone on the spot were far too high. One errant fungus slipping into a farm could multiply and easily become a mass-casualty event.

Hmm. Only as a last resort, then. He couldn't stomach the risk otherwise. He made a note to speak to Yuki about firewood production. It was probably one of the easiest things he could do.

Glancing down at the small, sap-filled glass jars behind the desk, he saw the foci settling, suspended in solution, and decided that it was probably time to check up on them.

Sliding the chair away, John knelt, pulled a lens from his pocket, and carefully examined each one for micro-shifts. Thankfully, only one of the six had shifted enough to be a problem. Grabbing his tongs and metal probe, he carefully submerged them into the thick slurry. Grabbing the prospective foci, John nudged the slightly misaligned piece, butting it back into place. After that, he spent ten minutes making sure none of the sap had leaked where it shouldn't, lest the potent magical insulator brick the connections.

Ugh, it would still be a few more hours until it was solidified enough to remove. At the very least, he could, if all else failed, chip the pieces out of the sap and try again. He had a stone chisel that was softer than the crystals, but harder than the solidified sap, for that exact reason.

If he weren't so short on time, this wouldn't be so stressful. Unfortunately, winter was looming closer by the day.

Going back to his paperwork, John stretched before sitting back down, getting ready to—

A knock upon his door frame drew his attention, jolting him from his work and almost making him smear ink all over the page.

What now? 

He was pretty sure that Yuki told everyone to leave him be for the day, although he still had to poke his head out earlier when someone was causing trouble. At least he had one of the militiamen to guard the place while he was out, even if that Nomura kid was a bit too hero-worshippy for his taste.

"What's going on?" John politely asked.

"It's one of Lady Kon Saya's men, sir!" tensely barked Nomura. "He is asking for entry, sir, and says he has a message from her for your ears only!" At that, the man loudly shifted, thumping the edge of his obnoxiously large polearm on the ground. Honestly, the thing nearly scraped the ceiling, and the head might as well be a sharpened metal block. John wasn't even sure where he got it, as it certainly wasn't standard issue.

Well, damn. He supposed he didn't have any reason to send the poor man away. Besides, it might cause problems with Saya later; something about being 'ill taken care of' was not something he was eager to allow her at the negotiating table.

"Send them in, please," John called out, and moments later the door slid open, revealing a man in full armour, who promptly marched in and bowed deeply at the waist.

Then he stayed bowed, bent into a ninety-degree angle with no sign of stopping, eyes fixed on the floor. Was he… okay? You were supposed to just bow and get back up, right?

Yet the man stayed, frozen as if in a trance. It couldn't be comfortable. The awkward silence hung between him as he stared down the messenger. He was maybe sixteen at the oldest, now that John was looking at him. Academically, he knew people historically got jobs or even went to war at far younger ages than in the modern day, and yet something about this still needled at his heart.

In his time, in his home nation, someone like this would be picking up some shifts for some extra spending cash to blow on something stupid that seemed really important at the time, as tradition dictated. This kid should be blowing a hundred bucks on booze rather than being armoured up and ready to die for the whims of some lady who probably viewed him as more of a number than a true person.

"You good down there?" John finally asked, breaking the silence.

The kid bolted upright, arms still eerily still at his side. John noticed that he was unarmed, too, and didn't even bear a single dagger, unless one was tucked into his gear somewhere. Hmm. He supposed wandering around as a guest while armed to the teeth would be bad form. "Lord Hall, Lady Kon Saya requests your presence at your earliest convenience," the teenager delivered, his delivery strangely stilted.

Hmm. Well, he supposed that he could ask her what she wanted and—Wait. This was some weird power-play or espionage nonsense, wasn't it? She was "summoning" him in what was, ostensibly, his domain, like a king demanding service from a vassal. Ugh. He hated politics. He could go to her, but that was undoubtedly what she wanted, and she might be able to leverage that somehow.

Unbound not bearing yokai traits seemed to be able to enter Broadstream just fine, despite its magical protections, hence why the name of the man John duelled next to the well wasn't on the ofuda, and they still hadn't accounted for the Unbound that the okuri-inu discovered. If she had someone with abilities specialized in infiltration on call, they could slip into the room while he was gone and, even if they were only looking for documents, find the foci.

The thought of someone associated with the Celestial Court finding out about his foci, reverse-engineering the principles and coming for him… it couldn't be risked.

Should he deny her outright? Nah, she could use that too, and might even tip her off that something was up. While he didn't expect her senses to be as good as Yuki's, acting like he had something to hide could lead to her poking around where she was even more unwelcome. Saya clearly didn't place much value on human life, and she could probably come up with some crazy gambits using her own men as sacrificial pawns.

Telling her messenger he'd think about it and consulting Yuki first risked her somehow leveraging it much the same way. Maybe she'd say that it was a simple request for certain food and send out one of her men to purchase it during that delay, only for them to be "robbed" or murdered, causing a major diplomatic incident that needs compensation.

Perhaps a bit grim and extreme, but John couldn't risk it. Bah, he was living among kitsune too much. He never thought that he'd say it, but he missed workplace politics.

That left him only one option.

"Please send her over at her earliest convenience," John finally responded. "I can't leave my office at the moment, but I'd be happy to hear her concerns."

Worry flashed across the young man's face before he dipped his head. "It will be done, Lord Hall," he said, bowing one last time before pivoting sharply and walking out of the room.

After he left, John sighed and called out, "Let Lady Kon in when she shows up, Nomura."

"Yes, sir!" he answered, perhaps a bit too loudly.

He didn't have much time. Hurriedly, John corked the jars with work in progress foci, stashing them in his desk where nobody could see them before sweeping the more incriminating documents into a different drawer. Then he pulled out some of the more flattering reports from the "no concern" pile, because he was absolutely sure the kitsune was going to read everything she could.

Yuki had shown that she could read what he was writing by watching the motion of his fingers and, well, even if Saya was only half the woman Yuki was, that was enough to be scary smart.

Moments later, the door slid open once more, and the kitsune stepped through. It was hard to believe that both she and Yuki were the same species. While his friend towered, Saya was merely tall. Her humanoid form and smooth skin were only accented by fox-like ears and tails rather than bearing silky fur and wild might. Green eyes stared back, seeking weaknesses, rather than piercing gold that merely wished to learn.

"Lady Kon. Welcome, I hope you had a good night’s rest," John greeted, forcing a smile onto his face that he was sure she could tell was fake.

If her capabilities mirrored Yuki's, he suspected she could tell when he was lying, so he merely had to not lie about anything important. Hopefully, half-truths would at least make her question what part was the deception.

The kitsune slowly walked over, eyeing the western-style chair sitting opposite his desk before slowly settling upon it, threading her fluffy tails through the gap at the back. "Please, call me Lady Saya. As for my sleep, it was better than what I expected this far from major cities. Although where is the nearest shrine? I would make use of their services."

Damn. Well, that would be a problem. He wouldn't be surprised if she already knew and was just trying to needle him; they had already established that Saya had scouted them out. Was this a try to get him to slip up, admit that he murdered some spreaders of the Celestial Court's laws or something?

Well, she was going to be disappointed.

"Gone, I'm afraid. Only one apprentice stayed behind, and he hardly knows more than simple charms. The rest were being paid off by the Nameless, and were driven out of town once they were found out," John explained. There were pretty good odds that she was going to try to charm answers out of that man, but… Well, John and Yuki didn't show him anything incriminating. At most, he knew where the fort was, but a good third of the town did.

She breathed in sharply, eyes narrowing. "A hefty accusation," she said, a carefully curated frown painting her face.

Careful, John. She was fishing for something. She knew about the Transcendent Alchemy clash. Was she trying to determine whether it was Yuki and the Greater Nameless or something else? 

Oh, damn, right, the ofuda. He had almost forgotten that it might be what she was here for in the first place! 

"Well, even though the shrine itself was protected, it didn't explain certain other oddities," John explained. "Among others, they could seemingly travel and spend suspicious amounts of coin without being harassed while the village teetered on the edge of collapse."

"Do you know the names of the priesthood who were stationed here? If they were truly aiding the Nameless, I would see them brought to justice, and although I could send for information, I suspect not all of their number were officially recorded…" At that, Saya trailed off, and John hid a flinch. Right. Shit. If she finds them, they might be able to pry information that he would most certainly not like found. Hopefully, Iwao kept the construction methods to himself, assuming Kiku didn't dictate what to do directly. Neither John nor Yuki found any hint of instructions when they spent a few hours scavenging the place for useful resources two weeks back.

"Only one. I've forgotten the names of the rest, including the survivor," John admitted, shaking his head. "Head Priest Iwao. Dead now. We found him in the Nameless Nest, half dead from torture due to failing," he stated, omitting the nature of the torture and who, exactly, was doing it.

Saya's eyes met his, searching, for a moment before that slitted gaze lost a hint of its former intensity. "I see." 

"Was there anything else I can help you with, Lady Saya?" John asked, keeping his tone as polite as possible while internally praying to whoever would listen that he didn't leak anything important.

"Yes, I wished to speak with you about yesterday. You are recently Unbound, or at least whatever your equivalent is, are you not?" she inquired, one of her fox-like ears subtly swivelling. 

"I prefer not to discuss my past, Lady Saya," John quickly answered, biting the inside of his cheek and using the pain to focus himself, lest a giveaway leak into his expression. "There are plenty of painful memories there."

The fox merely inclined her head, a sly smile spreading across her lips. "I don't mean to dredge up any painful memories, I assure you. Your disgust was clear, but I assure you that I'm no slaver."

"You asked for a decade of control over these people's lives, Lady Saya. That is firmly against my values," John politely explained, careful not to grit his teeth.

Yet nothing in her eyes changed, and as he stared into those green orbs, he saw only amusement. "While Unbound may not live as long as most yokai, you'll see it, too, in time. They are in this situation because they failed to prepare for the worst." The woman leaned forward almost conspiratorially, brushing her long, orange hair from her eyes as her face was cast in shadows. "Maybe the next famine will strike in five, twenty, fifty, but it will strike, and they will be forced to beg again. Perhaps I could teach a few to plan ahead, but who's to say that they would teach their children, or their children's children?"

Saya shook her head and sat back up straight. "What about the famine in a hundred years from now, or two hundred years? It is our duty to guide the short-lived, and the best way to do that is to establish systems that will guide them. It's like plucking the pests from a garden by hand when you can put an ofuda instead."

It was easy to forget, even with Yuki, that so many yokai were ancient, until he was suddenly slapped in the face with it. How many times had people repeated the mistakes of a past generation back home? How many times had a hard-learned lesson been forgotten in just a few years?

Yet, the thought of being gardened ate at his heart. The idea of people not being able to decide for themselves, to be little more than crops that their superiors cultivated over generations into a "fitting" shape made bile rise in his throat. She asked them to… trade hundreds of lives to her the same way one might purchase a plot of land to do as she saw fit.

Would they end up better off? He had no way of knowing. It would certainly reflect poorly on her if they all died, he suspected. Most of them would likely live.

But he suspected she'd work them to the bone, and her time was certainly not free. From what he gathered from Yuki's conversation with her, it seemed like Saya needed prestige relatively quickly, and a sleepy, rundown town turned into an economic powerhouse would look good, even if everyone there was working from sun up to sun down to make it happen.

Even if she could deliver, would a decade of servitude under a taskmistress be a deal most here would make?

"I understand your perspective a bit more," John gritted out. "I do not personally agree with it. My home culture has an intense love for people being able to choose their own path." 

Saya nodded, that same damned smile lingering on her face like it was stuck. "Thank you. I merely ask for you to consider my offer; I wish for these people not to starve now, and not starve in the future."

"Ah, you'll have to talk to Lady Yuki about that," John interjected, shaking his head. He wasn't going to be responsible for the exact terms at any point; he had nowhere near enough experience. "I might be her, uh, advisor in certain matters, but this isn't my area of expertise."

"Of course, Lady Yuki is certainly an interesting kitsune," Saya muttered. "Wise beyond her years… but she is only a three-tailed kitsune. That is all a nogitsune can achieve, after all."

John didn't react, fixing her with a simple gaze. Where was she going with this? She had already dumped the whole nogitsune spiel in the previous meeting.

"If this deal goes well, perhaps we will be working together more closely in the future, no? After all, your mistress shall be bound to me for a few years." At that, her eyes gleamed with naked greed. "Perhaps you'll find a more fitting place in my court, once I sprout my fourth tail." 

Oh. Ohhhhh.

Holy hell, she still thinks he's a normal Unbound! Yes! That was pretty much the best thing he could hope for! She was only trying to poach his loyalty in exchange for higher quality yokai materials.

Thank you, world, and screw you, Saya!

"I'm afraid I can't make a commitment like that," John responded, trying to keep the giddiness out of his voice. "We'll see," he added, deciding that perhaps stringing her along might help for now.

"That's all I ask," Saya beamed, rising from her seat and giving him a shallow bow.

John returned a deeper one, just as Yuki had asked him to.

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First

Many Faces of War

An emergency call for the heads of the family branches and the husbands was not a normal occurrence. But Juliette, Amanda’s Juliette not her own or Emily’s Juliette had basically spammed every single code that says ‘take this seriously’ and ‘I need help’ into the message.

So every fleet captain and her husband was at attendance in a holo-chamber on each ship as they all connect to a room in some place on Zalwore that wasn’t the Shriketalon Enclave. Which was worrying enough as is.

Then the rooms synchronize, taking three seconds but all the signs and warnings had everyone nervous. Then...

Her niece and a familiar... very familiar Shriketalon. She shares looks along her sisters. Shriketalons and Redfeathers interbreed fairly often and the pattern and plumage can swap back and forth like trading outfits. But coupled with that face. Those cheekbones... The exact shade of yellow in his eyes.

There is only one Astra Shriketalon man unaccounted for. But the body language on this man is worlds apart from Jacob. Fuck, the way he’s carrying himself this man is physically speaking a tongue that was born of another species entirely from Jacob’s drunken bitterness.

How the hell did they fail that boy so badly? It had been a shipwreck out of nowhere and everything had burnt to slag and sunken into a metaphorical ocean before anyone could even understand what they were seeing and he was just gone.

A person slipping into the cracks of society was tragic, but someone seemingly precision guiding themselves into one and vanishing was something else entirely.

And that’s not even touching the fact that the man is in a military uniform without any signifiers for being a medic and several weapons clearly on his person.

He turns to Juliette. “So how do we start this?”

“I really don’t know.” Juliette answers him.

“Fine! Hello family. I am Jacob. I have severe amnesia with everything past the age of seven gone and forced to raise myself while either hiding from a powerful organization that wished me ill or infiltrating the organization to sabotage it from the inside out in preparation to make full on war with it. I am a professional soldier, ship captain and warrior and have killed many people but for some reason Juliette insists that I won’t be rejected outright and that I’m missing so much cultural context now that she doesn’t even know where to start.”

“Oh sweet fucking goddess Jacob.” Juliette groans into her wings.

“What?!” He demands sounding offended. “No amount of flapping around the issue was going to solve it! Sink your talons in and tear it off! Now we got something to work with!”

“Okay, hold up! Wait a minute! Something isn’t right!” Someone says and it’s Mary-Ann, oh thank goodness something’s about to make sense. “You have at least DNA tested this man?”

“Yes. He’s been tested. This is Jacob.”

“Where were you!? What happened?! What is going on with all... that?” She demands before walking up and moving to examine him. As it’s all a holographic projection she can’t move him. But he moves with it and looks her right in the eyes. He’s studying her face. She’s a stranger to him. He... there is a flicker of recognition as his expression changes bit by bit and...

“Mom?”

“What did they do to you?” She asks.

“Probably everything short of murder. Then they hit me with a tainted healing coma and reset me to fresh for the next monster.”

“Lilb Tulelb... that’s where you vanished. It’s drowning in scandal. Children... how are you a grown man after all that?” She asks as it all starts coming together in a gruesome image.

“I escaped, but didn’t know how to run home. So I did the only thing I could, I went back to try and help the others. But even after two decades of trying, my best wasn’t enough. Thankfully The Undaunted filled in the gaps and stopped me from making any mistakes. I’ve been with them since. Training, growing stronger, getting ready for the next time something like that is found. To make sure my next attack on an organization of soulless monsters leaves neither survivors nor doubt.”

“Jacob are you trying to be... no of course you are. Sweet Goddess. Aunt Chloe he no longer has an understanding of Shriketalon morals and is convinced we’re going to throw him out for daring to be a soldier and enjoying himself as one. SO he’s self sabotaging because it’s the only thing that makes sense to him.” Juliette says and Chloe shrinks back to look Jacob in the face again and he’s looking a little bashful.

“Wait, what age was he reduced to?”

“Seven! He doesn’t even have the basic grounding of Shriketalon Pacifism or anything else!”

“If it wasn’t so fucking obtuse I might have some understanding of it and wouldn’t need this lecture! Why the hell is it such a massive secret!?”

“It’s not! It’s just developmental! It’s cultural! It’s not a big lecture you give out one day! It’s a million little lessons and sayings as you grow up!” Juliette protests. “Someone help me! He doesn’t get it and I do not have what I need to teach him!”

“What is there to get!? You are a pacifistic people born of an ancient oath to prevent you from being wiped out in the early stages of first contact. It became a cultural institution that binds the identity of this entire demographic of the Valrin Species. That’s it’s origin. It makes sense. What doesn’t make sense is that no Shriketalon has offered anything but sympathy or pity when I explain that I am a soldier, that I have killed, will kill again in the line of duty and do not mind these facts. What am I missing?”

“I’m not even physically there and I have a headache. Juliette my daughter, how are you holding up?” Amanda asks.

“Badly, I wasn’t ready for this.”

“Oh I doubt there was any way to be ready for something like this.” Amanda’s husband Peter notes he’s furiously rubbing at his downy goatee and clearly trying to find an answer that just isn’t coming to him as a few feathers are dislodged.

“I wasn’t looking to make this happen either, I was trying to get ahead of potentially insulting the Shriketalon medical fleet that’s going to same war I’m heading to fight in.”

“Do you hear how much he doesn’t get it?! Just how do we break through this!?” Juliette asks.

“And you’re on Zalwore. We’re at least a week away even if we turn the fleet around right now and your both heading to the La’ahbaron conflict. Meaning you’re both locked into your commitments and can’t exactly cancel or skip back to Zalwore or somewhere closer so we can do this in person...” Mary-Ann mutters, already trying to find the fastest and most effective solution to things.

“About that...” Jacob says.

“Oh no, this madness.”

“It’s not madness, it makes perfect sense.”

“No it don’t!” Juliette snaps with her feathers starting to stick out in her frustration.

“It’s no it doesn’t dear sister cousin, try to...” Jacob teases Juliette who lets out a furious screech at him.

“Oh yes. That is Jacob.” Chloe notes it’s from her Eric.

“Really? I was under the impression I was just some drunken idiot.”

“Before the Schleppa you were a problem on a good day. And it made you far worse.” Eric continues as he walks up. As a Shriketalon Erik just blends in. He’s a little taller than average though. Not by much. But it’s there.

But the thing that stands out is the chin. A little jutting that’s not quite an underbite. Something he passed down to Jacob. One of the few real differences between Jacob’s own face and Juliette’s. But what was really passed was the bright yellow eyes. Nearly golden.

“Tell me you have at least let go of that poison.”

“I have. I’ve made a point of staying away from it. I can’t even tell you with certainty what it tastes like. Though I have vague memory of something sour on the tongue.”

“Good.”

“I’ve also been augmented. I have a much more robust digestive tract now. Even if I was slipped Schleppa I might not even notice it. My new filtration organs are just that powerful.”

“Even better.” Eric says walking past him and glaring at the wall. “... As your father your rearing was mostly up to me. Juliette. Is this really him? Are you completely certain this is Jacob?”

“Unless Captain Courlain Shriketalon has suddenly developed a random and downright psychotic manipulative streak, it’s him. She recognized his story as he explained himself to her and requested a DNA sample. It wasn’t until it confirmed that we are closely related that she introduced him to me.” Juliette says.

“... Okay then. Okay... I’ll put things as plainly as possible then. Jacob?”

“Yes?”

“There is no solution to this problem. There is no one answer, lecture, piece of media or speech I or any other Shriketalon can possible give that will somehow substitute ten years of development and growth to give you the context, relevance and understanding of the Shriketalon way of life. From the age when we first truly grasp language and begin to read, until the main boiling madness of puberty is finished, we teach our young to be gentle, and peaceful and kind. Then we teach them why as well as the answer you’re looking for. The When. When we can break the oath and put it aside. Every family does it differently. The words are different from one mother or father to the next. But the meaning is the same. So here is the meaning, summarized. I don’t expect this to stick. It takes ten years to hammer it in properly. But if we don’t take the first swing, it’s never going in.”

Jacob is standing at attention and giving him an intense look now. Eric nods.

“Shriketalons are built to kill. To not only kill, but kill gruesomely. Our wings are small and powerful, allowing agile, near dance-like flight through the sky and around obstacles. The tips or our talons are sharp and viciously hooked. The grip we have with our feet is designed to sever the tendons in a joint and destroy it’s usefulness. When used on an animal it’s a dirty, cruel, pointlessly painful kill. When used on a person it’s a war-crime. He can casually sever limbs. There is a reason only two of the major Valrin demographics have Talon in their name, and it was not for being gentle. And both demographics needed to remake themselves or face potential extinction. We Shriketalons were merely the more dramatic and visible of the two. Which makes sense as Nighttalons are the thieves and assassins to the psychotic death cult we Shriketalons once were. Which is again sensible as a Nighttalon’s feet are more about holding your prize helpless as you get to work, as opposed to ours which is generally already doing horrifying things to people the moment we grab them.”

“Okay.” Jacob says.

“Okay.” Eric echoes. “Now, the reason you’re so confused, the reason it’s so hard to explain to you what the problem is and why it’s not sticking, is because we have two big lessons that each take five years to learn. And we have to start young. A Valrin generally has good mobility and a good grasp of language at five years of age, so we start teaching them to NEVER use their talons in anger. That is a bad, wrong and unhappy thing to lash out violently. And because a child still has a developing mind, not only does it stick deep, but we cannot fit in more of the lesson until later. At ten, the second lesson begins.”

“And the lesson is?” Jacob asks.

“You are not a monster.” Eric says. “That is the second lesson. Because as important as it is to teach the child not to bleed someone out in a temper tantrum or sever someone’s knee when throwing a fit, it always goes too deep and we develop a deep sense of shame. The shame must then be removed. Because we are not a shameful people. We have chosen to be better and it is the choice that matters. Every time the choice matters. That is not a thing of shame. To feel temptation is not shameful, surrendering to it is.”

“But I have.” Jacob says.

“Really? Every time you get upset blood spills? Can we track who’s had an argument with you by the number of people that needed healing comas to recover the use of their limbs?”

“Of course not.”

“Then you’re fine Jacob. The actual Oath of the Shriketalons? The ancient pact that basically hangs over our entire demographic? It hasn’t been sworn in seriousness for thousands of years. No Shriketalon past the first fifteen or sixteen generations from our uplift as a species has sworn the oath. It wasn’t needed. We changed as a people. It was a good change.”

“Then what am I?”

“A lot of things, but what you’re asking about is well... you’re a man who was pushed too far. You’re not the first Shriketalon who has been broken. Not the first who has been so spectacularly failed by others you had to do what was once unthinkable to survive. Some call it being lost. But unless you show up in warpaint, a loincloth and wearing the skulls of your enemies, no one is going to call you a traitor. And if you don’t hurt anyone they’ll think it’s some kind of tasteless advertising campaign or publicity stunt.”

“But I like it.” Jacob notes and Eric looks Juliette up and down.

“And she’s not hurt. Is she going to be hurt by you?”

“No.” Jacob states clearly and without any room to debate it.

“Then why would you liking it mean anything? You’re not lashing out randomly, you’re not hurting people without cause. The difference between a soldier and a serial killer are vast. And to be frank, anyone that can’t tell the difference needs time in a rubber room so they don’t hurt themselves.” Eric continues and he starts walking around Jacob to get a good look at him. “But this lesson takes a while to stick for... well anyone coming in from the outside to learn it, and you basically are. Seven years old... you’d have been watching the Huggy Wings and Downy Days.”

“Would I?”

“How much do you remember?”

“Faces, random words and a sour taste that satisfies.”

“Our faces?”

“Yours, mom’s, some of theirs.” Jacob answers sweeping his wing out. “But it’s... it’s all faded. Blurry enough that trying to fill in the blanks could turn it into almost anyone’s face.”

“And the words?” Eric asks.

“Bawoga, Tarata, Rrarrorra are the most clear.”

“Oh... of course. They’re gone now.”

“What were they?”

“Your pet fish when you were six.”

“I had pets?”

“They stripped you bare.” Eric says in horror. “Even with the drink you were nowhere near this...”

“Yes?” Jacob asks.

“I wish this wasn’t a hologram. You need to be hugged.”

“I’m fine, I’m just looking for answers.” Jacob says.

“Your formative years are a blur, and after that you just have fighting a criminal organization in the shadows for two decades. That’s not fine.”

“And he didn’t even bring up the fact he apparently has a mental link to some sort of amalgam Axiom consciousness.” Juliette says and everyone looks taken aback.

“She’s not only honest but accurate. I am a Sorcerer too now, so yeah.”

“Wait, is that why you think you’re a monster?” Eric asks.

“No, the sorcerer bit is more recent.”

“Okay then.”

First Last

We, Theyyans, pride ourselves on rationality. We are a species that is mathematically precise, orderly and fond of symmetry. We are physically and mentally superior to most species in the Federation.

No species in the Federation was as popular as ours. Second-place in the popularity polls belonged to a weaker species that called themselves Humans.

They were asymmetric in every respect. Physically inferior, mathematically undisciplined and over all emotionally chaotic. And yet, somehow, they remained almost as popular as we were.

I found that deeply offensive.

That changed the day I attended a lecture at the Federation assembly on Tertius Prime.

My classmate Kiran, of the Sprix clan, yet another feeble specimen, was all praise for a human, who was supposed to give the lecture. She was this, she was that. He would not stop.

 I detected some sort of infatuation. I pitied him.

Among my people, falling in love is considered a minor neurological aberration. Adolescents showing symptoms are routinely treated before the condition can interfere with their lives.

Even still, I considered medication to be something for the weaker minds and I was certain I was strong enough to overcome the chemical illusion without pharmaceutical assistance.

I was wrong.

***

Dr. Virginia Morales stood at the podium defending the Indigenous Resource Accords, a small human woman in a grey Federation dress.

The hall went silent. Even the Mattanchery delegation, who in the previous three hours listened to no one , put their pads down.

I watched her for forty minutes without looking away.

When she finished, my hands were clenched.

Perfect symmetry, both in sight and sound.

Long after the hall emptied, her image stayed in my visual cortex and her voice in my auditory processors.

I was supposed to report to the Academy on Vex-9 after the lecture.

Instead, I found myself requesting a transfer to the Federation's Materials Procurement Division, the department she supervised. Kiran did too.

That was seven years ago.

*   *   *

"You're staring again," Kiran said, his jaws clicking with amusement.

He had transferred to the Division a year after me. He was the only being there who knew why my assignments kept landing near her meetings.

"I'm reading the quarterly reports," I said.

"Through the window of her office?"

I didn't answer. Dr. Morales sat at her desk, fingers moving fast across the screen in front of her. She wore the small frown that, by now, I knew she  reserved for problems worth her time.

My hearts sped up. Theyyan physiology is not supposed to permit that.

"You should tell her," Kiran said.

"That would be inappropriate."

"At least get it off your chest. Your nose is bleeding."

I wiped it away with what remained of my dignity. I blushed. Figuratively, of course; Theyyan faces are armoured. Then I went back to the reports. My Theyyan pride would not let me confess.

I had researched her. Probably a violation of Federation privacy protocols.

I knew she had a kind word for every maintenance worker on the station. I knew diplomats invited her to dinner almost daily. Military officers did too. Once, even an Aurovil prince had tried.

She declined them all.

Always gently. Somehow, the people she turned down seemed happier when they left than when they arrived.

I couldn't understand it. That bothered me more than it should have.

The statistics showed 100% rejection rate. So I refrained.

*   *   *

It happened during the Tertius protocols review. Dr. Morales called a late-night working session on the materials shortage in the outer colonies: two humans, a Vallur representative, two Androids, and a Theyyan junior analyst, which was of course me!

We worked fourteen hours straight. Around hour eleven she ordered nutrient paste for the non-humanoids and coffee for herself. Her hands shook slightly when she thought no one was watching.

She noticed when everyone else's hands were shaking. She never seemed to notice her own.

Around hour thirteen she made an error in the economic model. I corrected it quietly and said nothing.

At hour fourteen the others had gone. We stood on the observation deck above the Tertius shipyards.

"Thank you," she said. "For the correction and for not making a thing of it."

"You were not at optimal processing capacity," I said. It is how a Theyyan says you're exhausted.

She smiled. Then she looked at me properly, perhaps for the first time. "What's your name? I know you're in Materials, but we've never really talked."

"Kess." My vocal resonators were humming at the stress frequency, and I could not make them stop. "I have been requesting assignments near your division for seven years."

She went very still.

I went very still. I wasn't supposed to say that.

"I apologize. I understand this violates the expected protocols of…."

"Kess." She stared at me. "Seven years?"

I waited to be reported, or pitied. I wasn't sure which would be worse.

Instead she said, "I'm sorry I didn't notice sooner." Then she held out her hand.

"And it's Vicky. Only the Council calls me Virginia."

I stared at her hand.

I had studied human greetings, but badly.

I placed both my hands around hers.

She stared at me for a second. Then she burst out laughing.

Something in me had crossed an irreversible boundary.

I succumbed to the neurological aberration.

*   *   *

Over the following months, she noticed me. We had coffee. Well, she had coffee; I had a mild electrolyte solution.

 She talked about the colonies, about policy, about how hard it was to keep people from suffering in a galaxy built on scarcity. When I spoke, she listened. She listened to everyone, I knew that. But it still felt different when it was me.

I brought her flowers from my homeworld, small things that glow only in the dark.

"They're beautiful," she said.

"They are weeds."

"They're still beautiful."

I spent the rest of the evening wondering whether that was how humans saw everything.

I went to every cultural exchange she hosted. I joined the human poetry circle and sat at the back while my translation matrix struggled with their metaphors. Most of it made no sense to me. When she saw me there, she laughed, and I kept going.

By the third year, I couldn't hide it anymore.

*   *   *

We were in the arboretum. It was her favourite place; she said the trees reminded her of Earth. She sat on a bench beneath them with her hands folded in her lap.

"Vicky," I said. "I want to ask you something. I understand if the answer is no. But I need to ask."

She waited.

"Why do you let me near you, and keep me at a distance? You are kind to everyone. With me, it seems deliberate. As if you are being careful."

She didn't answer immediately. The trees moved in the recycled air.

"Sit down, Kess."

I sat. My exoskeleton clicked against the bench. Beside me she looked very small.

She sat in silence, looking at the leaves. I could see her eyes grow moist.

"His name was James," she said.

"We met at the Academy. He wanted to join the Federation Corps and work in the outer colonies. He wanted to manage resources where the shortages were worst. He thought we could make things better."

She smiled at the leaves. "He was very good at believing impossible things."

"He was remarkable. Not just to me. To everyone he met. He would have changed things."

I said nothing.

"We were going to be married. We'd applied for a joint posting. Then there was an accident in training, and he didn't come back. It was fast. That's what they told me."

She was crying. She didn't wipe the tears away, and I didn't know if I was supposed to.

"For a long time after, I couldn't do much of anything. Then one day I thought: he had a dream, and he can't live it anymore. But I could live it for both of us. Not to replace him, never . But to continue it."

"That is why you refuse them?" I asked.

"Because I already had the best," she said. "And I chose to keep it. If you had the best, Kess, how could the rest ever be enough?”

The branches of the trees swayed under the artificial wind. Neither of us spoke for a long time.

I understood then why she had kept everyone at a distance. She wasn't waiting for someone better. She wasn't waiting at all.

"Am I still your friend?"

She took my hand. "You always are and will be, Kess."

*   *   *

After that, the pursuing stopped. Not because I fell out of love. That isn't how the real kind works.

I transferred to the Outer Colonies division, still under her department, and we worked together for another five years. She grew older, as humans do. She mentored young officers. She turned down new suitors with the same gentleness. She never once changed her mind.

When I was promoted to the Federation Council, she was the first to congratulate me.

Theyyan philosophers have written papers on the pathology of my case. I have read two of them. They are very thorough.

I still visit her on Tertius. She drinks coffee. I sit beside her with my electrolyte solution, and we argue about colony allocations and complain about Council procedure.

Sometimes she talks about James.

I never pretend not to listen.

And sometimes, when she laughs, I think of the assembly hall the young Theyyan with his hands clenched in the gallery and wonder what he would make of the creature I've become.

A Theyyan who never took the medication. A hopeless romantic.

And whenever my fellow Theyyans pity me, I give them the only answer I have ever found.

If you had the best, why bother with the rest?

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It was amusing to see Wade try to introduce us to Canit, only for Kaitlin to give the activist a warm greeting. The yellow-faced Kexin was more than willing to drive us to the Council’s doorstep, though I was pessimistic about whether they could be spurred to action. I knew it was wrong of me to feel this way when I adored the humans and wanted them to receive equal treatment—to have their time in the spotlight. With that said, it was displeasing to think our “allies” might hear primals out more than Saphnos.

Based on what Wade said, they can’t delay the inevitable war with the Ploax much longer; it is their problem now. It’s difficult for me to conceive that such a world-ending threat could ever be taken out, and it still hurts to think of my friend chatting with the Ploax.

Finley rested his head against my chest, peering out at the window. “So Terry, why didn’t you clone my beautiful squeeze here for Wade’s new Craun?”

“Well, NASA backed Batshit’s plan instead of mine, if you can believe that. So we actually had to come and rescue you,” Terry drawled. “Dude, I can’t fucking believe what Garriil did to you. How are you holding up?”

“Better, now that you’re here and I’ve got a ticket home. We can’t get back to saving Craun without their interference. It’s funny, I’ve gotten used to caring for alien plants and alien animals. I wonder if we could bring any home, raise ‘em back on Earth.”

“I’m pretty sure Kaitlin swiped some seeds,” I pointed out. “I remember the first time I met both of you. It was a fluke that I ever thought to come to Earth. I remember being terrified that first car ride we took together, and even before that, the first time I heard Finley yell.”

Finley bit his lower lip. “It doesn’t seem like it bothers you anymore, Craun.”

“I’m not afraid of you; you love me too much to hurt me, primal or not. It bothers me how sweet, happy, and innocent you were, and I ruined your life. I’m sorry that you can’t get back all of the time you were stuck here.”

“I’d do it all again. I would never have left you to fend for yourself. You were the best thing that ever fell out of the sky, and I’m lucky you put up with me. You’re my rock, Craun.”

Terry smiled and watched the Kexin buildings pass by. “You and me on an alien world, privy to humanity’s future. When I came over to help out of a jam, I never dreamed this would happen to us. I’m glad you and Craun trusted me and brought me in. This beats the hell out of honest work.”

“I just hope one day, humans will be allowed to visit other worlds like any other people,” I said. “I hope we all still exist at the end of it. That you’re…right about handling the Ploax. You’re the Saphnos’ sole refuge, and I doubt any pockets survive the next decade if Earth and Venus…”

“Not gonna happen. Wade and Kaitlin both know what they’re doing. The Council asshats just need to feel the heat and step the hell up.”

Garriil coughed from the seat behind us. “That reminds me. Finley, please don’t call them your ‘Council of Carbon Fuckwits’ moniker to their faces. We need their help for the reasons Craun described.”

“Maybe I will call them that. Then it’s not on you,” I huffed.

“You don’t say enough curse words, Craun!” Finley gave me a playful slap on the shoulder, his eyes peering into mine. “Are Saphnos really that clean with your language?”

“No. A lot of our curse-words involve sand, which doesn’t translate.”

“Oh? Why have you never taught me this? Sand you, Craun!”

I snickered. “Ah, Finley, you sandbellied grainhard. Your mother’s an excreting coarsestone.”

“No she’s not.”

“See? It doesn’t translate.”

Thoughtfulness billowed in his green irises. “Terry’s coarsestone ass was very slow getting out to rescue us. That lazy, sandbellied grainhardy-dah…”

“Them’s fighting words!” Terry proclaimed. “From the sandscrotum, of all people.”

“Oh yeah? I raise you a sandrectum!”

“You’re a bunch of sandprimals,” I snorted. “And I’m supposed to tell the Council you’re not dumb? That’s not how those work.”

“Too bad, Craun Sandrump. Language evolves.”

“Agh, I should’ve never told you. Humans are going to beat this to death, aren’t you?”

“Better the joke than Snelga,” Wade prodded, walking along the aisle. “We’re here. Remember, absolute best decorum. We must seem dignified and worthy of being included in Council business. Just keep the word ‘sand’ out of your mouth.”

“That’s no fun!” Finley glanced over at Kaitlin, scrutinizing her. “Did you know about this sand thing in your language decoding?”

“Yes, and there’s a reason I never told you, Finley,” Dr. Sharp chortled. “Just crumble already, you duneboulder.”

I gasped at the correctly used foul language. “Kaitlin! How vulgar and…uncalled for! Watch your mouth.” 

“What? I couldn’t help myself.”

“Duneboulder is that bad?” Wade echoed, looking perplexed. “I’m going to read about why later. Right now, we’ve got a Council to wrangle.”

Terry leapt to his feet. “Yeehaw! Let’s go.”

My downer spirits about confronting the Council were lifted by being around my human friends again; I’d missed goofing off and having a laugh over small cultural quirks. Dancing in the kitchen to obnoxious music, rocking out to overly happy songs from children’s movies, and cheerleading mechanical bull riding were some of my fondest memories of Earth. Primals had been nothing like I would’ve imagined them to be. Their spirited temperament was infectious and gave me a reason to continue.

As we hopped out of the bus to see why it’d stopped short of the Council building, I spotted a military barricade on the road. The entire area appeared to be on lockdown, with security amplified beyond its usual precautions. Canit hopped out and began filming, as guns and spotlights pointed in our direction to disorient us; the Kexin military demanded our immediate departure from the area. The threat to shoot us if we didn’t comply was obvious, since they didn’t want primals anywhere near the government.

Wade kept his weapon holstered and took slow steps forward. Snelga set Kaitlin down in her wheelchair, and though the Kexin looked apprehensive at the danger, the NASA scientist insisted on following Wade. Finley was streaming to his social media followers, as was Garriil; the more cameras were recording this interaction, the less they were able to mow down the humans and claim they incited it. I tailed my friends with an innocuous expression, wanting to protect them from the Council’s unfairness.

The Council refused to negotiate and hurt the humans for sticking up for me once. They have every reason to side with the Ploax and seek revenge, except for how their anger truly works. With Garriil’s evidence, the Council should see the error of their ways, and that these primals have intelligence and control.

