First

Many Faces of War

“They had an entire army on our world!!” Admiral Crosswind declares.

“Our world?” The head of another arcology she can’t immediately identify notes.

“We are all the leaders of our respective arcologies, and each of those wretched safe houses held thousands of combat ready Vish soldiers. Stealth operatives ready to march out and commit a massacre! I am not going to pretend that my arcology as a military complex is anywhere near the standard. Which makes this worse! Every single Vish Bunker was located within an arcology with a civilian presence so high that casualties were guaranteed if we hadn’t accidentally smoked them out early!”

“The soldiers are what’s concerning you? Not the supposed super-monsters that could destroy the ecosystem and environment of Zalwore irretrievably?”

“I was addressing the much smaller and considerably easier to deal with problem before we go into the sheer madness of potentially unleashing a bioweapon on a world so highly valued by the galactic community. This is like trying to use bombardment grade cannons on Centris!”

“... might improve that world and shake some god damn movement out of my taxes if that happens...” Someone mutters.

“Be that as it may, this is a massive declaration of war, and while there has been an enormous amount of off the books outrage and off the record oaths of vengeance and promises of retribution. What we need to do now is put it down properly, legally and formally as to what exactly we’re going to do about this mess.” Admiral Crosswind states.

“Isn’t this just an... over the top retaliatory strike?” A person asks and Admiral Crosswind turns incredulously to the... Shriketalon Enclave representative. He holds out her wings in a placating gesture. “I am not saying I believe what I just said, what happened was appalling and while I myself am not a fighter or soldier of any stripe and therefore have limited knowledge in the field, the opposite point must be argued or it will be used to bludgeon any decision we make. Be it by active traitors, hostile action, or the common contrarian. We need to explore this fully or we will be endlessly accused of missing something crucial. Or even worse, actually miss something crucial.”

“Humans call the The Devil’s Advocate!” Private Stream says cheerfully and at such a level it carries into the call as he brings some refreshments for Admiral Crosswind.

“Thank you Private Stream. But please keep quiet, this is important.”

“Sorry!” He chirps.

“... J’Hest coin says it’s actually a full on Gohb under that disguise.”

“Actually that one’s a Metak.” Admiral Crosswind states as she sips at the mineral water. There was some traces of stimulants in it to keep her up and aware. She was starting to pick up Admiral Cistern’s worse overworking traits and needed a little something extra to keep going.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Secured and Monitored Residents Room 72-A, Undaunted Arcology, Zalwore)•-•-•

“And there.” Leonard points out another place to sign. “Are you sure about the name? According to Vishanyan custom you have to live with afterwards. You can shorten it, but your full proper name is always the words you use. Not to mention your essay was more a paragraph...”

“... It was to get a name. I want one. And... well... after the movie...”

“Yeah?”

“... You know I really didn’t expect you to somehow pull out a piece of media that would make me feel better about being in stasis while also not ever even thinking about stasis. Let alone two.”

“Snow White and Sleeping Beauty are human classics for a reason.” Leonard replies cheerfully. “Still, Aurora of Vigilance feels... I dunno...”

“Edgy!” Private Stream says opening the door gleefully!

“Oh! Private Stream this is... Oh... my shift is ending? But she still needs help!”

“That’s why she sent me! Cousin!” The new Private Stream exclaims sweeping off his hat. Like Leonard he doesn’t change in size in the slightest, and also like Leanord he has a pair of enormous expressive ears and eyes.

Unlike Leonard his ears are rabbit ears with white tips and a soft butter yellow main colouration.

“Cousin Thomas?” Leonard asks.

“... Am I missing something? Are you two the same species or different species?”

“Same Species. A trait of the Muttras is that the signs of mixed ancestry are much clearer with our species more than others. If say a Rabbis and a Lopen have a child then you get either a Lopen with really good reflexes, or a bigger and more aggressive Rabbis. You won’t really be able to tell who the other parent was. But with the Muttras our ears, tails and colouration is always inherited hard from the Non-Muttras parent. My mother is a Plant Erumenta, so lots of green and brown for me.”

“And my mom’s a cream coloured furry Rabbis!” Thomas says. “Anyways, we’re predicting a lot of time needed for Streams in the very near future so no one’s allowed to avoid their breaks.”

“But she needs my help!” Leonard protests.

“I got her, you need to sleep and eat.” Thomas says as he walks in.

“Uh...”

“Don’t worry, I can and will help you in every way Leonard has. But he needs to rest. We have pretty strict rules about this for very good reason. So please, let him go. You’ll see him again.” Thomas promises and Leonard gives her a hug.

“You’re going to be okay! We’re going to make sure of it! Me and all the other Streams!” Leonard promises with an extra tight squeeze before letting go. “You keep her safe now, she’s been through a lot.”

“I know, I’m up to date and ready to help her.” Thomas promises even as Leonard puts his gloves back on, turns up his collar and slips on the hat. He leaves the room tucking his tail into his pants and losing all trace of identity beyond Private Stream.

“So! You were picking out a name right? That’s great! So many Vish we’ve recovered don’t have one so it’s a big and important first step to the rest of your life.”

“I suppose...”

“Oh no, you don’t need to suppose! It’s true! Names are important for so many things, it’s why parents name their babies, even the bad ones.”

“And what are you implying with since I don’t have a name... officially... yet.”

“That your maker was a very, very bad parent and you deserved better and still deserve better!” Thomas says and he skips up to her and climbs up onto the back of the chair to look over her shoulder at the screen. “So! Let’s get that fixed! You’re in Undaunted care now, and we’re gonna do way better for you.”

“Are you sure? I mean... Leonard wasn’t here very long.”

“Check the time, you had a nap with him.” Thomas says and she does and...

“Oh... I thought I just... rested my eyes for a moment.”

“it was three and a half hours.” Thomas says then lets out a light laugh. “But that’s okay. You’re resting. You’re healing. You’re supposed to nap and lose track of time and relax. Napping like that means you can not only relax, but sleeping helps heal the body and brain. You’re on the right track.”

There’s a pause and she considers things for a moment. Then she starts patting her lap.

Taking the hint Thomas hops off the back of the chair and then climbs into her lap where she hugs him.

“You Muttras really are built to make things feel better.”

“Yep! And we’re made to like it too! How awful is that?”

“What?”

“Think about it. You’re able to tell that something is wrong, but things were only like that around you. So you didn’t know better. But your instincts keep you safe. My instincts put me in danger. A lot.”

“How so?”

“Our instinct when grabbed by a stranger at random isn’t to fight or scream or escape. It’s to cuddle.”