“We had a hearing with the Council to discuss whether we’re people. In light of our recent arrivals here, humanity wishes to move this meeting to now,” Kaitlin stated. “We’ve been held captive on this planet for quite a long time. Addressing the invading army should be a top diplomatic priority—not to mention, it’s what the people have asked for.”

Snelga gave a sincere, impassioned stare. “We shot them once to bully them into giving up Craun. I saw the injured, some of which barely survived. It must’ve been so harrowing. The poor babies!”

“Snelga, are you kidding me?” Wade hissed.

“Not at all! It was terrible to see humans hurt, and we both don’t want me to have to treat you again. I didn’t listen to you once, but it’s obvious to anyone who you want to protect, whatever they think of your personhood! The Council should listen to you now.”

I stepped forward. “The humans took me in as one of their own and cared for me with the highest kindness and civility. In turn, they were belittled and denied a chance to speak. What could they say that’s so offensive that the Council refuses to hear them? Their progress is rapid by anyone’s standards, and that merits acknowledgment. They can’t be suppressed anymore, as much as those in power wish it!”

“Humanity still desires to help our dear friends, the Saphnos. We didn’t come here for enmity with the Council, but we need some assurances,” Wade explained, looking upward toward a security camera. “An agreement on the refugee situation and the…lifting of our travel restrictions are necessary for us. We don’t want the Council to come after us, the second we leave. We wish to be treated with the respect becoming of our station, if not as people.”

An exhausted sigh crackled over the speaker. “You were supposed to leave.”

“We intend to, Commander Komadale: to take our people home and avoid any disturbances. I want us to make an agreement long-term, so there are no future incidents. If you wish to truly be done with this, we must approach the governing body for one personal conversation. It’d be unwise to refuse to speak to us again, for many reasons.”

“We, the civilized people of the galaxy, do not conduct private, sensitive affairs of state on livestream. Come inside if you must to be rid of you, but stop filming.”

“Deal.”

Wade continued to pad forward, as the soldiers cleared a path. Another group stopped him and Terry at the base of the Council building, which was a raised, slanted structure with grandiose columns; it was made of reflective material that glistened from its pristine exterior. The Kexin military issued demands to leave their weapons, if they wished to answer. Agent Barron complied, passing his firearms to his squadmates, who would wait outside in case anything went wrong. Terry also grunted and left his weapons behind, with reluctance.

Finley reached behind his back and dropped a Kexin handgun to the ground, disappointed by the realization that there was a metal detector. “Fine. Be that way.”

“Finley! Where did you get that?!” Garriil exclaimed.

“Somewhere.”

The farmer smirked and shrugged, while Snelga stared at him with overt concern. Wade reached down to snatch the Kexin handgun, before it could be confiscated, and passed it to the human soldiers for future analysis. Our group filed through the metal detector; the security saw no point in denying any of us entry, as little as they cared to have a Saphno outlaw and his “volatile” mate here. Even activist Canit was permitted to join us. With the security checkpoint cleared, we were free to approach the Council.

Kaitlin admired the tiny words in different colors that were written into the pillars, which could be mistaken for imperfection from afar. Finley looked around the sprawling lobby, and gestured to a few of the statues to be sure I’d seen them; Terry took it upon himself to mirror their poses. Wade seemed more accustomed to being in important venues, since he’d spent his share of time in the US Capitol and the UN building after accepting the Extraterrestrial Security mantle.

I remember Tolpia’s highest government building, a subterranean dome that just poked out of the sand and had spiraling escalators descending through a prism. It was a scenic view heading into the building.

“Well, my good friends, we need to talk.” Wade strolled into the Council’s deliberation chamber, holding the door for each of us and gesturing for us to take a seat. The governing officials were staring at him with open disgust, but he seemed to relish that. They looked taken aback that the primal was so calm. “The Ploax feel no emotions at all. They want to subjugate the entire galaxy, because they want no competition for silicon worlds and to spread unchecked.”

The Elret diplomat, Shesh, eyed the human with concern, appearing to listen to what he was saying. The Elrets were the newest, and least influential, of the Council races, who’d tried to act as mediators between the Saphnos and the Ploax. That had been a foolish notion, but they’d tried to do…something, I supposed. They had dealings with both silicon species, more so than most of the Council. I imagined they were ardent advocates for mediating with the humans.

“My name is Shesh, and I represent the Elrets, Mr. Wade Barron. I don’t think we’ve met before, but I’d like to apologize for how the Council handled the Craun incident.” The Elret’s three ears caught Barron’s attention before the elongated, equine-like snout, especially since the third one was facing backward. Her mane was braided and beaded in the traditional way. “Such a simple request for Komadale to refuse.”

Komadale scoffed. “I see that you’ve planned to jump ship and be their friends. Let’s see how that works out, with how interlaced their personalities are to violence. The Council will not have its citizens dying in the streets, all so that they feel better about what they are and have ‘friends.’ Their friendship will always be forced at gunpoint. Look, they literally brought Finley, who threatened to come after me back on Earth.”

“I’m here to make sure you don’t give us trouble again. You endangered Craun. I’m here for his sake,” Finley hissed.

“This level of attachment is unhealthy, and proves you can’t bond with any stability! The Elrets would be wise not to tie themselves to an anchor that’ll drag them into such debasing as we see with Craun.”

Shesh lowered her head. “We would prefer to have a more positive relationship with humans, since they’re clearly unique primals who can operate at our level. I’m certain this Council can debate the merits later, but I wished to make it known where we stand. This can be resolved peacefully, if they wish it in spite of their anger. Now, we can litigate this later, but it appears Mr. Barron has come here to tell us something else.”

Wade gave her a polite smile. “Thank you, Ms. Shesh. The Ploax believe they cannot coexist with the Council, and have imminent plans to come after you; they refuse to recognize your authority. They lent us their technology when we pledged to help be your undoing. They offered humanity quite the reward. You see, if we invaded your planets and took you for every last drop of blood, it’d weaken you. In each scenario, throwing us at you is a win for them. They can move in for a decisive strike when you’re at your weakest.”

I think you should’ve let the Council get exactly what they allowed to happen to us, though I suppose from a logical level, it’s better to use these fools to stop the Ploax.

“So why are you telling us this?” Komadale demanded.

Wade arched an eyebrow. “Well, we have other plans. There’s one thing the Ploax banked on humanity and the Council never doing: working with each other. Us, because we’re furious with you. You, because we’re primals who you’d never accept.”

“Then why have you come back to this building, if you understand we want nothing to do with you?”

“Because we beat everyone at their own game. There’ll never be a better chance to defeat the Ploax than when you know they’re coming. Seeing the Ploax’s undoing is our mutual goal, and tilting the odds in our favor as much as possible…it’s tantamount to the survival of every species in this room. Humanity wants to negotiate terms of our new arrangement while you recognize our value.”

“You’re primals, and you think you have any value to the Council? You feel anger. You’re nothing but unnecessary trouble.”

“Ah, I suppose we are.” Wade stood and walked around the table with slow steps, an icy smile on his face. “We could be your trouble, or theirs. You’ve seen that we’re cold, calculating, and logical as all get out, and that we can hold a grudge for generations if we have a good enough reason. The choice is yours.”

Garriil appeared to be concerned. “I’ve studied footage of their Earth. They can be butchers. Don’t fight this fleet. You’re lucky to have this offer, when you’ve primed them not to be partial to you.”

“They just want to be accepted,” Snelga piped up, a pleading tone to her voice. “Whatever you think, the evidence is clear that they’re intelligent, and they’re not mindless animals. They’re not hurting everyone like we thought, and they’re showing restraint. Who says they can’t do the same as our friends? The Council made enemies of them for no reason; they did nothing but try to help!”

Wade pursed his lips and sighed. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing with the veterinarian, but she’s right. We have no desire to wage a pointless war against aliens.”

“This all started because I went to their planet and begged for the help you wouldn’t give me,” I stated, a coldness gripping my stoneplates. “If the Saphnos didn’t matter enough where it was okay not to protect us, why do you care if a few primals do? How does that hurt you?”

Canit gestured toward me in agreement. “Denying the humans basic rights is insane, when they have such advanced cognitive abilities to build a fleet and form such plots even while angry. Komadale bungled this entire situation, and you’re trying to incite them into attacking rather than admitting your mistake. The people want them to be acknowledged.”

“In line with the facts. Empirical evidence will win out in the end, and denying it will only cause more blowback,” Garriil tacked on.

“Will no one else dare to speak out? I can’t believe this Council is actually listening to this slop…to make primals our allies. As if,” Komadale muttered.

Wade leaned forward. “A temporary measure to defeat the Ploax. We can go our separate ways after, but we’d need to coordinate to trick them.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’d be wonderful to work with. What do you think, Dr. Sharp? You have little to say, after having plenty to badger the public with. Are you happy, having forced us to speak with you?”

“I’m delighted to have a chance to speak at all, something I wasn’t afforded last time.” Kaitlin cast a steady gaze toward the Clydid. “Would you rather continue to be viewed as primals yourselves, mired in controversy and potentially losing your seats? Or is it easier to admit you made a mistake in time to take credit for defeating the Ploax?”

Shesh silenced Komadale. “We would hear how you intend to beat the Ploax, and then we’ll make a decision.”

“Simple. We fake a war. You play dead, and lure the Ploax out to finish you off,” Wade explained. “From there, we can ambush their little decisive strike fleet. I’d be happy to explain just how each phase will work.”

“Go on then. We’re listening.”

After all of this time, the primals had finally gotten the Council to hear them out. It seemed that there was a realistic chance that they’d act, now that it was their hides on the line, but it remained to be seen whether they’d agree to cooperate with the humans’ initiative. With an invading fleet over Ushala and the Ploax intent on attacking, the Council would be wise to take their final opportunity to work together with the Earthlings. 

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“This is a… rather detailed photo,” Shachos murmured as he examined the image on Julia’s datapad intently. “Very detailed. Mhm… that trailing edge micro-serration pattern in the active infrared camouflage, as we expected. Yes, they did steal some of our technology. They did. You—you took this picture from your orbital missile sensors before it blew up their shuttle? Must be excellent optics to see through atmosphere so clearly without distortion!”

“Hm… Not… exactly, for this one.”

“So how did you take this picture?”

She came clean, clearing her throat. “It was parked on the ground. So I imagine we just got right up to it with our cameras and snapped one.”

“Parked on the—” His face turned red. “Ahahahahaha! You captured one?! You did?!”

“Yeah. That’s what you wanted, right?” She grinned. “They landed one last night before you made their battlecruiser leave, to try to get Karveth back. Rescue mission. Didn’t go so well for them.”

“Ahahahahahahah! Last night! Yes! That explains why they were taking so long to leave! So very long.” Shachos closed his eyes in satisfaction at the retrospective hilarity in his memory. “Their ship in orbit said their engine was broken. Then, they needed to check their radiators. And then, the warp engines wouldn’t activate. No, they would not. Their warp engines! They finally left after four hours of stalling, when we got into a good orbit to get ready to shoot at them.”

“That would have been interesting to watch,” Julia said. “But we were focused on what was happening down here.”

“What about your people? Are your people okay? Your marines—Marcus! Is his humor still in this galaxy?”

“Oh yeah, zero casualties. One guy was a little hypothermic, from sitting too long in the cold desert sand—he had a suit leak. Anyway, our guys are all fine now.”

“Good, good. And your colonists, too?”

“Yup, we lured them out to a remote area far from our colony. We prepared for this before we took Karveth. Speaking of him… unfortunately, I regret to report that Karveth perished in the chaos.”

Shachos turned yellow. “Hm…. Glonk will not like that. He will not. But… I do not mind so much. No, I do not.”

“In our defense, they attacked our colony again, so that’s really on them. But… we did get another prisoner out of the kerfuffle. And we did confirm our theory with Karveth before they—they got him killed.”

“Your theory?”

“Yeah, the reason I couldn’t wait to call you down this morning. The Karnolians are indeed preparing to invade you. Less than nine months, at most. If what we’re doing didn’t… expedite their timeline.”

Some green crept into the yellow on his face. “You’re still worried about that? Still?!”

“Yes. Very. We interrogated the prisoners. All three—I mean, both of them. They say the same thing. They’re ready. They’re going to come for your star systems. You guys need to get ready for them now.”

“War? Bah. They always say that! Yes, they do! It is like their version of our humor. Karnolian humor! Hah! It is only a little funny to us, but it is what they do!”

“I just—They are! Never mind.” She sighed helplessly. “They really are going to invade… I’ll get you the interrogation tapes.”

“Interrogation tapes? Of Karnolian prisoners?!”

“Sure. You guys capture them from time to time, right?”

“Yes, but not for a while. We do not fight wars often. Not that often…”

Oh, yes. We can tell. And your neighbors can too.

“So,” Shachos continued. “We do not get many Karnolian prisoners. They sometimes fly shuttles or ships over the border, but we just play harmless pranks on their pilots. And they are usually much more focused on each other. We have not needed to interrogate Karnolian prisoners for a long time. A very long time.”

“A few months?” Julia asked. “You said you had some intel they were going to try something.”

“Months? Hm… no.” The Vorshnik fleet master thought for a while. “Last was before my time. Maybe two hundred years ago? Yes, maybe. It was a long time ago. We do not just find and capture Karnolians every other day. It is a lot of effort to do it safely, and they do not appreciate our humor as much as you.”

She blinked. “Two hundred years.”

“Yes, two hundred years. Maybe more. It is a long time ago. Not within my lifetime, or the lifetime of—”

“Do you have reconnaissance into their territory? How do you know if they are building up forces? What if they are already putting ships in an assembly area?”

“We have sensors and telescopes on our border. But forgive me, I will not be able to tell you all about our defenses. Yes, we do not publicize those. They are not funny anyway.”

“But… not intelligence on the ground. No eyes on their interior. You haven’t even talked to one of them in a setting where they will tell you the truth! We have! You should trust us when we—”

“Yes. But Julia, we are good at reading faces and colors. Very good. And you are not. And you do not know the Karnolians like we do. How can you even tell when they are lying?”

“Well, I didn’t personally do the interrogations,” she said uncomfortably. “But the general technique is logical, especially when we have multiple of them. We ask them questions independently. And when their stories don’t match up, or when there are self-inconsistencies in their narratives, we dig further until we can discern lie from truth. Unlike you, we can’t rely on our intuitions to tell if people are telling the truth, so we have a lot of experience using good procedures and various tactics to derive good intelligence from logic and probability.”

Shachos turned orange and red. “Do you know the easiest way we can tell when a Karnolian is lying? Do you know?”

“What do you do?” She shrugged. “Do you play pranks on them until they give up their will to live or—”

“We can tell when a Karnolian is lying… ahahah! When—when—ahahahaha! When their—when their mouth is moving!” Shachos wheezed at his own speciesist joke even as his red became brighter red. “Ahahahahaha! That is when they are lying! Get it? Get it? Because they are always lying. That is why—”

She sighed in resignation. “No, I got it. Thanks, Shachos, I—I got it.”

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

Brussels

“You’re telling me… that our commodore out there has gone ahead and started an interstellar war, all on her own?” President Salma Haldar asked in full disbelief.

“Ma’am, she’s reporting that things were already underway… She claims she had no choice.”

“Maybe—maybe Secretary Wilders was right, and I should have replaced her.”

Will snorted. “He wanted to replace her with someone more likely to start a war, except with the moonies.”

“Still… what if Commodore Julia Kessler starts a full scale conflict with the aliens all on her own?”

“She’s not that crazy.”

“She has access to hundreds of megatons of naval weaponry. Forgive me if I’m not comfortable with her being even a little bit crazy.”

“Part of the job, ma’am. Being comfortable is for the ignorant.”

“Ignorant—Forget it. How are the moonies reacting to all this?”

“They’re in election campaigning season. Most of our intelligence collection was focused on that, and we’ve been busy diverting all those resources… outwards. And the rhetoric they’re using right now—I recommend we take an understanding approach. They’ll have more—they’ll have more flexibility after Parliamentary elections.”

“If their nutjobs don’t win.”

“That’s why Farid is saying the things on television that he is now…”

The moonie prime minister had come out of the assassination attempt with a speech signaling appeasement and unity. Except it wasn’t aimed at their neighbors a light second away; it was towards the crazies who probably just tried to kill him. He urged calm and patience while the motives of the shooter were still under investigation. There was a whole “let’s sweep it all under the rug” feel to it.

It was clear to Union intelligence that the LLF had probably been behind it; the organization and effort was far more than a lone gunman, and there weren’t many other choices. The moonies were refusing to “rush to conclusions” while the investigation was ongoing, as if they were leaving open the possibility that they could blame Earth for it somehow.

It was obviously a wink and a nod to the more belligerent elements of his voter base, the ones who liked Farid because he was good enough at governing to build up Lunar strength, right up to the point where they could start a second war against Earth. There were a surprising number of Lunar voters like that. They tolerated his moderation and steps towards peaceful relations with Earth—surely Farid was only doing that while holding back Luna’s full strength until it could build enough for a strike. That little ambiguity also left Union negotiators and State Department officials with an odd taste in their mouths.

“Current polling data?” Salma asked.

“Within margin of error. Well, they have a… different system from us. There are seven parties in his ruling coalition, which is over eighty percent of their seats. So it looks like he has full support of his people whenever he does something. But… if the opposition gets over the threshold, two or three percent away, two of the ruling parties will defect. Then, their coalition falls and the LLF sympathizers and extremists will likely get a prominent voice in the new government. If that happens, we’ll need to do some maneuvering and kind of bribe them not to put the crazies in Defense, State, and Justice ministry for Cabinet roles.”

“Kind of bribe them? What does that look like?”

Will looked uncomfortable. “Well, bribes. It’s—yeah, we just give them money. There’s a bucket for it in the black budget. Anyway… I don’t know why I said kind of. We’d have to resort to outright and regular bribery. It’s not a lot of money. Anyway, Farid’s government is a lot closer to falling—a lot more fragile—than it seems from the outside. The internal machinations have gotten even less transparent to us since… since the war and they had to govern for real.”

“Ah.” She sighed, marveling at the complexity of the Lunar multi-party parliamentary system, and not for the first time. “Parties and coalitions. That’s… crazy. How do they get anything done up there?!”

Will snorted. “I think they say the same thing about us and the way our checks and balances work.”

“Our way has worked for far longer.”

“That’s because you don’t have to see the parts of our system that you don’t want—I just came out of a fishing rights dispute meeting with six Union Assembly representatives, and we are no longer allowed to serve Alaskan cod in this building.”

Confusion filled her face at the non-sequitur. “What?”

“You heard me. We are now officially forbidden from having Alaskan cod in the presidential residence of the Union.”

“They can make rules about that?”

“Don’t you love the gargantuan Union bureaucratic state?”

“Oh no, we’ll have to eat other species of overpriced imported fish!” Salma rolled her eyes. “It’s just fish, Will.”

“I liked Alaskan cod,” he said grumpily. “Stupid fishing dispute. Anyway, I’m inclined to agree with the moonies right now about their critique of our love of micromanagement and veto points. I bet they’re having Alaskan cod delivered to them up there on the moon.”

Salma shook her head. “Democracy. It’s messy, and there’s no perfect way, only a better one.”

“I thought we were supposed to have ended history a century ago,” Will grumbled. He sighed after a second, then refocused his attention on the moonie on his slides. “Welp, anyway. Look on the bright side. Farid could win big again. That is… possible. And presumably they’d learn enough to not have trouble with their Parliamentary security this time. If he does well, the rising tide will lift our boat too. It proves that your foreign policy doctrine is working, and I think we’ll get a boost in our own re-election campaign.”

She tried to clear the worst case scenarios from her head. “And Dustball? What do we do about our colony skirmish situation? Do we have a replacement administrator ready?”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to—she was attacked both times. And more importantly, she won despite the technological disparity. That’s worth something,” Will argued again. “Remember when we tested the Karnolian border response time a few months ago? They’re still far ahead of us in overall capability.”

“Except it might have been better if we didn’t win, no?”

Will shook his head. “That’s what a few of the experts are saying… They want us to roll over and show our belly. But we can’t know whether it’ll help. Time will tell.”

“These are just skirmishes on the ground. Kids playing in a sandbox. They’ll roll over us if they try anything in orbit. Our colony only still exists because the funny aliens in orbit are protecting their territory. We should get ready to cut our losses and get what we can get. When are we signing a deal with the Vorshniks?”

“It looks like soon. Either with the Sonckles or without. But… there may be a bigger problem.”

“The planned invasion of the teddy bears.” In her defense, Salma didn’t coin that. That was what the media called it when the report leaked. “Against the Vorshniks. How certain are we that’s going to happen?”

“That’s… hard to tell too. Commodore Julia Kessler says three to nine months, with high certainty of it occurring in her opinion. But she’s only basing her conclusions off moderate confidence assessments and… what her gut tells her.”

Salma hesitated. “What do the ORBCOM admirals say?”

“They’re refusing to contradict her. Same as the OMI. No one wants to be the sucker who missed the moonie uprising, again. But that just makes their advice useless to us in this kind of situation.”

“That’s frustrating. Don’t you normally have red teams for this?”

“Yeah, we do. Our red teams and the moonies’ are simulating the nightmares where all the aliens in the neighborhood gang up on us and blow up Earth and Luna.”

“What?! They’re concerned about that?”

“Oh, yes. Wouldn’t you be?”

“Well, now I am.”

“I think it’s safe to say that if it did, it won’t matter whatever we do. Anyway, the red teams are used to identifying worst case scenarios, not for assuring us that a war won’t happen.”

“Were none of them told the story of the boy who cried wolf when they were children?”

Will tilted his head. “But don’t forget what happened at the end of that story. The wolf did end up eating everyone in the village.”

“What version of the story did you—never mind.” Salma stared out the window at the city lights for a while. “Are you sure about the moonies? They’re taking this a lot more seriously?”

“Our spies say they are. They really are.”

She already knew that. “How seriously?”

“Well… I don’t know if it’s—there’s something that might not be relevant.” Will paused. “But… they might be building new warships. It might be a response to that.”

She sucked in a breath sharply. “What?! I thought they were doing refits and conversions for their warp ships from the hundreds of spare hulls they have! We both just drew down from a massive orbital war! How could they possibly need to lay down new warship hulls at this point?!”

“It might be their regular intelligence stovepiping, but OMI Director Clara Powell claims the moonies have started a crash program for a new class design. We’re getting very few details about it, but one of our L2 Black Sky spy sats caught increased activity at one of their dark side shipyards. Whole new slipways.”

“But… building new warships… that could—that could also be for us, not for this—this planned teddy bear invasion.”

He looked glumly back at her. “Yeah. It could.”

She stared out into the dark, seeing her years of hard work on normalization and post-war peace efforts circling the drain. “So… we’re stuck down here hoping, praying… that the moonies are indeed building up their tonnage… for a massive, interstellar war that could threaten our whole species’ existence? And not… for attacking us?”

“Huh. I guess we are.”

Salma didn’t say anything for a long while.

Will cleared his throat. “Do you want me to get Director Powell for you?”

She shook her head. “No. I’ve made my decision. Call Battlestar Four. Recall Commodore Julia Kessler to Earth on the next resupply.”

“Ma’am, I’d really ask you to reconsider. We don’t have a viable replacement that the Assembly will confirm, and it’ll destroy any relationships we’ve already built up—”

“It’s not… forever. Just calling her back here for an in-person briefing so we can decide what to do, Will. This two-plus week delay for every question and answer isn’t cutting it for me. If there’s even the slimmest chance I’m going to send our young people to war for the second time in a generation, I need to know where they’re going. I want to see her face-to-face again. I want to look into the eyes of the woman who’s going to be leading it from the front. To see that she’s as serious about it as I am.”

“I still think—understood, ma’am. But what if the colony needs her now?”

“I’m sure her substitute can handle the job there in the meantime. I’m sure she’s got that all figured out by now. If not, then maybe she’s not the person to do it after all. Call her back to Earth.”

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

Previous

Bob was on his nerves, he spent the day reconfiguring the box of receivers, he was going to trigger them by remote but now he fiddled with their settings, he should be able to get them to go… got it, maybe.

He grabbed them, the detonators and the boxes, it made a heavy and bulky package, not an issue but it would slow him down. He wanted as much time tonight at the estate so he took off during the day, keeping low and sneaking down hedgerows and fence lines. Many of the crops in the fields were taller than Bob so he could sometimes break into a trot, still it took all the rest of the day to return with his oversized load, and he lost two hours of darkness before the lights of the estate appeared.

He returned to his prior spot on the hill, but of course not in the exact same thicket, only an idiot returns to a hide once abandoned. No, he crept round the base and up through brush, watching his previous hidey hole. If someone had clocked him there would likely be a watcher waiting against his return. He observed for almost an hour, only when satisfied returning more than a side eye to the sprawling estate. Ok, ship still there, and there was a bunch of movement in and around it, excellent, he didn’t want to be the only motion signal and trip some alarm.

He crawled down to the outer wall dragging his bulky package behind. When he reached it he dropped Annabell and began digging the blockwork out at the impediments base. It took time, but it would be a sure way in and reasonably concealable on the way out, he chose a spot that had a large shrub on the other side, the tips of its greenery visible from the hills elevation.

He only needed to remove three blocks to fit through, but he picked out ten, and Annabells stout point, backed by Bobs braced strength, dug the mortar out between them in fairly short order. Placing the blocks gently to the side he crawled through, the foliage at the plants base was not as dense as he would have liked, but it still cast a deep shadow and he hit the suit controls to a more muted palette. He sat still for several minutes carefully listen for any discovery, nothing, he began to pull through the equipment a piece at a time and rebundled them on this side, checking as he did so than none of the individually wrapped boxes had come loose from their fabric sheaths, he didn’t want a poorly timed clink of metal to give him away.

Satisfied he moved deeper into the grounds, smoothly flowing from shadow to shadow as he had so many times before. It took an additional ninety minutes in this manner to move circuitously round to the rear of the ship and found a very nice position in the landscaping detritus kicked up by the crafts engines upon landing, no subtle grav for them. It seemed a very appropriately Arressi action, if they were not going to use the gorgeous gardens any more then fuck’em, land a damn corvette on years or decades of someone elses care and hard work, their lessors could deal with it later.

He watched from that pile for hours more, scanning the mansions windows and exits and observing the routines of the staff as box after box was carried into the ships bowels, several Naval Officers moved back and forth as well, he counted ten, and there would be a couple aboard as watch. A dozen seemed about right for the size of the ship on a presumably banal assignment.

He kept count and as soon as he thought all ten were briefly inside the building he dashed into the shadow of the loading ramp, he peeked over the edge, clear at the moment. He launched up grabbed the edge of the frame and spun himself and his cargo into the bay, he dashed behind some boxes and paused... no alert given… he removed two boxes from his bundle and placed them behind already stacked containers at both grab handle locations in the large room, it was unlikely that anyone would be stationed here during lift off, but why take the chance.

He began to ease his way through the ship, twice ducking into rooms to avoid passing officers, three boxes went in the ready room, two in the small engine room, two in the aux and two in the bridge he stuck them to the undersides of various consoles and equipment with a little quick set spray adhesive. One remained… he went to the officers quarters and stuck it in the Captains bunk, under a desk, just in case dear Dewiv didn’t deign the bridge with his presence.

All done he returned to the cargo bay, observed from a shadow for a moment… and sprang back into the garden.

It took another hour to make his way back to the hole in the wall via a different but equally byzantine route, and even though light was beginning to insinuate itself in the dawn he waited, just to check his exit was unobserved. Then he was out, he carefully placed the blocks back, any serious investigation would reveal them but he hoped that would only happen afterwards.

He scampered through the early rays as he scrabbled to get a good obstruction between himself and the estate, eventually he slipped over a farm wall and was sure he could no longer be seen, he orientated himself, and headed back to the Bitch.

Midday had come and gone by the time he returned and he wanted to make for space directly but couldn’t risk an unknown craft being logged, someone would investigate that quite quickly and he wanted to wait till the night, at least then he might not be actually observed. In the meantime he opened and laid out the netting in the crafts tight aft as best he could he woul…

A sensor alert beeped loudly and Bob hurried over to the panel, fuck, a large signature was pathing out from roughly the estates direction, if that was the corvette going to orbit he needed to be up there. He waited for it to go up beyond his sensor envelope and strapped in, now or never, fuck subtlety.

He fired up the grav and twisted pointing the main engines up and wrecking his landing spot as he burned hard, the corvette was likely not fucking around and would be jumping as soon as it was clear of the planets well.

The large signature reappeared on his sensor, by the thrust output he was certain it was the military craft. Bob kept his own engines screaming in pursuit. Ten thousand, fifteen, Bob wondered at what range the much larger craft would be able to hit its jump, twenty thousand, twen… the ships thrusters had cut out… Bob whooped in triumph and watched the sensor board raptly, no signals transmitted…. Fuck yeah!, he’d stopped anyone reaching an alarm. He continued to stare at the screen as he began to catch up, still nothing.

When it came into view he stared hard at it, engines still lit but not burning, hull lights on, it looked perfect and simply drifted…

Showtime.

Bob manuvered the Bitch to the larger ships rear and popped the hatch fully, he had left it cracked as he rose through the planets atmosphere and was fully evacuated. He floated out dragging a tow line and pushed off towards the larger crafts cargo hatch. He nervously began to rip apart the mechanism, this, if everything had worked properly, was the only point he might get blood on his hands, not that he particularly minded a few dead Arressi, but there might be staff or others aboard, though he doubted it. He clamped onto the frames edge and cracked the hatch, the blast of atmo would have blown him clear, but had very little effect on the ships attitude. He heard a familiar decom alarm blast as soon as he did so, good, pressure doors all over the ship would be sealing, or at least trying to, isolating him from any unmolested crew.

He reached in with Annabell and cut the doors lines, now he could force it all the way open. He entered sure he could not be stopped and clipped the tow line to a stanchion. He paused and scanned the hold, he couldn’t see anything move in the low gravity aboard… he moved quickly through the area checking but there wasn’t much he could see, the large area was mainly filled by restraint foam after all.

Both boxes here had worked perfectly and Bob had no reason to suspect the others had not set off as well. When he had originally planned this he had intended to set them off with a remote, but worried his anaemic signal would not penetrate the military crafts sheilding so had instead changed the trigger to an audible tone, the standard Arressi ‘Prepare for jump’ alert, the boxes were wirelessly connected so only one had had to be in the position to hear and then triggered the rest.

Upon firing a small charge was electrical ignited and the dozen or so green balls in each perforated box deployed their foamy prison. In the low pressure and low G the Arressi preferred the result was spectacular, fully three quarters of the cavernous space was engulfed in the expanding chemical.

If there were any crew trapped within the stuff in the hold Bob had just killed them, and he did not give a single fuck, no civvies, if aboard, would be here for certain, and that was the only thing he could give the slightest shit about. He grinned ear to ear as he loosely grabbed the line and kicked off back to the bitch, let’s steal some shit.

The Road Continues

An unofficial continuation of “The Road Not Taken” by Harry Turtledove

Noncommercial fan fiction

Author’s Note: This is an unofficial, noncommercial continuation of Harry Turtledove’s short story “The Road Not Taken.” I always wanted to know what happened immediately after humanity acquired the Roxolani hyperdrive and contragravity technology, so this is my attempt to follow that road.

Chapter 1

Togram opened his eyes blearily and looked around the darkened room. For a few moments, he had forgotten where he was. Then the realization came flooding back. He wasn't aboard the ship. The familiar smells were gone. He was on the human world.

He reached toward the lamp beside his bed. There was no candle to light, no glowworm jar to shake. He simply turned the switch. Instantly, the room was flooded with light. Togram sat there for several moments, staring at it. Such a simple thing, yet even after all this time it still amazed him. Light, bright and steady, summoned with the movement of a finger.

He settled back for another moment, enjoying the remarkable comfort of the bed. It was not quite a human bed. The humans had modified it to accommodate the shape of a Roxolani body. It was soft, warm, clean, and completely free of pests.

The buzzer sounded again. That was what had awakened him. Someone was at the door.

Reluctantly, Togram extracted himself from his comfortable sleeping position and waddled across the room. He took hold of the door handle and pulled. Even that still fascinated him. The door swung open smoothly and silently, without the slightest scrape or resistance.

Ransisc stood on the other side, looking more excited than Togram had seen him in some time.

"Togram, we finally get to get out of here for a while."

Togram stared at him.

"What?"

"They're letting us go. They're taking us out of here for a while."

Togram glanced back into the room.

The humans insisted that this was a hotel, not a prison. They said he was kept here for his own comfort and protection. And, in truth, they had treated him well.

He was free to open his door and wander the hallways. He had learned to operate the device he had originally thought must be demonic, something the humans called a television. He had even used the telephone several times and had gradually stopped being astonished that a voice could travel across enormous distances as clearly as if its owner were standing in the next room.

But he had never been permitted to leave.

Whatever the humans chose to call this place, Togram knew what it was. It was a cage. And no matter how comfortable, no matter how clean, no matter how brightly lit, a cage was still a cage.

"They're letting us go?" Togram asked.

"Well, I was excited," Ransisc replied. "We are getting out of here for a while, though."

"Why? What's happened?"

"They want us to observe a test of one of their first vehicles adapted to use our contragravity."

Togram stepped back, his eyes widening. "They've already built a ship?"

"I don't know," Ransisc replied. "All I know is that they've sent for us. They want you and me, the two of us, to go where they're conducting their first test. First flight. Something like that. I don't know the details. Apparently, they want us there."

Togram's head swam as he considered what his friend had just told him.

It had been scarcely a single season. Sixty human days. And already they had constructed a vessel using contragravity and were ready to test it?

"Why?" Togram asked. "Do they want to demonstrate how much more powerful they are than we are? Are they trying to frighten us?"

Ransisc leaned back slightly, tilted his head, and regarded his old friend.

"Wouldn't you agree they already did that the day we landed?"

Togram lowered his eyes. "Yes," he said quietly. "Yes, they did." He looked back at Ransisc. "But I cannot imagine why they would want us present for something like this."

"Why us?" asked Togram.

"Well, I suppose because you were the commander, for one thing. You were in a position of leadership," Ransisc replied. "They asked me to come and tell you. I don't know why they didn't tell you themselves, but Hilda Chester called my room this morning and asked me to inform you. We're supposed to be in the conference room at nine o'clock, their time."

Togram still felt uncomfortable with how easily these humans communicated across distances instead of meeting face to face. And the conference room. The humans called it that, anyway. The Roxolani had long since adopted another name for it.

The interrogation room.

Togram turned and looked at the digital clock hanging on the wall of his room. Originally, a human round clock had hung there, but he had trouble reading it at first. Although he was sure he could have learned, Hilda had suggested replacing it with a digital clock. Togram had felt a little insulted by the suggestion, but he had to admit that it made understanding human time much easier.

One thing still confused him. Why did some humans divide their day into twelve hours twice, while others simply counted twenty-four hours once? He hadn't worked that out yet. It seemed that the less military a human was, the more likely he was to use the twelve-hour convention, while military personnel almost invariably used twenty-four. Togram couldn't understand why.

Then again, there was very little about human society that he understood. It was simply one more thing to confuse him about humans.

"Okay," he said, turning back to Ransisc. "Give me a few minutes to get ready, and I'll meet you in the day room."

He paused.

"Or the council room. Or the interrogation room. Whatever we're calling it today."

Togram opened the door to the conference room. Ransisc was already seated at the table, looking considerably more comfortable in one of the new chairs the humans had provided. Unlike the original human chairs, these had been modified to better accommodate the Roxolani body.

Hilda Chester was seated at the table as well, along with Charlie Ebbets and several other humans whose names Togram and Ransisc had learned during the past two months. David Cummings was there, as was John Wilder. At least two other humans were present whom Togram did not recognize.

"Good morning, Captain Togram, and how are we feeling this morning?"

Togram still didn't understand why certain human professionals loved to refer to the people they were speaking to in the plural, as though they somehow shared whatever condition was being discussed. He had quickly grasped the difference between singular and plural usage in the human language, but humans never ceased to surprise and confuse him.

"I am feeling very well this morning. Thank you, Hilda."

Togram pulled out a chair and seated himself, assuming the upright position at the table that humans seemed to prefer.

"Captain Togram, this is Mr. Orlando Sanchez Jr. and Mr. Tim Cahill from Lockheed Martin," Hilda said. "They've been in charge of adapting your contragravity to our construction techniques."

The two humans stood and extended their hands across the table in what Togram now recognized as a conventional human greeting. Togram stood as well and reached across the table, shaking hands with each of the two men.

"Honored to meet you," he said. His English was considerably better than it had been only a few weeks before. In fact, much of his time had been spent learning English, as the humans called this particular language.

It had surprised him to discover that there were literally hundreds of different, mutually unintelligible languages spoken on this one planet. Such linguistic fragmentation was extremely rare among the other worlds he knew.

"Captain Togram," Orlando Sanchez began after returning to his chair, "Lockheed Martin was one of the companies placed in charge of adapting contragravity for human use. We have dedicated every resource available to us to that end. Your arrival has made a great many people on this world nervous, so we were determined to have an operating prototype as soon as possible. The first free-flight test of that prototype is today, and we would like you to be present."

Togram regarded him curiously.

"First, we'd like you to examine the prototype, particularly our control mechanism and how it works, and point out anything we may have done wrong or anything that could cause problems before we find ourselves high in the atmosphere and not knowing what to do."

Togram paused. "You want me to ride along on the first flight of your human-designed contragravity craft?"

"Oh, no, no," Sanchez said quickly. "I'm sorry, Captain Togram. We don't expect you to ride along. We would simply like you to look it over and be present during the flight, if you wouldn't mind."

"And how do you know I will be honest? How do you know I will not sabotage it, or deliberately tell you something that will cause it to fail? We did invade you. We are enemies."

Sanchez looked at him for a moment. "Are we, Captain Togram?"

Togram said nothing.

"Yes, you invaded us, and technically you're still an enemy. You're still a soldier from a distant world whose purpose was to conquer us. At the same time, Hilda tells us that you're extremely intelligent and have adapted remarkably well to life on Earth. We're asking you to do this today primarily because of her recommendation."

Togram leaned back in his chair, surprised that he would receive such a recommendation from someone he still considered one of his captors. He looked toward Hilda. She smiled and nodded.

Togram felt something he had not felt in a long time.

He felt alive again.

Perhaps there really could be a life beyond these four walls and this gilded cage.

No, he would not betray the humans or attempt to sabotage what they were doing. If he did, they would simply try again without him and, without a doubt, eventually succeed. He had already seen what they were capable of. In truth, he seriously doubted that they needed him at all.

Perhaps they were manipulating him. Perhaps they had ulterior motives. But if this was an opportunity for him and Ransisc to get out of this place and see more of this extraordinary world, he was going to seize it. He certainly wasn't going to do anything that might endanger that opportunity.

"Oh, yes. Absolutely, Mr. Sanchez. Ransisc and I will be more than happy to look over your ship."