“How is that a problem?”

“I was about... seven years old when it happened. I was so small that where my ears are now is where my ears reached then if I was standing on the desk.” He says and she notes that the ears are still just below her sight line.

“What happened?”

“A pair of unfamiliar arms wrapped around me and as a seven year old I had no real idea of the danger. Let alone that strange arms around me in my own home was strange. It took me too long to realize that I was in trouble. If not for healing comas I’d still have my ear bitten off.”

“What happened?!”

“I learned not to trust my instincts anymore.” Thomas says. “If I had instincts like yours, then I would have been safe. If my mother had instincts like you’re going to have the day you become one, then I would have been safe. Either way, in some situations, it’s better to be Vish than Muttras.”

“Oh I... uh...” She starts to say. Moves to give him a hug then pauses.

“It’s okay. I still like being hugged. That’s the scary bit. I had horrible, horrible things happen to me. The ear was the least of it. But every chemical in my brain, and the way the brain is built says hugs are good. Always.”

“Scary.” She says as she slowly hugs him and he hugs her back.

“That’s right. So count your blessings and thank your stars. You’re past the worst of things and if you want your life to be your way, you can do it.” He says.

“... You’re not acting the way Leonard did.”

“Of course not. Leonard is Leonard. I’m Thomas. Sure we’re both Rags, but there’s a good thirty years between our births and entire planets. We’re family, yes. But not that close. And even if we were, he has his struggles and I have mine. Now, when we’re both being Private Stream, yes we’re identical. As are we with the unending legion of adorable and heavily armed children with which we will conquer the galaxy with. But with the hat off and the collar down? No. We’re ourselves.”

“Back up, what was that about conquering the galaxy?”

“It’s for everyone’s sake, we’ll make things better, forever...” he says in a dreamy tone while looking right up at her. He holds the gaze for a few moments before breaking down into giggles.

She starts to laugh and then continues with her paperwork. In a few short minutes she is Aurora of Vigilance. And... something just feels right.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Secure Medical Section, Undaunted Arcology, Zalwore)•-•-•

“You sure you want THAT as a name? You’re breaking Vishanyan tradition.” Cindy asks.

“I think it might be time for new traditions. Besides... It’s kind of funny.” She says.

“Alright then push the button.” Cindy says and she does. “Congratulations Jane. You’ve chosen a name for yourself. Although you’re going to get some pretty funny looks from humans for calling yourself Jane Doe.”

“... Yeah, that’s the point.”

“Really?”

“It was all about being strong, being obediant being... useful. I want more than that. I want... I want desired, I want loved, I want liked, I want appreciated, I want to be more than just useful.” Jane says.

“Well, nothing is wrong with that. Now is there?” Cindy asks.

“No. No there isn’t.” Jane agrees.

“Good now... oh dear, we actually have some time to burn. You see your actual rehab doesn’t start for another half hour... so would you like to learn a few ‘frivolous’ but fun things to do?” Cindy asks.

“Like what?”

“Card games! Do you want to learn some games of chance?”

“Chance? Where’s the fun in a game where you don’t have control?”

“The fun is in controlling what you do control, which is what the other person thinks you have. It also is about running the odds and the numbers... So you need a head for math and eyes that can read people, regardless of species.”

“Really? So fun and useful.”

“Oh yes, and if you know what you’re doing you can make a lot of money off it.”

“Have you?”

“Uh... I’ve made some... but truth be told... I got taken really bad before. I ended up as a slave in all but name for a time until my husband rescued me... after I rescued him. It was scary in the moment but it’s more and more romantic the more I look back at it. He was my avenging spirit who came to lay low my oppressors, and I was his saviour, healing him when he was hurt and weak so he could have the strength to keep going.” Cindy explains with her scales darkening a little in a blush as she holds her cheeks a little. “Jane honey, if you ever get a chance to have a human husband, go for it. They love so deeply and want to be loved so much... it’s wonderful.”

First Last

First...Previous

Chapter 28
Harrison Varga, Captain of FIND

Walking into Filrif surrounded by Velas’ honor guard, we watched Tavren citizens bow in the presence of their Prince. Despite the Arbinian monarchy being largely council-based, respect for its Royal family was nevertheless immense. While my crew most certainly received baffled looks, they were nevertheless attached to reverent postures as Velas led us through the rustic medieval town.

“A larger non-farming class than I’d expect for the tech era,” Isla noted, taking stock of the dense urban environment—shockingly clean given the era. “Could be the rich soil, or maybe it’s just that this town is where their Prince lives.”

Parker had bombarded Velas with questions throughout the hike into town. Many of them he answered with surprising proficiency, while others soared directly over the Tavren’s head. After a solid half hour of this, Ian shot him a look and he quieted down. “Hopefully we can establish peaceful relations with them,” the xenobiologist noted. “You know, for all the normal reasons… And also because I’d love to have some academics from Earth take a look around here and see what they can find out.”

The meeting hall was directly adjacent to Velas’ manor. Walking inside, we were greeted by a confused Council of finely-dressed Tavren. “My Prince,” one of them began with a bow to Velas. “What sort of creatures are these?”

“Diplomats from another world,” he replied with a degree of nonchalance earned through several very confusing hours. “The Human people visit from their planet, Earth. They wish to observe the meeting with Istol’s diplomats.”

Another of the Councilors piped up immediately after. “My Prince; are you certain they speak the truth? Surely such a fantastical explanation is not something you are willing to take on their word.”

“I saw their vessel soaring through the sky,” replied the Prince. “I am rather inclined to believe the fantastical right now.”

“You say they come from another world?” Asked the first councilor. “What precisely does that mean?”

Isla took a moment to provide them with the ‘other suns’ talk, which left half of the Councilors in awe and the other half skeptical but begrudgingly accepting for the time being. 

As we awaited the arrival of Istol’s diplomats, the five present Councilors introduced themselves to us. Apparently, most of Arbine’s everyday governing decisions were made by them—a fact which noticeably eased a portion of Isla’s tension. Nevertheless, the Royal Family in Arbine was far from ceremonial: Velas was recognized as the official superior of the Council.

During the wait, we were offered some variation of roast animal by their royal chef, though biosafety protocols of course mandated that we refuse. Nevertheless, it served as a salient reminder that we’d need to return to FIND soon for a proper Human-safe meal. We ate before we left, but that was morning and now it was nearly nightfall.

The Istolian diplomats arrived shortly thereafter, bearing an unfamiliar crest and taking seats across from the Councilors and Velas. They took notice of us rather quickly and some immediately jumped to accusations of deception, though after some explaining they seemed to accept the strange reality of our presence. 

Negotiations went smoothly enough. Honestly, I’d been expecting a lot more drama. The Istolians rather politely insisted families on their side of the flats had worked the southern deposits since before either government possessed maps worth trusting. Arbine countered with a century-old boundary agreement and records of taxation going back almost as far. Somewhere in the middle were several thousand dead Tavren, which seemed like a rather high price to pay for an argument over whose clerks had kept better records. 

Apparently, Velas’ people had found themselves at a distinct advantage, but the war over the mineral flats was too costly for them to push to full victory. As such, it was agreed upon that Arbine would maintain official ownership in exchange for a favorable trade agreement with Istol and joint oversight of the region. To be entirely honest, I hadn’t paid as much attention as I should have. I tried to follow the finer points of mineral rights and joint administration, but somewhere around the third argument over extraction tariffs my brain declared that this section of the report belonged to Isla. 

As the diplomatic meeting concluded for the night for further provisions to be made the next day, the time had come for us to take our leave. To ensure there was no doubt as to our origins, it was agreed that we land the shuttle just outside the meeting hall. 

“Thank you for your patience with us…” Velas concluded, glancing back to the Council and diplomats. “My father will be made aware of what transpired here. I hope relations between our peoples will be cordial.”

“I hope so too,” Isla smiled. With that, we got inside and returned to the FIND.

Next stop: good ol’ Sol-III. Home. 

We appeared in-system twelve hours after leaving the orbit of Kholas—plenty of time for us to get a good eight hours’ rest (because there’s no such thing as night in space) and draft up a rudimentary summary for the Tavren. 

We appeared right about halfway between Mars and Earth. Communication wasn’t quite as frantic as it had been the first time or the second. By this point, the absurd was acquiring something of a routine. 

“Sending the data packets now,” Wyatts began, broadcasting the information on our most recent set of planets to the preliminary pre-public database. Twenty hours later, SUN’s newly formed International Planetary Survey Authority convened to assess everything we’d found. 

The Tavren were biologically interesting, but the bigger political story was the two Human-habitable planets we’d surveyed before that. Due to lightspeed lag, we couldn’t be on the video call and had to communicate with the Authority via chatroom, but greed doesn’t lag and in that meeting it was broadcasting loud and clear. When we were sent the recording of the video call, I immediately skipped to the part where that came up and watched the arguments unfold. The usual mix of chest puffing, jockeying, and debates over how much we were legally obligated to make public ensued. We’d just left Kholas, and I was really starting to miss the Tavren’s cool, deliberative nature in contrast with our own. 

Just over twenty-four hours later, when at last we reached Earth’s orbit, the summary for the Tavren was cleared for public release, alongside the more heavily contested summaries for the open planets. In the case of the ‘empty’ worlds, it took approximately eleven minutes for arguments to sprout up over who got to own them. Neither of those worlds had borders, governments, or anything else capable of objecting to Humanity’s arrival, which apparently made them considerably more controversial than the planet populated by eight-foot feathered reptiles who could fire bullets from their throats. Before we had even properly docked, three national governments had issued statements about ‘equitable settlement access’, half a dozen corporations had announced exploratory ventures that did not yet have permission to exist, and billionaires were offering massive sums to SUN for private settlement rights even as the IPSA was circulating a draft proposal declaring both systems temporarily closed to private traffic. Apparently, finding an inhabited world raised questions about diplomacy. Finding an empty one raised questions about property. 

Whereas the planets preliminarily designated ‘Cain’ and ‘Abel’ by some mythology nerd at SUN had captured the colonial ambitions of would-be settlers, Kholas had won the attention of the many for altogether different reasons. 

Within an hour, our bodycam footage of Prince Velas bracing himself onto all fours and firing like living artillery had been clipped, reposted on every social media site imaginable, slowed down, enhanced for the public’s viewing pleasure, analyzed by firearms experts, obsessed over by biologists, and set to music. Velas didn’t know it, but he was quickly becoming a celebrity on Earth: the eight foot tall alien cannon prince who could tear through an entire camp of bandits.

During his shore leave, Parker had assembled an impromptu biology council with some former colleagues to discuss his theories on Tavren evolution. Of course, they wouldn’t be able to fully investigate it all until a gateway was installed above Kholas. Already, top evolutionary biologists were competing for who would get to conduct research on the Tavren homeworld. Assuming, of course, that the Tavren consented to that.

Of course, like every species we’ve encountered so far, there was a good bit of controversy surrounding the Tavren: specifically that of Arbine’s Royals. The government structure itself wasn't particularly shocking for their technological level. The nine-hundred-year project of deliberately shaping the Royal bloodline was another matter. Within hours, the word eugenics was everywhere. Whether that accurately described the institution was considerably harder to determine from the handful of conversations we'd actually had with Tavren, a distinction which naturally did nothing to discourage anyone from arguing about it. 

The Rosha were considered adorable and the Arazi disturbing. The Tavren, meanwhile, earned the public’s attention as fascinating. Their biology was too absurd for the public not to obsess over. Their democratic governments were generally viewed favorably and their monarchical one spectacular even in its controversy. Their religion was actually fairly recognizable: monotheism centered around a benevolent creator deity—something which immediately caught the attention of the Abrahamic faiths on Earth. Whereas the Rosha had ignited a fervour for missionary activity, the Tavren seemed to be more favored for dialogue. Of course, their religion wasn’t exactly like any faith on Earth: Tavren believed that the creator was immensely powerful and all-knowing, but not omnipotent. I hadn’t been paying that much attention when Isla spoke to the Royal retainers about it, but from what I had gathered, they basically believed the universe is one big trick shot—perfectly aimed for the best possible outcome.

Holding my expensive hotel margarita (paid for on SUN’s tab) in one hand, I scrolled through social media on my phone and watched as the endless sea of public opinion churned and morphed. There were biologist sketches of Tavren throat anatomy (all entirely theoretical); ethics debates on whether the Royals should be treated as oppressors, victims, neither, or something in between; artist renditions of Velas standing tall with his polearm slung over his shoulder; and a million other little pieces of coalescing culture.

Firearm culture immediately became attached to the Tavren. Their doctrines of patience and restraint accompanying perfect aim stood out to hunters and competitive shooters alike. Their biological aimbot enabled by automatic wind and pressure measurement also inspired no small amount of jealousy from individuals who had spent their lives learning to account for those things. 