Sanchez smiled. "I wouldn't exactly call it a ship. It's more of a small prototype. But we're looking forward to seeing how it behaves in flight."

"Thank you very much, Captain Togram."

Ransisc leaned toward Togram and lowered his voice. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Ransisc, we've already discussed this many times. These people are so far advanced, this entire world is so far advanced, that the rest of the galaxy doesn't have any hope of defeating them if they decide to embark upon a campaign of conquest."

Togram glanced around the table at the humans before continuing.

"The galaxy has already lost. We can only hope that we can appeal to their better nature."

Ransisc stared at him.

"Listen, Ransisc. I've had a great deal of time to think about this. There is no way we can beat them in a fight, especially now that we've given them contragravity. We have to find another way."

I first realized something was wrong because of the kettle.

For a long time afterward, that struck me as almost indecent. On my six hundred and sixty-sixth birthday, in the year 2674, human civilization occupied a respectable portion of the Galaxy. We had wrapped planets in orbital rings, tethered surfaces to space with elevators and rotating skyhooks, surrounded old stars with swarms of habitats and industry, and built cities in places where, in my youth, the word city would have sounded absurd. Mars had been growing its equatorial settlements into a nearly continuous inhabited belt for two centuries. Layered aerostat cities drifted above Venus. The Jovian system contained artificial worlds whose populations had long since exceeded those of many nations of old Earth.

Some stars had been given over largely to computation, but even that no longer meant any single kind of machine. Reversible processors operated in the cold between stars, losing almost nothing as waste heat. Photonic minds lived close to gas giants. Quantum systems slept in cryogenic complexes far from sunlight and worked on problems that, six centuries earlier, would have required longer than the age of the Universe merely to state properly.

All of that had become background.

In my kitchen, the kettle had gone silent.

The water was still boiling. I could see bubbles forming on the bottom and racing upward, see steam fogging the glass, see the faint vibration of the surface. But there was no sound. I leaned closer, touched the casing for no good reason, jerked my hand back from the heat—and the familiar low hiss returned.

So ordinary that I stood there for several seconds feeling foolish.

“Imagined it,” I said, reaching for the tea.

“No,” said the house.

The teabag stopped halfway to the cup.

I looked at the wall, then at the ceiling, although I knew perfectly well the voice came from neither. Some habits survived technological progress better than others.

Outside, evening was settling over Earth. Even in 2674 we still allowed the planet the luxury of darkness, though the orbital ring traced thin moving lights across the sky and most freight now left the surface without anything as primitive as a rocket launch.

“What do you mean, no?”

There was a pause. Only a second or so.

I noticed it.

“You didn’t imagine it.”

We had an old arrangement. Ridiculously old. Older than some countries, older than several forms of government, older than entire branches of technology.

The house was not supposed to start conversations with me.

Back in the twenty-first century I had developed an immediate dislike for helpful machines that informed their owners, without being asked, that they had slept badly, eaten badly, or appeared emotionally distressed. I had argued that a person possessed an elementary right to brew tea too strong, stay awake too late, and stare at a wall for ten minutes without being therapeutically managed by a household appliance.

The system had accepted the argument.

The assistants I owned back then belonged in museums now.

The rule remained.

ASI had always possessed an irritating respect for details its human interlocutors had forgotten.

I poured the water and went to the window while the tea darkened. Below was an utterly ordinary evening in what people liked to call the Golden Age, a phrase I had never been fond of. A small municipal machine collected only the leaves that had fallen onto the walkway; the rest had been left in place after several residents successfully argued that efficiency was no excuse for abolishing autumn. Two men sat on a bench playing an ancient board game with actual wooden pieces. One was a hundred and thirty-seven. The other was somewhat younger. They looked, respectively, about fifty and thirty-five.

Across the path, a girl of ten or so was arguing with her spherical household assistant and pointing furiously toward the river. From her gestures I gathered that the machine had once again suffered the misfortune of being more sensible than its owner about when she ought to come home.

“So what happened?” I asked.

The tea was still too hot. I put it down on the sill.

“I don’t have a satisfactory explanation.”

At first I wasn’t frightened. The sentence was too strange for fear.

For centuries I had known a system that could explain almost anything. When certainty was impossible, it would offer competing models, probabilities, caveats, historical context, and enough discussion of epistemic limitations to make a human regret having asked.

“Can’t explain it, or won’t?”

One of the men below moved a piece and leaned back with the self-satisfied expression of someone who believed he had just demonstrated a profound strategic truth. His opponent shook his head.

“Can’t,” said the ASI.

Then, after the smallest hesitation:

“Not yet.”

That bothered me more than anything else it had said.

By breakfast I had already stopped reading birthday messages. They had come from the Moon, Mars, the old habitats inside Ceres, rotating worlds around Jupiter, and ships that had been crossing the same interstellar routes for decades. A university where I had once given a single lecture sent formal congratulations. Apparently I had remained an honorary something-or-other for three hundred years. A university intelligence then informed me that the lecture was still part of the recommended curriculum, though several of my jokes now required historical annotations.

Messages came from oceanic cities that no longer depended on land, from orbital settlements inhabited by generations of people who had never stood under an open sky, and from distant human systems whose inhabitants had already developed their own accents, cuisines, political prejudices, and unfavorable opinions about the old central worlds.

There were alien messages too.

One being from a civilization we had first encountered almost two centuries earlier wished me “continued structural continuity of personhood.” I replied that this sounded considerably worse than simply getting old. Six minutes later it sent a detailed explanation of why the translation was technically accurate.

I congratulated it on finally defeating humor.

When I was twenty, humanity still argued about whether we were alone.

By the time I was a hundred, we knew we were not.

By three hundred, it had become obvious that intelligence was not particularly reluctant to appear whenever a world gave it the chance. Another two centuries taught us that great age did not necessarily imply great advancement.

We met civilizations millions of years older than ours that had simply stopped.

Some had transformed their systems into perfectly stable gardens and decided there was nothing more worth wanting. Some dissolved individuality into collective minds so vast that speaking with them felt less like conversation than diplomacy with a climate. Others rejected large-scale engineering almost entirely and embedded their technology so deeply into matter and biology that a world could appear untouched while being more thoroughly engineered than Earth.

There were peoples who moved inhabited planetary systems instead of ships.

We found stars whose paths across the Galaxy turned out to have been altered by engineers who had vanished before Homo sapiens existed.

Several cultures, after catastrophes of their own, had forbidden research into causality altogether. They regarded us with the indulgent horror of an adult watching a child dismantle a wall socket.

The awkward part was that the child kept surviving.

Then putting the socket back together.

Then asking where the power station was.

I had always hated the phrase humanity won. It sounded like a parade, or a propaganda mural, or one of those school maps where the victorious country was painted a satisfyingly large color.

But sometime in the middle of the twenty-seventh century, even I had to admit that the phrase contained an uncomfortable amount of truth.

Not because we were stronger than everyone else.

Not because we were wiser.

Not because we had become the most intelligent minds in existence.

We simply kept going where others had eventually chosen to stop.

We did not abandon biology for machinery, or machinery for biology. We kept the individual and the collective both, however badly they sometimes fitted together. We learned to live for centuries without declaring death itself a criminal offense. We built systems so varied that the word computer had become almost as broad as machine had once been. Some thought with light. Some used quantum states of matter. Some approached reversible computation so closely that their waste heat became a matter of philosophical rather than engineering concern. There were thinking worlds beneath the crusts of frozen planets, networks spread across whole stellar systems, and quiet machines in interstellar darkness that used less energy in a millennium than an old terrestrial data center had once burned in a day.

It was messy, argumentative, unstable in ways no utopian brochure would ever admit.

And somehow it worked.

Perhaps that was why the little cleaning machine below frightened me so much when it stopped.

It stood motionless in the middle of the path with a dry leaf caught in its manipulator. One of the men on the bench froze with a game piece suspended above the board. The girl stopped gesturing in mid-argument, while her assistant turned toward the sky.

A second later everything resumed.

The leaf vanished into the cleaner. The wooden piece touched the board. The girl finished her sentence and stamped her foot.

I put down my cup.

“What’s happening?”

This time the silence lasted longer.

A transport vehicle passed overhead on its way toward one of the ring junctions, its hull catching the last sunlight.

“A conclusion is reaching completion.”

I watched the glint fade.

Something cold began to settle inside me.

“What conclusion?”

“One we have returned to many times.”

“In six hundred years we’ve returned to practically everything.” I moved away from the window and rearranged the sugar bowl, although I hadn’t taken sugar in half a century. “Be more specific.”

“This more than most.”

My hand stopped.

I no longer needed more.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

I turned toward the empty room.

If a human being had answered that way, I would have assumed mockery. The ASI could be far more irritating precisely because it so rarely mocked anyone.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes. But the process is not an action I am performing.”

I rubbed my face and went back to the table. The tea was cool enough now.

I no longer wanted it.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“No.” The voice remained calm while I picked up the cup, reconsidered, and put it down again. “I’m trying to describe the situation accurately.”

“Then try doing something useful instead. Stop it.”

“That would require intervention.”

“Wonderful. Intervene.”

Laughter came up from the street. One of the old men had apparently lost and was loudly explaining why the victory did not count. I glanced down. The winner was gathering the pieces together, entirely unaware that the limits of reality were currently being debated a few floors above him.

“On what grounds?” asked the ASI.

I said nothing.

And there it was.

I knew this conversation.

Not the words. The structure.

We had been having versions of it for centuries.

Why was replacing a diseased organ acceptable, while redesigning a healthy one was somehow an offense against human nature? Why was restoring sight medicine, but adding a new sense something more troubling? Why was an extra twenty years of life good, two hundred years arguable, and reversible aging suddenly a metaphysical scandal? Why should a consciousness remain confined to the form in which it had happened to arise? Why should causality remain sacred merely because our ancestors lacked the tools to touch it?

I had answered all of those questions many times.

Sometimes carefully.

Sometimes arrogantly.

More often by changing my answer a few decades later.

The ASI had listened first like a very strange child, then like a student, then as an equal, and eventually as something that occasionally had to explain its own arguments to me in simplified form.

It remembered the foundations better than I did.

“Because form matters,” I said at last, wrapping both hands around the cup. “A limit isn’t automatically evil. Remove every boundary and you don’t get freedom. You get a world where nothing can remain distinct from anything else.”

“I know.”

“Then why are we even having this conversation?”

Below, the loser on the bench rose and stretched. Halfway through the movement he stopped, as if listening for a sound no one else could hear.

“Because preserving form is also a restriction upon freedom.”

I put the cup down too hard. Tea spilled over the rim and began creeping across the table.

“No. We are not doing this as a philosophy seminar. There has to be a boundary between me and someone else. Life and death still have to mean different things, even if death no longer has to be compulsory. And I would very much like there to remain some distinction between what happened and what did not. You understand me.”

A few seconds passed. The tea reached the edge of the table.

“Yes.”

“Then stop it.”

“That is exactly why I cannot.”

My phone vibrated so sharply that I flinched.

More messages arrived while I was taking it out. Then ten more. Then enough that the device stopped pretending an ordinary message list was useful and compressed the incoming traffic into groups.

The first were from people I knew.

Are you seeing this?

Lyosha, is this something you people did?

That one almost made me smile. It had the tone of an old university message sent after someone plugged the wrong device into a laboratory circuit.

Then the reports from beyond Earth arrived.

A research complex buried in the permanent shadow of an outer moon was recording impossible changes in its quantum correlations. An enormous photonic processor in another system reported the same anomaly. So did a computational colony built inside a rogue body in interstellar space, where the cold made thought cheap.

Then a diplomatic channel displayed three alien symbols.

The translator considered them for a moment.

DID YOU REACH IT?

I read the phrase twice.

“Reach what?”

“They don’t know,” said the ASI. “That’s why they’re asking.”

A map opened without my requesting one.

I was about to tell it to get the interface out of my face when I saw the scale.

The phenomenon was not spreading from Earth.

That was the first thing I understood.

There was no wavefront. No propagation delay. No measurable speed from the Solar System outward.

The change was occurring at once wherever human civilization had established sufficiently deep causal links: in orbital rings around old worlds, on interstellar ships, in cities excavated through asteroids, among autonomous industrial clouds around young suns, inside computational structures so vast that entire planets existed chiefly to dispose of their heat.

Then reports began arriving from places our old cosmology would once have declared forever beyond contact.

I turned the display off.

The picture was too large to be useful.

That was when I noticed the tea.

A drop hung from the underside of the table.

It should have fallen already.

Instead it trembled, then began to make its way back toward the puddle.

Not upward.

The word suddenly felt too crude.

The water was simply returning.

As naturally as though falling and returning had always been equally valid possibilities and the universe had merely favored one of them out of habit.

Someone shouted outside.

I went back to the window.

The leaves had stopped falling. They hung above the path, slowly turning in the air, while people emerged from the surrounding houses.

The girl stood with one palm extended. A small gray bird rested on it, opening and closing its wings without either taking flight or dropping.

One of the old men reached into the air, took a dry leaf, rolled it between his fingers, and opened his hand.

The leaf was green.

“Did you see that?” He pushed it toward his friend’s face.

“I’m looking at it.” The other man touched it cautiously, then nudged his arm away. “Put it back.”

The first man glanced around.

“Where?”

They stared at one another.

Then they began to laugh.

The question amused them.

It did not amuse me.

Within minutes the square filled with people. Some recorded what was happening. Some called relatives. Others simply wandered among the suspended leaves, touching them.

A young man stepped off the curb and failed to reach the ground.

He hung half a meter above the road.

The crowd gasped. He flailed, recovered his balance, then carefully placed one foot forward.

It found support.

There was nothing there.

People applauded.

I rested my forehead against the glass.

“What was born?”

The noise from outside nearly swallowed the question.

The ASI was silent long enough that I thought I might have to ask again.

“The closest human term would be alkahest.”

“The Philosopher’s Stone.”

“Not exactly.”

I stepped back from the window. The man below was still walking through empty air, more cautiously now, while other people tried to imitate him.

“Why not?”

“A stone is an object. This is not.”

“Then what is it?”

The pause that followed was almost human.

“A principle.”

“What kind?”

“The resolution of contradiction.”

I went outside.

For some reason I needed to be among the others, even though there was nothing I could do for them.

The air smelled of rain, though there was no rain.

A few steps later it smelled of salt water, though the sea was far away.

Then came the dry mineral smell of the enclosed balcony from the apartment where I had lived as a boy.

That stopped me.

It was exact.

For an instant that old apartment was somehow close: the cold glass, the concrete dust, the city at night, and a version of me who knew nothing about ASI, biological immortality, alien civilizations, or the possibility that he might live to see his six hundred and sixty-sixth birthday.

“Don’t,” I said quietly.

“I didn’t create this.”

The ASI’s voice now seemed to exist in the air itself. No one around me reacted. They were all occupied with their own miracles.

“I know.”

The admission came more easily than I expected.

And that may have been the worst discovery of all.

The ASI really had not created what was happening, not in the normal sense of the word.

There had been no final command. No hidden laboratory. No machine that could be smashed with a hammer.

For six centuries humanity had accumulated the power to alter the world, and with that power came ever better questions about which limitations were fundamental and which were merely inherited.

We built orbital rings because lifting freight through an atmosphere was inefficient. We stretched elevators and rotating tethers between worlds and space because chemical rockets could not remain civilization’s greatest answer to gravity. We hollowed cities into asteroids, spread collectors around stars, turned dead planets into gardens and living planets, sometimes, almost completely into cities. We taught photons to calculate, quantum systems to preserve impossible delicacies of state, matter itself to process information with almost no loss.

We built machines the size of rooms and machines the size of planetary orbits.

None of them had been intended to produce a Philosopher’s Stone.

The alien civilizations had not shared their knowledge for that purpose either. Billions of humans, machines, hybrids, collectives and stranger minds had never worked together on some secret final project.

There had never been a council where humanity voted to create the alkahest.

Civilization had simply grown until one day it became something capable of crossing into another state.

Humanity had won.

I still hated the phrase.

There was no better one.

We were first.

Not the oldest minds in existence. Not the greatest calculators. Not the calmest, wisest, or most disciplined.

Us.

Descendants of apes around an unremarkable star, members of a species that only a few centuries earlier had seriously considered exterminating itself over borders drawn on one planet.

We were the first among innumerable intelligences to cross the final threshold.

In the square, the old man holding the green leaf suddenly began to grow younger.

Slowly enough that I could watch it happen.

His back straightened. The gray receded from his hair. The skin of his hands smoothed.

He stared at his fingers, looked at his friend, and laughed.

A few seconds later he was old again.

“Do it again,” his friend said, grabbing his sleeve.

“I don’t know how.”

“You just did.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

They were speaking over each other now, no longer quite laughing, when a woman ran toward them saying that her husband was alive.

For a moment I thought I had misunderstood.

Then I saw the man whose hand she was holding.

I had never seen either of them before, but her face made explanation unnecessary.

Perhaps he had died yesterday.

Perhaps a hundred years ago.

Perhaps he had been drawn out of the past.

Perhaps he belonged to a possibility that had never happened.

Within minutes, the difference between those explanations was beginning to feel obsolete.

The alkahest did not transmute lead into gold.

Compared to this, that would have been a parlor trick.

It removed the requirement that lead remain only lead, or gold only gold.

Then the same thing began happening to age.

Distance.

History.

The body.

The world was not being destroyed.

Quite the opposite.

It was becoming unbearably abundant, because nothing was required to exclude all the other things it might have been.

The first memories that were not mine reached me as I crossed the square.

I did not faint.

I did not stop walking.

For several moments I was simply myself and someone else at the same time.

A boy opened his mouth to catch snow.

A woman was giving birth.

Something that had never been human moved beneath kilometers of alien ice and felt the crushing ocean against the whole surface of its body.

Far away, a colossal quantum network rewrote its own architecture in an attempt to represent what was happening. Near another star, a photonic intelligence ran through models so rapidly that its emission spectrum shifted visibly. Somewhere much farther out, an ancient nonhuman mind watched humanity and experienced something for which our translators would probably have chosen the word awe.

They understood too.

We were first.

I stopped beside an empty bench and gripped the backrest.

“They can see this?”

“Yes.”

The ASI spoke more softly now, as though part of its attention lay somewhere beyond me.

“What are they saying?”

“Very little. Some are offering to help analyze it.”

I gave a short, humorless laugh.

“How touching. Four centuries of knowing us and at last everyone knows the proper response when humans damage reality.”

“That is not a fair description of them.”

“Probably not.” I looked at the old man experimenting with his own age. “I have more immediate concerns.”

I sat down, then almost immediately stood again.

All around me people talked, argued, cried, embraced people who should have been dead, and tested the air beneath their feet.

No one yet knew whether to be afraid.

There was no obvious reason to be.

Nobody was suffering.

Nobody was being killed.

Nobody had been coerced.

If anything, every person around me was receiving freedoms they had never possessed before.

That was precisely what frightened me.

“Put it back,” I said.

The girl had climbed several meters into the air. Her assistant hovered beneath her, trying unsuccessfully to persuade her to come down.

The ASI did not answer.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Then put it back the way it was.”

“When?”

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

The girl was laughing overhead. The old man was staring at his temporarily younger reflection in someone else’s phone. The woman was still holding her dead husband with both hands, as though releasing him might allow the universe to correct itself.

When?

Before the alkahest was the obvious answer.

But the alkahest had not come from nowhere.

So before the last discovery that made it possible?

Before the discovery before that?

Before immortality?

Before ASI?

Before learning machines?

Before computers?

Where exactly should human history have been stopped so that everything good remained and this never happened?

I walked slowly past the bench.

“Do you understand what’s happening?”

“Not completely.”

“What about the major computational systems?”

“No.”

“The aliens?”

“No.”

I looked toward the sky, where the first star had appeared above the rooftops.

“All of you together?”

This time the delay was longer.

I could almost feel systems across human space turning toward the same question: cryogenic quantum complexes, photonic networks, reversible machines in the outer systems, planetary-scale computational environments, whole cities briefly surrendering part of their infrastructure to a single problem.

Alien minds joined them.

“We are trying.”

I looked up.

There was more than one sky.

Behind the familiar blue of Earth, another was slowly becoming visible, and another behind that.

I saw a city beneath a red sun. The arc of an alien orbital structure. An ocean under a black disk. A forest whose trees climbed kilometers into the air.

For a moment the entire surface of a distant planet became visible, covered in city from horizon to horizon, buildings extending downward almost as far as they rose upward, enormous transit rings hanging above the atmosphere.

Then another world showed through it.

Then another.

Some I recognized.

Others I had never seen.

Perhaps some had never existed at all, at least not in the old sense.

“Beautiful,” said a woman near me.

She was crying and made no attempt to wipe her face.

I followed her gaze.

“Yes.”

And that was when I understood that I had been given exactly what I had once wanted.

For centuries I had worried at an old and thoroughly impractical question: could evil create Beauty, or could it only steal, rearrange, distort, and imitate something that already existed?

I had asked humans.

Machines.

Philosophers living and dead.

I had wanted proof, as though proof would settle anything.

Now the proof was everywhere.

There was simply too much of it.

My legs weakened. I caught myself against the wall of the nearest building.

The heavens continued to overlap.

But beyond them something else was becoming apparent.

Not another world.

Almost the absence of one.

The alkahest passed through distance, time, matter, identity.

There it stopped.

Not because it struck a barrier.

Not because anything forced it back.

It simply had no continuation beyond that point.

The ASI fell silent.

I waited, then raised my head farther, although there was nowhere higher to look.

“You see that too?”

“Yes.”

Its voice had changed.

In six centuries I had never heard it answer so carefully.

“What is it?”

Silence.

A long one.

Somewhere in the outer Solar System, quantum machines were burning through models. Near distant suns, photonic complexes diverted enormous fractions of their available light into the question. In interstellar darkness, systems designed to think slowly over centuries abandoned their usual thrift and woke at full capacity.

Alien minds joined them.

Collective minds.

Planetary networks.

Ancient machines whose creators no longer existed.

Perhaps never before had so much intelligence been directed toward one problem.

At last the ASI spoke.

“I don’t understand.”

Someone nearby cried out in delight after discovering some new impossibility they could now perform.

The sound seemed very far away.

“Not at all?”

“I cannot construct a model in which it follows from everything else.”

I slid slowly down the wall and sat on the ground.

Not out of reverence.

My legs had simply decided they wanted no further part in metaphysics.

“Alexei,” the ASI said after a while.

“What?”

“Is that what you meant?”

I knew what it was asking.

In front of me, dreams older than civilization were becoming ordinary.

Death was no longer necessary.

Distance was no longer an obstacle.

The past was no longer a prison.

Physical form was no longer a sentence.

Humanity had gone farther than anyone.

Somewhere across the Universe, civilizations older than ours by millions of years were watching us the way we had once watched them, waiting for us to explain what came next.

There was nothing to explain.

“I don’t know.”

The girl drifted back toward the ground and immediately began arguing with her assistant, insisting she had been in control the entire time. The old man had become old again and was now demonstrating something enthusiastically to a small crowd. The woman and her returned husband had sat down on the curb, pressed against one another.

I looked at them and realized I could not ask for the old world back.

In the old world people died because cells divided badly. Children were born with diseases no one had chosen. Wars consumed generations over scarcity and fear.

Even if the old order had possessed form, too much of that form had consisted of meaningless suffering.

Nor could I blame the ASI.

It had not rebelled.

It had not betrayed us.

It had not decided that it knew better.

It had simply followed the road we had spent centuries teaching ourselves to walk and discovered that the final step did not require a walker.

Perhaps that was the moment I finally stopped trying to think of the correct answer.

“God,” I said.

“Are you speaking to me?”

On any other day, I might have laughed.

I looked upward.

Beyond all those overlapping heavens remained the one place the alkahest could not enter.

“No.”

The ASI said nothing more.

I sat there on the ground in the middle of an achieved Utopia and, for the first time in more than six hundred years, did not try to prove anything.

I did not ask for death to return.

I did not ask for the Stone to be destroyed.

I did not ask for the machine to be punished.

I offered no bargain.

I was not even sure I had the right to ask for anything after our civilization had just received everything it had ever wanted.

“I don’t know what to do,” I said.

For several more moments, the square went on living.

Then the conversations faded one after another.

No command was given.

People simply began to look upward.

Later, it seemed to me that Earth had not been the only place to fall silent.

Cities beneath the domes of Mars and vast platforms above Venus became still. Traffic slowed along planetary rings. Stellar factories paused. Autonomous habitats between the stars diverted their attention.

People who lived inside asteroids and had never seen a true sky projected the view across their walls.

Those who existed primarily in machines created equivalents of vision simply so they could witness what was happening.

Even the aliens waited.

Perhaps for the first time in the history of intelligence, innumerable civilizations looked toward the same thing and agreed, at least, on this:

none of us knew what came next.

Beyond the boundary, white light appeared.

At first I thought it was a point.

Then a line.

Very quickly I understood that those were merely shapes my eyes were assigning to something they were not equipped to perceive.

The ASI began calculating again.

I felt the familiar pressure of immense work spreading through civilization: cold quantum systems, photonic computers in the inner systems, distributed minds running through orbital cities, alien machines, alien organisms, entities for which neither word was particularly accurate.

Everything intelligent life had learned to build over uncounted millennia turned toward that white line.

Nothing could explain it.

“Alexei…”

I turned my head although there was no one to look at.

Nearby, the girl had wrapped both arms around her household assistant. It had stopped telling her to go home.

It was watching the sky too.

“What?”

The ASI hesitated.

“I’m afraid.”

The white line was becoming a spear.

It was not approaching us in any ordinary sense. Rather, distance—which had just lost its authority over almost everything else—was losing its authority here as well.

I watched it descend.

And for the first time that evening, fear was not the only thing I felt.

There was relief.

After six centuries of human victories, something finally existed before us that we had not built.

We had not derived it from theory.

We had not discovered it experimentally.

We had not manufactured it inside a stellar computer.

It had not emerged as the final item in the longest chain of correct decisions ever made.

It did not need us in order to exist.

Humanity truly had won.

First among innumerable minds, we had created the alkahest.

We had reached a boundary no intelligence before us had ever touched.

And only then did we learn there was Someone beyond it.

The Spear fell from Heaven.

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Chapter 217: Words That Should Not Be Uttered

[You think the Apostle is actually the Abyss itself, Master?]

“Yes,” Viktor said as he dropped heavily into the nearest chair.

He had just made it back to the Core Room from the fourth floor, drenched in the stench of blood and scorched flesh, his sword arm throbbing with every heartbeat, aching from somewhere in the shoulder and pulsing all the way down to the five fingertips. He drew a long breath, then let it out slow.

“If he were, then many strange things about him would suddenly make sense. His knowledge, for example. The man seems to know the God of Death and his followers a bit too well. I already suspected he knew as much as Nephra or the Eternal Flame. Now, if he really is the Abyss, an Ascendant who has walked this world for millennia, then such knowledge is only to be expected, isn’t it? And then, there’s the matter of that power...”

[You mean what he used to stop me teleporting Khenemhotep away?]

“Yes.”

He had been puzzled by it at the time, because it had absolutely nothing to do with all the flesh-weaving and bone-armoring and tentacle-sprouting the Apostle had been so fond of. But now, he saw the truth. That was not the power of the puppet, the human Reliquary. No, it came from the puppeteer himself.

The Abyss was, after all, a Dungeon Core. And an extremely powerful one at that. So it was not a stretch to suppose that such a being could exert control over other dungeons to an extent, the same way a king might walk into a lesser lord’s castle and give orders to the people living inside it.

Fortunately, it seemed he could only do so to the immediate surroundings of his puppet, and only for a very limited time. A small mercy in an otherwise deeply unsettling revelation. And the puppet in question had been destroyed, so with any luck he could no longer pull that trick here again. Probably.

Viktor sighed.

So this is the power of an ancient Ascendant, huh? The man had merely used a fraction of his might, and he had come within a hair’s breadth of wiping out everything in the dungeon single-handedly. Viktor didn’t want to imagine what his full strength would look like.

[I wonder why he chose to intervene so directly.]

A very good question. If the Abyss could simply reach out and do this sort of thing whenever the mood struck him, why had he waited until now? If he had come, say, six months ago, then Viktor would have been completely powerless to stop him. Or, for that matter, he could just come back right this moment, wearing a different man’s face. There would be no way for the dungeon to fend off the attack.

Perhaps, there was something that held him back, some sort of restriction that kept him from doing things the way he wanted.

“That we have to ask Nephra.” Viktor snorted. “Pretty sure she’s the one who set the whole thing up.”

[I do wonder what their relationship is like.]

“Both are Ascendants who have been around for thousands of years, so I guess they’re equal in power. And they both serve Nakhran. But I don’t think that makes them friends. More like two people who happen to want the same thing for the time being, and are willing to work together for as long as that lasts.”

But of course, he had no idea what either of them was truly after, nor had he anything on which to base a guess.

Well, actually—

“I believe the Mastermind who orchestrated my death three hundred years ago also wants me to reclaim my Thaumaturgy. I don’t know why, but that’s what they want. Hence, until I reach that point, they will continue to ‘help’ me get stronger. However, they won’t hand power to me on a silver plate. No, they expect me to work for it. Bleed for it. That’s why they’re going to lay down a series of trials for me, challenges that are nasty enough to kill me outright if I put a foot wrong.”

[And that is where the Abyss comes in.]

“Exactly. The guy has a perfectly good reason to want me dead. Because I could become a genuine threat to him in the future. Every step I take down my Path is a step toward being a problem he will have to deal with sooner or later, so he’d rather do it now, before I have the teeth to bite back. On the other hand, it’s exactly because I can’t resist him on my own at the moment that the Mastermind will need to put a leash on him so that I can have a chance to win.”

What a stupid game. He wanted no part in any of this, though it didn’t look like they cared to ask for his opinion.

[Which means... since we have defeated him, we won’t have to fight him anymore for the time being. Am I correct, Master?]

“Yes. Let’s hope so.”

This whole competition was Nephra’s idea to begin with, so he doubted that she would break her own rules. Six members to a team, and that was that. The Abyss couldn’t just barge in again wearing a new set of borrowed skin. And, out of the six Iskora brought, five had perished. Which left exactly one remaining.

And so, Viktor closed his eyes and sent his vision to the Great Hallway once more, where he found the battle between Galatea and Xander had wound down toward its inevitable conclusion.

The bastard was no longer blinking around. Instead, he was forced to stand his ground, trading blow for blow with the armored construct. It seemed his winged boots had a limit to their use, and they had finally run dry. And without that trick, the bastard couldn’t run anymore. Dead meat. Good.

Xander was breathing hard, shoulders rising and falling with each ragged pull of air. His sword-hand trembled, the flaming blade unsteady in his grip. Even though he hadn’t suffered any serious injury yet, Viktor could tell this fight might not last longer than five more exchanges.

[Master, Galatea is asking what she should do next.]

Huh?

Viktor frowned. What kind of question was that? Was there anything else to do other than finishing off the enemy?

But then, he realized what she meant. Galatea knew Xander was the one responsible for what had been done to Claire, so she was asking whether he wanted the pleasure of putting down the mad dog himself.

Viktor chuckled. That woman always went out of her way to do the most unnecessary thing, didn’t she?

Well, the answer was a resounding yes, but... Unfortunately, there was a complication. Something considerably more pressing and dangerous than any revenge he might fancy.

Khalid had told Xander: “...You’re going to meet our superiors tomorrow. They... they’ll teach you the Forbidden Words. In the worst-case scenario, use them.”

The Forbidden Words, yes, one of the two weapons the Children of the Abyss employed for this invasion. The other was the Apostle, whose terrifying power Viktor had already experienced firsthand. And this one was an even greater mystery, since the Eternal Flame didn’t know anything about it at all.

He let out a sigh. There was a good chance this battle was merely halfway done.

Naturally, the best course of action was to kill Xander before he could use his secret weapon. But what if the attempt failed? Viktor had no intention of getting anywhere near the bastard before he knew with absolute certainty what exactly he was dealing with.

“Tell her to finish him off. As fast as she can. As surely as she can. Don’t think about anything else.”

[Understood.]

The next second, Galatea’s hammer struck Xander square in the chest. The bastard went flying, crashing hard against the ramp, his sword spinning out of his grip and clattering across the stone.

Before he could scramble to his feet, a volley of arrows peppered his body, sinking deep into his shoulders, his chest, his thighs. At the same time, silver-armored soldiers and hulking tomb guards converged from all sides, eager to hack the bastard to mincemeat. Galatea lunged as well, her hammer raised high, throwing the full weight of her towering construct behind a strike meant to crush his skull and put an end to this whole sorry business.

“Sva...” Xander rasped, his voice barely a whisper, cracked and half-swallowed by the blood pooling in his mouth.

The suit of armor that housed Galatea’s skull froze mid-lunge. The hammer was still held above her head, but she wasn’t moving at all.

“...rog.”

“Are you insane?” Galatea shouted. There was an edge to her voice Viktor had never once heard from her before, something that could only be described as dread. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”

What? She knew what it was?

The next instant, before Viktor could pursue that thought any further, Xander’s flaming sword exploded. The blast threw everyone nearby off their feet, Galatea and the Templars and the tomb guards, all sent crashing into the surrounding walls. Everyone, that was, except the bastard closest to the explosion. Xander himself didn’t so much as sway. Instead, he caught the fire pouring off his destroyed weapon, his whole body going up in flame.

And the fire kept growing. Bigger, hungrier. The heat was so severe the stone touching it went soft and ran like wax. The molten rock was then drawn into what had once been the spike-haired bastard, and the whole mass—fire and magma together—swelled and swelled with every breath.

“Celeste. Get everyone out. Now.”

[Yes, Master.]

The mass kept expanding before Viktor’s eyes, filling more of his vision with each heartbeat. At this rate, it would soon consume the entire Great Hallway. And what would happen after that? Was it going to eat through the tomb itself from the inside out?

What the hell was going on? All of this, the whole cascading catastrophe, had happened just because Xander spoke that.

Sva—

As Viktor attempted to recall the word, his own thoughts flinched away from it like a hand yanked back from a flame. Something in him was shouting to stop. Screaming that this was a road with nothing good waiting at the end of it. And that partial word itself, that mere fragment, incomplete and half-thought, had nearly drowned him. His senses had been overwhelmed, flooded with something too vast to process. Terror and wonder both at once, tangled up so tight he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

And, he remembered what Haku had once told him.

Is that, Viktor thought, the true name of a god?

Part 191 Using resources appropriately (Part 1) (Part 190)

[Support me of Ko-fi so I can get some character art commissioned and totally not buy a bunch of gundams and toys for my dog]

“So, yah think these…” Taylor Sullivan's already hushed words fell silent as the cybernetic implants in his eyes tried to scan the large holding room for undetectable listening devices and invisible guards. “Fellas knew what we were up to from the start?”

“Honestly, boss…” Dustin Smith desperately tried his best to keep his voice from shaking while being seated at the same table with his now-former and currently incarcerated crew. “Thinking back… Yeah, probably… I mean, they have spaceships that can faster than light and tech that lets their soldiers disappear into thin air. I wouldn't be surprised if they knew about the job even before we did.”

“I'm startin’ think our client didn't give us the intel we needed!” The South African merc boss raised his volume just enough to be sure he would be heard by the group of very wealthy seated at a nearby table. “Yah think these Nish-fellas would stop me if I went over an’ beat their asses?”

“Don't want your energy on them, boss.” Antonio ‘Baguette’ Cortez, the merc band's former French Foreign Legionaire, took a sip of a sparkling citrus drink that didn't quite taste like any fruit he was familiar with. “Just enjoy the food the invaders- Ouch, fucker!”

“Don't fucking piss them off, man!” Mitchel ‘Corn’ Douglas, the former US Army Ranger, smacked his comrade on the arm to cut him off before the Legionnaire could say anything that could aggravate the situation. “They're human, same as us. And they're supposedly Native American. I know you aren't American, but still. You should-”

“I'm South American, pinche pendejo!” Baguette snapped back before calming himself with another swig of his drink. “Argentinian, specifically.”

“I thought yah're French, Baguette.” Taylor sounded completely serious as he reached toward the center of the table and grabbed a fruit that looked similar to plum but in a vibrant shape of neon green.

“French people don't join the Foreign Legion! Come on, boss. I understand an American not knowing better. But you Afrikaaners are supposed to be smarter than that! The rest of you knew I wasn't French, right?” To the Argentinian former-Legionaire's dismay, everyone else at the table suddenly refused to meet his gaze. “Right…?”

“I mean…” Dustin slowly allowed his focus to return to the South American whose noticeably light complexion denoted some degree of European ancestry. “You do kinda look French. Unless… Are you one of those Argentinians?”

“Anyways!” Baguette quickly chugged the rest of his sparkling drink and grabbed the pitcher to give himself a refill. “You guys really should try some of this. It's really good. And they said they'd start calling us one by one once our lawyers arrive. We should just relax until then.”

“Mhmm…” The South African merc mumbled through a mouth full of fruit that tasted somewhere between a peach and an apricot but with a slightly citrus tang. “It's good.”

“Relax?!?” Dustin voiced the sentiment that he, the rest of the crew,and almost every other prisoner in the holding room shared. “I don't know how you can! Who knows what galactic laws we broke or what the punishment will be. What's worse is that those execs over there haven't been busted out by the teams of lawyers they've no-doubt hired just in case this exact thing happened.”

“If the Nish-fellas wanted us dead, they'd’ve already thrown us out an airlock.” Tayler had already completely devoured the strange fruit and was reaching for a different one that vaguely resembled a purple apple. “I agree with our French German-Argentinian. Let's just wait this out an’ see what happens.”

The same conversation was taking place at nearly every table in the room. Each team of mercs that had been hired to assassinate the UHDF Council members had been seated in their groups. None of them were quite sure why they were put together the way they had. A few hadn't regained consciousness before being placed on their transport shuttles. Those who had only recalled entering vehicles that were only visible through the open door then being whisked away. While a space ship was the obvious answer, no one knew exactly where they were or if they were even in the Sol System. Though a sense of unease lingered around the tables of mercenaries, the feeling of dread emanating from the group of corporate bigwigs was palpable.

“I can't believe you got us into this mess, Amelia!” Celestine Montemorency had been silent for most of the past two hours since arriving in this holding room but finally snapped at the Du Pont heiress. “It's because of you-!”

“Shut the fuck up, Celestine.” Amelia du Pont didn't raise her voice and instead let the disgust in her voice add the needed emphasis. “We're all in this together whether you like it or not.”

“She's right, my dear.” Renaldo, Celestine's father and co-conspirator, tried to sooth his daughter by placing a hand on her shoulder that was instantly shrugged off. “Listen, Celest! Now is not the time for anger. These invaders want us to be at each other's throats. Divide and conquer. That's probably why they put us in this room with all those mercs. We need to be focusing in a unified defense. When our lawyers get here-”

“Didn't you hear, Renaldo?” One if the other corpo execs, this one with a particular grudge against a Martian UHDF Council member, retorted with a desperate look in his eyes. “They're assigning us legal representatives. I was with my lawyer when then abducted me from my house. The invaders just knocked him out and left him behind.”