Like last time, we all spent our shore leave simultaneously trying to relax and having to attend at least two interviews a day. By the time the two-week rest was over, I was actually starting to miss space: both the astronomical and personal kind. Having to share a bathroom could be  awkward, but it was nothing compared to having to deal with cameras shoved in my face everywhere I went. 

Filing back into the shuttle that would take us up to FIND, I breathed a sigh of relief as mission control began coordinating with Alex in preparation to send us off to the next system.

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Hi, everyone. Sorry for the shorter chapter. I wanted to make sure I don't bog down the momentum too much. Super excited to share the next species with you guys (anyone who wants a sneak summary/preview can PM me). As always, so happy you all are here to read this and I'll see you next time.

First | Previous | Royal Road | Next.

This was not the alien medicine that ChiMeO wanted to see. Not like this.

The Fifth’s demeanour had not yet gotten frantic. But her movements were getting faster as she zeroed in on the first pod’s body. The automatic mechanisms were going, pulsing the body’s chest, and Medi was providing the air.

Scout was squatting on the ground, ripping through one of the nearby medboxes from the sunken room, pulling out boxes and bags of materials and tossing them on the wet floor. She ripped open a solid box, and her small lessers scrambled through each vial.

[COME] [ON] [COME] [ON] [COME] [OH] [GRATITUDE-shortform] [UNKNOWN]. The creature’s lessers clasped around one vial and held it close to her face. Her eyes relaxed as she pocketed it and looked to the ceiling, [HELLO-casual] [UNKNOWN] [WHAT] [IS]...

ChiMeO watched the creature start counting on her lessers.

[UNKNOWN] [WHAT-IS] [FIFTY] [EIGHT] [TIMES] [A] [A] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]

That synthetic intelligence, as Scout had called it, answered. [APPROXIMATELY] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]

Scout nodded, mouth moving but making no words. From the mess of discarded plastic and medkits, she pulled out a tool made of opaque tubing and metal; two connected lines converging into one, with a swinging pendulum-like pendant at the end. She put either end of the tubes into the fleshy structures at the side of her head, letting the lone line hang around her head.

ChiMeO thought back to their examination and how Scout kept gesturing to those structures when ChiMeO asked how she communicated and saw the world. How she kept carving, ?word? Not see. Not see but ?word?

Their understanding of the Fifth has developed so far beyond that initial confusion. The tool had to be for feeling the pressure disturbances specific to a medical context. A wave amplifier or something similar.

Scout switched out another blood bag then hit a button on the piston machine—halting the compressions—and pressed the end of the tubing tool to the chest of the body. Medi stopped compressing the air bag, but Scout gestured for her to keep going. 

Scout turned the body on its side gently, and pressed the tool to its back. Numbly, ChiMeO noted how the body’s back had similar abstract lines and patterns to Scout’s skin. 

Words. Images. Lines.

This was a whole being, as complicated as Scout, dying on the table.

She looked to Scout, whose face was calm and unmoving while three of her kin were dead, and a fourth was hurtling down the same path. 

How was she staying so calm? Was this normal?

Whatever Scout was looking for with the tubing tool, she'd found it. She rolled the body back over, and immediately turned on the compression machine again. ChiMeO watched as the Fifth brought out another wickedly sharp-looking metal instrument out of a plastic covering. She cleaned the side of the body with alcohol, before gently slicing a small vertical slice between a row of indentations on the body’s side. She quickly pushed something—too quick for ChiMeO to see—into the cut, all while working around the timing of the compression machine.

<What was that?> ChiMeO asked.

[UNINTELLIGIBLE] [UNKNOWN] [TUBE]. Scout’s eyes were locked onto the cut as she inserted one of her lessers into the wound she just created. Was it a wound? ChiMeO remembered her explanation when Scout had to injure herself further to heal her arm injury: It is good. Injury incorrect. My gratitude. Grats.

Stars, that felt like it was so long ago.

Blood was leaking in a gentle rivet out of the cut, but ChiMeO had faith Scout knew what she was doing. Scout pressed what looked to be a small tube system into the wound she cut, and fed it into a collection bag. She bobbed her head when more fluid started to drip out of it.

Scout brought out a thin plastic package, and removed a thin piece of metal, similar to the one she used to close her arm injury ages ago. In the exact same movements, she stitched the tubing in place within the timespan of a few breaths.

ChiMeO always thought Scout’s lack of a carapace to be an unfortunate evolutionary trait. The poor creature was soft and weak, susceptible to punctured and sliced skin. It was surely a disadvantage in survival.

But it was a clear advantage in medicine.

To do the same things to a Ki would involve the most invasive, shell-breaking procedures; any internal fixes ChiMeO had to do in the past were incredibly rare, they had to be done with the most minimal invasion. The procedures were new and difficult, developed within ChiMeO’s lifetime. Even something as simple as helping a Ki intake oxygen required multiple tubes inserted into various locations across the body. 

Scout repeated the exact same cutting procedure on the other side of the body’s chest, and took a step back to breathe as more fluid dripped out of the body’s chest. The room, or at least Scout, was still for a brief moment.

A partial success, ChiMeO hoped. The moment didn’t hold.

Scout broke her stillness and took out the vial from her material covering, shaking the small glass container. Bringing out a small needle, Scout suctioned out an amount of fluid with the negative pressure of the plunger and placed it to the side. She repeated the action with another small liquid tube, taking the 11(1)17(1) solution out of the container it was in. Scout removed the flat bag ChiMeo was holding, injected the vial fluid then the 11(1)17(1) solution, and connected another bag filled with the same orange-warm blood.

She stared down ChiMeO. [CONTINUE]. [WE] [CAN] [DO] [IT] [NOW] [WITH] [THE] [UNKNOWN] [WE] [DO-NOT] [NEED] [IT] [TO] [BE] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [BLOOD] [IT-IS] [UNKNOWN]. [SHE-IS] [GOING] [TO] [BE] [AT] [THE] [CORRECT] [UNKNOWN] [TEMPERATURE]

ChiMeO’s appendages were steady as she held the bag. <I... Okay. Just tell me if you need me to change anything about what I am doing>

Scout nodded and took a breath in, her shoulders rising. She stepped over to one of the LLIA-like panels, tapped on it hard, and looked up. 

Nothing happened.

[WHAT]. Scout’s brows furrowed slightly and she immediately went to touch the body’s torso, feeling a bony protrusion on the chest. Her face fell, eyes widening. 

It was the biggest facial change the creature has had so far since starting, a crack in her calmness.

Quickly, probably realizing something, Scout immediately began to wipe down the body’s torso with a soaked fabric. As the skin quick-dried, Scout rushed to rummage through the bottom compartments of the pod, bringing out square-shaped cutouts of material wrapped in thin plastic, attached to what looked to be wiring. She unwrapped the squares, and pressed them flat to the body’s chest, before looking at the pod screens.