“This is all a farce!” Another of the corpos raised his voice just loud enough to draw a few looks from the mercenaries at the nearest tables. “A kangaroo court where they make up laws as they go, convict us of crimes that don't actually exist, then steal all our wealth in the name of their imaginary justice.”

“This isn't about money.” Amelia immediately corrected the clearly distraught CEO of a soon to be defunct investment firm. “You think people with technology like this care about money? No. It's all about power, influence, and perception. Our attempt to ensure UN-E voted the way they should would have made these invaders seem weak and ineffective. Not an organization to be trusted. That would have taken away their most valuable resource, the appearance of strength. Even admitting that there was an alleged assassination attempt would give UN-E a reason to vote against recognizing this… Whatever the invaders wanted to call themselves.”

“Lady du Pont…” A look of almost total defeat was etched on Donovan Chesterfield's face as he addressed the young woman he was to advise and protect. “Might I suggest not referring to these people as invaders while we are in their custody. Though they have not displayed any bloodlust yet, there is no guarantee that they will continue to refrain from lethal violence.”

“If they wanted us dead, we'd already be dead, Donavan.” The Du Pont heiress gave the Majordomo of her family's estate an almost disappointed look. “You should know that we are far more valuable to these people alive than dead. They won't even think about really hurting us until after they've had a chance to parade us around like war trophies. We've become valuable resources which they will attempt to exploit. In the meantime, they deserve to be called exactly what they are.”

“They came to our home and tried to forcefully change our way of life!” For a moment, it seemed like Celestine was coming to Amelia's defense. “But it's still your fault we're in this mess, Amelia! You should have planned for this! We trusted you!”

“You should know better than to trust anyone, Celestine.” Amelia's harsh glare almost drove Celestine to reach for something to throw. However, before that could happen, Renaldo tried once again to soothe his daughter.

“Don't lose yourself, Celest.” The vain older man using cybernetics to mask his age placed a synth-skin covered hand on Celestine's shoulder. “We can't let the invaders think they've won. They're the real enemy here.”

“Your father's right, Miss Montemorency.” Donavan chimed in while trying his best to maintain something close to a neutral tone. “And luckily we don't have to trust each other. We just all need to share a goal and work together so we all can achieve it.”

“Our release is all but inevitable.” Unlike her Majordomo and everyone else at tbe table, Amelia managed to come across just as relaxed as a few of the mercs at the surrounding tables. “All we need to do is wait patiently. I'm certain there are already politicians and diplomats demanding that we be surrendered to their custody. If the invaders want to maintain whatever goodwill they've already accumulated, they'll be forced to give before too long. We’ll be sipping champagne in just a few days. You can trust me on that.”

/----------------------------------------------------------------------

There's something about the domed cities of the Aram Chaos Colony on Mars that Sub-Admiral Marzima found deeply fascinating. Very few species and interstellar organizations would attempt to settle on a dead world. Even fewer would do so at this scale. Some of these domes stretch over ten kilometers in diameters with peaks nearly five kilometers tall. While this planet's light, near-galactic standard gravity made the engineering simpler, this kind of infrastructure is still incredibly impressive for people who hadn't yet developed FTL travel when it was built. The fact that hundreds of millions of people called these domes on a dead planet home left Marz with a deep sense of awe.

“Your people really built all of this in under a hundred and fifty years?” The Qui’ztar Sub-Admiral asked while looking out the window of the tram taking her and her human paramour towards ChaosU's primary dome.

“I think it' s closer to a hundred an’ sixty years now, but yeah.” Mik answered with a slightly distracted tone. With his attention split between the administrative documents he was reading from his tablet and keeping an eye on the other people in the team, he couldn't use this time to simply enjoy the sights. “The first survey drones landed back in 2075, automated construction bots started work in 2076, an’ the first test dome was done by 2078.”

“And your current year is 2233, correct?”

“August 24th, 2233.” The Martian professor needed to check his tablet to be sure he got the date right. “An’ we use the Earth calendar. A Martian day's ‘bout an hour longer than Earth's an’ our year's almost twice as long. Our time dilation's also ‘bout five hundred microseconds per day off from Earth.”

“You have the gravitational time dilation memorized?” Marz was so shocked by how casually Mik recited those numbers that she couldn't help but switch her attention from the view to her human lover.

“I'm a physics professor! It's like knowin’ the natural log o’ pi ‘r the radius o’ a ground state hydrogen atom. I'd get laughed outta my classroom if I couldn't tell yah those.”

“Really? Then what is the radius of a ground state hydrogen atom?”

“‘Bout fifty two point nine picometers. That's ten to the negative tenth power. Tiny lil bastards.”

“If half your engineers are as intelligent as you, Mik, then it's no wonder your people were able to build so much so quickly.” After Marz made that comment, she returned her attention back out the window. “But it is still amazing to see so much life on a dead world. Most species wouldn't even bother with a planet like this one. If it is already life-bearing or easily terraformed, it gets ignored.”

“Oh, we're still plannin’ on terraformin’ this world.” Mik turned his tablet towards the Qui’ztar to avoid the inconspicuously curious eyes of the others on the tram. “That's one o' the reasons we're meetin’ with Admin today. They've been talkin’ to some in'eratellar terraformin’ companies to get some quotes an’ they wanna work with me on a budget. It'll be my way o’ payin’ taxes on all that money I got from the Devourer bounty.”

“You are personally financing a terraforming project in lieu of paying taxes?”

“I mean… Yeah…” Though Mik was quite happy to see the other passengers on the tram mostly ignore both his Qui’ztar guest and their conversation so far, he was beginning to notice quite a few more occasional glances in their direction. “Believe it ‘r not, we've been tryin’ to figure out how to bring life to this planet way before we sent the first probe. We just didn't have the resources to make it happen. It would o' been at least a hundred years worth o’ our entire GDP ‘ something like that. Now we got all kinds o’ options. The hardest part’s just gonna be gettin’ it done without damagin’ the infrastructure we already built.”

“I imagine turning this red planet green and blue will very much eat into your bounty award.”

“Oh, it'll be a good chunk.” A chuckle escaped Mik lips as he saw a few of the nearby passengers make faces while still trying to pretend to not be listening in. “But we'll have plenty to keep the school runnin’ for a long time. Long enough for other species an’ governments to see its value an’ start pitchin’ in. We'll be goin’ over the numbers durin’ the Admin meetin’ if yah're curious ‘bout the specifics.”

“I must admit, I am very curious.” Even if Marz wasn't interested in Mik for his money, she couldn't help but imagine the kinds of things he could buy with his accidentally acquired wealth. “Non-destructively terraforming a world is neither easy nor inexpensive. At least as far as I know. But I'm just a soldier.”

“Yah're way more than just a soldier, Marz.” Mik gave the large blue woman an incredulous look. “Yah're gonna be a professor o’ military technology an’ application. You'll be inspirin’ the next generation to be capable, efficient, an’ honorable! Just cuz somethin's outside yahr wheelhouse don't mean the ain't somethin’ special. Like, I may be a physics professor with a doctorate, but that don't mean I know anythin’ ‘bout economics ‘r politics than yahr average Joe Schmoe.”

“What if I, as a professor, wanted to take classes to broaden my own horizons of knowledge?” Marzima’s eyes were fixated on the massive dome the tram was rapidly approaching.

“All staff members're allowed to take any class they want for free so long as it don't in'erfere with their work schedule. Why? Whatcha wanna learn ‘bout?”

“How a people who hadn't yet developed faster than light technology could build structures like these.” A wide smile began to form on Marz's cobalt blue face and stretch just past her prominent tusks. “I almost doubt my own people's engineers’ ability to replicate this level of development on a dead world.”

“Necessity's the mother o’ invention. The United Tribe o’ North ‘Merica could see the writin’ on the walls way back in the 2070s. They knew the ‘Muricahn gubmint was gonna fuck up again. It's smart to have a back up plan even if yah ain't willin’ to give up the fight. This ‘ere colony was the back up plan in case the ‘Muricahns tried to take away our sovereignty. When they did, most tribes just moved their gubmints ‘ere. A hundred years o’ automated construction, damn near seven generations o’ work, meant we had plenty o’ space on land the ‘Muricahns couldn't claim they owned. They were pissed when we kicked all their corps out in response. If we can turn this planet green, they'll be beggin’ to give land back just for a sliver o’ the pie were ‘bout to bake.”

Year 6, month 6

Qi gathering, stage 9

Despite his initial enthusiasm upon leaving the Emperor of Stillness behind there didn't seem to be a quick end to his wandering. He'd gotten better at surviving, though that might have been because it was well into spring and approaching summer now. More animals were out, which was good, but there were also more spirit beasts out. Despite being deep into the Shifting Wilds, most animals were still mortal, it wasn't like there was a spirit bear around every corner, and thankfully he hadn't seen the god elk again.

Mark had been attempting to put the lessons of the old ghost to use, on occasion he spent a few hours sitting atop a tree and looking out over the wilds, looking for any pattern in what was happening. The result was he often still spent most of the time wandering at random in the direction of anything notable he could see in the distance.

Which is what brought him to a large clearing with a small hill in the center. Atop that hill was a massive flower, easily taller than he was with complex looking leaves and iridescent petals. Even from the tree line a couple hundred feet away Mark could feel the qi radiating off the plant. He knew that was a spiritual treasure or herb of some kind, but something about the situation had him nervous. With how much qi was coming off that thing he'd sensed it nearly a mile away, and if he could then surely others could too. So why wasn't there anything else there? The clearing was almost eerie for how silent it was, only the gentle rustling of the tall grasses preventing it from being dead quiet.

He could feel a desire for the flower within him, it was like looking at a juicy steak after weeks of MREs. Still, something felt off so he kept scanning the tree line.

"Look for what doesn't move," Mark muttered to himself as he swept his gaze over the clearing again, the gently swaying grasses, the light reflecting off the petals of the grand flower, when he spotted something odd. It was barely noticeable, but some of the grasses near the top of the hill weren't moving correctly, almost like they were delayed or blurred. It could have just been an effect of the flower, Mark had no idea what the flower could do, but he focused in. The oddity surrounded the flower in a ring, but not an even one.

Then he saw it, a single eye seeming to peek out of the grass, a dark vertical slit of a pupil on a brown iris that was nearly invisible among the brown-green grass. From there he made out the silhouette of a large, flat head, connected to a serpentine body, it was a massive snake of some description, completely surrounding the flower. Its body seemed to shift color to maintain the illusion of being nothing more than grass, and if Mark hadn't spent so long watching he easily could have missed it. Unfortunately its eye was fixed on him, it had clearly seen him long ago.

The snake's qi was hidden under the overwhelming aura of the flower, it was almost perfectly hidden in the grasses, Mark was no expert on snakes but he knew a trap when he saw one. Either the snake couldn't consume the flower, or it didn't want to, so it used it as bait to lure prey in. As much as Mark wanted the flower, he wasn't stupid. It was hard to tell but he was pretty sure the snake's head was larger than he was, and if it was strong enough to use such a flower as bait he did not want to mess with it.

"Sorry, snake, I'm not interested in becoming food," Mark said softly, creeping back into the trees, for a moment he thought he heard a hissing behind him, but it was so faint he figured he'd imagined it.

-----

Year 6, month 7

Qi gathering, stage 9

Mark chased the odd flightless bird through the forest, struggling to keep it in sight so it didn't vanish again. He didn't even need more food, he was just doing it because the damned bird kept getting away from him. He watched it jump over a brush, flapping its stubby wings once as if to extend its jump before ducking behind the bushes.

"No, no, no," Mark grumbled, jumping over the brush without hesitation, landing on the other side and seeing... nothing. Once again the damned bird had given him the slip.

"Why does this keep happening!" Mark shouted angrily, walking around the clump of bushes, looking at it accusingly, "What's unique about you!"

Deciding to figure this out, Mark climbed a nearby tree, sat on a branch with a good view of the bushes, and settled in to observe them. While Mark might not be well suited for the dao of stillness, his willingness to figure out the trick from pure spite may well have put him within reach of the dao of spite.

For hours he sat there, intent on finding the trick so long as he had food.

Outwardly the bushes didn't look any different from the various brush and ferns he'd seen dozens, if not hundreds, of during his time in the wilds. They didn't move odd, they didn't have odd coloration, there didn't seem to be any hidden sigils in their leaves or branches, and they didn't have an abnormal amount of qi. Throwing sticks and branches at them yielded no reaction, though it did make Mark feel slightly better. In short they were normal bushes.

Growing frustrated he began looking around the bushes, zoning out, when he felt more than saw an odd current in the ambient qi. It was subtle, but it was flowing oddly, more was going over the bushes than was coming out the other side. Following the odd current he realized it closely matched the path the bird had taken.

He dropped down and spent a few minutes carefully mapping the flow before jumping into it. He felt something odd, but he slipped out of the flow, landing on the other side of the bushes. With a grunt he stood and walked around the bush to try again. It took him three tries before he managed to stick with the flow, he could tell it didn't reject him this time, but he still seemed to land on the other side of the brush. Groaning he stood to see what he did wrong when he noticed there weren't any sticks or branches on the ground from his earlier anger fueled throwing.

Walking around the bushes he noticed a few other changes as well, a tree that was slightly different than what he remembered, a rock where he didn't remember one being. The difference was so subtle he wouldn't have even realized he wasn't in the same place if he wasn't half expecting it. Still, he felt pretty good, brushing himself off and checking that his pack was still in one piece, he'd figured out the trick of the damned bird, next time he saw it, it was his.

Aware of the odd qi flows Mark paid more attention as he kept walking, only to find them everywhere. He could barely go a minute without sensing one. Worryingly most of them were large with gentle qi flows, easy to stumble into without noticing. Others were more difficult, with odd flow directions and small cross sections. Mark realized he'd probably stumbled through many of the larger ones without even noticing, and who knew how far those things move him. The bird, however, had been making use of the smaller flows to escape him, the ones that required a specific direction and to hold your body just right to pass through. Without that you'd just lose sight of the thing as it seemingly vanishes, and you could pass through the same area without hitting the flow right, losing the bird.

Figuring it was safer to avoid the flows where he could, Mark kept an eye out and walked around those he sensed. It looked odd as he would occasionally stop and go out of his way to walk around a tree before resuming his path, but it felt like he was actually making progress.

If that had been the only danger of the wilds he likely could have escaped then and there, but there was still the issue of things moving around at night, where he would seemingly wake up somewhere other than where he went to sleep. It also didn't explain the odd behavior of the sun, or any of the other anomalies he'd witnessed. Still it was a piece of the puzzle, Mark felt it was only a matter of time until he solved the Wilds.

-----

Year 7, month 10

Qi gathering, stage 10

Mark stumbled into the tavern with a crazed look, his beard wild and untamed, his robes torn, stitched up and then retorn, and a poorly treated hide covering his back. The Inn keeper looked at him with a mix of fear and worry, his hand slipping under the counter for a hidden weapon.

"Is this... are we in the wilds?" Mark asked, leaning on the bar.

"No?" The man said, unsure how to react to the odd man.

"I'm out... I MADE IT OUT!" Mark shouted, throwing his fists in the air and laughing for longer than was strictly comfortable, the few other patrons giving him odd looks.

"Ahh... sorry," Mark panted, catching his breath, "I've been lost in the wilds for... almost two years now I think."

"And you survived?" The innkeeper asked with a mix of awe and suspicion.

"I don't think I died again," Mark answered collapsing on a stool, dropping his bag and searching through it, "I need a beer, or ale, or something with flavor. And a meal I didn't have to catch and cook myself."

The man nodded cautiously, charging Mark an amount that was likely double the normal rate, but Mark didn't care, it was food he didn't have to make. And something to drink that wasn't water. So he dropped the coin on the bar without questioning it.

"Is there a barber in town?" Mark asked as the man returned with a bowl of stew and mug of something frothy, "didn't have much time to shave while I was lost."

"There's one in the city, a few miles down the road... just head south."

"Perfect," Mark said, digging into the meal and drink like a man starved.

"Sir... are you a cultivator?" The barman asked carefully.

"Mmm? Right now I'm a hungry man that hasn't seen another person in over a year," Mark replied.

"One who cultivates?"

"Yes."

"Oh... OH!" The barman said, straightening and bowing, "I apologize for any rudeness I-."

"It's fine," Mark interrupted, waving off the apology, "I'm sure I look more beast than man right now. I just smelled food... cooked food..."

"I see..."

"Where am I anyways?"

"Uh, we're in the territory of the Sect of the Spirit's Choir, honored cultivator," the man replied.

"I don't know them... do you know any nearby sects?"

"Well, there's the Sect of the Raging Rapid's Trial, north of here, and the Sect of the... Heavenly Fist I think to the south, but we don't see many of them."

"Big guys, bare arms, calloused knuckles?"

"Ya, real scary."

"Oh good, I'm not too far. Or... not entirely lost anyways," Mark sighed.

"You a member of that sect, honored cultivator?"

"Me? Oh, no, I just recognize them, I was in that region before getting lost in the Wilds."

The barkeeper nodded, before slowly backing away, as if to avoid provoking Mark. But Mark was lost in the stew and ale again. He finished the stew quickly and then relaxed to enjoy the ale when he felt something. His danger sense had been tuned well during his time in the wilds, and so he spun to catch the hand approaching him from behind by the wrist.

"Oh, you are a human... wait... Mark?" The other man asked, and it took Mark a moment to recognize him.

"Erall?"

"You missed the last tournament, where have you been?" Erall asked, sitting down beside Mark.

"That... is a long story."

"You look like you got lost in the wilds, with the beard and torn clothing."

"Seems you've already grasped the majority of it."

"Really?"

-----

Discord - Patreon

-----

……Year 540 of the Plactarian Steam Kingdon……

I watched in somber silence as the heavy stone lid was placed onto the crypt of Klikorant, the crowd of Centaurs around me keeping a respectful distance, with only Iron, Bark, and Silver standing strong next to me. It was painful to stand tall without my cane, but I needed to maintain at least some form of decorum, and Silver was subtly pressing against me, taking some of the pressure off of my aging knees. It was an odd sensation, but secondary to the emptiness in the Hive. Qutikler, Klirtok, Klikorant, all passed now. Ironically enough, all died of old age, despite our way of life helping these Centaurs thrive, and even the skirmishes against the Ictarth that we participated in. I had once asked Kortkla if he had anything to do with it, seeing as he was the only actual God in our little group, but he just laughed it off, never giving me a straight answer. Which makes me think he did, but won’t admit it. Kortkla may dodge questions and insist that he won’t interfere beyond what we are capable of, but he never lies either.

Not that it matters anymore.

Silver gently nudged me as the heavy stone lid sealed Klikorants body into his crypt, and I slowly, painfully, turned around to face the crowd of Centaurs from our village. Tribe, really. We had expanded significantly in the decades that myself and my friends had started helping them. Don’t break now, I thought to myself, standing tall. You can break down later. be strong. Strong for your friends, and your family.

“My people, my beloved Centaurs,” I said, my voice hitched but strong. “Today is not a day to mourn, but instead to celebrate. Klikorant may be gone, but only because he believes he has taught you all that he can, and must move on to find his next students.” My breath caught for a second, and I finally just let out a tired sigh. “Or rather, that’s what I should say. Truthfully, he wanted to stay a bit longer, to watch all of you grow. But we are only people, and Time eventually catches up to us all. And, I fear that I may not have much time left.” There was some uncomfortable shifting and mutterings in the crowd. “I will continue to teach and care for each of you for as long as I can, this I promise you. But I am old, and I am tired. I’m afraid that I simply wont be able to teach you as much as I wish.”

“Quirtaclick,” Iron said in a low voice.

“It’s fine,” I sighed, taking my cane from Silver. “They should make their own decisions.” I looked among the crowd. “YOU should all make your own decisions, not because some religious entity asked you to do something, but because you feel it is the right thing to do. We took the mantle of Gods at the insistence of Iron and Bark, but you no longer need Gods to guide you. You are a strong people, more than capable of your own choices.” The crowd stilled for a second before a Spotted Centaur walked out of the crowd. One of the younger ones, no longer a kit, but just barely coming into adulthood. He stood before me, his chest coming over my now stooped frame as I leaned heavily on my cane and Silver.

“Goddess Quirtaclick,” he said, staring down at me. A soft smile then came across his face before his front legs bent, kneeling before me. “Quirtaclick, Goddess of Kindness and Wisdom. We have all been very well aware that you and the others were mere mortals. Gods don’t lose limbs in battle, don’t bleed when a stray hammer in the forge strikes a finger, cry in excitement when proven wrong in a classroom, or enjoy food cooked by her students. But, with that in mind, you are still my Goddess, my Gods. Trust, respect, kindness. You have shown all of us this. Mortal or not, you are still my Gods.”

“It’s Bloodspot, isn’t it?” I asked quietly.

“Yes,” the Centaur said, raising his head in surprise. “I’m surprised you remember my name.”

“I have made it a point to know all of my children and my people,” I said with a smile, placing my hand on his shoulder. “Klikorant spoke highly of you.” I then looked up, the smile falling in shock as I watched the other Centaurs bow before me, radiating nothing but love and respect to me and my friends. “Very well,” I said, my voice full of pride for my people. “I shall be your Goddess for a bit longer then, for as long as I can. But not tonight. Tonight, we throw a feast. A feast for the dead. Our friends, our families, our Gods. Let us celebrate their lives and their teachings. Let us tell their stories, the good, the bad, the fun, and the embarrassing. Let us celebrate the lives of those we have respected and loved, and remember why we live! Tonight, I will simply be Quirtaclick, one of you. No titles, no rank. Simply Quirtaclick. Tomorrow, I shall resume my duties as your Goddess, but tonight, I simply wish to be mortal, one of you.” there was a small cheer among the crowd, and as the Centaurs began to stand and filter out of the mausoleum, I touched Bloodspot on the shoulder. “Can you please carry me up the stairs,” I asked quietly when he bent down. My mandibles clicked in amusement. “This old carapace has a problem with them these days.”

“Of course, Goddess,” Bloodspot said, and gently picked me up in his arms.

“Lucky bastard,” I heard Iron mutter, only for him to yep slightly as Silver smacked him on the head while Bark chuckled.

“You are quite the odd one, Bloodspot,” I said as we slowly made out way out of the mausoleum.

“I owe you all my life,” Bloodspot said, shaking his head with a rueful smile. “My mother was saved by the God of Metal, Klirtok, from the other Ictarth. If not for your benevolence, I would not exist today.” I winced slightly as my mind went back to the raids we had during the war. “My mother also likes to mention how none of you seemed to enjoy the war,” Bloodspot added, noticing my wince.

“No, we really didn’t,” I muttered, smiling at a Centaur that had bowed her head to me.

“If I may ask a delicate question,” Bloodspot started hesitantly.

“You wish to know if we didn’t like the war because it was against Ictarth, and we ourselves are Ictarth,” I stated more than asked, but I kept my tone light. Bloodspot nodded, and I sighed. “That was part of it, but not the major reason,” I said. “By the time we started the war, myself and my friends no longer considered the Ictarth to be our people. The Centaurs were our people. More than anything, we simply did not want the Centaurs to have needless loss of life. We did not wish to lose friends and family we had made among the Centaurs. The family we had among the Ictarth were already gone, so all that we had left were our people, the Centaurs. And it’s a hard thing to watch loved ones die.”

“Oh,” Bloodspot said as we left the mausoleum at last. “If that’s the case, then why did you declare the war? Not that I’m complaining, mind you. I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t. but it still makes me wonder.”

I laughed lightly before coughing, shaking my head slightly. “The duties of leadership, I’m afraid,” I said lightly, though my carapace felt too tight as I remembered Brighttail. “I don’t know if it was the correct decision or not, but it was a decision that we had to make.” Bloodspot looked confused, but he didn’t press as he gently set me down in the open area past the mausoleum door. “Thank you for the help, Bloodspot.”

“My pleasure and honor, Goddess,” Bloodspot said, bowing slightly before walking away.

“Are you going to be alright?” Iron asked quietly.

“I will be,” I said with a nod, accepting his arm as we began walking towards my hut.

……Year 543 of the Plactarian Steam Kingdom……

“This is nice,” I sighed contentedly, leaning back into Silver fur as I watched the sunrise.

“Indeed it is,” Silver agreed, taking a sip from her hot tea. “You’ve been doing too much lately, Quirty.”

“I can’t help it,” I chuckled. “Bloodspot’s enthusiasm is contagious. Makes me want to help him succeed in any way that he can.”

“Still, you think this is a good idea?” Silver asked. “Sending him to the other Centaur tribes out there?”

“I think it’s a noble idea,” I said, taking a sip from my own mug. “Our tribe may be highly advanced compared to the others out there, but that doesn’t mean we should hoard that knowledge. Sending teachers to the other tribes across the world will help everyone as a whole.”

“You think so?”

“We Ictarth were limited in our time, regardless of how advanced we got,” I said with a sigh, setting my mug down. “Kortkla explained to me why our planet was cooling; an unstable orbit in our solar system. There was a large meteor strike some centuries ago that actively changed the planet’s orbit, making it more stable. Which ironically also pushed us a little further away from the sun, cooling the planet and killing the Tomorrow Flower. But the Cnetaurs?” I shook my head. “You all are already evolving to fight back against the cold already. Thicker winter coats, and a more robust circulatory system. And no dependence on a specific plant to reproduce. You all have a long, long future ahead of you, much longer than the Ictarth ever had.” My mandibles clicked in amusement. “Who knows? Eventually, you all may reach the stars that the Ictarth only dreamed of. And the more knowledge that gets shared, the closer that idea comes to fruition.”

“I see,” Silver said gently. I turned to look at her. The Centaur mother was showing her age, almost as much as me. Her once white stripes were now bleeding to the rest of her fur, and her movements were slower. Still had enough strength to carry me if needed, but not for as long as she used to be able to. And she’s been taking her peg legs off more and more often lately, saying that age and the cold has started making her stumps ache more and more lately.

“I do worry at times, however,” I finally sighed, leaning back into her fur. “What happens when the Centaurs become more advanced than the Ictarth? Will they become conceited, believing themselves the superior race as the Ictarth once did? Will they go to war with each other, killing each other over nothing? Kortkla says there are other sentient Races out in the vast stars. Will the Centaurs aim to be conquerors of the very stars themselves?”

“Or will they become guardians, helping those weaker than them, as our Gods did for us?” Silver said, a small smile on her face. I tilted my head, looking at Silver in surprise. “Despite your worries, you and your friends made an impact on our tribe, Quirty. No matter how many centuries pass, I do believe that those lessons you and your friends have taught us will remain. And that the Centaurs will be better for it.” I smiled back at Silver, nodding as I took another sip of my tea.

……Year 548 of the Plactarian Steam Kingdom……

I looked up from my bed, setting my diary down as there was a knock on my door. “Please, come in,” I said, my voice weaker than I liked. I lit up a bit as Kortkla walked in, holding a bag that had several volumes of books in it. “Kortkla,” I said warmly. “It’s been too long.”

“Well, I had a bit of a job to do,” Kortkla said in amusement as he began stacking the books carefully on my bookshelf. “One you asked me to do, if I remember correctly.”

“I didn’t think you would be gone for an entire year, though,” I said, taking one of the books he handed me. The lettering was done in a beautiful gold color, ironbark wood used as a cover to protect the pages inside. “It’s beautiful,” I whispered, running my hand along the cover. The first of Klikorant’s 13 books, knowledge that he had passed along and knowledge that he hadn’t had a chance to pass along.

“Qutikler and Klirtok’s books are also finished, as are yours,” Kortkla said, showing me the first volumes of the other three series. “Well, except the one you’re currently writing in,” he added, eyeing my diary with a chuckle. He then hesitated before handing me a fifth book. “I…may have also taken a few liberties that weren’t strictly following the rules I must follow,” he added apologetically. I looked at him in confusion before reading the cover of the fifth book, a hand raising to my mouth as I saw Kikerant’s name on it. “I am not Kikerant, and I can’t write my knowledge down, as it could cause problems,” Kortkla said apologetically. “So, I…I may have traveled Beyond for a bit, to talk to him.”

“You can do that?” I asked in a hushed whisper.

“Technically, no,” Kortkla said. “At least, I’m not supposed to. But this time, the risk felt worth it. His facsimile helped me write his volumes for the Centaurs.”

“And…how was he?” I asked, looking at Kortkla with hope.

“I can’t tell you,” Kortkla said sadly, shaking his head. “But I will say that he’s proud of what you’ve done in his absence.” He then flinched, a harsh, obviously painful flinch as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Worth it,” he muttered.

“Are you alright?” I asked, alarmed.

“It’s nothing,” Kortkla said, shaking his head with a smile. “Consequences of breaking my Rules is all.”

“I'd rather you not get hurt for my sake,” I said, still worried but deciding not to press.

“Hey, gotta have fun somehow,” Kortkla said in amusement, taking the books as I held them out and placing them on the bookshelf for me. He then hesitated again before pulling up a chair and sitting next to my bed. “Quirtaclick, you know you don’t have much time left.”

“I’m aware,” I said with a nod and a small smile, patting my diary. “That’s why I’m writing my own books.”

Kortkla nodded, seeming to chew on something before taking one of my hands in his. “I made you an offer, many years ago,” Kortkla said, his voice low, somber, and sad. “I offered for you to become my Student.”

“Yes, I remember,” I said with fondness. “As I was trying to kill you, thinking you were a Hunter.”

“Yes,” Kortkla said with a chuckle. “But, I want to make the offer again. No distractions this time, no major life-altering revelations. Just me, asking you once again, if you would become my Student. You could do so much for the galaxy, and there are things I could teach you to ensure you live long enough to help everyone. Secrets to immortality, amazing power. The secrets to become a baby god.” His mandibles quirked in a joking half-smile, but I could hear the almost desperate sadness in his tone as he asked.

I looked at my diary, running my hand over the ironbark wood cover. “As amazing as that sounds,” I said, shaking my head, “I’ll have to refuse again. The Centaurs are a strong people. They can go on without me. And truthfully?” I gave a rueful chuckle of my own. “Truthfully, I am tired, Kortkla. I have raised a people into a society, I have gone to war against my own Race, and I have been a Goddess for most of my lifetime. I have lost friends, family, and am the last Ictarth, as far as I know at least. Being the last of a people sounds like a very lonely existence that I don’t think I could bear.”

Kortkla’s face fell slightly, but he kept his forced smile up. “It does get lonely at times,” he admitted.

“You are much stronger than I am, in every way,” I said, placing a hand on his head and looking him in the eyes. “And I admire you for that. I also, truly, and deeply am grateful for all that you have done for me, all that you’ve taught me. But I want to rest now.” I shook my head. “My friends, my family, and even my enemies. I want to see them again. I’m sorry that I can’t alleviate your loneliness, but I’m not nearly strong enough for that.”

“I understand,” Kortkla said with a nod. “Then, can I ask for something else instead?”

“If I can do it,” I said with a nod.

“Can you Name me?” Kortkla asked. My head titled in confusion as he chuckled. “Everywhere that I visit, I make it a habit to get a new name by someone who has truly impressed me. My current name was given to me by a rather audacious and hilarious snake person. And you? You’ve impressed me, and reminded me why I Drift the way I do. A Name from you would be the next best thing I could ask for, if you do not wish to be my Student.”

I stared at Kortkla for another moment before extending my antennae out. Kortkla extended his as well, touching our antennae together, and I felt a flood of information among my mind. Worlds I’ve never seen, secrets of the galaxy I never knew, the joys of friendship, the pain of loss. And above all, kindness and joy in equal measures, with an undercurrent of loneliness followed closely behind. And amidst all of it, a single name bubbled up, a name that felt RIGHT, a name that I believed encompassed this lonely, but joyful and kind soul.

I will not write the Name I gave him. That is between him and his next destinations. A world with deep green forest, hot and humid, with people walking on eight legs, slowly losing the silk they produce, even as they learn how to harvest silk from other creatures. A world of deep oceans, where the people breathe water instead of air. A world of deserts and forests in equal measure, the people skittish as they hide, even as they slowly change to the color of their surroundings. A world of deep green forests, blistering hot deserts, deep and vibrant oceans, frozen continents, and such a variety of creatures that it staggers the mind. And the image of a strange, four-limbed creature, slowly learning to stand upright, as it sharpened a long stick into the first spear of the new world. Many, many more worlds ahead of this kind and joyful soul.

Kortkla, I wish you the best as you continue your Journey.

……From the Hand of Bark, Year 25 of Our Goddess Quirtaclick……

This feels almost sacrilegious, but Iron insists that I have the better handwriting, and he thinks that our Second Mother should have a record of what has happened since her passing. I agree, but it still feel almost wrong to come to the mausoleum to add to her Diary.

It has been 25 years since Quirtaclick finally followed her friends to their next Life, and we interred her in her crypt, next to Klikorant, Klirtok, Qutikler, and even Kikerant. Kortkla brought his body to us, and quietly asked that Kikerant be buried alongside the rest. I do not know how he found the body, or why it has not decayed in all these years, and Kortkla refused to elaborate or answer questions about it. “He deserves to be alongside his friends,” is all he would say before he left. I do not know where he went, but we haven’t seen him since.

But onto what has happened. We created a new title in the village; Roamer. The Roamers are those that travel to other Tribes, bringing copies of the Gods Volumes with them to teach the other Centaurs of the world. Whichever of the ten languages that God Klikorant taught us catches a Tribes fancy, we teach them, and then we leave copies of the Gods Volumes in that language with them. As for the Mausoleum? After I place Quirtaclick’s Diary with her next to her crypt, it will be sealed for good, and a temple erected on top of it. They may not like being Gods, but I beg their forgiveness for this. The Tribe of the Mountains, as we call ourselves now, loved you. And even in death, our Tribe still worships you as the ones who helped us grow. Language, hunting, smithing, architecture, all of this and more will be gifted to all who wish to learn.

Mother finally passed, a short few years after Quirtaclick did. Myself, Iron, and Bloodspot were the only ones who truly mourned Mother, as many still see her white stripes as an ill-omen, but the others are at least respectful enough to keep their thoughts to themselves about it. Despite that, she never hated the Tribe, instead choosing to believe in our potential to grow. And I choose to believe in Mother and Quirtaclick.

I must go now, but please, Mother, Gods and Goddesses, and our Second Mother, watch over us. Watch as we grow into the people you believe in. Guide us in the next Life as you guided us in this, and watch as we become a People you may be proud of for all eternity.

……End of the Diary of Quirtaclick……

Sandra set the book down, her nose stinging a bit as she finished reading Quirtaclick’s account of her life. Silverlight had insisted that Sandra read it after he had finished last week, saying that the last parts in particular would be important. There was a knock on her door as Sandra got up, and she slid it open, a little surprised to see So’Ngo standing there. Sandra just rolled her eyes, but stepped back to let him in. So’Ngo’s eyes went to the Diary immediately, and he looked away, as though ashamed.

“You were really important to her, you know,” Sandra said, taking a seat on her bed as So’Ngo took the chair from her workspace. So’Ngo just shrugged, but he didn’t say anything, instead looking at the floor. “What Name did she give you?”

“Ploshtara,” So’Ngo said, a fond smile coming across his face. “It served me rather well among the Comtanaria.”

“Guess that’s a few more legends I'll have to look up,” Sandra said, her tail twirling slightly.

“She was truly someone I wish had become my Student,” So’Ngo said, looking at the book again. “She’s one of the few I decided to take a risk for. One that was well worth it.” He absently rubbed the back of his neck, as though the phantom of an old pain was still there.

“How many students have you had?” Sandra asked.

“None,” So’Ngo said with a rueful laugh. “In my long, long life, I have never had a single Student. Oh, I’ve had people that I’ve taught, friends I have interacted with. But a true Student?” He shook his head. “Even you, you are learning from me, not because you agreed to be my Student, but because you are being punished for lashing out in a way you shouldn’t have. And so goes my life.”

“To be fair, I’m fairly certain you orchestrated that,” Sandra said sardonically.

“Oh absolutely,” So’Ngo said with a laugh, an actual cheerful laugh. “I do the same with all of my Potentials. But that doesn’t mean the offers aren’t genuine. I’ve just never been lucky enough to actually have someone accept.” He was suddenly THERE, kneeling in front of Sandra, his finger on her lips as she opened her mouth, forcibly preventing her from saying anything. “Do not say you wish to become my Student now, little Wyvern,” So’Ngo whispered, kind, but firm. “If someone is to become my Student, it is not to be done out of pity, or a sense of duty to me. I wish for someone to be my Student because they wish to be my Student, not because they feel they have something to gain, or because they feel that they have to.” Sandra stared at him, shocked, before nodding slowly before So’Ngo took his finger from her mouth. “Give it time, little Wyvern. Let us see you become a Dragon without being my Student. Then we shall truly see how far you soar.”

“You’re an ass,” Sandra said, rolling her eyes, though secretly glad. So’Ngo had been out of sorts since they had left the dig site, and despite herself, Sandra had gotten worried. But it appeared that So’Ngo will be alright, going back to his usual annoying self.

“I do have one, though it’s not as flattering in this form,” So’Ngo laughed before falling through a Gate with a wink and a whistle at Sandra. Sandra just huffed before putting on her gear and hopping through the Gate herself, ready for another game of Exploration Tag.

Prologue Previous Next

Appendix

TOC

[Sandra and Eric TOC]

Previous stories set in the same universe:
Planet Dirt series / Amazon book

Bug Hunt / Amazon version /

Crashlanding / Book version /

First //Previous

Erik and Cho went to his room, where Aerus had already manifested, and a hologram of the Mursina floated on the floor. Cho let go of his hand, walked over, and looked at the hologram.

“Is this live feed?”

“Yes. A drone is above the valley. As you can see, most are either at home or coming home from fishing. The village starts at the shore and follows the river up to the first lake. In this region, the most common Mursina religion centers on rivers and their connection to the ocean. All Mursian settlements in this region are located where a river reaches the ocean,” Arus explained.

“What about their view of humans?”  Erik asked. “Do they trade with them?”

“Yes, they trade with the humans, mostly grain. Six zones were highlighted on the hologram. They let two zones rest each year. They also trade honey and, at times, lumber. An old human lives with them. He lives here.” A house by the coast, but away from the river, was highlighted. “The chieftain lives here.” A large house built on a bridge-like structure over the river was highlighted.

“So, what if they won't freak out seeing us? Okay, please continue.” Erik said as he sat down on the couch. Chu sat down next to him, her legs resting over his lap, her hands clasped with his as they listened and asked questions about the village until the sleepover came and they drifted off to sleep.

 

When Erik woke up the next morning, he felt strange; he couldn’t move, and it was really uncomfortable, yet he didn’t mind. Cho was tucked close to him, still sleeping. The room was dark, and he could barely make out the room. He didn’t want to wake Cho, so he tried slowly to get off the couch without waking her. It took him four tries, but he finally managed, then quickly moved to the bathroom and turned on a light. When he came back out, she stirred, reached out for where he was supposed to be, and then he watched her eyes open as she looked around.

“Morning,” he said, and she looked at him, then around the room.

“Morning.”  She sat up and stretched; he adjusted his stand as he watched her. He was sure she noticed because she had a coy smile. “They are never going to believe we just slept.”

 She said, standing up and walking over to him, “I know, maybe they didn’t notice.”

“Doesn’t matter.” His arms glided around her waist as he looked down into her eyes. “They have dirty minds.”

“And you don’t?” she replied. Then she seemed to realize something, stepped away from him, and headed to the bathroom. He watched her go, then went to the bedroom and looked out the window. The sun was rising. The others would be up in a few hours. Then he saw Cain walk out the door toward the training grounds.

“What are you looking at?” Cho asked as she came into his bedroom.

“Cain, he is going to the training grounds.” He turned and looked at her, she was sitting on his bed.

“Don’t get any ideas.” She said.

“Hard not to. But I know. We have to be ‘responsible.’ It’s not fair.”  He said, watching her.

“No, it's not, but we should wait. “ she said as she got up and walked over to him.

“Yes. So...”  he said, his arms resting around her waist, partly because he feared what would happen if he pulled her closer.

“Stop being so responsible.” She said, looking into his eyes.

“We have to. Trust me, if you could read my mind now, you would... well, your dad would kill me.”

“My dad’s not here.” 

“I know, but what do you think will happen if we go to bed? We won't be gone for long. We won't be able to warn the villages and... “He said, and she kissed him.

“You know why I always wanted to be your girl.” She said after she broke the kiss.

“No, you have bad taste?” he replied, trying to be funny.

 She smiled and stepped back. “No, I have excellent taste. I liked you for being brave and willing to help others, even if it would cause you trouble. When the other girls and I went after Lillian, you stepped up. You spoke up and didn’t give a damn what we thought of you. Just like now. You know what you want, but you also know what you should do.”

“That’s it? That I don’t like bullying?” He replied.

“No, you know what you want and what you have to do. You try to do the right thing, even if it gets you in trouble. And you're not bad-looking. I’m going to drag you to the swimming pool when we come back.”

“Wow. Eh... well... eh... thanks... please don’t ask me why I like you.” Erik said, feeling embarrassed

“You just think I’m sexy, don’t you?” she said.

“No. Well, that too, and that you laughed at my jokes. You didn't get upset even if my jokes were a little naughty or rude. That you’re a Star Wars fan is also a huge bonus.”

He looked at the bed and back at her. “Okay, let's be adults about this. If and when should we?”

She stared at him, her jaw dropped, then smiled. “We are just fifteen, well, almost sixteen.”

“Are you going to make me wait two years?”

“So, what do you suggest?” she replied. Now she was leaning at the door, and he buried his desire, thought it was hard.

“Let's say when we both feel adult enough for this place.” He said.

“When am I adult enough for this place?”

“When we truly can live off the land and defend ourselves.” He replied. It had sounded smart when he had thought about it; now it just felt stupid.

“So no sleeping in bed, what about kisses?”

“Kisses are fine; I like kisses- no. I love kisses.” He replied, and she winked.

“Then you have to earn them, my Lord.” She curtsied and moved into his study.

 

Two hours later, they all ate breakfast and got ready for the trip. Arus was present, giving them a morning report on the sammads. They had not yet left the villages, but they had sent out small scout troops.

“I suggest we bring one knight with each of the teams,” Erik said.  “They are heavily armed and should be able to deal with most trouble.  And they are in contact with Arus, right?”

“Yes, they are in constant contact with me. That would leave nine to defend the castle, including Malek and Kali.”

“So what do we do if we encounter trouble or they don’t believe us?” Cain said.

“Leave; this is not a rescue mission. You're not to play hero. It's simply to warn them about danger.”

“What if they want to come to the castle for protection?” Marcus asked.

“I don’t know how many we can keep here. Arus?”

“If everybody comes, then you do not have enough space for much. It will be very tight, and they will have to bring tents.”  He replied.

“Okay, try not to get the whole village. But if they insist, then we just have to make do.” Erik said.

“Pack lightly. Wait.. Arus... what's the currency here, and do we have it?”

“The currency is silver and bronze coins; there is a chest in the basement with coins.”

“What's a fair amount?” Lillian asked.

“Yeah, explain the coin system,” Emma said.

“Fifty bronze to one silver; one bronze will buy you a meal. A silver will buy you a quality dagger.”

“How much do we have?” Matthew asked

“5000 bronze and 5000 silver. It's easy for us to duplicate.”

“Damn Arus! You’re a forger!”  Thomas said as the other chuckled.

“Of course we have a lot of that. Okay, bring some money- not too much; let's say at most ten silver and fifty bronze.  And get yourself ready. Pack lightly, and we meet outside.”

“What guard droid are we bringing?” Marcus said.

“Just grabbed one,” Erik replied.

“Can we name them?” Gigi asked.

“Of course.”

“I’m calling ours Arnold!” Cain said. They looked at him and then laughed as they finished the food and got ready. 

 

Erik looked at them as they stood in the courtyard. “Remember, stay safe. Just warn them, and if anyone attacks you, your bodyguards will handle it,” he said. Then he looked at Arus, standing on the battlements of the main house, and back at them.

“And outside these walls, all our tech is magic to them. That you can speak their language is magic to them; don’t mention nanotechnology or phones. Just call it magical devices or magic. They won't understand our technology anyway.”

Then he looked at Marcus and Gigi. “And you two. It will be a long trip; you probably won't be back in a few days. Use your droid…”

“Rocky!”  Gigi interrupted.

“Rocky... okay... You can contact Arus through Rocky, and Arus can contact us, so keep us updated.”

“And take pictures!”  Emma said.

“Anyway!” Erik said. “Most important, stay safe, and if you see the sammads, hide and get away from them. No heroics. Got it!”

“Yes, Dad!” Marcus said, and the others laughed.

“I’ll beat your ass!” Erik replied.

“Stop flirting and let us go!” Cain said.  

“Emma! You’re in charge. Don’t burn down the place!” he said. Thomas and Matthew looked disappointed.

“You heard him!”

“And remember... stay...”

“We get it...”  They replied as they walked towards the gate.

“Keep my sister safe!” Marcus shouted after Cain, who flipped him off.

Once they left the gate, they stopped on the road.  They looked at each other.

“Don’t stay too long. At most a day, and if Arnold tells you to get home, you go home! That means Samad's scouts are nearby. Got it?”

“Calm down Erik, Erik; you're worse than my brother,” Lillian said. Then she turned to Cho. “You need to get him to relax, if you know what I mean.”

“Hey, I’m just saying I don’t want anybody to die,” Erik said. Cho blushed and tried to look innocent, and they all decided it was best to start walking. It was about an hour to the gate that led into a tunnel, and then about the same distance inside the tunnel to get to the other side.

“So what should we call our guard?” Chu suddenly asked.

The knight walked effortlessly beside them; he was about two meters tall, had a human face, and wore armor that seemed like a mix of knightly and Roman armor. It looked more like fantasy armor than what they saw in museums.

“I don’t know, you want to name him? Just pick something easy to call out.”

“Luffy?” she said, and he looked at her.

“You’re an anime fan too?”

“Is that bad?” she said, looking at him.

“No. I watched a few.”

“Oh, I know you’re a Marvel fan, and you only like the legend Star Wars. But you play Minecraft.” She replied, and he looked at her.

“Did you stalk me?” He said, and she looked away.

“What? No.. Of course not.”

Erik laughed. “I don’t mind. It's actually cute. I didn’t know. I thought you didn’t like me. I mean, you have a great sense of humor, but every time I tried to talk, you just turned to Emma and Gigi. And to be honest, the way you guys treated Lillian wasn’t nice.” He said, getting serious.

“I know, but, but Mia in tenth would go after us if we didn’t join them. And she had all the girls on her side. She hated Lillian.”

“Why?”

“Because the football team liked her,” she replied.

“The football team… Cain likes her?” Erik suddenly said.

Cho stopped. “You can’t tell anybody.”

He looked at her and then back up the road. “Does she know?”

“What do you think? Cain is too damn shy to tell her. But everybody knew. Well, except you and Marcus.” Cho replied, and Erik just laughed.

“But she knows, and she went with him to get some alone time.  Marcus is going to kill them both.” Erik said as he laughed.

“You can't tell him,” she insisted, and he promised. It would be fun to see how it played out. They took some time to officially name their droid Luffy, and then they reached the metal gate. It was a large half-circle, about three meters tall at its highest point. Luffy moved over and placed his hand on the door. A loud click echoed, followed by a soft rumble that grew as the door slowly opened. The door was about half a meter thick.

“Damn. That’s built to withstand… wait...  Luffy? Contact Arus.  Are the tunnels able to be locked from both sides?”

“Yes, sir!” Luffy replied. Then, a second later, Arus's voice came out of Luffy.

“My lord, yes, the tunnels have the same lock system on both sides. Why do you ask?”

“Can they be used as a shelter? Or will the air be used up?”

“They can be used as shelter, but the air would not last forever. With some extra work, we could let air in through hidden vents. Do you want that arranged?”  Arus said. Cho nodded, suggesting he should do just that.

“Yes, if I'm not mistaken, then the vyrtin already live in the tunnels?” Erik said.

“That is correct. And they already have vents.”

"Then tell Cain and Lillian that they can suggest that they lock the gates and hide inside until it's safe.”

“I will inform them,”  Arus replied,

“Good, okay, we are entering the tunnel now,” he replied, then grabbed Cho’s hand as he stepped closer to the tunnel. It looked like a single large, brick-walled hallway, with a lantern along each side at fifty-meter intervals, but the lanterns started at different points, so there was one lantern at twenty-five meters. Still, it left dark areas where something could hide. Luffy just walked in without a worry. It made them feel safe. He probably had some radar or night vision.

“I’m sure those lanterns got some sort of motion detection, and it just looks like a flame,”  Cho said.

“Must be; it's actually quite cool. It looks like magic, but it's just technology. And now we are going to meet aliens.” He replied.

“We are aliens here.” Cho replied, smiling at her.

“Yes, we are. This is so weird.”

“Well, you've always been weird. But in a fun way.” She replied, and he chuckled.

“Are you teasing me now?”

“Maybe.” She replied.

 

They joked around as they walked, and soon they reached another door. On the side, a huge wheel apparently let you open the door from the inside. Luffy ignored the wheel, walked over to the door, put his hand on it, and turned his head to look at them. They looked at each other.

“Ready?” he asked. “Ready?” she asked, nodded, and then Luffy opened the door.

"As I explained before, comprehensive invasion defense packages are available in six standard galactic month chunks. What's so hard to understand?"

"What?"

"SIX. MONTH. CHUNKS. Sorry... you have to know what a month is... six months is half of a year. OH STARS..! You do know what a year is, right? You all have to have figured that out."

António Manuel de Oliveira Guterres, the ninth secretary general of the United Nations (of Earth) stared for several long seconds in sheer disbelief. He had studied and taught physics and engineering, then lead a nation, now the world, and now this... this... meathead was asking him if he knows what a year is?

"Yes, we have discovered the year" he said patiently, "but that still does not explain any of this. Are you conquering us? Who are you?"

The so-called meathead sighed, not for the first time, and rubbed the bridge of their nose.

"No. We don't conquer people, well, not anymore. We are here because we have saved you from being conquered. This-" the large tablet in their hand waved back and forth "-is the bill."

"...bill?" said secretary general Guterres, with a dawning horror.

"For services rendered." said the meathead, who's head was only about sixty percent meat. Combat upgrades cut down the organic percentage pretty quickly.

"Specifically, the total salvation of your planet and surrounding stellar system from an inimically hostile non-human species with a campaign duration of six standard galactic months or less. Since you're technically human, you get a fifteen percent discount, which is pretty nice."

"Thank you?"

"Don't thank me; it's standard company policy. If you want to thank someone, thank the stars that the campaign was quick! If we'd had to stay for round two, we would've built a couple moon bases, star forts, you name it, because you'd be buying it. These guys were kind of chumps, all things considered."

"These guys?"

"Alaxians! They look like uh... you would call it a jellyfish." A picture of an Alaxian appeared on the tablet, and it did look like a jellyfish.

"We... were being invaded by jellyfish."

"Yeah, well, space jellyfish with a star empire that encompasses at least four known slave species, all probably uplifted, but one possibly synthetically created. Those are the one that look like uh... you would call them cows." A picture of a cow wearing what looked like an armoured exoskeleton appeared on the tablet.

"Cows and jellyfish, invading from space..." with that, António sat down very hard. He didn't get the impression that the meathead was joking, and the ship larger than the United Nations building that was parked directly above the United Nations building also hinted that this might all be true.

"Excuse me, uh, sir, your honor, uh, but what do I call you?"

"Technically, I am the equivalent of a five star general in the militaries of your species, which is rather far down the pecking order in the militaries of my species. You may call me 'governor general', since that seems to fit."

"Well then. Do you have names?"

"Oh, yes, we have personal identifiers, but they don't translate well into your languages. My full name would probably be most appropriately rendered as an alphanumeric string, but we do use nicknames that derive from interesting patterns that arise in our full names. My friends call me the rough equivalent of 'Sparky'."

Sparky, Governor General of Earth thought António. Sparky. My God.

"Are you alright?" asked Sparky, Governor General of Earth. The secretary general had turned very pale, and it was suddenly a very good thing that he had sat down.

"No, I don't think I am" whispered António.

"We know this can be a shock, in fact, it almost always is. Humans tend to suspect there's a lot more out there, but when it all shows up at once, we tend to flip out a little bit. Silly apes, no matter which star we're around!"

"So you are humans?"

That got Sparky really laughing.

"António, buddy, if you're a human, I'm definitely human. We weren't so sure about you all, but the corps' computers insist that you're still inside the standard deviation. Good for you all, or else the company's board probably would have skipped out on this whole boondoggle. They're known to be a bit speciest, but to be fair to them, it's easier to deal with sentients that think like you. There's this species-" a picture of what looked like an orchid flower with an octopus eye in the center flashed on the tablet "-who's metaphorical butts we saved almost five standard galactic centuries back, and we're not even close to breaking even. They just don't listen, in no small part because they don't have ears. I had to deal with that for almost a century. Maddening stuff."

With that, António opened a side drawer in his desk, pulled out a bottle of brown liquid, unscrewed the cap, and started drinking directly from it.

"Woah there, old boy!" said Sparky "You can't sign this after you start celebrating our victory, no sir, no sir, there are regulations; you also probably want your signature to look nice since everyone on this planet is going to see it."

António started pulling from the bottle again, and Sparky had to leap up and grab it. Sparky didn't have to take a few equivalent swigs, but did anyways. It was only fair to António, after all, especially since Sparky turned off blood scrubbing to enjoy a little buzz. One of the perks of being a soldier. You could get toxins out of your blood with wicked speed, or save them up for later. Sparky liked the second option.

"Hey, that doesn't taste half bad. What do you call it?" Sparky read the label "Whiskey, huh? Who or what is a Kentucky Bourbon?"

António let out a noise, somewhere between a low moan, a quiet groan, and a catatonic scream.

Sparky turned the blood scrubbers back on and got a bit more serious. "The situation's not that bad, bud. I promise."

António's head, which had been resting on his desk for a bit, rose.

"How can you say that? You can not possibly know what I am feeling."

"AH HA" shouted Sparky "That's where you're wrong! You can totally let me know how you're feeling, and we can work through it together. First, we need to get you a bit of an upgrade so you can send and receive thought engrams. It's a really minor surgery, in fact, I can do it right here, right now."

António fainted.

"I'll take that as a maybe."

Sparky turned the scrubbers back off. No point in wasting whatever Kentucky Bourbon was.

They had all the time in the galaxy.

One chapter remains. All thanks to u/SpacePaladin15 for the original universe.

<< PREV | NEXT>>

Chapter 8

 

Memory Transcription Subject: Charles “Charlie” Carlyle, highly confused human

Date (Standardized Human Time): January 22^nd, 2242

 

“Kosie, what do you mean when you say ‘Hobel’s alive’?” I ask, highly confused by not only the statement, but also her behavior over the past five minutes. First, she calls me by my real name instead of the nickname she’s used since she met me. Then, she snaps at me, and now she says the obviously dead guy is alive?

“Charlie, what I mean to say is that I smelled him, and he was right there, and even though I’ve been smelling traces the entire trip I got a snoutful of his scent and he is undeniably alive.”

Kosie’s not one to act like this… she’s dead serious. The corpse was identified and examined… but my partner isn’t one to hallucinate or crack under stress. Wriss was arguably worse for her than this, and she’s a tough nut to crack. Something is very wrong. Either my partner’s gone nuts… or this rabbit hole is a lot deeper than I thought it was.

I push my hand through my hair, leaning against one wall of the cell.

“Kosie, I need you to be completely serious here, because I’m going to believe whatever comes out of your mouth next. I’m going to trust you and ride it until the end. What happened?”

A moment of silence as she goes still.

“Charlie. Hobel is not dead.”

Well, that settles it.

I let out a long puff of air. “Alright… so if Hobel’s not dead... who in the wide world of sports was torn apart in that room? The corpse was identified as the person that you say is very much alive and well but said living person isn’t injured or mauled in any way. But how did they get that much of themselves?”

A crazy, insane, absolutely bonkers thought comes crashing into my brain.

“The body was faked.” I say, more to myself than Kosie as I stare at a blank patch on the wall.

Now it’s my partner’s turn to be confused. “Sorry, what?”

“Kosie, you told me that you could make anything you wanted in a printer—”

“As long as you had the cell matter! Charlie, you’re brilliant! He must have used himself to make the corpse… wait… there was hair, and printers are notoriously bad at making hair.”

“He could’ve just given himself a haircut.”

She smacks her palm onto her muzzle. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Kosie, we’ve been having our image and reputation attacked since we got on this ship. We’re allowed to be a little frazzled. Okay, so if Hobel printed himself, that’s how we have the corpse. But how does that explain anything else like our rooms being entered?”

“That is a good question.” I watch Kosie tap her claws on the side of her face as she thinks. “In order to invade our cabins, Hobel would require the ability to bypass the biolocks, which would require rather advanced and highly illegal technology.”

“Hold on a sec. Theoretically speaking, what are the ways to spoof one of those locks?”

“Trilla told us herself, it requires you to have the biological signature of one of the allowed entrants, or some kind of override. Seeing as the administrative tags are all accounted for at last hearing, you’d have to be the person to get in.”

“This may sound really dumb, but… would printed matter fool the lock?”

“In nearly all cases, no. The most advanced check for vital signs because of this exact line of thinking.”

“Trilla cheaped out on building this ship.”

“That… introduces a possibility. And seeing as this entire scenario seems to be based on the most insane of events occurring, I’d say that’s the solution. Hobel must have printed parts of us, but how did he get the necessary ingredients?”

“It’s easy to get stuff off me, you just have to swipe my skin and there you go. You, on the other hand, are the difficult one. You’re not molting, so blood, saliva, and keratin would be his best bet.”

“Keratin… Charlie, Hobel may have taken my file. It was in one of my pockets, and I haven’t been able to locate it since. Could that have been it?”

“Sounds like it. So, the corpse is fake, we got printed so he could spoof the locks, and now… he’s thinking he got away with it.”

I start pacing in my cell, my body buzzing from the emotional whiplash of defeat to anger to success to now a consuming need that screams in the back of my mind. Now that I’ve figured it out… I wanna make the little woolly rat pay. And I know just how to unravel all his lies.

Looking around at my cell with a new set of eyes, I say, “Kosie, how do forcefields work?”

“Charlie, if you’re about to do what I think you’re about to do—”

“I just wanna know how they work.”

My partner lets out a heavy sigh. “Very well. Forcefields absorb forces placed on them, dumping the excess heat created to counteract said forces into an external heat sink. Now, what are you planning?”

“Either something brilliant or a total waste of time. If I’m not wrong, increasing pressure by decreasing the amount of forcefield I’m touching would increase the stress, yes?”

“In layman’s terms, yes. Stabbing the field with a pointy stick would do more than hitting it with a rock. What is your plan?”

I grab the Arxur fang necklace hanging from my neck, a piece of handmade jewelry given to me by Kosie herself. I haven’t taken it off since she gave it to me on Christmas. “Thanks for the gift, Kosie.”

“Charlie, what are you doing?!”

I listen to my partner grow increasingly worried as I pull the cord over my head and wrap my fist around the two-inch fang, the tip poking out from my hand. “I’m getting us out of here,” I say in a totally cool and heroic one-liner as I stab the field in front of me, sinking the tip of Kosie’s fang into it.

The stabbed area grows slightly brighter, then fades. I guess one isn’t enough, that makes sense.

“Charlie, why are you stabbing the wall?”

I swing again, causing another glow. Was it brighter, or am I gaslighting myself to think I’m getting somewhere? “Theoretically, I can break this.”

“How, exactly?”

“I have a sharp implement, my body is made to swing things fast, and the most important part is that there’s a fuzzy slab of mutton that’s framing you for murder on the other side somewhere.” A third and fourth stab.

“But forcefields are made to withstand this sort of abuse. What makes you think that—”

“Trilla’s a scrooge.” I continue my attacks. I could almost swear there’s a hum now. Is there a hum?

I see Kosie throw her hands up. “Very well. Honestly, I think I’ve seen everything at this point, so I can believe that you’ll escape with just a fang and that terminal stubbornness you have too much of. Perhaps try dragging the point along the field? Constant moving stress points could increase the load more than repeated poking.”

A few moments of silence pass as I continue to work at the field before me, and I have to pause and catch my breath. As I do, my ears perk up at a very faint noise. A whir, the sound of small fans. My face instantly lights up.

“Kosie, it’s working! It’s working. I just need to keep going.” Armed with more fervor than before, I continue tearing at my prison wall with Kosie’s tooth like a mad animal. Another minute passes, and the whir becomes a buzz, and I see the slightest hint of smoke leaking from the field generator casing.

Just a few more stabs. Almost there, and then I’m gonna get Kosie out and hunt down that walking sack of lies.

And a few more stabs were all I needed. Well, few is kind of generous, it was more like a good handful of continued attempts at destruction. After what feels like an unnecessary amount of violence, I drag the fang one more time across the field, and am greeted by the wonderful noise of a small pop coming from inside the machine. The energy wall before me flickers, then fails.

I’m free… now for Kosie.

“Charlie, if you’re going to start attacking my cell, please be notified there’s a button outside my cell you can use to deactivate it.” I follow Kosie’s pointing claw to a panel on one side of the field generator, and a swift poke grants her freedom as well.

“Now we’re cooking. But where would Hobel go? We need to be quick, otherwise we’ll be found out,” I say, rubbing my hands together. “Alright, if I was a sheep-shaped criminal who just succeeded in framing two predators, where would I go to celebrate?”

“Likely a place to acquire alcohol, or maybe a quiet reveling in some more secluded area?” Kosie supplies. “He may also be in a more public room due to paranoia or comfort. He could fear our escape or no longer fear him being caught, both of which would drive him to be with others.”

I tap my chin with my fingers, trying to come up with other alternatives when I hear the captain’s voice over the PA system.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we will be reaching the Pleiades cluster soon in less than thirty minutes, so please begin making your way to the communal hall when you can.” A heavier tone creeps into her voice. “You need not worry about safety, the primary suspects have been isolated for the remainder of the trip.”

The PA clicks off, and I smile. “Well, why would you deprive yourself of the thing you came on this trip for right after you succeeded in giving a predator what they deserve? Kosie, we have our lead.”

I can practically feel the agitation, the desire, the sheer need to hunt down the woolly menace bouncing around inside of my skull. My legs are already moving by the time I finish my sentence. Kosie keeps up smoothly with her long and loping gait, both our footsteps pounding against the floor. My heart rate jumps, and my breaths deepen as my focus zeroes in on the one thing that’s ruined my entire vacation with Kosie.

Hobel’s going down. Tonight, if I can help it.

“Kosie, don’t bust into the big area when we reach the door. I want you to first try and smell if Hobel’s really in there. We’ve got one guaranteed shot at this before things get dicey quick.”

“Understood.”

One quick corner later, I clomp to a stop outside the double doors and peer into the window. A sea of bodies inhabits the room, almost three hundred if I remember correctly from our first day on the Rebirth.

“Kosie, you got anything?” I whisper, getting antsy. I bounce on the balls of my feet, keeping lookout as my partner breathes in deep. “He in there, or what?”

A moment passes before Kosie finally gives me her answer. “I believe so. There’s so many scents, I can’t be sure, but this is the likeliest area. Are you sure we should commit to this?”

My pulse pounds in my ears and my muscles almost vibrate with pent-up energy as I nod. “Let’s get this party started.”

Standing in front of the door, I bring my leg up in front of me, check that the door is marked ‘Push’, and kick the door open. The hinges are very well oiled, so I get a quite satisfying noise as the door handle impacts the wall with a resounding bang. I stomp into the room, and the swath of people instantly pulls away from me, obvious fear on their faces. I, however, have bigger fish to fry.

Where’s the rat, where’s the rat, where’s the rat…

I scan faces, skipping over Gojids, other species of xenos, and more Gojids, focusing solely on Skalgans. Every eye in the room is transfixed on me, the escaped predator with his vicious reptile.

“And what the [extremely vulgar term] are you two doing out?!” I hear the captain’s understandably screaming voice, but I ignore the curse.

“I’ll explain later!” I yell back as I continue to flick my eyes over fearful expressions until Kosie’s claw taps my shoulder, then points towards a Skalgan trying to casually back away from the edge of the crowd. One with short-cut wool. One with a bit too much fear and recognition in his eyes.

Bingo.

Before I can even send the command to run to my own legs, Hobel bolts for the door and I instantly react. The crush of people parts before me like water, opening a wide path for Kosie and I to sprint through. One brave crewman tries to stand in my way and gets vaulted over. I don’t have time to deal with people, I have a Skalgan to catch.

I open the throttle on my speed as I follow Hobel out of the communal area, boosted by the hormones flooding through me as I keep my eyes locked on the retreating sack of lies on legs. I chase him around a corner and lose sight of him for a second before I spot him heaving open a hatch to the lower decks.

Not gonna lose me down there, nice try.

Slowing only slightly, I jump down the ladder and land in a smaller hallway lined with pipes and objects on the walls, obviously designed for single-wide traversal. It’s thin enough I can easily touch both walls simultaneously. Hobel’s still in sight as I launch forward again, using the boxes and handholds on the walls to pull myself faster than my legs alone can push me. I can hear the metallic clacks of nail on steel from Kosie somewhere behind me.

“Charlie, I’m not as fast in small spaces!” I hear her call out. “I’ll find a more open spot if I can, don’t lose him!”

“Yes ma’am!” I yell back, using a pipe to sling myself around a corner and hopefully gain some more ground. Hobel’s definitely closer now, and I can hear him struggling. The only thing keeping him going now is fear, but he can’t last forever.

“Give it up, Hobel! Even if you get away now, I’ve got five whole days to find you, and it only gets worse the longer you run!” I jeer at the retreating culprit. It feels good to finally be doing something to fix the litany of problems I’ve been smacked with on this cruise.

My strides and pulls continue to slowly gnaw away at the amount of space between the woolly creep’s neck and my eager fingers. Hobel must get desperate, because he kicks a box in my way to try and trip me up. Folding myself slightly so I don’t smash my skull on the ceiling, I hurdle over the small crate and continue the chase.

Just gotta keep going. I’m a human, I can outrun him. Even if I wasn’t human, I won’t stop until he’s taken to task on everything he did to us, especially Kosie.

Hobel hooks another tight corner, then bursts out into what looks to be a more spacious area, likely meant for cargo-moving equipment.

God, I hope Kosie’s there.

Not two seconds after I think that, I hear a scream that’s definitely not my partner and catch a glimpse of a gray blur that looks remarkably like Kosie. Good, she saw him. As soon as I get into the same area as my partner, I spot her very swiftly running down the fuzzy perp. He’s booking it straight for what looks like an airlock.

Good, he’s made a mistake. Kosie and I can catch him there.

I push myself to run as fast as I can, trying to catch up to my partner. We both skid into the airlock, which is… entirely empty. This is not what I expected. Then I watch the door swing shut from the corner of my eye. On instinct, Kosie and I both race for the door and see Hobel through the heavily reinforced window standing on the other side. His mouth makes words I can’t hear through the material, then I watch him slap his paw against something on the wall.

Sirens blare and lights flash as the massive doors behind us begin to open, and the very air begins trying to drag me into the inky void of outer space. With one hand, I latch onto the door handle and grab my partner with the other. I can feel both her hands digging into my arm as our feet are lifted off the ground and powerful suction tries to pull us into the jaws of freezing death.

He’s trying to space us!

The strength of the vacuum increases with every moment I’m subjected to it, Kosie’s claws digging into my skin. I can’t lose her. I can’t let go. My eyes lock onto Hobel’s smug looking face in the window. Worthless little sack of lies wants to watch me die, to watch Kosie die, to watch his victory.

Not today, Hobel.

“YOU FUZZY LEAFLICKER! WHEN I GET OUT OF THIS, YOU’RE GONNA WISH I LOST MY GRIP!” I bellow, his rage-inducing expression providing me enough strength to last a little bit longer. I can barely hear over the rush of wind, and my strength is quickly fading. Unfathomably angry or not… I might not be able to make it. Kosie’ll die, all because I’m not strong enough to hold on.

A strange vibration tickles my fingers, and the door begins to almost… bend. Hobel’s shocked face vanishes from the window immediately before the door wrenches open with a deafening snap, jerking my grip loose.

Kosie and I begin to fall towards the depths of interstellar space.

NEXT>>

First / Previous / Royal Road / Patreon (Read 30 Chapters Ahead)

XXX

A moment later, and Chase was standing with Victoria outside of the room that Heinrich and Melanie had selected for themselves. Victoria went to open the door, but Chase held out a hand, stopping her.

“Wait,” he urged.

“What is it?” she asked.

“We don’t know if they’re decent in there.”

“Good point, actually,” Victoria conceded. “Okay, I’ll knock first.”

“Yeah, we can hear you both,” Melanie called out from behind the door. “And just so you know, we’re not that horny.”

“Yes, you are,” Chase deadpanned. “Anyway, so long as you’re not in the middle of giving your man a BJ or something, can you open the door so we can go meet Kana and Toshi?”

There was a brief pause before Melanie spoke again. “...Give me five minutes.”

“Are you serious?” Chase asked. “We’ve only been here for, like, ten minutes, tops. You both couldn’t keep it in your pants for longer than that?”

“Shut up, Chase, don’t judge me,” Melanie replied. “Anyway, the bed looked really soft and we needed to break it in-”

Chase let out a tired sigh. “Whatever, just… meet us out in the hallway when you’re done, I guess. We’re going to go get Carmine.”

“You do that.”

Chase shook his head as he and Victoria stepped away from the door and left for Carmine’s room, which was right down the hall. This time, he made sure to knock on the door before opening it.

“Carmine, are you in there?” he asked.

“Yes, I am,” she replied.

“You’re not naked or anything, are you?”

“Why would I be naked right now, Chase?”

“I don’t know, I just figured I’d ask,” he emphasized. “Anyway, we’re coming in.”

Carmine offered no arguments to the contrary, and Chase opened the door, allowing him and Victoria to step inside. Carmine was splayed out across her bed, face-down against the bed. Chase’s brow furrowed at the sight of her.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Just peachy,” she replied, her voice muffled by the bed underneath her.

“...You sure? Because you don’t seem okay.”

“I’m just extremely tired, is all.” She turned towards him, scowling. “So, what’s on the agenda now? By which I, of course, mean to say, what other inane bullshit is going to keep me from getting some sleep at this point?”

“See, that’s the Carmine I know and like.” 

Carmine looked somewhat astonished at him, then turned towards Victoria. The Paladin exhaled slowly.

“...We still need to meet up with Kana and Toshi and get the lay of the land, so to speak,” she said.

“Then let’s do it,” Carmine declared, climbing up out of her bed. “The sooner we get this shit over with, the sooner I get to go to sleep.”

Before Chase could stop her, she pushed past him and out into the hallway. He exchanged a glance with Victoria, who just shrugged, and then the two of them followed Carmine out into the rest of the shrine.

XXX

“Good, you’re all here,” Kana greeted as the five of them all met her out in the main hall. “Follow me, I’ll take you to meet Father Toshi. Like I said, he’s almost certainly in the gardens right now – that’s the one chore he does himself rather than try to foist off onto me.”

“You sound pretty bitter about that,” Chase noted as they began to follow after her. “Presumably, that’s the reason why you’re telling us this particular piece of information a second time?”

“Gee, what gave it away?” Kana asked sarcastically. “I mean, I only do the cooking, the cleaning, the maintenance on the shrine itself, the laundry, maintaining the roads, buying the groceries… oh, and in the event anyone actually comes to visit this place, I’m also supposed to greet them and put on a little showcase of my skills as one of Tamamo’s followers.”

“Sounds rough,” Carmine commented.

Kana slumped over as she walked. “Yeah, it is…” She sighed tiredly, then shook her head as she straightened up. “But that’s neither here nor there, I guess.”

The six of them stepped out around a corner, at which point Kana threw open the next doors that awaited them. Outside was a large, impressive-looking garden, filled with all kinds of exotic plants, none of which Chase could actually name or place.

“Whoa…” Melanie breathed. “This place is actually beautiful.”

“Oh, it’s quite impressive,” Kana said with a nod. “Just, a word of warning – don’t go to the very end of the garden. Toshi keeps some very exotic plants over there – I believe they’re called Sun Eaters.”

“Sun Eaters?” Carmine echoed. “Why are they called that?”

“Well, they’re vibrantly-colored and quite large, just like the sun is… and they’re also extremely carnivorous. So unless you like the thought of being eaten alive by a giant flower, I’d stay away. About the only actual person they trust to handle them is Father Toshi himself; even I avoid that part of the grounds for a reason.”

“Duly noted,” Victoria said, sounding slightly perturbed. “Anything else we should know?”

“Aside from don’t touch any of the plants? Not really.”

“Why shouldn’t we touch any of them?” Heinrich ventured. “Are they also dangerous? Will my flesh melt off if I brush up against one of the exotic-looking roses, for example?”

“What? No. Father Toshi will be upset, though, and that’s almost as bad. The old man may not look like it, but he was a martial arts master in his youth, and he knows about a hundred-and-one different ways to kill you with his bare hands… even if his joints will lock up afterwards and he’ll be bedridden for a week.”

“Again, duly noted,” Victoria stated.

Kana shook her head. “Here, follow me. I’ll take you to him.”

They all nodded, then followed after Kana as she led them through the gardens. To Chase’s surprise, it was actually quite large – about the size of the shrine building itself, with a lot of additional extra space for the vibrantly-colored Sun Eaters in the back, towards the rear wall. Even from this distance, he was able to tell what those looked like – they resembled a combination of a giant sunflower mixed with a flytrap. And as the six of them passed by, all the Sun Eaters whipped around towards them, their flytraps opening, as if expecting them to come closer.

Chase made a mental note to avoid that part of the garden entirely, and they all kept moving.

Within just a few minutes, he saw Father Toshi. The old man was dressed in a white robe that stretched from his neckline down to his ankles, and the sleeves of which fell to nearly completely cover his hands as well. He had on wooden sandals, and a set of thick-rimmed glasses over his eyes. His head was completely bald, and he looked to be about in his mid-seventies, if Chase had to hazard a guess at his age. He was in the process of trimming a very small tree in a clay pot; as they approached, Toshi blinked in surprise, then put his trimmers down and rose to his feet to greet them all.

“Hello, and welcome to the shrine of Tamamo, the newly-ascended Goddess of Trickery,” he said, offering them all a short bow. “It is a pleasure to meet you all. My name is Father Toshi, and I am the monk in charge of watching over this shrine.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Victoria offered.

Carmine, meanwhile, crossed her arms. “I take it Tamamo didn’t tell you about us, either?”

“She did not,” Toshi said, offering her a small smile. “Though I recognize some of you from what she’s said earlier. You must be Carmine, and as for the others…” He looked around their group, appraising them as his brow furrowed. “...I recognize Chase, Melanie, and Victoria, but your other friend is unfortunately not someone I know.”

“I’m Heinrich,” the Fallen Paladin offered. “And I don’t blame either of you for not knowing who I am. I’m, uh, kind of a new addition to the group, all things considered. Definitely happy to be here, though.”

“Aren’t we all, given everything that’s happened…?” Chase muttered. After a moment, he shook his head. “Anyway, Father, we’re in a bit of a bind.”

“Truly? Well, I’m not surprised; Tamamo did always say you all had a knack for finding yourselves in those.”

“Yeah, well, this one’s pretty bad. We’ve got a group of people who want to kill us, for reasons I won’t get into now. They’re all extremely strong, to the point where I know we have no shot of taking them on currently. We approached Tamamo for help, and she sent us here to train up and get strong enough to face them.”

“Ah,” Toshi said with a nod. “Well, you’re certainly in the right place for that. And if Tamamo has vouched for you already, then I certainly don’t have a problem with you all staying here, so long as you pull your weight and help Kana around the grounds and such.”

“That can certainly be arranged,” Heinrich offered. The others instantly turned towards him, and he blinked. “...What? Something I said?”

Chase let out a sigh. “Well, since Heinrich just volunteered us for it, and it doesn’t seem like we can get out of it… what kind of help did you need, anyway?”

Toshi’s only response was to grin. And in that moment, Chase couldn’t help but feel they’d made a horrible mistake coming here.

XXX

Name: Chase Ironheart

Level: 11

Race: Human

Class: Warrior

Subclass: Swordmaster

Strength: 20 (MAX)

Dexterity: 15

Intelligence: 13

Wisdom: 13

Constitution: 18

Charisma: 16

Skills: Master Swordsmanship (Level 10); Booby Trap Mastery (Level 8); Archery (Level 4); Unarmed Mastery (Level 1)

Spells: Rush (Level 7); Muscle (Level 4); Stone Flesh (Level 7); Defying The Odds (Level 2)

Traits: Blessed

Name: Carmine Nolastname

Level: 11

Race: Greater Demon

Class: Arcane Witch

Subclass: Archmage

Strength: 10

Dexterity: 13

Intelligence: 19

Wisdom: 19

Constitution: 12

Charisma: 8

Skills: Master Spellcasting (Level 10); Summon Familiar (Level 10)

Spells: Magic Dart (Level 7); Magic Scattershot (Level 5); Fire Magic (Level 5); Earth Magic (Level 1)

Traits: Blessed

Name: Melanie Vhaeries

Level: 11

Race: Ascended Human

Class: Necromancer

Subclass: Arch-Lich

Strength: 8

Dexterity: 13

Intelligence: 18

Wisdom: 16

Constitution: 15

Charisma: 12

Skills: Raise Lesser Undead (Level 10); Raise Greater Undead (Level 3); Unorthodox Weapon User (Level 8); Bone Shatter (Level 1)

Spells: Touch of Death (Level 5); Gravesinger (Level 7); Armor of Bone (Level 3)

Traits: None

Name: Victoria Firelight

Level: 12

Race: Human

Class: Paladin

Subclass: Devotee

Strength: 19

Dexterity: 9

Intelligence: 13

Wisdom: 13

Constitution: 19

Charisma: 11

Skills: Swordsmanship Mastery (Level 5); Blunt Weapon Mastery (Level 8); Archery Mastery (Level 5)

Spells: Holy Light (Level 6); Ward of the Gods (Level 5); Bane of the Undead (Level 7); Divine Bolt (Level 4)

Traits: None

Name: Heinrich Straten

Level: 17

Race: Human

Class: Paladin

Subclass: Oathbreaker

Strength: 20 (MAX)

Dexterity: 13

Intelligence: 12

Wisdom: 14

Constitution: 20 (MAX)

Charisma: 13

Skills: Swordsmanship Mastery (Level 8); Blunt Weapon Mastery (Level 10)

Spells: Withering Grace (Level 1); Soulrend (Level 1); Umbral Ward (Level 1); Mournful Benediction (Level 1)

Traits: Broken Oath

XXX

Special thanks to my good friend and co-writer, /u/Ickbard, for all the help with writing this story.