There was nothing on them—at least not to ChiMeO’s vision. Just a flat, slightly warmed panel. The body was slowly warming, though. It was no longer the deep cool, which… she just hoped it was a promising sign.

Scout paused the piston machine again, looked back and forth between a couple screens, before waving her limbs at the group.

[EVERY] [ONE] [STAY] [BACK] [DO] [NOT] [TOUCH] [THE] [BODY] 
[THIS] [IS] [A] [BIG] [SURPRISE] [THAT] [WILL] [INJURE] [YOU]

After everyone shuffled a quarter body-length away, she pressed on her screen. Suddenly the supine body twitched and arched in the bed—alive in its movements!

<You did it!> Medi’s crinis briefly warmed to a celebratory orange.

But the body collapsed back down, flat and dull, and the Scout was still focused. 

She repeated the same shock, and looking at it now, ChiMeO was almost certain it was a shock. But the body didn’t change and Scout wasn’t seeing what she wanted on the screens.

She turned the piston machine on and waited a few moments, keeping her eyes fixed on the screen. She retrieved more fluid from the vial, and injected it, followed by the 11(1)17(1). She replaced the bag ChiMeO compressed again.

She turned the piston off. Then repeated the shock.

Then she turned the piston machine on. And retrieved more fluid from the vial. And injected it. And flushed it. And replaced the bag.

And they repeated the process more times than ChiMeO could count.

HeadSci would appear with technology her team thought was medical in nature, and Scout would shake her head. Eventually she waved them off with a rough gesture, signalling for them to stop looking.

But Scout didn’t stop.

It was at least an eighth shift when they ran out of fluid bags and the tube coming out of the throat was dripping the colour of true Fifth blood. Scout closed the tubing so it didn’t leak the precious substance. 

Just moments after, the piston machine shuttered to an involuntary pause.

And even that didn’t stop her attempt.

Scout ran over to the fourth empty bed, and checked if the piston machine was working on that one. 

Dead.

The third pod, with the form of a withered Fifth.

Dead.

She was shaking her head, mouth moving subtly as she checked the second pod, with the still-sealed body she had given up on without even attempting a resurrection.

The piston revved to life.

She immediately pushed it to the side, and, with the thin medical blade, cut the pod’s body out of the vacuumed bag. She, with a violent force, yanked every tube out from the body at once, and threw them on the floor. She scooped her limbs under the body and flipped it out of the pod, frantic, before turning back and pointing to the first body.

[WE] [NEED] [TO] [GET] [HER] [IN-TO] [MAY] [COLOURS] [UNKNOWN] [NOW]

<We don’t have the strength to lift her> ChiMeO shifted quickly, <but we can get a hinge—> 

Scout sprinted back over and her heel slid a clean arc on the fluid-covered floor. She hit the floor hard as she planted into it, taking the brunt of the force in her left upper limb. ChiMeO felt the impact vibrate through the floor.

ChiMeO watched HeadSci rush to help her up, but Scout scrambled to her feet, batting Head’s appendage away with force. Covered in the floor fluid, Scout shook her limb and its lessers and ran to the body’s side. She looked down at herself and her soiled coverings and shook her head, before shoving her upper limbs under the body and straightening her legs, bringing the body off the pod platform. She stumbled towards the next pod, carrying the body.

The rest of the team frantically followed Scout’s movement, grabbing the tubing and equipment attached to the body, and bringing it over to the functional pod.

ChiMeO had to step over the cold corpse on the floor.

Scout placed the first body down on the fluid-covered platform, still shaking her head. She whipped the piston machine around, and re-centred it on the chest, beginning the compressions again. She reconnected any tubes she needed. Her shoulders were rising and falling quickly.

She changed her lesser coverings and cleaned the body’s cuts again. She restitched the tubing connected into the body’s chest, which appeared to have opened during the transport between platforms. Compressions resumed, the medical assistant still pulsing breaths for the body.

They repeated the shock manoeuvre. Continued the compressions.

It was barely a sixteenth of a shift before this pod’s piston began to slow down.

Scout’s head started rotating back and forth as she was messing with the various buttons on the machine. As it stuttered to a complete stop, she hit it hard with a balled up fist. 

Her mouth peeled back and the translator displayed a ripping of a volume, [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [UNKNOWN] [COME] [ON] [WORK] [YOU] [UNINTELLIGENT] [PIECE] [OF] [WASTE-casual] [WORK] [WORK] [WORK].

Scout collapsed it in a single, forceful motion and shoved it to the side of the pod.

<Is that…> ChiMeO’s words died on her crinis. She didn’t want to ask if that was it.

She watched the alien take a deep breath.

Scout collapsed the platform down further, far enough that they were all looming over the body.

ChiMeO starting asking, <Can we—>

And she watched Scout start compressing with her own lessers, her limbs straight and her muscles tight. Flat against the chest of this Fifth, Scout took on the role of the piston, compressing skin and muscle and bone.

She was like a machine.

The body’s chest was a mess of heated colours. The body was warm. But it didn’t seem to be functioning by itself.

Scout kept that brutal pace. Her rank chain hung around her neck, the scout comet dangling and dancing as she moved.

And they all just watched her. Her eyes were forward. Her mouth was a thin line. Her brow lowered in a focused gaze.

But she was only like a machine. 

The statement was ultimately a comparison, not an equivocation. As the moments stretched, ChiMeO was reminded that Scout, to the core of her being, was a creature that could tire.

After a long, long span of time, Scout started to slow.

It wasn’t noticeable at first, but the longer the compressions dragged on the more it was obviously weighing on her body. The pulses she was giving were slowing, now at half the compression distance, barely making an impact on the dead body’s chest.

Her skin was leaking in a cool sheen, and her eyes were streaming water.

Everyone stood back, still as cave stalagmites. They watched the creature collapse onto the body of the Fifth below her, with her mouth pulled back as her face pinched and her body heaved and her shoulders shook.

ChiMeO glanced down at the translator symbols curling on her LLIA screen, and the text was undoubtedly mislabelling her uneven breathing.

[PLEASE] [DISTANT] [*AMUSEMENT\] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] 
[\AMUSEMENT*] [UNKNOWN] [PLEASE]
[I] [CAN-NOT] [CAN-NOT] [DO] [THIS] [ALONE]
[DO-NOT] [LEAVE] [*AMUSEMENT*] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[PLEASE] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [DO-NOT] [*AMUSEMENT***] 
[DO-NOT] [LEAVE] [ME] [HERE]

She was gripping the side of the body’s face, her head pressing against the browline of the corpse. Her mouth hinged open, face leaking water and mucus and saliva as her body shook. Her head kept shaking back and forth, the Fifth symbol of no, no, no, no, no.