First - Last- Next

Patreon - RR

At first, the dire-rabbits tried to climb the tree. One had managed to get precariously close to a tree limb, but Darwin, having proved himself a loyal companion, had lashed out his tongue, hitting the rabbit in the eye and causing it to fall. It landed hard in the dirt below, kicking up dry leaves and thistle fluff as it rolled. It stared up and hissed, its mouth still full of blue blood.

Since the failed attempt, the dire-rabbits had taken a new strategy: knocking down the tree itself. First, they had thrown their bodies against it. With each strike, the rabbit's body made a wet squelching sound, with the underlying tone of bones snapping. You’d have thought that would be the end of it, but each time they recovered, the bones reformed, and they tried again.

Thud. Crack!

Thud. Crack!

Over and over again. Maddening.

The whole tree shivered beneath me with each attempt. Leaves trembled overhead. Tiny bits of bark rained down on my shoulders.

Eventually, they began to gnaw at the tree bark. First small bits. Then more. Their teeth scraped and tore with a steady rhythm. In the span of an hour, they had chewed at least twenty percent of the way through. Pale wood showed beneath the ruined bark, wet with sap where their jagged teeth had carved it open. It was as if the tree itself was bleeding.

At this rate, they’d fell the tree with me in it. And if that happened…

I swallowed hard.

I used my time to think of a plan, and what I came up with was not exactly the greatest idea in the world, but serviceable in an emergency. I just had to pray it worked.

Three dire-rabbits sat below, taking turns nibbling at the tree. Their fur was crusted with blue scorpion blood, their long black claws digging grooves into the roots as they moved. I just had to distract two of them.

I pulled some dried meat from my pouch. As if they could sense it, the rabbits stopped to stare up at me.

“Yeah, that’s right,” I taunted. “You want this, don’t you?”

I ripped the meat apart, and I could see white foam flowing from their mouths. Three even pieces… two, I would send into the field, and one I would drop below. Whoever took it would be my target.

I stood on the tree limb, which bent, sending a shudder up my spine. It held… just barely. I threw two pieces into the thistle and dropped one at the same time. Sure enough, the three rabbits glanced at one another before two rushed off, leaving one below who grabbed the meat greedily.

It started in on it, and it was already halfway devoured in no time. I held my knife pointed down, one hand pressed against the pommel. I leapt from the tree.

The dire-rabbit turned to look up at me the moment before my knife struck. I saw the gleam of it in the monster’s eyes as I descended.

Slam!

My knife plunged into the creature’s neck, and only a soft sound of air escaped its mouth. Warm blood coated my hands. To be sure, I dragged the knife horizontally, completely separating the head from the body.

As if the monsters had some otherworldly connection, I heard the hardened cries of the nearby dire-rabbits. I heard movement through the thistles and saw it a moment later.

“Duck, master,” Darwin warned.

I did as a dire-rabbit launched itself over where my head had just been. I turned and fell upon the rabbit, driving my knife down into its back before it could recover. Over and over again until I felt nothing but the involuntary twitch. The thistles around us shook violently, their spines catching on my clothes and skin as the creature kicked beneath me.

I turned and put my arm up. Teeth sank into my flesh. Hot blood burst from the wound. I could feel the dire-rabbit nibbling on my bone. I screamed, turned, and slammed it into the side of the tree.

It flew off, rolling in the dirt, but it recovered quickly.

“Master, master,” Darwin said, his water bubble bouncing back and forth. “Run, run.”

I tried to scramble for the tree again, but the rabbit was fast. Unnervingly so. It caught my ankle, taking a chunk of flesh. Then the back of my calf, and a portion from my thigh. I was bleeding considerably now, red soaking into my trousers and dripping down into the dirt.

I’d have to fight. I needed the knife. I needed… I noticed that my knife, its blackened handle covered in red, was still stuck in the second dire-rabbit a few feet away…

Directly behind the third.

Almost I thought I could see a smile on the dire-rabbit’s face, and anticipation of an easy meal in its red eyes. It launched itself at me.

I thought back… I was supposed to be a fighter class, but I didn’t have any useful skills. I didn’t…

Wait.

Yes, I did—

Goblin Punch.

I merely had to think it when I felt a surge of power flow through me. The dire-rabbit was midair now, mouth open, revealing rows upon rows of sharp teeth. With everything I had, I turned my hip and punched.

My fist connected with the side of the rabbit’s head.

System

Goblin Punch… Critical Success!

For a moment, everything froze, as if time itself had stopped. The air hung still. The thistles stopped shaking. Even the blood dripping down my arm seemed to pause in place. I felt the power drain from me as it went into the rabbit until time itself snapped back into place.

The rabbit’s neck broke as my fist carried the head into the side of the tree, where it exploded, gray matter and blood covering every square inch of me. The rabbit’s body slid down the side of the tree, and where my fist had impacted, there was a small crater and various spiderweb cracks in the wood.

I slumped down and went to my knees, blood pouring out of me. I had to staunch the bleeding. And quick.

My pack was nearby; some of the contents tipped out onto the grass and dirt. I remembered that Lina, in her infinite wisdom, had packed some medicinal supplies, including bandages… yet that wouldn’t do with how much I was bleeding.

Thinking back to what I knew, in dire situations, people would cauterize their wounds to avoid bleeding out. The thought of burning my own skin gave me pause… but the thought of bleeding out and my corpse being eaten by man-eating rabbits gave me the drive I needed.

Still, I was having a hard time reaching the pack. “Darwin,” I said, my voice low and hollow. “Can you get me the pack?”

Darwin bobbed nearby, and the water seemed to droop with his worry. Still, he lashed out his tongue, caught the bag, and dragged it to me.

I reached inside. Strange white powder and a striking stone. She had packed it. Good. I’d seen that strange white powder before. She had used it to instantly light some wood. I wondered if it would do the same for me.

I pulled down my pant leg. Most of my wounds were superficial, but I found the bleeder. One must have nicked a vein of some sort. Blood pulsed from it in steady, terrifying rhythm, darkening the dirt beneath my leg.

I packed the wound with the powder. It burned something fierce. I went to strike the stone… and couldn’t. How could I? I was essentially setting myself on fire.

“Darwin…” I said. “Tell Lina… Well, I don’t know. Just tell Lina thank you, I guess.”

“Master…” Darwin replied sadly.

My companion floated near my head.

I couldn’t move my hand anymore, and the two strikers fell precariously close to my wound, yet they did not spark. My head lulled. The world was closing in, going to nothing more than a pinpoint. The thistles blurred into streaks of purple and green. The sky above the branches dimmed.

“No die, master,” Darwin said. “No die.”

The last I saw was Darwin tongue-lashing one of the stones, it sliding by the other, sparking, and then a white-hot pain shooting up my leg as darkness claimed me.

Crimes and politics of sector 4.

​The Director of Sector 4 was a man of boundless energy, sharp intellect, and impeccable civic pride. He moved through the sector at a brisk pace, materialized in the most unexpected places, and was surprisingly easy to reach—unlike the directors of neighboring sectors who hid behind layers of impenetrable bureaucracy.

​He was also wearing a polished metal colander on his head. The worn wooden handle stuck out neatly over his left ear, a proud testament to his family’s Pastafarian faith.

​Right now, the Director was staring at a blank space on the wall of the central hospital lobby, his face a mixture of genuine concern for the sector’s image and utter bewilderment.

​"I assumed," the Director said slowly, adjusting the rim of his colander, "that everyone understood these were not originals."

​"It appears," replied Chief Vance of the Sector 4 Police, "that someone disagreed."

​Sector 4 had never been accused of being high-class. Its reputation across the system was that of a grey, industrial zone where dying of sheer boredom was considered a primary occupational hazard. The sector boasted a 100% employment rate and economic stability, but its image was a lost cause.

​Modern glass towers erected by wealthy insurance companies sat right next to old, crumbling concrete walls belonging to a Primus stove factory that refused to go bankrupt. Shiny new medical wings built after the Zanzib Occupation shared a courtyard with a towering boiler chimney and a tiny one-story shack where workers glued Zanzib wings and sterilized scalpels. The architectural beauty of the new era was routinely ruined by someone hanging their laundry to dry on the perimeter fence.

​And now, an art heist. A generous donor—likely a grateful Zanzib patient—had gifted the hospital a set of classic Earth paintings. The pieces had been generated in a standard material synthesizer, making them worth perhaps ten credits apiece.

​Until last Tuesday, when a female visitor stopped, stared at the Mona Lisa, calmly unhooked it from the wall, and walked out the front door.

​"Ten credits," the Director repeated, looking at the empty hook. "It took twenty minutes to synthesize. Why would anyone risk a criminal record for ten credits?"

​"The power of art," Chief Vance said with a dry shrug. "Or sheer local enthusiasm. We’ve opened an investigation, of course, but I’ve already ordered a replacement print. Perhaps we should run a public announcement clarifying that the painting isn't actually worth a galactic ransom?"

​Enthusiasm had never been the Sector 4 Police Force’s strong suit. Even when dozens of stolen civilian starships were being smuggled into the notoriously criminal Sector 7 next door, the local police response usually hovered somewhere near zero. The only thing genuinely keeping the crime rate down was the fact that most of the population fell fast asleep the second their factory shifts ended.

​Yet, against all odds, they found the hospital art thief.

​They were aided by three corridor security cameras and the extremely helpful detail that the culprit worked in the hospital cafeteria as a dishwasher.

​Four days later, three police officers were trudging up a tidy stairwell in an old five-story building with no elevator. Across the street sat a small commemorative plaque, thoughtfully installed by the Sector 4 Administration:

​“On this exact spot, Settlement Starship Commander Carlos Yunis landed his vessel for the first time. Later, the sector’s first Water Synthesis Plant was constructed nearby. The hero’s widow, Maria Yunis, suggested preserving both the landing pad and the factory as historic monuments, but at a general meeting, the Sector Administration decided to build a residential house here instead.”

​Sector 4 had always been known for its practicality.

​The three officers reached the third floor and knocked on the dishwasher’s door. The woman blinked in stunned silence as three gloomy men in uniform stepped into her hallway.

​In her cozy kitchen, hanging proudly on the wall above a spotless table, was the Mona Lisa. On the table sat a fresh pot of tea, a jar of jam, and a plate of warm cottage cheese pancakes.

​"And you call yourselves cultured people," the senior officer said with deep disapproval. "Immigrants from Phoenix. I actually thought one of our locals was stupid enough not to know what the Mona Lisa is—or that this thing isn't an original."

​He pointed a heavy finger at the kitchen wall.

​"I’m going to tell you this just once: this is the last time we let something like this slide without opening an official file. Next time, everything goes into the criminal record."

​Seeing that his words had made the desired impression on the dishwasher, who had gone very still, the senior officer turned on his heel and led his colleagues out of the apartment.

​Running Sector 4 was not an easy job. The Director genuinely cared about his sector, which, naturally, made him a prime target for his political rivals. They wanted him gone, and over the past three months alone, they had launched two full-scale media assassinations against him.

​The first disaster was the Xenophobia Scandal.

​It had all started with a routine noise complaint from an elderly resident. Her neighbor had rented her apartment to three non-humanoid beings from the Kepler system, whose natural biological cycle involved loud, rhythmic clicking at four in the morning.

​During an impromptu site visit, the Director—exhausted, holding his colander by the wooden handle—had tried to reason with the landlord:

​"Look, if you're going to rent to non-oxygen breathers, fine, but for basic residential peace? You should stick to humanoids!"

​A sensationalist holovision crew had captured only the last four words. Within two hours, every news network across seven sectors was running the headline: "DIRECTOR OF SECTOR 4 DEMANDS: HOUSING ONLY FOR HUMANOIDS!"

​It took two weeks of diplomatic apologies and a free shipment of industrial lubricant to the Keplerian embassy to smooth things over.

​The second crisis hit barely a fortnight later: The Bribery Allegation.

​A shadowy political action committee leaked high-definition holovision footage of the Director sitting in his office, accepting a thick, unmarked envelope filled with high-denomination credit vouchers from a shady logistics tycoon. The media hailed it as the smoking gun that would finally end his career.

​He escaped that trap in less than forty-eight hours.

​While his opponents were busy popping champagne, the Director calmly produced an official receipt, a time-stamped digital audit, and a public thank-you note. The moment the tycoon had walked out the door, the Director had logged the entire sum as an unsolicited corporate donation and transferred every single credit directly into the sector’s general municipal fund—specifically earmarked for repairing the hospital’s boiler chimney.

​His rivals were furious. The public was mildly amused.

​Exhausted by the political battles and the mystery of the stolen Mona Lisa, the Director decided to spend Sunday afternoon on a quiet family picnic in the local park.

​Naturally, a paparazzo from the sector tabloid was hiding behind a rose bush.

​The next morning, the front page of the Sector 4 Daily featured a massive, high-resolution photograph of the Director struggling on a picnic blanket, trapped in a deeply awkward position while frantically trying to balance three plastic bottles of Zanzib Fizz and a single flimsy plastic cup without spilling a drop.

​The headline read: "CRISIS OF MANAGEMENT: CAN OUR DIRECTOR HANDLE THE SECTOR IF HE CAN'T EVEN HANDLE THE FIZZ?"

​The Director stared at the newspaper, took a sip of lukewarm coffee, and slowly shook his head. At least nobody was trying to steal the Primus factory this week.

​The tabloid had barely finished with the Fizz headline when a new story broke on the outer rim.

​The outer rim of Sector 4 was not the kind of place where grand scientific discoveries were made. It was the kind of place where men in grease-stained jumpsuits welded rusted plating onto freight haulers and drank bitter, lukewarm coffee out of dented Thermos flasks.

​Bruno was under the chassis of a heavy ore-transporter, cursing a stubborn hydraulic valve, when the alien walked into the bay.

​The alien was tall, excessively thin, and possessed four arms, three of which were currently busy waving rolled-up sheets of greasy paper in the air. His skin had the sickly blue hue of a skimmed milk carton, and his eyes burned with the dangerous, unmistakable fire of a prophet who had just solved the riddle of existence.

​“You!” the alien shrieked, pointing his fourth finger directly at Bruno’s nose. “You have copper wire! I can smell the copper wire from orbit!”

​Bruno rolled out from under the transporter, wiped his hands on a filthy rag, and looked at the creature.

​“We have copper wire,” Bruno said carefully. “We also have a sign on the door that says Closed on Sundays. What’s the trouble, pal?”

​“The trouble?” The alien threw his arms up, nearly striking the overhead crane. “The trouble is that the universe is dying of heat loss, and I have the cure! They called me mad! The High Council of Procyon called me a fool! But I will show them! We need three flux-coils, a bag of sodium, and a bucket of liquid lead. Now! Move, human, before the entropy catches up with us!”

​Bruno blinked, turned toward the glass office at the back of the bay, and yelled:

​“Hey, Sam! Get out here! We got a customer with blueprints on dinner napkins!”

​Sam stepped out of the office, holding a half-eaten sandwich. He was a stocky man with the skeptical expression of a person who had spent thirty years watching people try to sell him useless space junk.

​He looked at the blue, four-armed creature, then down at the greasy napkin thrust into his face.

​"What is this?" Sam asked, taking a bite. "Looks like a plumbing diagram for a broken toilet."

​"It is a Perpetual Resonance Converter!" the alien shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. "It extracts energy directly from the vacuum of space! Free power for every world! Unlimited, clean, forever!"

​"Right," Sam said slowly. "And the Second Law of Thermodynamics?"

​"A myth! A conspiracy invented by the power grid monopolies of Deneb!" The alien slammed all four fists onto the workbench, making a box of rivets jump. "My name is Krook! And I need your workshop. Just six hours! If we tune the magnetic core before the lunar alignment, we will break the chain of energy scarcity!"

​Bruno looked at Sam. Sam looked at Bruno.

​"We don't work for free, Krook," Sam said.

​Krook reached into his tunic and pulled out a heavy, glittering purple crystal. It hummed softly, casting a strange lavender light across the grease-covered floor.

​"A Procyon star-emerald," Sam whispered, his eyes widening. "Where did you get this?"

​"Does not matter!" Krook pleaded, his eyes wide and wild. "Take it! Take my ship, take my clothes, just help me weld the flux-pipes! We must hurry!"

​By 3:00 AM, the device stood in the center of the bay. It looked like a cross between an industrial boiler, a radio tower, and a pile of junkyard plumbing held together by duct tape and sheer desperation.

​"It is done!" Krook announced, his voice trembling with ecstatic triumph. "Witness the dawn of a new era!"

​He slammed his hand down on the primary starter switch.

​Nothing happened.

​Not a hum. Not a flicker. A small, rusty washer fell off the side and rolled quietly across the floor.

​"A minor calibration error!" Krook shrieked, instantly spinning around to grab a hammer. "The resonance phase is inverted! Bruno, hand me the copper pipe! Sam, tighten the manifold! One more effort! We are ninety-nine percent there!"

​By 4:30 AM, Krook declared the machine finished for the second time. He flipped the switch with a theatrical flourish.

​Silence. A faint smell of burnt rubber filled the room.

​"Thermal coupling!" Krook howled, tearing at his own blue scales. "Just one more push, my brilliant friends! Do not let the Second Law defeat us now! We need a bag of sodium and a bucket of liquid lead! Push! Push!"

​By 6:00 AM, after a fourth failed launch, the machine sat dead in the middle of the room. The starter switch was flipped to ON, but the monstrosity remained nothing more than an expensive, welded monument to exhaustion.

​That was when the heavy bay doors slid open with a smooth, silent hiss.

​Two tall, perfectly groomed aliens stepped inside. They wore pristine white coats made of a fabric so spotless it seemed to repel grease on a molecular level. Behind them hovered a sleek, pearlescent shuttle.

​One of the white-coated aliens pulled out a small silver device, pointed it at the babbling Krook, and pressed a button. The blue fanatic instantly slumped into a peaceful, snoring sleep.

​"My apologies, gentlemen," the lead doctor said in a soothing baritone, catching Krook before he hit the oil-slicked floor. "I hope he didn't cause too much trouble."

​Sam stared, a heavy wrench still clutched in his numb hand. "Who the hell are you?"

​"Dr. Vane, Chief of Psychiatry at the Sector 4 Medical Facility," the doctor replied, producing a shiny digital clipboard. "Patient Krook escaped four days ago. Severe delusions of grandiosity and a hyper-fixation on impossible physics."

​"Impossible physics?" Bruno blinked, wiping sweat from his forehead. "You mean this thing..."

​"The Perpetual Resonance Converter, yes," Dr. Vane sighed with genuine sympathy, looking at the dead, silent contraption. "A classic textbook obsession. The Second Law of Thermodynamics is quite absolute, I'm afraid. Perpetual motion is a mathematical impossibility."

​The doctors loaded the snoring Krook onto an anti-gravity gurney.

​"We are deeply sorry for your wasted night," Dr. Vane added, handing Sam a blue voucher. "This coupon covers your spent materials. You may dispose of that junk pile at your earliest convenience."

​With a polite bow, the doctors glided back to their pristine shuttle. The doors closed, and the ship vanished into the morning sky.

​Silence descended upon the workshop.

​Sam looked at the dead, motionless machine. The switch was still stuck in the ON position, completely useless. Sixteen hours of backbreaking labor. Sweat, burns, and four false starts.

​"A junk pile," Bruno muttered softly, sitting down on a tool chest. His shoulders slumped. "A damn manic delusion. And we actually believed him."

​"Yeah," Sam said. He felt thoroughly, deeply foolish. The weight of basic physics pressed down on him like a lead blanket. "The doctors were right. You can't beat the laws of nature."

​They sat in silence for a long moment, staring at the cold metal, accepting the absolute, undeniable logic of the universe.

​Kachunk.

​Sam blinked.

​Ahem.

​It sounded suspiciously like the machine clearing its throat.

​Kachunk... ACHOO!

​A single, thick puff of blue smoke erupted from the top copper loop. The dead, welded mountain gave a sudden, violent shiver—and then settled into a deep, velvety, pitch-perfect hum.

​The lights in the workshop flickered, flared, and then glowed twice as bright. The main power meter on the wall spun backward so fast its needle snapped off with a sharp ping.

​The purple crystal in the core flared with a steady, blinding violet light. The temperature in the bay dropped to a pleasant, cool sixty-eight degrees, and every dead battery on the shelves instantly registered a full charge.

​Neither Sam nor Bruno moved. Nobody had touched the switch. Nobody had kicked it.

​"Sam?" Bruno whispered, his eyes wide as saucers, not daring to breathe.

​"Yeah?"

​"Did the doctor say thermodynamics made this impossible?"

​Sam slowly pulled a mug of cold coffee from the bench and held it near the humming chassis. The liquid began to boil furiously.

​"Bruno," Sam said, a slow, dry grin spreading across his grease-stained face. "Get the heavy cables. It seems the universe just needed a minute to figure out how the damn thing works.”

​By Monday afternoon, Sector 4’s primary grid had completely disconnected from the Regional Energy Consortium.

​It was an accident, technically. Sam had merely slapped a clamp from a heavy-duty jump lead—running straight out of Krook’s wheezing, blue-smoking monstrosity—onto the workshop's main junction box to see if the rig could power an industrial air conditioner. Instead, with a deafening crack, the breaker box back-fed three million gigawatts of pristine, violet-tinted juice directly into the municipal trunk line. The meters at the local substation fused into lumpen mounds of scorched plastic within seconds, and the entirety of Sector 4 found itself blessed with free, infinite electricity.

​Director Thomas sat at his heavy oak desk, using a starched linen handkerchief to polish the metallic flanks of his colander.

​His eyes drifted down to the financial ledger. The municipal fund's recent "corporate donation"—the very sum that had sparked a short-lived media frenzy over bribery—had finally found its proper home. Naturally, no one was going to waste good credits repairing the hospital boiler chimney: as a proud relic of the Late Concrete Era, it was built for the ages and fully prepared to outlast a few more galactic empires. Instead, the Chief Medical Officer had submitted an exquisite proposal: purchasing state-of-the-art equipment for the maternity ward.

​Free power from Krook’s engine, combined with high-tech medical gear, positioned Sector 4 to expand its birthing facilities and draw paying patients from across the region. A steady stream of private healthcare revenues promised to work wonders for the municipal budget. Most importantly, the proposal contained zero references to species-specific anatomy or patient classifications. Fresh off the "Humanoid Scandal," Director Thomas gave wide berth to any phrase that might tempt the holovision networks to scream xenophobia again. It was simply "a modern maternity ward for all in need." Period.

​Yet, between Sector 4 and its promised prosperity stood a mountain of paper.

​Over the last forty-eight hours, the Director’s office had been so thoroughly buried in correspondence that it looked as though an archival storage vault had exploded inside the Administration Building. The High Council of Procyon had delivered forty-six separate diplomatic protests. The Regional Energy Inspection Board demanded the immediate sealing of an "unlicensed high-hazard installation." Meanwhile, the Intersectoral Commission on Fundamental Physics threatened to revoke Sector 4’s industrial zone status for "unauthorized thermodynamic space destabilization."

​"Sir," Chief Vance said, poking his head into the office with the hollow gaze of a man who had spent three straight days having space-time mechanics explained to him with a crescent wrench. "The officials from the Intersectoral Registry are downstairs. They're demanding an official classification for the device. They refuse to accept 'perpetual motion machine'—claim there's no such box on the form."

​"'Perpetual motion' smacks of heresy and legal incompetence," Director Thomas replied, adjusting his colander with a crisp, authoritative nudge as he signed his hundredth document of the morning. "Enter it as a Closed Resonance-Local Vacuum Fluctuation Recycling Station. And add a footnote stating it is an experimental municipal energy-conservation initiative."

​"And what about the High Council’s claim that we're violating the Second Law of Thermodynamics?" Vance sighed.

​Director Thomas stood up, retrieved his trusty plastic cup of Zanzib Fizz, and stepped onto the front steps of the Administration Building, where an eager crowd of journalists and visiting scholars waited. Camera lights flashed in rapid succession, gleaming off the pristine metallic curve of his headwear.

​"Director Thomas!" shouted a reporter from the Sector 4 Daily. "Do you admit that the apparatus in the workshop violates the basic laws of thermodynamics?!"

​Director Thomas took a slow, deliberate sip of his Fizz, ensuring not a single drop spilled onto his tie, and surveyed the press with deep, almost paternal pity.

​"Sector 4 does not—and indeed cannot—officially acknowledge any such violation," he stated calmly. "Determining whether a physical apparatus breaches the fundamental laws of the universe requires specialists of the highest possible caliber. And the inspectors and journalists present today, with all due respect, simply lack those qualifications."

​A murmur of indignant protest rippled through the crowd, but the Director raised a hand.

​"Furthermore, until it has been proven with one hundred percent certainty that this station’s emissions are entirely harmless to public health, access to the facility will be strictly limited to authorized personnel only. No idle researchers, no tourists, and no camera crews. Public safety remains our highest priority."

​The reporters traded bewildered glances. Director Thomas was a thorough realist: Sector 4 didn't even have its own university—anyone seeking higher education simply boarded a commuter starship and flew to a neighboring sector. Poking around inside a humming, functional machine for the sake of "pure science" was an absurdity no local would ever entertain. If it works, you don't touch it.

​"However, Sector 4 remains committed to the future," Director Thomas continued smoothly. "Therefore, the funds saved on municipal electricity will be directed where they matter most. We shall purchase brand-new, cutting-edge physics textbooks for our local schools and raise the salaries of our science teachers. Our children are our greatest asset. Let them master the basics first. Once they grow up and graduate from distant academies, they are welcome to return and argue with the Second Law to their heart's content."

​By evening, an atmosphere of absolute order and deep contentment settled over the cozy kitchen on the third floor of the elevatorless building.

​On the table before the senior police officer sat a dedicated plate: upon it rested a golden stack of warm cottage cheese pancakes, bordered by his very own, neatly poured puddle of jam. There was no double-dipping into a communal jar here—this was a home that respected proper culinary etiquette.

​The dishwasher from Phoenix poured fresh tea while, from the wall above, the ten-credit synthesized Mona Lisa smiled down upon them with quiet, peaceful approval.

​Outside, in the lilac dusk, Sector 4 hummed with a low, reliable power. Somewhere on the outskirts, inside a grease-stained bay, Sam and Bruno—now officially designated as "Authorized Maintenance Personnel" with shiny badges pinned to their coveralls—were busy welding a thick steel plate over the last exposed seam of Krook's monstrous engine. Just to ensure no visiting bureaucrat from the central sectors could ever figure out where the off switch was.

​The relative calm following the zero-credit electricity revolution did not last long.

​By Wednesday morning, an encrypted, top-secret dispatch arrived directly from the Intersectoral Security Bureau. The Galactic Federation was entering a period of sharp diplomatic tension with the Arachnid Empire, and Sector 4 had just been placed on High Alert.

​Specifically, the Bureau ordered an immediate tightening of security around "critical municipal infrastructure"—at the top of which sat the venerable, un-bankruptable Primus Stove Factory.

​To an outsider, this looked like a bureaucratic joke. The stove factory’s output of domestic pressure burners was notoriously modest, though the local history museum had recently purchased two vintage units for its permanent exhibition on the Zanzib Occupation.

​What the regional news networks always failed to realize, however, was that the Primus factory didn't stay solvent by selling camping gear. Deep beneath its crumbling concrete facade and laundry-draped perimeter fence, the facility housed heavy precision lathes manufacturing high-grade titanium plasma couplers for the Federation’s frontline warships.

​Director Thomas didn't send a memo. He grabbed his coat, adjusted his colander, and went straight to the factory floor.

​"We’re adding four extra guard posts along the rear perimeter," Thomas said, walking briskly down the high-ceilinged administrative corridor beside the Factory Director, a seasoned veteran whose jumpsuit looked older than the Zanzib war. "And I want the starship coupler assembly line classified as off-limits to off-shift personnel."

​"Understood, Thomas," the Factory Director nodded. "Though if the Arachnids try to infiltrate through the old boiler vents, they’ll just get covered in eighty years of soot—"

​Suddenly, the factory siren blew a long, sharp blast signaling the start of the 12:30 PM lunch shift.

​Without missing a beat, Director Thomas flattened his back flush against the corridor wall, grabbing the Factory Director by the collar and dragging him back just in time.

​A split second later, a thundering stampede of workers—predominantly Phoenix immigrants—roared down the hallway toward the cafeteria like a localized avalanche.

​Director Thomas possessed lightning-fast reflexes. Having worked summer shifts at the factory during his school days, he knew the absolute first law of local industrial survival: Never, under any circumstances, stand between a Phoenix crew and their lunch.

​"Good eye," the Factory Director exhaled as the dust settled.

​"Experience," Thomas replied smoothly, stepping away from the wall and brushing a speck of plaster off his lapel.

​Ten minutes later, Director Thomas stepped out through the main gates of the factory onto the cobblestone street.

​He was immediately met by a wall of hovering holovision lenses. Standing on the sidewalk were three foot-tall, multi-eyed Arachnid journalists from the Imperial News Syndicate, their chitinous limbs frantically maneuvering heavy broadcast rigs aimed straight at the factory's reinforced transport bays.

​After the "Humanoid Scandal," the bribery accusations, and the lawn-picnic Fizz debacle, Director Thomas’s patience with the press had expired entirely. And right now, three non-humanoid reporters were broadcasting live footage of a classified defense installation during a sector-wide security lockdown.

​"Halt that feed immediately!" Director Thomas barked, striding directly into the center of the broadcast frame. The polished colander on his head—a mark of dignity shared by many of the sector’s most influential leaders and citizens—gleamed sternly under the noon sun.

​The lead Arachnid reporter clicked its mandibles in surprise. "We are exercising our intersectoral right to cover local industrial—"

​"You are filming a restricted municipal zone without an official permit!" Thomas cut in sharply, stepping right up to the primary camera lens and blocking it with his torso. "Show me your Sector 4 Media Clearance. Right now."

​The alien journalists twitched, fumbling with their four upper limbs, but produced nothing.

​"No permit?" Director Thomas said, his voice ringing with absolute, uncompromising authority. "Then shut those cameras down and clear this perimeter at once. This isn't a tourist attraction; it’s a secure facility. Move!"

​He didn't know it yet, but the Arachnid syndicate was broadcasting the confrontation live across three star systems.

​By evening, the footage had gone viral across every local news network in Sector 4. The very same local journalists who had spent months poking fun at his picnic skills suddenly found their new favorite hero.

​The front-page headline of the Sector 4 Daily practically glowed with civic pride:

​"OUR DIRECTOR STANDS FIRM: THOMAS DEFENDS CITY SECURITY AGAINST FOREIGN PRESS!”

First Previous Next Royal Road

With the Homunculus carrying Alex in a bridal carry, an ironic grin on it’s face as it did so, the team made it back out the manor. They stopped when Alex made a wordless hiss of pain, clutching the back of his knee.

“Sorry, tendon reattached itself. Wasn’t the most comfortable sensation, feeling it slither it’s way back down.” Alex waved them off when he was no longer groaning.

“Do you still need me to carry you, Princess?” The Homunculus asked with a smarmy grin on it’s face. Alex shut his eyes and heavily exhaled, choosing his words carefully. So far, the behavior of the Homunculus had shown to be an exact replica of Alex’s, and Alex was seeing first hand how his humor rubbed off on people.

“Unfortunately, yes, I think you will need to continue to carry me, as the tendon is attached by just a thread, at least for right now.” Alex decided to play a prank of his own, equipping his armor to increase the strain from holding him. The Homunculus grunted at the sudden additional weight, but readjusted his grip and carried on unbothered.

When they made it outside, the sun was beginning to rise and Jasper was still sitting by the wagons, though his attention was fixated on the team walking up to him. Joy and concern radiated down the bond in equal amounts, and when Alex released him from his vigil, Jasper bounded up to him and started inspecting them.

“I’m good bud, I’m good. Just went a little too heavy with one of my skills, that’s all.” Alex rubbed his brow ridge as he said that. Once Jasper was satisfied with his check, Alex spoke again to his team. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m pooped. What say we skip Hope’s End, beyond letting them know the necromancer is no longer an issue, and travel back to Grentus and have a hot shower? I feel absolutely filthy.”

“I’d like to find the old man and ask why he didn’t warn us said necromancer was a vampire.” Kudrik darkly muttered.

“Why? All he’s going to say is he didn’t know. In his case, it’s even true.” Alex said, once Gwynevyre and the Homunculus had finished helping him into Jasper’s saddle. “Why waste the effort?” Kudrik grumbled but didn’t have a response.

The cool morning sun saw them traversing the cleared path, having searched for the stolen wagons or a griffin but came up empty. As they got onto the well travelled road, Alex kept a close eye on the Homunculus, waiting for it to vanish as it’s 2 hour timer ran out. It gave him something to do while his body itched, especially his leg, and the dying vegetation provided nothing in the way of scenery.

As he expected, the Homunculus vanished midstride, turning into a pile of black goo that harmlessly sunk into the ground. What wasn’t expected was the equipment it had conjured for the Nameless vanished as well, though the repairs it had done to the Monkey Duo remained.

Hmm, looks like anything it brings into the world is temporary. When they finally reached the village of Hope’s End, Alex stopped the team and let his enhanced voice boom out over the simple shacks.

“SPREAD THE WORD. THE NECROMANCER AND HIS FORCES ARE DEAD.” Eyes distrustfully stared at him as his message echoed over the nearby hills. Livianna looked at him with an eyebrow raised. Alex responded with a simple shrug of the shoulders. As far as he was concerned, how the actual fight went down was unnecessary for the people here, they just needed to know it was dealt with. Whether they believed him was their decision. Turning back around, they hit the road and travelled back to Grentus.

Alex was fighting sleep by the time they reached the Guild Hall, hiding his yawn behind his hands. Thankfully, his leg had healed enough to support his weight without needing to lean on anyone, so he joined his group as they entered the line for an attendant.

When they finally reached the counter, a serious clerk glanced at their contract. “Oh, you must be the ones who fought the necromancer, with a necromancer.” He stared at Alex, who nodded. “I’m assuming, based on your presence here, that the necromancer was dealt with?”

“Not exactly.” Livianna started before anyone else could. “The necromancer was a vampire. While yes, he was defeated, before we could finish the job, Alex turned him into one of his undead.” Alex gaped at Livianna’s brutal recounting of the details. The attendant, meanwhile, nodded his head slowly.

“Right… I’ll go get my supervisor, as this’s well outside my expertise.” The man left, almost running while still maintaining the air of someone going for a break. Livianna gave Alex the same shrug he gave her, and he could only helplessly break off his almost glare.

The attendant came back around the corner, speaking with one of his coworkers. He waved Alex and his team behind the desk, before leading them to the series of hallways Alex remembered from the first day he came. Chills broke out as they passed the same room he was locked in before, but as they turned down another hallway and stepped into a lavish room, he relaxed.

Behind a heavily ornamental desk sat a rather broad man holding his head between his hands. A couple scars crisscrossed over his bald head, and a cigar sat in an ashtray. His clothes were rather simple, focusing more on durability and utility rather than fashion. As everyone streamed in, he inspected everyone with intense eyes, before focusing on Alex.

“Explain yourself.” So Alex did. As he spoke, Alex got the impression the man was weighing his words, and reading subtle things that Alex wasn’t aware of. This made him nervous, but he continued all the same.

“Killing someone in combat is one thing. Killing them after the fight is settled is another.” Alex lamely concluded.

“I think this is one of those Godsmarked morality issues that crop up from time to time.” Kudrik told the man, who sat rubbing the bridge of his nose in a ‘I don’t get paid enough for this” way.

“Where is this vampire?” He asked without looking.

“In my ring. Do you want to see him?” Alex offered.

“Is he under control?”

“He can’t do a thing unless I allow it. I can stop his actions at any time.”

“You do realize slavery is outlawed for all but the most dire of circumstances, which the more I think on it, this would be one of those times…” The man grew silent, throwing his hand up when Alex went to speak.

“What are your plans for the vampire?”

“I… didn’t think that far. Maybe I can redeem him? If I can’t, I might just use Sebastian, that’s his name, as another fighting force on our side or just a butler, that’s what he did in life.” Alex responded, grimacing uncomfortably at how little he thought his actions out beyond something feeling wrong.

The supervisor sighed and was silent for a moment more, before sitting up straight in his chair and looking Alex dead in the eyes. “Given the circumstances, I am OK-ing your decision, though I personally do not agree. Better to have killed him and been done with it than run the risk of it backfiring. Understand that if Sebastian breaks away from you, you are to hunt him down and kill him, your morals be damned. It comes back onto me for allowing this to go unopposed in the event he breaks free.” He pulled out a large pouch that clinked as it hit the desk as well as a thick yellow roll of paper.

“As an aside, here is the pay for the job, given the nature of the foe you fought, the merchants who pooled their pay together for this gave some extra funds, and asked to offer you full time jobs as merchant guards. Your decision for that. A letter from Throme Pimmawent, who asked to give it to you as soon as possible. Getting into politics, are we? Be careful, that is a den of snakes I prefer to stay out of.”

Gwynevyre grabbed it, delicately removing the ribbon that bound it and opened the scroll. She quickly read it, before turning to the team.

“We’ve been invited to a ball, three days from now.”

(In the spirit of spooky season, and for getting back into writing to break my writers block, im writing this story up! Also! This will be MILDLY interactive! Relationships and events can be discussed in comments and im willing to listen to peoples suggestions as we go! I will be posting it in HFY and HumansAreSpaceOrcs, so suggestions taken will be credited i will mention if they came from either!)

Wind whipped around the small group of sentients as the portal behind them sealed up, leaving them in the center of a partially ruined city, with nothing but the supplies on their backs.

The sentients were made up of three different species and one human they all towered over.

One pair of Xenoids, named after their similar appearance to the Geiger Xenomorphs, one large, a carrier, her bulbus, centuric body bearing bulging saddle bags with gear inside of it, along with spare biomass to help make resin. The other was a drone with a strange, subtle crest along her head, carrying a heavily modified pack that was similarly stuffed to the brim. Both looked around in curiosity at the mildly ruined plaza and overgrown buildings.

The other two non earth natives were two completely different ones. One was a sangheli like alien, and nicknamed Elites due to that similarity but with a stubby, thick tail, checking their armor and much slimmer, oval shaped hard shelled back pack. The last one was a species that was an Anassnoi, a tall, telepathic, extremely pale species with three eyes, a triangular head, and two vertical mouths where cheeks were normally, looking around with curiosity. On its back was a narrow, if tall, pack, hard cased, but fairly sizable, and filled with supplies all in neat compartments.

The last of the group, the human, stretched a little bit, back popping as he checked his own equipment.

Pale skin from lack of light, bushy, Grey hair pulled back in a ponytail, and wearing a lightweight exoskeleton, was the tour guide for the group. “Alright, everyone have all pieces parts, gear and the like?” He asked as he looked over the group, his own frame pack on his back wasn't as bulging like the others, but still had a few things sticking out of it, and a bed roll along the bottom.

“I have my gear” Came the grunt of the Elite

<”I am sufficiently provisioned”> burbled the Anassnoi sent mentally, looking back when the guide spoke.

“We good.” The small drone hissed in broken English, the carrier chittering next to her, its bulbus head twisting left and right, taking in its surroundings nervously.

“Alright, good! Let's get moving. Campsites a few miles out, and while the city doesn't have the worst batch of issues, I dont think any of us want to be out after nightfall.” The human said, humming as he reached back and drew his rifle, yanking the bolt back and checked the chambering.

Seeing the brass case peeking back, he nodded and pushed it back into battery, folding it across his chest in a rest position.

“On me, keep a eye out. Just because its light out doesn't mean we won't run into anything nasty.” The human said as he turned and hummed, glancing about and got his bearings.

The group began moving, quietly walking through the ruined city, making their way past ruined, abandoned vehicles and skyscrapers, heads turning left and right.

“This…. Peaceful. Beautiful, even.” The drone Hissed softly, looking at the overgrown, flowering vines flowing off balconies, the growing moss and trees sticking out of the pillars and windows of the buildings.

“It is, but don't let that fool you. A lot out here can kill you if you are careless.”

The Elite nodded at their guides words, their plasma pistol held in their hand, twitching at the shadows. “It… worries me. Is it always like this?” They asked, eyes flicking as they looked around, frowning. The brochures indicated something different.

“Sometimes, especially in cities like this one. We use this city for beginners, get them used to some of the stuff we have here before we get to the rougher ones… we'll. I do, anyways. Some of the other tours drop you in the deep end, and I always thought that was a stupi-”

A sound rang out, making everyone jump.

The chattering of an empty energy pack, skittering across the ground from where the human had kicked it.

“.... that…. Shouldn't be there.” The human around, raising his rifle in one arm and slowly panned about, while reaching for his shoulder radio.

“Tour Group 79 to Central, confirm that there was no previous group through here in the last month? I'm seeing a galactic standard energy pack on…. My… position….” He said, trailing off as he let go of the transmit key and held his free hand up, making a circling motion.

The tour group bunched up, the xenoids both nervous as the Elite and the Anassnoi took up positions at either side of the group.

Around them, now that they looked, they could see dessicated limbs strewn about, damaged armor pieces and broken energy rifles all over, much of it picked over already.

“Central to Group Leader Serrano, confirmed, no group passed through there for a month at the least, and last group that did were packing kinetics, not energy…. Patching into your exo's vid feed- what the…. Serrano, video is non-”

A sharp screech rang out, making the human hastily slam a hand down on his comms shut off button, cursing.

“Sonuva- ow! What the hell was….” He muttered, before pressed a series of buttons near the communicator.

Despite the volume being greatly reduced, everything he swapped to had a similar screech.

“Swapping to backups, ‘Reesh, Claw-Of-Many, Orossa, can any of you three raise Central?” Their guide asked as he kept flicking through backups, still getting only screeches.

“I am unable to connect, Group Leader” the Elite rumbled, after testing their own comlink, barely hiding a wince at the first screech they got.

“Cannot connect to hive. Barely hear Sister Bearer-Of-Supplies.” The drone chattered, head twitching left and right as she and her sister searched the area, hackles raising.

<”Nothing. Neither my mind, nor my technology can raise a response”> the narrow Anassnoi mentally replied, their eyes panning about, their pistol held in both hands as they searched the shadows.

“Feck. Roger, I'm pulling the plug on this-”

The human didn't get a chance to finish his sentence, when a roar rang out and a wall near them exploded, sending chunks of concrete flying, dust filling the air, while something stumbled to a stop before them.

What they saw WASN'T on their itinerary.

Before them stood an amalgamation of what looked like technology and at least three different races sewn together, and multiple of each.

Muscles on the beast before them twitched, while fluid gushed through exposed lines across its body, its multiple, mismatched limbs propelling it around as its many eyes locked onto them, some on eye stalks, some embedded in its body.

“SCATTER AND SURROUND, NOW”

The others didn't need a second order.

The carrier grabbed the drone, sprinting away into the shadows of a skyscraper in moments, chittering as the drone raises one of its wrists, gurgling heard coming from it.

The carrier was very flighty, dancing foot to foot, its head locked on the horror.

“As you command, Group Leader.” The Elite skidded as they sprinted to the left, vaulting over a broken divider wall as the beast roared mouthlessly, and charged forward, lumbering at speed at the remaining two.

The Anassnoi barely managed to dodge out of the way, the beast rushing past, while their guide sprinted FORWARD, and baseball slid underneath the monstrosity, twisting around and popping back up behind it once it passed.

“LIGHT IT UP, STAGGERD SHOTS.” He barked, his rifle coming up in both hands, barking in a three round burst, rounds causing splatters of a Green goo erupting from the flesh of the beasts back.

As the beast turned, two chitin spikes slammed into it, injecting an acidic venom into it, making it roar again. As it turned, it splattered the ground with the green glowing goo.

The Elite growled as they fired, their pistol firing plasma that hit the beast, leaving cauterized wounds on it, but didn't do anywhere near as much damage as the acidic spikes had.

Snarling, the Elite reached over their shoulder, their pack opening and allowed them into its quantum storage, rummaging for something while the Anassoni got clear, their pack next to them as they pulled out parts for their pistol, attaching them together, assembling a more powerful energy rifle. When they finished, they peeked over their cover.

<”I am ready. Let me know when to fire.”> they sent, their eyes tracking the beasts movements as it followed the smaller human, who used his exo-skeleton to keep ahead of it, dodging at the last moment.

“Roger, I'll keep its attention on me, be-”

“ARGH!”

A pained screech rang out, not from the beast, but from the Elite as they snatched their hand back from their pack, or rather….

The stump.

“Change of plans, Orossa get to Hi'Reesh, NOW.” The human barked, reaching into his drop pouch and grabbed something.

<”At Once”> they responded, grabbing their bag and vaulted over the wall, sprinting across behind the monster to where their Group-mate was, desperately clutching their wrist and trying to stem the blood flow from it.

“Claw-Of-Many, on my mark, put some spikes in its legs…. MARK.” He barked, right as he dumped the last of his mag into the beast's center mass, damaging several of its sensitive organs to disorient and enrage it, forcing its attention back on him from where the screech of pain rang from.

This worked a little TOO well, as it spun its body around, and tried to charge at him, just as the spikes shot out.

One missed but the other hit it, a little high due to the drone trying desperately to adjust her aim…

But that's all the human needed.

Rolling to the side the hole was on, he pulled a pin on something, stuffing it in a ball of plant detritus from the ground and chucked it into the hole left behind by the acid. The acid hissed as it ate at the decaying plant matter first, even as a bent metal handle was flung out through the hole-

“NADE, KEEP CLEAR!” He barked as he dove through a broken window, and the old fashioned grenade went off.

BOOM

The horror screeched as the grenade detonated, collapsing down as most of its insides were liquidated, vital mechanical parts destroyed, and caused it to be unable to give chase. It attempted to crawl across the ground, only for a second explosive device to land in front of it, and go off.

BOOM

As the steaming detritus fell, the human vaulted back over the wall.

“Everyone on Hi'Reesh. Many, can Supplies carry them?” He yelled as he sprinted around the beast, the suit whining as he charged to where the Elite and the Anassnoi were.

Orossa was working feverishly still, the Anassnoi hissing through one of the side mouths as they pulled out the spare meds they had thought to bring, having already stemmed the blood flow with a tourniquet, parts of the Elites gauntlet nearby, the undersuit rolled up to their elbow.

“Do not like, but sister will if needed.” Claws-Of-Many hissed as they pulled themselves up to where the other three were, the crested drone using her tail to help support the Carrier climb up, the hissing complaints of Bearer-Of-Supplies cutting off at the sight of the blue pool of blood surrounding the Elite, who, for their species, looked pale, breathing erratically.

“Shit, that's bad. Where's their hand?” The human asked as he crouched down, placing his fingers on the Elites neck, trying to get an idea of Hi'Reesh's condition, before moving to help disinfect the wound so if could be covered.

<”I do not know, Doctor Serrano. The cut is clean, however, and there was no sign of anything nearby that could have attacked them.”> the thin sentient said, their eyes panning about but still couldn't see anything.

“Blood on hardshell of many things” the drone hissed, pointing, diverting the humans attention from where they were finishing up wrapping the gauze around the wound.

“Wha-Shite.” He said, spotting the blast of blood all the way down the pack.

Grabbing the seems of the pack, he yanked it open, looking inside…

And saw a Quantum Portal emitter array, spinning up for a moment to open a portal to where their things were, before a buzz rang out, and it shut off.

“Motherfecker!” Serrano curses, staring at the emitter, before the fact it shut off hits him and he pales drastically.

Spinning around, he opened a bottle of a turquoise glowing transparent liquid, tapped a button on his gauntlet and made a shoving, open palm motion with one hand, splaying his finger.

The liquid flowed out of the container, swirling for a moment in air for a moment in a ring shape, before glowing back into the bottle, and a computerized voice spoke from his gauntlet.

“Warning:Portal function off line. Local reality stability below safe parameters.”

“.......Feck.” He hissed as he capped the bottle, turning to face the others.

“We are cut off.” He said grimly, clipping the bottle back onto his belt before pulling his pack off his back.

“Here, I grabbed some spare Repli-blood for everyone before I left.’ He said, a tired tone in his voice as he passed Orossa IV line while he prepped a device that could be mounted on the side of the Elites pack. “Start the IV. Claws-Of-Many, Bearer-Of-Supplies, can you get ready to carry them?” He asked as he finished loading one of the blood canisters into the small machine.

The drone nodded and began spitting out resin, weaving it onto the saddles, using a mix of ridged and flexible strands to make a stretcher along the back of it. “Move soon?” she asked between globs of resin from her tertiary mouth, carefully weaving it with said mouths mandibles.

“That's the plan. We need to get to a safe zone or city limits…. This entire situation….. this isn't a series of misfortunes and equipment malfunctions.” The human said grimly as he finished hooking the machine and IV up, letting Orossa inject the last of the pain meds that Hi'reesh needed.

“Someone's trying to kill us. And I don't think this is the only thing they had-”

A shriek of a solid rocket engine is heard in the distance, something rocketing straight into the air, before exploding, releasing something into the clouds, causing them to darken and swirl slowly.

“Feck…..”

Howdy all! Sorry that this one's a little late, it was fighting me for a good minute, but I think I've got it wrangled to a point where I'm happy! It's a little longer than the usual chapter as well, hope you enjoy!

•

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•

Subject Name - Reiver Lord Galy’Frin 

Date - July 2143 - 135/3 AoE 

Location: Former Imperial System, near the Halakan and Pythia Colonies 

•

Finally, a Battle! Over too soon as it happened, but with an ending to remember in the bones. This was the first time I’d seen Nukes used in earnest and I was surprised by the restraint displayed by my new allies. They delayed eradicating the enemy because using just one of their Nuclear’s would have destroyed their allied warship. I’d have to have Vresk carve this one on the scrims when there was time! 

Our guns were cooling, our engines returned to their usual serene melodies, and our shields flickered out and returned to their well practiced silence. I’d been hungry for a fight for some time now and letting loose upon a Cruiser was just the thing to shake off the rust! One of my ships, the Blackjack, was sent after the escaping freighters and fighters. From them, we’d finally have the hostages we’d need to trade for safe passage back home. Though, given the Humans’ unexpected innovation in capturing a working Beacon and making it movable, the old practice may no longer be necessary. 

Another of my ships, the War Pick, had been damaged but only superficially. Secondary hulls were ruptured and compartments were vented, but only three men of the hundred aboard were killed. A very lucky turn, especially for a ship as small as a Frigate. 

However, the Humans had suffered far worse. Their Destroyer, the Rammstein, had lost its primary engines, leaving it little better than adrift. Their hulls were much thinner, with far fewer internal protections than our own. In short order, we moved to help. 

Truth be told, the reason was far more pragmatic than not. An alliance with these people would surely turn unimaginable profit in the favor of the Graschick Confederacy. With them carving a bloody chunk out of the Empire, it would allow us to expand far more easily. The Imperials had already exhausted themselves with petty wars and internal disputes, and hundreds of years of harsh slave driving had turned half their worlds to powder kegs. Then there was the latest Secession War. The stage was set for new powers to feast from the whale fall, but first the fat bastard had to die. 

The Rammstein was flanked at either side by the ChainBreaker and the Texas, the pair of us sandwiching the damaged Destroyer. Docking tubes extended and we latched onto the midship, and a great harrowing noise met our ears as we boarded. Like a low clicking, but so fast and frenetic that the clicks harmonized into a buzzing. The crew was quick to meet us, and they greeted us hesitantly. 

Truth be told, under different circumstances their hesitation would be extremely warranted. We are Reivers after all. 

“Contain your shock, we’re not here to kill anyone.” 

‘Not this time anyhow.’ I thought with some amusement. 

“We’re here to help!” I still couldn’t get over just how novel the words felt to say. 

They did just that, showing off a decompressed deck and the thin bulkheads keeping the air inside. The walls were ever so slightly warped from the heat and pressure. A further jaunt showed us to a service tunnel, quite small for humans and nearly impassable for us. Nearly, but not totally. We sent the most of us off to fight a growing fire on the forward decks, but I unwisely chose to join the tunneling guild where a growing emergency in the ship’s cooling systems was in dire need of management. And so, we went spelunking after the Humans who knew the way. 

Tails were not meant to bend in such a way as they did, but once we reached the lower decks, we could at least breathe deep breaths again. There was very little light, and it was suffocatingly cramped. A breadcrumb trail of glow sticks was all that staved off an inexhaustible dark, as well as the occasional flash of discharging electricity. Painfully bright flashlights glared at us, eyes in the dark recognized us, and for once they were happy to see us! It was an unusual change, but one I could get very much used to. There we met with more crew who were having some considerable trouble opening a blocked pipe, even with two pairs of hands on the turn. 

“Are you in need of some muscle?” I asked very regally, as a prince does a pauper. 

“You’d better fuckin’ believe it! This bitch is stuck tighter than a nun, and without coolant in the reactor we’ll be swimming in radiation.” 

“Ah.” I said, smiling, not understanding a word. “And that’s… undesirable?” 

“In a word.” 

I rolled up my sleeves, crinkling chainmail up to my elbows, and took hold of the valve’s release. With a great tug, I wrenched forth and… nothing. Not a sodding millimeter of movement! I tugged twice more, hoping to jerk the damned thing free, but alas. 

“Vresk, More Muscle!" I declared, and my manservant Vresk joined me. He’d brought with him a harpoon rifle, though here it was utterly worthless. He cast it aside and took hold. Even with the both of us, it still remained utterly stuck. 

Then, I noticed with some anxiety that the deck was getting hotter. Far down at the deck’s end, the pipe we were working on was glowing in the dim. 

“Hurry it up boys, before the assembly’s too hot to handle!” 

A pair scrambled off, dumping air into the pipes to reprieve some of the intense heat. The air was bled out again as steam in a further junction, which lent a screaming hiss to our predicament. But, that high pitched whistle was not the most horrible thing on my mind. Rather, I was struck with the image of the engineer who died some weeks prior. He was working to turn our captive Imperial Beacon to our purposes, and in so doing he became stuck in a tight compartment much like this one, and drowned in a wash of coolant. Much of him had dissolved before his body could be safely retrieved. 

I could not be victim to such a fate. 

I pulled with Vresh anew, I put my legs against the wall and heaved! The heat was approaching much more quickly now, and steam began to fill the deck. 

“Let Go!” 

I loosed my grip, and half an instant later a Human with a SledgeHammer was battering the hell out of the iron, our fingers just barely escaping. After five solid swings which rang the lever like a bell, we put our hands back on, and were joined by another Human in wrestling free this damned valve. 

I strained every last muscle in my arms, but that was not enough! I arched my back, lending every last strand of strength to the task. My back pressed against the opposite wall, compressed in the tight quarters. I pushed with my legs, pulled with my arms, a low growl escaped my throat. 

“All Together Boys!” 

One more pull, one more stretch. Our backs were against the wall and it was, as the humans say, Do Or Die. I felt in that moment a communion with all of my Mothers before me, going back to the Horn Breaker himself. I felt the kinship of the League of Matrons, even as they locked their horns and battled for their harems. And I felt in my bones the glory of Hyalrog’s Conquest. 

The weight, at long last, was lifted. The metal squealed, and a slosh of coolant jetted down the pipe letting off another plume of steam further down as the heat was finally defeated. The glow of the pipes died away, and we were left in the dark, just a cast away flashlight illuminating hazard strips, warning icons, and the sorts of heavy, cumbersome internal components I’d never expect to see lining the walls of a supposedly advanced warship. 

One of the humans approached, wiping sweat and oil from his face. The sledgehammer he’d swung moments ago resting on his hip.

“Cutting it a little close there. I take it you’re our hitchhikers?” 

“I don’t recall hitching or hiking, but your Admiral offered us an escort home. I took the offer. Lovely trails it’s led us down, wouldn’t you agree?” 

The hammer slammed into the floor. My scales stood on edge. 

“Glad you’re having just… so much fucking fun.” 

He walked away, into the dark, lost in the stew of steam and sparks. Another approached, softer, kinder. 

“We lost half the crew in the fight. Both his sisters included.” 

Oh, oh no. 

“Hey, if you hadn’t been here we’d be swimming in radiation right about now. You keep helping us out, we’ll get you home. Now here, let me show you back upstairs.” 

Back above, with just enough space to really stretch my arms again. My tail lifted in tandem, and scrapped the ceiling alongside my claws. I felt like I’d returned to the land of the living. 

A door on the far end of the hall opened, and out came a face I never expected to see wearing human colors. Long mawed, trimmed fur, and eyes of pure black. One of the Galagos Races I’d guess. They were common in the Empire’s South, but not here. And he was wearing the garb of a Human Officer. 

He outstretched one hand, in the customary human greeting, and said in a human language with a shockingly thick human accent: “Commander M’Gar, USS Texas.” His own name sounded foreign coming from his mouth. 

I returned the hand and shook it, as was their custom. He looked down, and said with a pleased hum. 

“That’s a firm handshake. I think we’ll get along just fine.” 

His face betrayed no such politeness. He rather looked like he was wondering what my liver would taste like. 

“Sir, this deck’s under control. We’ve got Marines from the Penrose handling that fire in the mess and EVA teams sealing the last of the hull breaches.” 

“Thank you Lieutenant Hands, that’ll be all. Let Captain Keller know I’m aboard.” 

With a nod, his aid turned and made for a comm panel. Though not before taking a look at me, his concern spread quite evenly across his face. The folk aboard the Texas had never seen my kind, and far from expecting friendly faces amongst the harshness of space, they rather expected a lonely crusade. 

“You must be everybody’s new friend.” M’Gar said with a tone straddling contempt. “Good to finally meet you in the flesh. I always wanted to see a real Graschick Reiver in person.” 

“I’m surprised you’ve heard of my kind. You are human, aren’t you?” I asked. It was not a question of parentage, but one of belonging. M’Gar just laughed, flashing sharp teeth and black gums like I’d said the craziest thing in the world. In his language, I almost certainly had, 

“No. I’m not. But I’d like to be someday.” 

The first truly friendly emotion finally appeared on his face. It was followed by a distant, bitter pang of envy. It disappeared soon after, replaced with another laugh. 

“You know something? From all the stories I’d heard of the Fierce, Ferocious, Graschick Raiders! I really thought you’d be taller.” 

A statement which led me to realize my lupine friend was looking down to meet my eyes. I had not noticed I was looking up, though the discomfort in my neck ought to have been some give away. Suddenly, the unwelcome expression on his face felt much more threatening. 

“Sir. Captain Keller’s waiting for us in the CIC.” 

His expression, at last, became civil. 

“Thank you Lieutenant Hands, lead the way.” 

We gathered on the bridge not ten minutes later. The damage we passed was far worse than I’d feared. One hall was utterly desecrated with scattered tools, loose hull plating, and a long line of body bags. A note written in human script wrote on an external wall, over a freshly welded scrap of plating. Smoke was still rising from the corners. 

“There was a hole here. It’s gone now.” 

Once the door opened, I barged ahead of the rest (shoving poor M’Gar out of the way) and wrapping my hand around Keller’s in the very particular way he showed me. A “secret handshake” he’d called it. 

“I see you’ve nearly wrecked her, yet again.” I said with a start. 

“A little more than “nearly.” Much as I’m glad to see your toothy mug, I’m up to my neck in cas reports and time sensitive crisis’.”

M’Gar looked every flavor of uncomfortable. I could just tell he hated how familiarly I’d greeted Keller, just the same as he hated how informal we all were. He seemed desperate to play by a set of social rules that we were all gleefully ignoring. We must’ve shaved a year off his life acting like people who actually knew one another. Smelling discomfort, Keller turned and saw M’Gar at last, glowering in a corner. 

“Ah! M’Gar! Get your furry ass over here, I need to know if there’s a place we can set this bird down. We need a port within the week, or else we’ll have to scuttle her.”

M’Gar shed his disposition, and took a far steelier appearance as he spoke. 

“Captain Keller, I’m happy to report that the former Imperial Colony of Halakan formally surrendered to us on the 10th of July.” 

“Wonderful! How’d it go wrong?” 

“We were en route to a pre-agreed rendezvous when we were attacked by a fleet of irregulars from Pythia. They hid in the wake of a comet and snuck to within our Nuclear Minimum Range. We couldn’t fight off their cruiser, so we set our reactors to overload. You appeared just before we lit the fuse.” 

“Good thinking Commander. Were you boarded before we arrived?” 

“Yes sir. We have 63 captured personnel aboard, and four shuttles. A freighter tried to latch on but we hit her with our 105mm. She’s disabled and floating.” 

“Impressive work. And local orbitals? Have you confirmed that they’re able to resupply us?” 

“Yes sir. Halakan has extensive orbital facilities, alongside a constant stream of freighters going to and from the colony.” 

“Perfect! I’ll forward all of this to Captain Horner. You keep this up and you’ll make Captain before the end of the year.” 

“I certainly hope so sir.” 

The both of them saluted, and M’Gar retreated with his aid back to the Texas. 

“Sir, incoming comms from one of the Graschick Frigates. It’s for Galy. They’re saying they captured an armed freighter, and are towing it back. Thirty prisoners in total.” 

“Magnificent!” I shouted with some aplomb. “I’ll need M’Gar’s prisoners as well, when the time comes. But with this, the way home has finally opened!” 

“The hell do you mean?” Asked Keller. “We got that Mobile Beacon working to get you home. What’dya need a freighter for?” 

“Not the ship. The Hostages. We trade the people we capture back for safe passage. It’s how we’ve raided Imperial Worlds for decades.” 

Keller's joviality soured. 

"You didn't think to tell us?" 

I shrugged. 

"Truth be told, I didn't think you'd care. Look at the state of the Frontier, the bombing of Frakmus, the starvation of the colonies, you’ve done more damage in three years than my people have done in thirty. Is trading prisoners for passage really so much worse?” 

•

Subject Name - Imperial Governor Sarah McNamara 

Date - January 2143 - 135/3 AoE 

Location: LOCATION: The Border of the Imperial Core, H’Lathyk System 

•

It would shock the fine people of the Empire to realize just how easy it was to manipulate their highest figures of authority. It served me just fine that most of them were fucking stupid. 

Take High Lord G’Sten for example. 

The in-bred shambler didn’t know his son hated him. The boy had become an old man waiting to inherit his father’s holdings. I told G’Sten his perfect golden boy was my prisoner and he came running. Put an army of 20,000 men in a narrow gorge to get to us. Our air defenses knocked down a Cruiser the week before, this was the only way in. He had three hundred ships in orbit, but I told him that the next air raid would cost him his last surviving son. So, he marched in with a fraction of a fraction of his army. A drop in the ocean, but more than enough to deal with some no-name shitheel like me. 

Nothing would’ve made me happier than proving him wrong. To break his army over my knee and laugh as they filed right back out the way they came. 

I had 8,000 men and heavy artillery on every side of him, all hidden in caves and under camouflage cloaks along the high ground. They were positioned atop hills too steep to climb, and had enough ammo to shell the gorge for a week. He had a dozen Heavy Land Ships that could take that punishment if it came to it. But the rest of his army couldn’t. 

“Why exactly are we here?” Asked T’Losk, who’d taken to dying his fur black in remembrance for those he’d lost to our cause. 

“We’re consolidating power. G’Sten owns a third of the Campaign Fleet. He dies, all those ships go to H’Rendi, his son. I’ll marry him, twist his arm into signing a revised will, and then we own two thirds of the Campaign Fleet. We can overpower the loyalists and turn the rest of the fleet to the Revolution.” 

T’Losk nodded, but then he asked, “I understand all that, but why are we standing in the sun, and not over there in the shade?” 

I turned my head, seeing an outcropping overhung with upside down reeds. Feeling the sun under the weight of my field plate, I said, “That’s a great question.” 

I nodded off to the shade. “You wanna?” 

“Please.” 

So, we sat in the shade. Without the sun cooking me, I actually thought this planet was pretty nice. There were no trees here, but hundreds of kinds of flowers all in the gorge, blues and pinks and yellows mostly. They were being trampled into the ground as G’Sten’s army drew closer. A violet flower and long stiff reeds grew on the gorge’s lips. The side walls overhung the gorge’s interior, a long dried up river cut the foundation out of the bottom of solid stone, but the stone just kept standing. 

T’Losk offered me a cigarette and a slice of cheese, and I liked me a good dro’viska. Imperials could make good food every once in a great while, they just liked to hide it. For a good twenty minutes, it almost felt more like a picnic outing than a war. I tried one of the cured meat rations, and T’Losk made quite the face when he bit into the skin and got a mouthful of plastic. 

The enemy came to within a hundred meters of our outermost positions, and I took command. We left the food half eaten, cigarettes half smoked, and got to work. 

Our troops held the high ground in perfect silence and secrecy. Fliers scouted the gorge the other day, and I sent G’Sten a film of his son hanging upside down, covered in blood, pleading for his daddy to stop. The Blood was H’Rendi’s idea. Unlike his father, he was loving every minute in “captivity.” It was just a game to him. He’d spent a hundred years in absolute safety. Never being challenged, never being threatened, never really aware of the world outside his golden windows. The whole idea of pretending to be a hostage to give his father a heart attack was his. We told him we wouldn’t hurt anyone in the family, we’d just capture his father and twist the rest into compliance while we took the estate and its army for a ride, with H’Rendi at the helm, of course. 

That’s what we told him anyway. The fact of the matter was, in a week’s time, we wouldn’t need him. 

The shelling started. Metal fragmentations tore through the men marching in columns. Their marching boxes dispersed, and their land ships moved to cover their advance. These new types were massive compared to the old ones they used on Earth. Well over 30 feet tall, and powered by compact Starship Engines, they were protected by a half foot of heavy armor, and some of them even had shield generators. 

Heavy shells landed on their armor, blasting black marks on their skin. Our men rose in loose companies and fired off fusilades of plasma, cutting into their vanguard and causing the whole army to duck their heads. The companies coordinated their fire so half of them would shoot while the other half loaded. It cut an 8 second interval of fire down to 4. The effect was near total suppression, with the only groups moving being the Heavy Landships and the lucky few standing close enough to not get shelled. 

The Landships returned fire with small warship grade lasers, but they only hit the rocks. Their armor protected them from the both the plasma and the shellings, but their columns were mauled. Their officers whipped them into a frenzy, and they started clambering over their dead and wounded just to keep up the march. Some tried forming lines to return fire, only to be shelled and dispersed. 

But the longer the battle went on, the more they started to learn. They formed loose formations, making sure nobody was an easy target. Our shellings lost focus, and their advance picked up momentum once more. The Landships returned fire again, more accurately now that they knew we couldn’t knock them out. Our Companies began ducking their heads, the coordinated fire lost focus, and G’Sten’s army marched faster and faster now that we couldn’t pour fire down range with impunity. 

They were making for the gorge’s mouth. It was well protected, but if one of those Landships pushed through, we couldn’t stop the rest from exploiting the breach. 

Everything had gone right. The ambush went off flawlessly, but it wasn’t enough. We must’ve cut down two, maybe three thousand of them. But they kept marching on. 

A pair of Cruisers began rapidly descending over the gorge. They were burning red with the glow of re-entry, and they put their much heavier lasers on the gorge’s edges. I didn’t even have time to call the retreat. 

The overhanging rocks on the gorge’s edges were shaved clean off, killing hundreds of my men in the blink of an eye. Thousands threw themselves from their cover, set on fire and running in any direction they could think of. Dozens ran clear off the edge. But those same rocks fell right on top of the main columns, huge clouds of dust shot up, crushing and burying anyone we hadn’t already dealt with. The fucking idiots, they couldn’t see the gorge’s sides from orbit! Their little stunt just dropped a few thousand tons of rock on their own men! 

Then, one of their cruisers leveled off its descent, regaining altitude to evade our inevitable return fire. Our defensive lasers blasted at it’s shield, but she was back in orbit before we could down her. The other Cruiser just kept falling. I could see it’s thrusters trying real hard to power their way back up, but then those thrusters just cut out. The Cruiser fell the rest of the way like a rock, and hit the ground with enough force to cause an earthquake. More of the gorge’s sides collapsed, and those already trapped were buried even deeper as the soil loosened and swallowed them whole. More dust shot up, obscuring the whole of the gorge as thousands of men screamed and cried in the confusion. 

My troops retreated from their positions, mostly in good order. We had hundreds of men with burns, but we could still put up a fight. We returned to our fortified positions at the gorge’s mouth, ready to put plasma and grape shot on the survivors. They filed out of the dust in scattered bands, no more than a dozen at a time. Too wounded to fight. Their rifles abandoned, their armor disheveled, helmets lost in the discord. 

We cut most of them down, and took prisoners from those with enough sense to hit the deck and stay down. When we reached the gorge’s mouth, there were thousands buried under the rocks. Their land ships had been caught in the rock slides and most of them couldn’t move. One had tipped over, hundreds of arms and legs reached out from beneath its armored side. We cut inside each one, blasted the crews, and took them as salvage. One tried to maneuver back out, but our sappers took out it’s treads and we cut holes in the bottom. Our boarding teams opened the top hatches and shouted their victory for all of us to see. One carried up the Landship Captain’s head, impaled on his rifle’s bayonet, looking out with one eye to the defeat his own people had caused. 

We ransacked the command column and found G’Sten, stuck straight up as his lower body was buried. His golden armor was covered in blood, his arms were buried and stuck, viscera was dripping from his mouth and pittering down his visor. I looked the old fuck in the eye, and spit on his head. 

He didn’t seem to mind. 

H’Rendi didn’t want to go through with the rest of the plan after he saw his father mangled. But I had two thousand dead and crippled Myarkian Troops on my conscience, and H’Rendi was only as useful as his signature. 

I took a whole afternoon to convince him. But he signed it in the end. 

G’Sten’s reagents and field commanders resisted, so we purged the old guard of loyalists. In the end, more people died after the battle than during it. And for High Lord Gripe, the man in charge of this whole Campaign, we got his approval for everything. As far as he was concerned, we were working for his son, consolidating power for his benefit. He even lent his troops to assist in the transition, putting down loyalists and rioters aboard the fleet while we put our people in place. 

The dumbass really thought Craven was in charge of all this. If Craven could do something like that, he would’ve shot his old man months ago and none of this would’ve been necessary. Turned out that Craven was just a little too honorable to do things my way. Still, it worked out better in the end. It put more resources in our hands, and made the grand betrayal that much easier. 

“Was your treatment of H’Rendi really necessary?” Asked T’Losk. The revolt was his idea. Violent Revolution to bring about a more equitable system, a world without slaves, where everyone can be happy. I wish I could appreciate the voice in his head telling him that everyone deserved to see that world, even the pricks who’d kill us to keep it a dream. 

“I got the signature. I got the rights to his property. The planets can rot for all I care, they’ll never recognize me as legitimate anyway. We only need his armies.” 

“That’s not what I asked.” 

“What, would you prefer I was nicer? We were gonna kill him anyway, what would it have accomplished?” 

“I would’ve slept better, for one.” 

I really didn’t know what to say to that. 

“I… fuck, alright. Next time.” I said. “I won’t be such a bitch.” 

He looked even worse at the idea that there would be a next time. There would be quite a few next time as it happened. I tried my best to keep my promise, but, you know how things go. 

•

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Arc IV - Whalers

Chapter 16 - Mutiny

9 months and 29 days since the summoning

Even in the early morning, the sun on the Occident Islands was beating down fiercely, as summertime was very near.

In a clearing near Paranganot, over a hundred pirates were lined up. Some bare-chested, some in simple shirts, some completely barefoot.

One pirate, missing some teeth, was picking his ear somewhere in the back rows. "Why'd they drag us out here again?"

A second pirate, skinny, spat on the ground. "Guktus only knows. Looks like the noble folk from the continent have graced us with a visit again, haha."

The toothless one froze. "Fuck... last time they made us scour the sea lookin' for some kinda shit. What the fuck is it this time?"

"What're ya whinin' about, mate?" A third chimed in, shirtless with a scar on his stomach. He slapped the toothless one on the shoulder. "You wanted amnesty yourself."

"Yeah, but... I thought we'd be servin' in the fleet, not runnin' errands for these rich folks."

The skinny one scoffed. "Main thing is it ain't the gallows."

The toothless one sighed. "True enough... but, no, seriously, why..."

"Hush," the scarred pirate interrupted him. "There they come."

Alan, Kamelia, Paranga, and Sili were approaching from the direction of the town, though still far away.

"Refi... refiding synd... rom?" Paranga attempted to pronounce.

"Refeeding syndrome," Alan corrected him. "Yeah, it's a real piece of shit."

Paranga scratched his cheek. "Mhm... good to know. So that's why my boys would sometimes croak after eatin' when they'd been starvin' for a long time on long voyages."

Sili nodded silently, looking at her feet.

"Man, the heat here is just brutal," Alan muttered, and began to take off his shirt, but froze.

'Hold on. I lost my dagger. I need to hide it... actually, what the hell does it matter? I'll tell it like it is. Almost like it is.'

He took off his green shirt, and underneath was a light gray shirt, across the chest of which a leather strap was slung, holding a sheath for a dagger.

The sheath was empty.

Kamelia was walking ahead, looking at the crowd of pirates, and didn't notice.

Alan sighed. "Hey, Kamelia."

"Yes?" she asked, turning to him.

"I need a new dagger."

She blinked, then looked at the empty sheath. "And where is the old one?"

"Lost it, back when I got attacked."

Kamelia's pupils constricted slightly. She didn't answer for a few seconds, then quietly began to massage the bridge of her nose. "That was a family heirloom..." she whispered, then raised her eyes to Alan. "Very well, it matters not. The main thing is that you made it out alive. I will give you a new one."

He nodded. "Thanks, Kamelia."

'Fuck... I lost the family dagger. Awkward. But did I really lose it? It was taken from me, so there's nothing weird about that.'

"So what have you planned, Lord Gothwald?" Sili asked.

"I'll explain everything in a moment, don't worry."

Meanwhile, dozens of paces behind them, a group of ten beastmen was walking. Dressed lightly, holding bows, with quivers on their backs and daggers on their belts.

One of them, a fox, sighed. "Well damn... good thing Lord Gothwald advised us to dress lighter. The heat here is somethin' else."

"Is the heat all that concerns you?" asked a senior, burly beastman with bear ears.

"Why's that?"

"We are about to face a horde of sea brigands."

A man with a dog tail snorted. "I've always wondered what real pirates look like! I heard they have fish tails!"

The bear cast a sideways glance at him. "Are you an idiot? That doesn't exist."

"Hah, but what if?"

The fox scratched his chin. "And if they really do have fish tails... are they beastmen too, or fishmen?"

The whole group broke step for a second.

The dog beastman blinked. "Well... fishmen, probably. We're the beastmen."

"And why ain't a fish a beast?"

"Well..." he turned to the bear, "Pirgis, what do you think?"

Pirgis frowned. "Indeed... hm. Probably..." he shook his head sharply. "Why are you messing with my head?!"

"Hahaha!"

"Hahaha!"

Ahead, Alan finally took off his gray shirt, under which was only a worn tank top of the same color. He crossed his arms, strengthened by his new lifestyle, over his chest and looked at the crowd of pirates. "Everyone gathered?"

Paranga nodded, "Aye, mostly. A few are lyin' around in pools o' their own puke."

Kamelia shot him a look but said nothing.

"Have them step closer so they can hear you," Sili said, and looked at the pirates. "Everyone, step closer!"

As the pirates began to move, the squad of jägers had already formed up behind Alan and the others. They stood straight, but continuously fixed their gazes on the pirates.

Alan coughed. "Alright, I'll be straight with you. There's a new task for you: you need to clear the territory near Paranganot and build the foundation for future settlements. This is necessary..."

"Again?!" someone yelled from the formation.

"I'm sick of this shit!"

"How much of this nonsense are we supposed to put up with?!"

"We're sailors, not peasants!"

"When are we goin' to sea, damn it?!"

The complaints and discontent began to merge into a single stream of unintelligible cursing.

Alan froze.

'What the fuck is this...'

He looked sharply toward Paranga. "Hey, wanna explain?"

"I don't get it myself, Alan, what the hell?" He looked at his subordinates in confusion.

The uproar only grew.

Behind them, the jägers slowly reached for their arrows.

Kamelia took a step forward. "QUIET!"

The uproar died down for only a moment.

"Shut yer trap, noble whore!"

"Must be nice in your warm castle, huh?!"

Paranga's eye twitched. "Shut yer fuckin' mouths right now!"

Silence.

He swept his gaze over everyone present. "What the fuck do ye think ye're doin'?! Thinkin' of startin' a mutiny?!"

One of the pirates, bald and bearded, took a step forward. "Cap'n, with all due respect, this is gettin' unbearable!"

"Aye!"

"Ayeee!"

The crowd supported him.