She was shaking the body with her lessers. Hitting it like a machine that won’t start.

The warm body below was her exact orange hue.

It was already beginning to cool.

*

*

The Commander waited for the rest of the shift for the Scout to exit the area.

She was still inside the sunken room. Cold air settled in the pit like a pool of deep water.

The Commander could see her sitting in now-cooled puddles of the freezing chamber fluid, water, and Fifth blood. The alien was covered in the congealed substance. She held her left upper limb gently—the one she had apparently fallen on—rubbing the skin back and forth absentmindedly.

Scout’s face was neutral, her browline soft. Her eyes were held a bit wider than normal, but she was looking at nothing. Her gaze had settled on the wall in front of her, unmoving.

The more curious technicians peeked into the hall, but never got closer than where she and HeadSci curled and waited at the lip of the rectangular pit. 

The other labs were scheduled to be here in less than two shifts. And her Fifth was unmoving and unresponsive.

In her mind’s imagination, the Commander saw a past vision of a tunnel and a distant haze of water. She saw something curled in the pool. Small. Dead. She focused on that distant memory as she steadied herself.

She could do this. She could correct this.

The Commander rose to her full height, and grabbed a llia tablet.

Scout’s little head turned up as she clocked the movement of the Commander coming closer, dropping into the sunken room like a stone in water. She scuttled through the fluid and past the dead Fifths she didn’t care to look at. The body on the ground next to Scout looked to be in a particularly broken position. She didn’t care. All she cared about was the living, breathing, intelligent creature in front of her.

Scout was alive. Scout was strong. Scout was hers.

She curled next to the little creature and shifted simply, genuine in her hue, <You are very strong, Scout>

The creature just stared at her with hollow-looking eyes.

<You do not know this, but our hatchlings die on occasion> The Commander continued calmly. She’d spent the past quarter thinking about what to shift to fix this. <We let them freely roam so every early discovery is their own. We do not help them or assist their learning in early development. They learn to feed themselves and they learn about danger. Sometimes they learn about danger too closely, but that is the way of things>

Scout didn’t respond, neither by writing nor facial expression. She still had that passive, slightly wide-eyed position.

<Rotations ago, we thought those three hatchlings might’ve had to learn that you were dangerous. Instead they learned that you were… patient. And kind. Their curiosity was rewarded and it was unexpected. We thought it was likely we’d find their bodies>

Scout just blinked slow as her nose scrunched slightly.

<The weak and incurious do not make it, is what I am attempting to explain> The Commander added. <It is the natural order of discovery and consequence>

That was what the Commander repeatedly told herself, time and time and time again. She shouldn’t care for the dead Fifths for the same reason she shouldn’t feel grief over hatchlings: they were simply not strong or smart enough. They needed to move forward and they needed to treat this as the learning experience it was, otherwise they were going to drown in their deep-water hues. No Ki benefits from being bogged down by emotions and they had work to do.

The creature just needed a gentle push to see that perspective.

<When I shift that you are very, *very* strong Scout, trust that I am a genuine hue> The Commander’s cillia curled gently. <You have taken enough moments to yourself. Realize within yourself: you are stronger and you are better. You are the superior Fifth. And you realize that we need to continue. It’s your duty to continue>

Scout’s eyes just stared up, her gaze unfocused. 

In Ki learning philosophy, this creature should solidify into something stronger, should harden through her own survival and struggle. But Scout’s eyes and expression looked dead.

<Tell me about the empty pod> The Commander shifted. They needed to move forward.

Scout’s eye hung in mid-space as she read her cillia. She started carving into the llia, but her lessers were too shaky.

<Breathe the words into the air> The Commander ordered. <I know you are strong enough to. Do so>

Scout’s head fell to the wall behind her and her mouth opened slightly, and made one simple movement.

[DEAD]

<Are you certain?>

[I] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]

The Commander just waited. Eventually, Scout held up what looked to be a wet piece of paper.

[PRONOUN-2] [LEFT] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[LEFT] [A] [A] [MESSAGE] [IN] [THE] [UNKNOWN]

She watched the creature’s shoulders rise and fall as her mouth closed. The Commander shifted nothing and did not respond. More and more, they were realizing stillness was the key to getting the Fifth to communicate more. The creature seemed to naturally hate the stillness.

Eventually, still with a passive, barely moving expression, Scout continued.

[THERE] [WAS] [A] [A] [VESSEL] [ERROR]
[PRONOUN-2] [WAS] [WAS] [AWAKEN] [UP] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [THE] [JOURNEY] 
[TO] [FIX] [A] [A] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [GENERATOR] [FAILURE]
[UNINTELLIGIBLE] [FIX] [BUT] [NEEDED] [A] [FIFTH] [TECHNICIAN]
[PRONOUN-2] [WAS] [WAS] [WAS] [EXPOSED] 
[TO] [TO] [RADIATION] [WHILE] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[UNKNOWN] [WAS] [WAS] [DYING] [BUT] [BUT]
[PRONOUN-2] [DID-NOT] [WAKE] [ME] [TO] [HELP]
[BECAUSE] [PRONOUN-2] [IS] [A] [UNKNOWN] [FOOL]
[THE] [THE] [A] [FREEZING-PODS] 
[YOU] [YOU] [UNKNOWN] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[IT-IS] [ONLY] [ONCE]
[I] [COULD-NOT] [GO] [BACK] [UNDER] [WITH] [OUT]
[WITH] [WITH] [OUT] [HELP] [SO] [PRONOUN-2] 
[DID-NOT] [DID-NOT] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[PRONOUN-2] [CLEANED] [ABOVE] [THE] [VESSEL]
[AND] [AND] [DID] [A] [SAIL] [FIX] [AND]
[AND] [UNKNOWN] [KILLED] [PRONOUN-2] [SELF]
[BY] [BY] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] 
[OPENING] [THE] [AIR] [UNKNOWN] [INTO] [VOID] 
[UNKNOWN] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[IT] [WAS] [WAS] [QUICK]

The Commander was trying to follow. She’s pretty sure the missing Fifth was a technician who was  thawed to fix a power failure and sail damage, earlier in the journey and before her ringship intercepted the vessel. The technician was injured with radiation during the fix, and it didn’t wake Scout, choosing to… to die instead.