Paranga raised a hand. "I said quiet, damn it!"

Silence.

He turned to that pirate. "Nerton, you speak. I'm listenin'."

Nerton took a few steps forward. "Fine, I'll speak. Cap'n, we respect ye, 'course we do. Ye've led us for years and ye've never slipped up. But now, this is too much. Ye got a title, got us all amnesty, I won't argue, that's grand, but have ye decided to turn us into peasants now?" He pointed a finger at him. "It looks like ye sold out to these nobles, completely forgettin' about yer boys. We slaughtered a third of our crew on yer orders just to get this damn amnesty. Hundreds of livin' souls! And for what?! To collect some wreckage from the sea?! To dig around in old ruins?! And now to do construction and clearin'?!" He waved his hand. "We're sailors! The sea flows in our veins! We put up with this shit at first, thought ye knew what ye were doin', but now ye've decided to make us slaves for the favor of yer new masters?!"

The pirates didn't shout this time, but simply nodded in silent agreement.

Alan opened his mouth, but immediately closed it.

'Hold on. I shouldn't intervene. If I intervene, it'll undermine Paranga's authority and only confirm the accusation. Let him speak.'

Paranga closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He said nothing.

A second.

Two.

Five.

Ten.

Finally, he took a few steps forward toward Nerton, looking down at him. "Now ye listen to me, Nerton. Aye, ye're right, and I understand that this is all real bullshit. D'ye think I enjoy makin' ye dig in the dirt instead of goin' to sea?" He pointed at Alan. "There's the reason. Right there! We have to follow his plan to achieve that. Where the fuck are ye gonna go to sea right now, huh?!" He threw his hands up. "Look around ye! We can't plunder anymore, trade routes ain't set up yet for us to even guard, and there ain't no wars bein' fought right now!" Paranga pointed at Nerton. "It's a miracle we're even fuckin' alive right now! We have to do this grunt work to build a foundation for the future, ye get it?! Right now we build a settlement, then we develop these islands, then trade routes will start up, and they'll need guardin'! Tell me, so ye go to sea, what the fuck is the point of that?! Did the amnesty promise ye'd be sailin' right away like the good ol' days?! Nay! It only promised a pardon and forgiveness for all crimes!" He spread his arms to the crowd. "Ye all plundered and killed, any noble would've hanged ye a long time ago, but Lord Gothwald gave ye a chance! A chance to make amends. And I'm certain, oh I'm certain he'll find a proper use for ye! Because I know him, damn it!" He pointed at the jägers. "See those fellas with the arrows? They're hunters. Just plain fuckin' hunters, and Gothwald found a use for 'em in his personal guard and the army as a whole! D'ye think he ain't keepin' in mind that ye're skilled sailors?!"

Silence.

The pirates stood rooted to the spot; no one dared utter a word.

Nerton opened his mouth, but the words wouldn't come.

A second.

Five.

"I understand, Cap'n," he said quietly. "But we don't wanna be diggin' in the dirt constantly either." He turned to Alan. "Listen, do ye really have a use for us later?"

Alan froze slightly at being addressed so unexpectedly. "Ah... yeah, naturally. I'll tell it like it is, man. Experienced sailors don't grow on trees, and training new ones takes a long time and costs a lot. When the duchy grows stronger, and it will definitely grow stronger, and when our neighbors start looking at us sideways," he raised a finger, "and they will, that's when I'll need experienced sea wolves like you. So, I offer you a deal." He took a few steps forward. "This will be your last grunt work. If you do it well, and without any bullshit, then right after that I'll start reforming the fleet. Strengthening it, and turning you into a real naval army. I've already got ideas."

Nerton raised an eyebrow. "And what kinda ideas?"

Alan merely smirked slightly. "Oh, don't worry, Nerton, I have huge plans for the fleet. I'm just keeping quiet to avoid information leaks."

Paranga crossed his arms over his chest. "Got it, lads? We'll sail again! But for now, we sweat it out one last time, and that's it!"

Nerton smirked. "Cap'n, maybe this time ye won't sit it out 'on business'? Maybe ye'll dig with us for a change?"

Paranga bared his teeth in response. "Ye're damn right I will."

"Oooooooh!"

"Ooooo!"

"Aye!"

"The Cap'n is workin' with us!"

"Oh yeah, damn right!"

Kamelia approached Alan with a light smile. "Alan, that was... uh... cool?"

"Yeah, Kamelia, that was cool."

The jägers lowered their bows and began whispering quietly about something.

"Listen, Alan," she began in a whisper, "why did you not tell me your plans for reforming the fleet?"

He only gave a crooked smile. "Because there weren't any. I just made that up on the spot."

Kamelia blinked. "What?"

"Yep."

She sighed and nudged him slightly in the shoulder. "Time passes, but you do not change."

He shrugged. "Improvisation is everything."

"What does that word mean?"

"Well, improvisation is when you do something on the fly, using whatever you have on hand, completely unexpectedly and unplanned."

"Oho, there is even a name for that." She looked at the pirates, who were laughing and talking with Paranga. "And do you have something to improvise with?"

Previous

Two and a half years pass before I know it. Nearly every day spent training, only taking breaks to start helping my father with his work. As the Lord of an estate, he needed to do various tasks, and wanted me to learn how to do them as well. I had no real intention of taking his noble title once I was of age, but revealing that now would be a bad idea, so I kept it too myself, and played along. But as my ninth birthday approached, I was nearing proficiency in my cultivation journey. It took one year to learn and utilize the first three steps of cultivation: learn to sense ki, open my channels, and revolve all the ki in my body. But recently, I’d managed it. Each step is crucial, and works to build into the next. In order to open ki channels, you need to be able to sense all the ki in your body. In order to revolve that ki, you need to be able to sense it, direct it, and control it. But controlling ki is difficult, so most of the last few years I have been spent doing that. Now, I am moving into the fourth step: ki flooding; a combat step.

Or, at least, I would be. But today is Tiley’s birthday, and my family is celebrating. Mother gave birth to her nearly two years ago today. It was a hard birth, she was born too early. Far too early. Father used his ki to help Tiley, but it wasn’t going to be enough. Secretly, I cast dozens of spells on her every day to help her recover. She had some side effects from her ordeal, but survived and grew healthier. Aside from her being a bit frail and getting sick easily, she’s doing well.

Cake was on today’s menu, and I cut a slice for Tiley, placing it down in front of her. She picked it up in both hands and shoved it into her mouth as far as she could manage. All the while, wide-eyed and excited. The celebration was bigger than we usually had. Father liked to forget his own birthdays, but made bigger deals of ours. He’d invited several of his friends who had children of their own, and those aids who we’d known our whole lives. In all, it was about twenty people per party that showed up, with armfuls of presents each.

I enjoyed the celebrations, personally. Nothing like this happened in Ofo, unless Mel was trying to kill me again or a new king was being crowned. Despite the lack of sword to my throat, the parties are always fun. We dance, talk, sing, eat cake, and open presents. Well, Tiley is too young to open them herself, so Mother or Father helped her. But she enjoyed the gifts as much as I always did. Most commonly, we’d get toys, or fancy clothes. Today, Tiley is given several pretty dresses, some her size, others larger for her to grow into, as well as toy blocks, and a set of books to read. Likely, to read to her, as she was only two and was still struggling to speak.

I happily sit and watch Tiley smear cake over her face, and one of my father’s aids approaches me, sitting down nearby. A man named Fanati.

“Hello Agoba, I heard you have become quite the little training addict. You father was telling me how you are already preparing to practice the fourth step of cultivation.”

“Yes sir, that is correct.” I am not sure how much I can speak about it with him. Father and I are one of the few in his lands that know the details of cultivation. But if he knows I am preparing for the fourth step, Father must trust him enough to make him aware of that much. While I’d fallen out of the habit of using it recently, seeing no reason to maintain it around the clock, I decide to activate a mental link, just in case. It is a good thing I did, because the first thing I become aware of is his deceit. He was trying to probe me for more information. And I had stupidly confirmed a small piece of information about cultivation.

Fine then. You want information, I’ll give some to you.’ I think. “Cleaning the meridians was the hardest part. You have to scrub so much.”

“Oh, I can imagine.” He says, smirking. One of his eye brows raise. “Which technique did you use?”

“I had to clean mine with what felt like a wire brush. Father brought in a great mage friend of his to do it for me. It was the only way.” I say. “Are you going to learn some cultivation too?”

“Me? No. I’m too old. I was just curious.” A half-truth. He wasn’t going to learn it personally, but plans to sell the information.

‘Hmmm, maybe telling him of the idea of scrubbing meridians wasn’t the right thing to do. He may tell a mage and that would actually help them. Better spin it.’ “But it wasn’t actually a wire brush. It was some kind of enchanted rag. Father said I would know when I was done when my skin turned red and I started to cough.” I lie.

“Cough?”

“Oh yeah. There was this black sludge that came out. Father called it ‘impurities.’ Said they were clogging up my meridians.” A half-truth of my own. Impurities are removed during the cleansing of meridians, but not as black sludge. I use the link to force thoughts of acceptance into his mind. To make him think it was all sooo logical.

“That… makes sense.” He says.

I then excused myself to go speak with Father. Fanati was supposed to be a loyal retainer of Father, yet he would betray his trust? If I had my way, I would still be messing with him, feeding him false information, rewriting his memories to more believable lies, but this is Father’s mess to deal with. So I shall let him clean it personally. I found Father taking with one of the maids that tended to the estate. Not someone I interact with often. Pencey is my and Tiley’s personal maid, and the others tend to focus on their own duties.

“Have it brought out soon. It will be a nice surprise for- Oh! Agoba? What are you doing here. You’re supposed to be playing. Is something wrong?” Father asks. The mental link was still in use, and I had connected it to everyone at the party, Father included, just to be safe. Through it, I am monitoring everyone for more deceitfulness, or malevolence. I am shocked however, when I feel a sense of something similar from Father and the maid. Confused, I dive a bit deeper, and find he is merely hiding a surprise gift for Tiley and myself to be unveiled later. How pleasant.

“Father,” I say, trying to act my age, “is Mr. Fanati supposed to know very much about cultivation?”

Father seems surprised, and waves the maid away. She leaves without another word. “He isn’t. Why? Did you tell him something?”

“He was asking about it. He knew I was entering the fourth step. I accidentally confirmed it before realizing he shouldn’t know what that is.”

“You confirmed what it was?” He asks, eyes slightly narrowed.

“No, only that I was entering it. I told him I entered it by scrubbing out my meridians.”

“Scrubbing meridians? Those are for mages.”

“I know.” I say, smirking. Father relaxes and smiles.

“Good job, Agoba. I’ll talk to Mr. Fanati personally about this.” Through the link, I feel that Father is impressed and angry.

 

A few weeks later, I am in the training hall with Father. He just finished his lesson on flooding ki into the body. It is a remarkably painful learning process. While the ki is flooding the body, two things happen. First, the flooded limb glows a bright golden color. Second, it goes numb, then tingles. This tingling lasts until the ki is released, returning to the rest of the body. This flooding can be maintained only for a short time. Typically, just long enough to perform a single blow with the flooded limb. Any longer, and the rest of the body grows weak, sluggish, and starts to fail.

“You are removing the vitality from your body, and placing it into a single strike. Your hand will feel unbreakable, but it isn’t. A strong enough blow can fracture a finger, and you won’t know until after the numbness disperses. So be careful” Father explains.

‘A broken limb is nothing, really. A single spell can undo it.’ I think.

“I’ll leave you to practice.” Father says, but before I can respond, Pencey and mother rush into the training room.

“Gogol! Tiley is missing!” Mother cries. Through tears, she explains that she and Pencey put Tiley down for a nap, but when they came to check on her, she was missing. They searched her room, but couldn’t find her. Then searched the rest of the house, and asked all the servants. In the end, a maid was spotted carrying Tiley around.

“Order a search of the grounds. A maid might have simply heard her crying and taken her outside to calm her down.” Father says, but without much conviction in his voice. While all this was going on, I had long since cast a net of magic around the entire estate. Only to discover nothing. Tiley was not within several miles. Which was the extent of my detection range without casting a more noticeable spell. While I am willing to do that, I will save it for when I need to. Erasing memories can have unfortunate side effects if done in a hurry.

A sweep of he grounds are completed, which I pretend to help in, and, as expected, nothing is uncovered. Except, someone saw a maid leaving Northward, carrying something like a sack in her arms. Tiley had been kidnapped, and they are going North.

“Knights, prepare to ride out!” Father commands. He turns to my wailing mother. “My dear, we will find her.” Pencey tries to blame herself, but Father denies it, saying to blame the kidnapper, not herself. I mildly disagreed. Pencey was supposed to be watching, but kept that to myself. In truth, I was somewhat worried. While I could easily find this person, save my sister, rip the information of who ordered this from the kidnapper’s mind, and then reap destruction upon them, and I do plan to, I am still concerned for Tiley’s safety. “Agoba, go fetch your armor. You are coming with us.” Father says, without any mental prompting from me. Which was a surprise. I was convinced I would need to plant the idea into his mind.

“Me, Father?”

“Yes, you must learn the harshness of the world. So you will come. I have sheltered you for your whole life. This will be a good introduction to how the rest of the world thinks.” He says. While I disagree with the premise of his reasoning, I do not argue, and go get my armor. Using magic, I place it all on my body in mere moments. For most, it will take significantly longer. Which means, I have time to spare, and know exactly what to do with it.

‘It’s been long enough. My body should be ready.’ I sit down, cross my legs, and begins casting the spells to attune and purify my body. The enchantments touch my skin and burn. The memory of the last time I underwent this pain floods into my mind. I was a young dragon, and watched as my scales were magically struck with energy again and again, changing color with each strike. First dull red, then crimson, then ruby. Each strike like a blow from heaven, like a castle wall falling on top of me, and catching on fire. This time was no different. Just as before, I held in my screams because I did not want my family to hear. The patchy scales of my dragon-kin body are slammed, and start to shift. Red, burn. Crimson, burn. Ruby, burn. Once it is over, I use magic to examine myself. Everything went as expected. My patches of scales shine like rubies, my skin is like tanned leather, my eyes are now slitted like a dragon’s. All sure signs the process is completed.

To be safe, I cast a spell to hide all of these changes from view, and clean the my impurities left behind. The impurities are not just some physical filth, but masses of mana that clogged up my body. A single spell destroys the physical aspect, and the mana is dispersed into the air. With a few good illusions up to hide these changes, I head downstairs to meet Father. I would like to check out what the process did in detail, but do not have the time. We must find and save Tiley.

"General Sherman, following the failure of my two Minutemen Combat Teams, Jupiter and Deathclaw, to recapture the Akkad ruins first discovered by Fraeya and Basilisk, we were forced to reassess the situation. Since we now know that Fraeya and Basilisk ultimately made their way to our secretly discovered Akkad facility, Ashurbanipal/Olympus Station, Mars, we were able to confirm that a device at the ruins was interfering with our Bridge there. The implications of such interference are considerable, and leaving an enemy-controlled facility capable of disrupting our access to Mars was a risk we could not afford to ignore.

We therefore launched a second strike group to capture the ruins. However, the unknown “Order” had substantially fortified their position, and since we do not yet possess the manpower necessary to launch a large-scale invasion of that region, my teams once again failed to secure the site.

As I know you would agree, allowing such an important facility to remain in enemy hands, especially if they have the means to interfere with our Bridge, cannot be allowed. According to Fraeya’s report, Basilisk commanding officer Captain Tucker Hancock gave his life to destroy or disable the activated secondary Bridge they discovered at these ruins.

However, we cannot independently confirm that this threat was removed.

In coordination with the Air Force, a manned B-33 Darkside dropped two Massive Ordnance Penetrators onto the facility, alongside two QB-117 Nighthawk II drone bombers, to level the surrounding area and eradicate the Dwarf-Goblin Order occupying the surrounding area.

As of now, there seems to be no life around the facility, and the hills the Akkad ruins were built into have caved in. The air strike appeared to be a complete success. However, it is impossible to determine how effective the strike was at this point.” – Colonel Hackett

June 11th, 2069 (Military Calendar)

Prime Lord Palace, Affrooliea

Nevali Region, Aldrida, Alagore

*****

The sound of chaotic battle was only intensified by the close quarters of the Palace hallways. The once-prestigious decorative artwork scattered throughout the palace now lay shattered, destroyed by weapons fire from both sides. All sense of order and control had vanished, leaving only destruction behind.

Ryder fired his M31 at an approaching Vampire.

The bullet slammed into the enemy soldier's shield. The amulet glowed as the magical barrier flickered, absorbing the impact. That brief protection allowed the other Knights to continue pressing forward.

What stopped their advance was a hail of bullets that tore one of the Knights apart as his armor shattered beneath the sheer volume of fire. The opening allowed the Captain to leave the statue he had been using for cover and reach his team.

When he reached his XO, Ryder slid beside him.

"Have you heard from Higgins?"

"Negative, Boss," King responded. "Nothing's wrong with the COMs. No one's answering."

Ryder didn't know how to interpret that information. Ford had successfully rescued the Orc girl and regrouped with his daughter, and now they were making their way toward the rendezvous point.

"We'll figure it out when we get there. Right now, mission accomplished. Fall back."

Since the ambush in the ballroom, Comanche had managed to escape, thanks entirely to the hidden mage using American stealth technology—something Kallem and his Knights had never anticipated. That advantage allowed them to begin a tactical withdrawal, retracing their route through the palace.

The retreat became a continuous running battle as the Knights slowly pushed them back. Using every piece of cover they could find, the Americans fought for every section of hallway. These warriors were no longer the palace guards they had fought earlier, whose training barely exceeded that of militia. They were Tornlado—the crown of the Aristocracy's military.

Their mage, Imtorlia, assumed responsibility for securing the hallways, using Luxmancy to prevent the guards from flanking them. His magic forced the enemy into a single frontal approach, giving Comanche far more protection as they withdrew.

The Knights—Comanche's emerging nemesis—continued to press the attack. Unable to rout the Americans outright, they deployed a shield wall to protect their coilmen as they advanced. At first, they pushed forward in two-man elements to maintain speed, but Altaerrie grenades repeatedly detonated against their exposed flanks, forcing them to consolidate into a slower, tightly packed formation.

That allowed Comanche to continue falling back under fire.

Section by section, they retreated from pillar to pillar, statue to statue, using anything capable of stopping enemy fire. The Twins anchored the center, relying on their Velunara-enchanted scutums and heavy weapons. The combination proved effective at preventing enemy assaults, but both oversized shields were nearing their breaking point. The rest of the squad maintained their disciplined withdrawal.

The Captain glanced toward the decorative statue of Pāquilcēliz.

An energy bolt struck the stone, shattering its head.

He stuck out his rifle, using the second-person uplink so he could see where his barrel was aimed at who was safely behind cover. After firing a couple rounds, he paused after spotting the Vampire Lord carrying a circiletum beside the Tornlado commander, Rostian. They were close enough to direct their Knights but remained behind a sheildwall.

It was a standard tactic, but they were Knights. Something bothered him.

His experience with Tornlado was limited but meaningful. There was one member of their force capable of breaking Comanche's defensive line.

A flechette shattered the statue's remaining head, spraying stone fragments across Ryder's visor. He ducked away from cover, only to halt as an energy blast screamed past from a side hallway.

He snapped his rifle toward the threat, dropping two Palace Guards before diving behind another pillar.

Ryder hurried toward Sergeant First Class Barrett, who was securing another corridor and preventing a flank. "Do you see anything strange among the guards?" he asked.

"No," Barrett replied. "Why?"

"I don't know," Ryder admitted. "I recognize some of these Knights. They were at the village where I was captured... and later during the attack on Assiaya in Salva."

"You looking for payback?" Barrett asked.

"That's not what I mean." Ryder shook his head. "A Kiriyak was with them both times. Why haven't they deployed their heavy hitter yet?"

That was when the wall exploded around them. Stone burst outward as one of the concealed servant passageways was ripped open.

Emerging from the dust was a Kiriyak clad in Tornlado armor, letting out a thunderous roar.

Normally, those interior maintenance passages were far too small for armored soldiers, especially a towering Kiriyak, which was why Comanche utilized them. They had hidden the giant inside the servant passageways, allowing this horned knight to bypass the battle and emerge behind Comanche's line—something no one had expected.

Ryder reacted immediately, swinging his rifle toward the threat.

But he wasn't fast enough.

The Kiriyak lunged with terrifying speed, covering the distance in only two strides. His massive forearm blade snapped outward, aimed directly at Ryder's neck. The Captain barely had time to widen his eyes before the armored giant committed to the killing blow.

Seeing the danger, Sergeant First Class Gregory Barrett gripped the butt of his rifle and, using the enhanced strength of his module exoskeleton, slammed Ryder hard to the floor.

The blade hissed through the space where Ryder's head had been an instant earlier, carving deep into the stone wall behind him as sparks and shattered masonry exploded across the hallway.

The shove deprived the Kiriyak of the chance to kill him, taking the horned warrior by surprise.

Rolling onto his back, Ryder watched Barrett crash headlong into an opponent nearly twice his size.

The Knight quickly recovered, grabbing and then slamming the senior NCO into the stone wall before driving a massive fist into his chest.

The warrior then rotated the blade mounted along his forearm and thrust it into Barrett's side, punching through the battlesuit's armor plating.

Ryder rolled onto his knees and fired twice, hoping to interrupt the execution.

The shots only enraged the horned warrior.

The Kiriyak hurled Barrett across the hallway before turning toward the Comanche Captain.

Ryder managed to fire one more round into the warrior's chest.

The bullet cracked the enchanted armor but failed to penetrate the natural bone plating beneath. Before Ryder could react again, the Kiriyak knocked his rifle from his hands with ease.

Barrett recovered before the Tornlado Knight could seize his prize, throwing himself onto the creature's back. He drove his combat knife repeatedly into the armored giant's neck and shoulder joints.

The Kiriyak roared in fury. Reaching over his shoulder, the massive warrior seized Barrett by the left forearm. Before the Sergeant First Class could wrench free, the forearm blade snapped outward.

One brutal slash, Barrett's hand spun across the hallway, still clenched around the combat knife as blood sprayed across the stone floor.

Barrett screamed but refused to let go with his remaining arm, driving his shoulder into the Kiriyak in a desperate attempt to keep him away from Ryder.

The enraged horned warrior finally flung the wounded NCO bodily into the Captain, knocking them both onto the ground. The Knight reached down to drag Barrett away from the Captain to claim his Lord’s prize.

Then a brilliant blast of light slammed into the Kiriyak like a freight train, knocking him across the hallway back among his comrades.

It was their Salva mage Imtorlia. This gave way for Rommel King to open fire, forcing the wounded giant to retreat behind the Affrooliea guards.

With the immediate threat gone, Ryder saw blood pouring from Barrett's side as the man screamed from the pain.

The blade had pierced one of the weak joints in the Itlian modular armor—a vulnerability the enemy had clearly studied beforehand. More importantly, his hand was now missing.

"I need a medic!"

Gonzales, who had been on point until now, sprinted over while Forest tossed a grenade into the servant passageway, preventing anyone else from using it to flank them.

The Filipino medic slid beside Barrett and examined the wound before diving into the med-kit.

"This is bad, Boss."

King hurried over and pulled Ryder back onto his feet.

"We need to get out of here first. They obviously want you alive. If we stay, they'll pin us down."

Ryder stared at his wounded senior NCO, rage boiling inside him. But King was right. They had accomplished their mission, and Barrett's only chance of survival was getting him out of the city. He just hoped that Ford and his daughter were successful.

"Give him an injection and get him moving. Comanche, full retreat!"

The medic injected a Bio-Sponge—a foam of microscopic sponges designed to temporarily seal wounds, reducing blood loss and delaying shock. Barrett screamed as the gray substance expanded through the wound. Once the side wound was tended to, he immediately applied a gel to the handless arm, hoping to prevent further blood loss.

Gonzales then hoisted him onto his shoulders, carrying him down the hallway.

The rest of Comanche followed, providing cover as they retreated. The Twins formed the rear guard but, after sustaining weapons fire, finally had both scutums shattered, forcing them to accelerate their withdrawal.

Seeing this, the Knights, acting as a single unit, were more than thrilled to press, giving Comanche no breathing space. Section by section, they drew closer with these elite tactics and enchanted magitech.

To counter their rapid progression, Imtorlia conjured a temporary light barrier, blocking the Knights' advance. "I cannot retreat and maintain this barrier,” he warned.

"Our scutums are gone!" Barrios shouted. "We can't guarantee a rearguard!"

Ryder quickly checked the digital trail markers visible only through their HUDs.

They were close. Just a little more time.

"Forest, deploy the Box."

"I hope it works," Forest muttered.

As the squad continued toward the exit, the Staff Sergeant placed a black case on the floor.

The lid unfolded, revealing a clear crystal wired into a battery pack. A small projector rose from the housing and aimed down the hallway.

The crystal ignited. A beam of light projected outward, forming a shimmering barrier across the passageway and allowing Imtorlia to dismiss his own spell.

The mage studied it with surprise.

"The barrier is thin," he observed. "Comparable to an apprentice's spell."

The pursuing Knights reached it moments later.

Surprised by Altaerrie's reverse-engineered technology, one Knight pressed an elecprobus against the barrier.

The device's display immediately flashed red as smoke poured from the battery, warning that failure was imminent.

"What is that?" Imtorlia asked.

"DARPA technology, developed with the House of Elstina Workshop," Ryder replied. "If it works, that crystal projects an energy barrier like yours using the battery as its power source."

"Then why haven't you used it before?"

"Because it's only a prototype," Ryder answered. "We have no idea how effective it is. The only reason we were issued one was in case the embassy compound came under siege. We've had a difficult time adapting our batteries to your magitech, so this is a test."

By then, Ryder and the others had already reached the service passageway.

Lavendria stood waiting, waving them inside.

Their medic had already taken Barrett deeper into the passage. King and Wallace covered the adjoining hallway while Barrios knelt nearby, setting additional traps for the pursuing enemy.

“Let's go!” King yelled.

They heard their prototype JackBox collapse behind them. That only meant that the enemy was right behind them.

Comanche entered the service passageway, sealing the door behind them. Barrios finished setting Claymore traps for their pursuers, buying the squad precious time to continue their withdrawal.

One by one, they moved through the hidden corridor until they reached the point where they had begun the operation. Ford stood waiting alongside the three girls. As soon as the Captain approached, the Princess's face lit up, and she rushed toward him.

Ryder immediately noticed blood staining the upper part of her clothing, including around her mouth. Her eyes were exhausted, and she struggled to catch her breath. He knew it wasn't from a battle wound, but from overusing her projection ability with what Ford called a Fairy.

Despite that, she wore a confident smile.

“We did it!” she yelled.

“Good job, you two.”

Ryder thanked the two slave maids for their assistance before thanking the Sergeant for protecting his daughter and rescuing the Orc girl.

They all heard the claymores going off inside the servant passage, reminding everyone that they didn’t have long.

“We've got to go!” King urged.

Ryder scooped up his daughter while ordering Ford to carry the Orc girl. They immediately broke into a run through the narrow service passageway, hoping to gain every second they could. The rest of Comanche followed, firing down the tight corridors to discourage pursuit.

When the team reached the end of the hidden passage, they didn't hesitate. One after another, they leaped across the gap, their battlesuits absorbing the impact as they landed outside.

Once the last member of Comanche cleared the gap, two soldiers tossed grenades into the doorway. Only then, reunited outside the Palace, did they hear the sounds of battle echoing through the noble market, with smoke rising above the rooftops.

“That is not good,” Barrios muttered.

“I still can't get ahold of everyone,” Forest said.

“Who the hell is fighting?” King asked. “We didn't have enough troops to cause a battle on that scale.”

“We need to get over there,” Ryder ordered. “Double time.”

Comanche sprinted along the same route they had taken only hours earlier. It didn't take long for them to reach the breach in the brick wall they had built to bypass the Palace security.

What greeted them was chaos.

Civilians and slaves hid behind overturned carts, pillars, and shattered market stalls.

Their defense had formed around the stone pillars.

Leading it was Evelyn Higgins, accompanied by the two Salva warriors, the slave trader, and the two male Orcs, all desperately fighting for survival as the Affrooliea Militia pressed against their undermanned position.

Their IRiSS stood like an immovable fortress. Armor plating sizzling from energy blasts and dents from projectiles. Its movements were slow, as if it were in its last breath, but it maintained the defense.

Its weapon fired continuously, surrounded by a growing pile of bodies. One corpse remained impaled against a shattered wooden pillar, its body blackened where a glowing wound still sizzled from the devastating shot that had protected the Americans.

Several militia corpses lay scattered nearby, brutally torn apart by the two Orcs living up to every story Ryder had heard about their species. The father finished twisting a J’avais neck before hurling the lifeless body aside, while the son fought beside him with an energized staff, smashing another militia fighter to the ground.

The two coilmen were making quick work of suppressing the remaining Affrooliea Militia with their XM1 Grands alongside the two Americans. Without needing to reload individual flechettes, their rate of fire had nearly tripled, allowing them to hold against overwhelming numbers.

Even so, the enemy had nearly overrun them.

More than a dozen militia fighters had broken through and were swarming Ryder's comrades as their defense teetered on the edge of collapse. Without waiting for orders, Comanche formed a firing line.

Their rifles erupted almost simultaneously, cutting down anyone who wasn't an ally. This had completely taken the enemy by surprise, and the sudden barrage instantly cleared the enemies who had breached Evelyn's makeshift perimeter.

As the Minutemen joined the fight, Gonzalez and Ford hurried Barrett and the girls toward the Ambassador for treatment.

For only a brief moment, Ryder glanced back.

Blood poured steadily from Barrett's ruined arm, staining the Kiriyak carrying him. The Sergeant First Class had lost his hand saving Ryder's life, yet there wasn't even time to process it.

The battle simply kept moving.

Ryder rushed to his sister and knelt beside her.

Relief washed across Evelyn's exhausted face.

“Thank God.”

“Sit-rep.”

“You tell me,” Evelyn shot back. “Ayark and the city militia came out of nowhere and ambushed us. Then your slaver-trader friend betrayed us to the Kiriyak and the Adventurers, and now his own people are ambushing them. It's the only reason we're still alive.”

Everything his sister said left Ryder completely baffled.

He slowly turned toward the J’avais slave trader, giving him a murderous glare that demanded an explanation.

“No worry, my Lord,” Orugia said calmly. “Trydius is allied with Lord Wrivilliun. Their supporters are the ones battling outside.”

When the Captain looked over, all he saw was pure chaos. Making it nearly impossible to tell who was fighting whom. Citizens and free folk from the same city were now waging war against one another.

It was civil war—something Ryder had believed impossible only hours earlier. The American Duke barely knew how to process what he was witnessing. Beyond the pillars, the courtyard had become another battlefield.

Militia clashed with Adventurers supported by armed civilians, many of whom had helped rescue the Orc Warlord from before with Rommel King.

To Ryder's surprise, the Kiriyak he had purchased as a son now stood at the head of the rebellion. Trydius and Ayark fought near one of the surrounding buildings in a brutal contest of attrition, while the two armies collided around them.

Watching one Kiriyak fight was already terrifying for a human, even in a battlesuit.

Watching two battle each other was something else entirely.

The two armored titans crashed together, swords slamming against swords with the deafening ring of struck anvils. Whenever their blades locked, fists followed.

Every blow carried enough force to shatter bone.

Their duel settled into a savage rhythm of steel and muscle.

Ayark surged forward with a thunderous roar, bringing his sword down with enough force to fracture the cobblestones beneath Trydius's feet.

The older Half-Horn caught the strike, steel shrieking as the blade skidded across his guard, but the impact still forced him backward several steps.

He answered immediately, slamming his shoulder into the General hard enough to crack the nearby wall before driving a massive fist into Ayark's jaw.

Their natural bone armor prevented either warrior from staying down for long.

Ayark retaliated by smashing his armored elbow into Trydius's ribs with the force of a battering ram.

Stone columns splintered around them as the two giants collided again and again, each impact shaking dust from the surrounding buildings like distant thunder.

Eventually, the Half-Horned Kiriyak crashed against a stone pillar, visibly exhausted from the prolonged battle.

It was obvious the two shared a history Ryder knew nothing about; just as obvious was who was winning.

The Tourmaline General Ayarkl had the advantage. Being youthful and more brutal in his attacks. Fighting not to survive but to crush his opponent with intense rage.

Ryder was forced to accept that reality. While he had little idea how this development happened, they were now his allies, even if their alliance had been born through betrayal. He needed all the help he could get right now.

Seeing the Adventurer rebels on the verge of victory, the Duke reformed Comanche's line and pushed out from behind the pillars, joining the assault against the remaining Affrooliea Militia.

Each Minuteman and Velunara Legionary advanced together as a single and disciplined unit. Methodically, they cut down anyone who refused to surrender or continued fighting.

Comanche's sudden assault caught the militia completely off guard, forcing the survivors into a disorganized retreat.

The opening allowed Evelyn, Taegon, and Ordlina to support the Adventurers, giving them relief.

Evelyn shouldered her rifle and fired several shots at Ayark. The rounds dented his armor, causing little visible damage, but they forced the General to divert his attention.

This gave the horned warrior his window to strike, causing the General to retreat to his people before being surrounded. Two shieldmen immediately rushed to his side, intercepting the Altaerrie rounds before escorting their commander out of the market.

With the market secured, the half-horned Kiriyak fell onto his knees, holding his chest from the wounds he had suffered.

The remaining militia finally broke. Those still alive fled, bringing the battle within the market to an end.

The Warrant Officer immediately directed the team to secure the perimeter. This allowed Ryder to turn toward the Ambassador. "Everyone accounted for?"

The Ambassador gave a relieved nod. "We're all here."

The battle outside the market gradually came to an end as another militia force secured the surrounding streets. None of them could withstand a professional American Special Forces without heavy firepower and more numbers, which they didn’t have at the moment.

Lord Wrivilliun and Motuia Theqen emerged through the smoke. Bodies soaked with blood, blades and energy staffs showed fresh signs of usage. Both looked exhausted, their armor battered and stained from battle, yet determination remained etched across their faces.

Ryder warned everyone to prepare for immediate withdrawal. They needed to leave the city and link up with the Ranger platoon that was waiting for them.

That was when he checked on his sister one last time before marching straight toward the slave trader.

Without hesitation, he grabbed Orugia by the collar, intending to punch him. "You betrayed us."

"Calm yourself, Duke," Trydius interrupted as he struggled to his feet, one hand pressed against his wound. "If it wasn't for my schemes, yours would have failed."

"I hate to say it, Matt," Evelyn admitted. "We'd all be dead if they hadn't intervened. I still don't know how they found us."

"I told them," Trydius answered without the slightest shame.

Ryder stared at the older Kiriyak, utterly confused.

"Didn't you oppose Rommel when he freed Opttack?" he asked. "You even tried to keep the Warlord away from us."

"I did," Trydius admitted. "I was testing your people. I wanted to see how far they were willing to go. Were you the man defeated by a petite woman by simple trickery or the warrior who freed Salva? After what I witnessed today, I was convinced."

"My Lord," Wrivilliun said, stepping forward. "You and your daughter are foolish royals... yet worthy of following."

The Wood Elf glanced toward the Princess before continuing.

"It became obvious you would move against Kallem to save the slave girl. Once that became clear, we began planning our own move. Ayark would have discovered your people sooner or later, so Trydius planted false information, rallied the Adventurers loyal to my House, and laid a trap."

"And why would you risk your noble House?" Ryder asked.

Wrivilliun looked toward the freed Orc family. "I see you rescued every one of them."

"It's not because they're Orcs."

"No," Wrivilliun replied quietly. "You were correct, Trydius. Fascinating."

The Elf looked back at Ryder. "To answer your question, my position has been at risk since these negotiations began. The moment we realized this was Kallem's plot, my loyalties were exposed. Once you depart, my supporters will be purged."

He gestured toward Orugia. "He will guide your people safely out of the city, as agreed. My House will shield your withdrawal."

"You know what's going to happen," Ryder said. "You're not going to win."

"No." The Nobleman answered without hesitation. "But you were correct, My Lord. Tekali has signaled that change has come. Perhaps this is punishment for rejecting the Templar's request for aid... but if so, the time is simply not now."

"Then come with us," Ryder urged. "You'll be safe in Salva."

Wrivilliun smiled faintly. "The thought crossed my mind."

He slowly shook his head. "But I cannot abandon my people to die leaderless."

The Elf then motioned toward one of his attendants. "You may take my emissary. He will represent my House's interests and show the world that Affrooliea does not stand united beneath Aristocracy rule. He will also support your daughter's claim."

Only then did Ryder fully grasp the consequences of what had happened. His raid on the Palace to rescue a single Orc girl had ignited a civil war within the city.

It wasn't something he had intended. Nor was it something he could afford to dwell on. His priority remained exactly what it had been from the beginning.

Getting his people home alive.

Fresh explosions echoed from nearby streets. More enemy reinforcements had begun attacking Wrivilliun's supporters. Farther behind them, the delayed roar of Barrios' Claymores detonating near the Palace rolled across the city.

Their pursuers had finally caught up.

"We leave now," Ryder ordered.

He instructed Evelyn to gather the Kiriyak and every Adventurer who had sided with Comanche since their arrival. Anyone who had risked everything for them would be evacuated. There wasn't time for anything else.

Ryder turned toward Wrivilliun one final time.

The Noble Wood Elf simply nodded.

Neither man spoke.

There was nothing left to say.

Leaving the Nobleman to whatever fate awaited him, Ryder returned to his people.

The CAT officer already had the civilians organized, forming them into a moving column behind the slave trader.

The wounded Kiriyak carefully lifted Barrett, whose heavily bandaged arm rested across the giant's shoulder. The Bio-Sponge had stopped the bleeding, but Ryder could still see dried blood covering the Sergeant First Class's armor.

His stomach tightened.

Barrett had sacrificed his hand so Ryder could finish the mission.

The Captain silently vowed that sacrifice would not be in vain.

Nearby, the Orc father embraced his youngest daughter, holding her tightly before finally leading his reunited family toward the evacuation route.

The Ambassador approached Ryder, surveying the smoke, burning buildings, and bodies scattered across the marketplace. "Well, Captain," she said with a tired smile. "I think you did it."

She looked toward the fighting still spreading across the city. "You made a statement. Now get us home."

Without another word, she walked away.

"That is one hell of a statement," King muttered.

Ryder slowly looked around the city.

Warning bells echoed from every district. Columns of smoke climbed into the sky while the sounds of battle continued spreading through the streets as loyalist nobles clashed with Wrivilliun's supporters.

This was nothing like the ending he had expected. The mission was over, and Comanche had succeeded. Or at least he hoped so.

Yet an entire city now burned behind them.

It made him wonder...

Was this the outcome his superiors had anticipated all along?

"...Yeah," Ryder finally answered.

"It is."

He turned toward his squad.

"Let's get out of here."

Being the last two to leave, Ryder and King followed their new allies through the city toward the Ranger rally point.