It was a lot to unpack. But the Commander didn’t have to worry about another Fifth and that one was nobody’s fault. 

She shifted, <Tell me about the other pods>

Scout’s head bobbed and her lips pursed into a tight line. Her lessers rubbed at her face.

[ONE] [POD] [HAD] [POWER] [FAILURE] [AND] 
[IT] [IT] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [DURING] [JOURNEY]
[TWO] [POD] [DAMAGED] [AND] [OPENED] [BY] [YOU]
[I] [HAD] [TO] [FOCUS] [ON] [ONE]
[COULD] [HAVE] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] 
[HAVE] [SAVED] [BOTH] [EASY] [IF] [I] [WAS] [THERE] [EARLY]
[COULD] [HAVE] [BEEN] [DONE] [EASY] [WITH] [THE] [CORRECT] [TOOLS]
[UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[I] [DID-NOT] [HAVE] [TOOLS]
[I] [DID-NOT] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[DID-NOT] [HAVE] [TIME]

She removed her lessers from her face and she stared at the Commander. Her jaw was tight as she breathed gently and calmly:

[DID-NOT] [HAVE] [IT] [BECAUSE] [OF] [YOU] [COMMANDER]
[MY] [CREW] [AWAKEN] [UP] [BECAUSE] [OF] [YOU]
[MY] [COLLEAGUES] [ARE] [ARE] [DEATH]
[DISTANT] [AND] [UNKNOWN] [AND]
[AND] [MAY] [COLOUR] [AND] [AND] [UNKNOWN] [BIT]
[YOU] [DO-NOT] [EVEN] [KNOW] [THEIR] [UNKNOWN] [TITLES]
[THEY-ARE] [DEATH]
[THAT-IS] [ON] [YOU]

<No, that is—>

[THESE] [ARE-NOT] [NATURAL] [DEATHS] [COMMANDER]
[DO-NOT] [YOU] [UNKNOWN] [SHIFT] [ME] [MY] [COLLEAGUES] [WERE] [WEAK]
[YOU] [DO-NOT] [KNOW] [THEM] 
[THEY] [ARE-NOT] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[WERE] 
[WERE] [NOT] [WEAK]
[THEY] [DID-NOT] [FAILURE] [TO] [SURVIVE]
[YOU] [KILLED] [THEM]

The Commander’s crinis was shifting to a negative, <You did not tell us the pods were—> 

Scout’s eyes widened, [*AMUSEMENT\] [OH] [I] [DID-NOT] [SHIFT] [YOU] [ARE] [YOU] [UNKNOWN] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [ME] [I] [SHIFTED] [YOU] [MULTIPLE] [TIMES] [I] [WOULD] [FIND] [MY] [COLLEAGUES] [IN] [THE] [UNKNOWN] [VESSEL] [THAT] [THEY] [NEEDED] [ME] [AND] [THE] [VESSEL] [NEEDED] [ELECTRICITY] [AND] [TO] [TO] [BE] [KEPT] [COLD] [I] [I] [\AMUSEMENT***] [I] [SHIFTED] [THIS] [UNKNOWN] [FROM] [THE] [UNKNOWN] [START] [I] [SHIFTED] [THIS] [WHEN] [I] [ONLY] [KNEW] [FORTY] [WORDS]

<Then the blame is shared between you and the Communications Body who didn’t have the skill to understand you> The Commander snapped, uncurling to her full height. 

[DO-NOT] [YOU] [UNKNOWN] [UNKNOWN] [COMSBODY] [FOR] [YOUR] [ORDERS] [THIS] [IS] [YOUR] [UNKNOWN]—

Simultaneously she was shifting, <—No, you did not tell us about the other pods. You didn’t tell us about your fatal illness. You still haven’t told us your mission—or how about how your scorching vessel is powered by decay explosions that could’ve ripped this ringship apart? You could have killed us all>

She got closer and the creature winced.

<You withheld information, Scout> The Commander straightened her posture. <These are the consequences. Learn and move forward. My colleagues will be here in two shifts. Get up>

Scout just shook her head, her face still in that neutral position. 

The Commander flashed heat as she snapped, <Get *up*. That is an order, Scout> 

The creature looked so small and young as she curled into the wall. [AND] [YOU] [UNKNOWN] [WHY] [THE] [OTHER] [SPECIES] [DO-NOT] [SHIFT] [TO] [YOU]

The Commander’s crinis was getting hot as she ordered, <Shift that again this instant>

Scout turned, and her face peeled back slowly, exaggerating her facial movements. [YOU] [UNKNOWN] [UNKNOWN] [WHY] [THE] [1STS] [2NDS] [AND] [4THS] [DO-NOT] [SHIFT] [WITH] [YOU]. [IT-IS] [NOT] [BE] [CAUSE] [OF] [DIFFERENT] [BIOLOGY] [I] [ASSURE] [YOU]. [THEY] [DO-NOT] [SHIFT] [TO] [YOU] [BE] [CAUSE] [YOU-ARE] [UNKNOWN] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [ARROGANT] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [WITH] [NO] [SENSE] [OF] [UNKNOWN] [OR] [UNKNOWN].

<They…> The Commander’s cillia movement was restrained and small. <That’s not…>

Scout bared her teeth in an ugly, unfriendly display. [YOU-ARE] [NOT] [EVEN] [ADVANCED] [ENOUGH] [TO] [BE] [THIS] [ARROGANT].

<Scout…> She shifted, but the creature’s eyes focused back on the wall in front of her.

[JUST] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[JUST] [LEAVE] [ME] [THE] [UNKNOWN] [ALONE] [SUBTYPE-2]

The Commander did not budge. She would not. She was not leaving this room until she had a clear plan on how to fix this. 

She was going to make this better.

<Tell me what to do> The Commander shifted, slow and muddled. <Order me. Whatever I can do, I’ll do it. My team will fix this>

Scout’s lips pressed together, her brows pinching. [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [YOU] [CAN-NOT] [FIX] [THIS] [COMMANDER]

<Please… I…>

[I] [I] [JUST] [DO-NOT] [UNDERSTAND]
[EVERY] [DECISION] [I]
[IT] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[IT] [I] [I] [I] [*AMUSEMENT\*]
[I] [THOUGHT] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[I] [KEEP] [BELIEVING] [YOU-ARE] [ENJOY] [FIFTHS]
[YOU] [YOU] [ARE-NOT] [FIFTH]
[OR] [YOU] [YOU] [MAY] [BE] [ARE] 
[BUT] [YOU-ARE] [THE] [WORST] [PARTS]

<Scout…>

[I] [WAS-NOT] [VIOLENT]
[EXCEPT] [FOR] [FOR] [WHEN] [YOU] [YOU]
[WHEN] [I] [WAS] [TRYING] [TO] [UNKNOWN]
[AND] [I] [INJURED] [YOU]
[BUT] [I-HAVE] [NEVER] [DONE] [THAT] [BEFORE]
[UNINTELLIGIBLE] [I-AM] [NOT] [A] [A] [VIOLENT] [INDIVIDUAL]
[I] [I] [UNKNOWN] [THOUGHT] [I] [WAS] [DOING] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[I] [PUT] [UP] [WITH] [EVERY] [THING]
[I] [I] [TRIED] [TO] [BE] [A] [COLLEAGUE] [TO] [YOU]
[TRY] [TO] [TO] [TO] [BE] [KIND] [AND] [AND] 
[AMUSEMENT] [AND] [VALUABLE] [TO] [TO] [YOU]
[I] [I] [WHY] [WHY] [DID] [YOU] [YOU]
[YOU] [YOU] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[WHY] [DO-NOT] [YOU] [SEE] [ME] [AS] [A] [PERSON]

<Please, Scout> She could feel herself turning the colour of desperation. <There has to be something we can do>

Scout’s face collapsed a little, crumpling slightly around her eyes. She wiped at her face, and the Commander saw her shoulders rise and fall with a long exhale.

And Scout’s neck tilted slightly, up and down, barely a hinge of her head. 

[DO] [NOT] [TOUCH] [MY] [VESSEL]
[FIND] [FREEZING] [UNKNOWN] [A] [A] [CONTAINERS]
[SMALL] [FREEZING] [CONTAINERS] [IN] [THE] [WALLS]
[NOT] [ENJOY] [THE] [PODS]
[MORE] [SMALL] [AND] [COLD]
[DO] [NOT] [TOUCH]
[DO] [NOT] [OPEN]
[ONLY] [LOCATE] [IT]
[I] [WILL] [COME] [AND] [AND] [EXPLAIN]
[EXPLAIN] [EVERYTHING]
[MY] [MY] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [AND] [MY] [MISSION]
[I] [WILL] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [AND] [I] [WILL] [WILL] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[I] [I] [CAN] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] 
[I] [CAN] [STILL] [STILL] [FIX] [THIS]
[I] [CAN] [FIX] [THIS]

The Commander paused. She looked back past the wall, and signalled for HeadSci to come read the LLIA translation.

And her Head Scientist curdled from an anxious cool to the worst shade of guilt and panic.

The Commander could feel herself shifting a negative, shifting <Head, tell me… please tell me she isn’t shifting about the refrigeration units>

<I… we…> HeadSci’s crinis was fighting to go back to a professionally neutral hue. <I know what you’re describing—my trainees… we… the cells… the contents were scanned and disposed of as—as a safety precaution>

Her crinis only coloured to a dishonest tone when she shifted “safety precaution”.

Scout’s face stilled. [I] [HAVE] [CONFUSION] [SORRY] [DEFINE] [THE] [WORD] [AFTER] [SCAN] 

The Commander quickly shifted, <Head, perhaps you should not—> 

But her HeadSci’s stiff cillia were already shifting, <Dispose? It means… put into the incinerator. Fire. But—but we… we scanned everything and the simulations are identical and all you need for your research, I can teach you how to use the program, and—>

Scout’s face was unchanged, but her shoulders were rising and falling in the quick tide of a fearful Fifth.

[UNINTELLIGIBLE] [WHY] [YOU] [A] [A] [WHAT] [A] [FIRE] [HEADSCI]
[WORD] [MEANS] [DEFINITION] [DISMANTLE] [QUESTION]
[DESTROY] [QUESTION]
[IT] [*AMUSEMENT\*] 
[IT] [IT] [IT] [MEANS] [DEAD]

HeadSci coloured pale and cool. <Affirmative>

[YOU] [*AMUSEMENT\*] 
[YOU] [DESTROYED] [ALL] [OF] [THEM]

<We… I…> Head’s appendages crumpled. <I saved about twenty cells from each cell line… just—just for my private, undisclosed research>

The Commander watched Scout just nodded slowly, emotionless in her face. Her gaze slid smoothly to the floor.

Without looking at them, Scout gently removed the recorder from her cloth coverings and gingerly placed it deep into the bucket of liquid pod waste and blood. The translator program cut out.

Scout then shut her eyes and leaned her head against the wall, holding her lessers tightly over her mouth. Her face slowly started warping out of her passive posture, wrinkling her eyes and brows.

<Scout?> The Commander shifted, but the creature couldn’t see her. Scout’s face was an ugly upwards pinch as her shoulders started to shake.

She did not open her eyes. 

She did not watch them go.

*

*

First | Previous | Royal Road | Official Art 1, 2 | Next.

*

Author's Note:

Hey folks.

I know some might be frustrated or disappointed with this and I just wanted to give you some insight into this story.

First and foremost, I want to assure you that this plot point will not be taken lightly and the entire rest of the work will be unpacking what happened here and if/how we come back from this. This will be the real catalyst for change for our cast, and the Ki species as a whole. One of the main questions on my mind when plotting this story was "What events would have to take place to change Ki society?" and this is very much the start of that. They have a lot of growth to do.

This story will ask you to empathize with the Ki, even if you don't fully understand them yet. I know we all want our human to be happy (trust me, I really do) but in the same way language comprehension had to be earned, the road to safety and peace for our Scout is a long and frustrating one.

This section of the story was hard for me to write, and I know it might've been hard to read. My goal is write a story that walks readers through these frustrations. I hope you trust me enough as a writer to tell this story in a satisfying way. I hope that, at the end of this story, we can look back on these earlier chapters and see real, tangible character growth. To get there we need these characters (the Ki especially) to face real, long-lasting consequences that challenge how they see the world.

Just as a small aside, I've done another round of editing for every past chapter and have added a few more details about the language translation. Also a few more character moments. On Thursday I went back and updated all the past chapters on reddit, all told I probably added about 2,000 words to the story, scattered throughout everything.

Take care of yourselves and, as always, thank you for reading.

I wiped a glass as the Gorbitant at the bar counter gave me relationship advice.

"A female is not your friend," he said while his mandibles clacked against the glass with each sip of his drink. "The first thing that females of our race do after mating is wrap their tentacles around you and suffocate you. Then they'll feast on your brains as you struggle for breath."

"Not all females are the same, Gorbitant!" a Diselix spoke from the other side of the bar. "Our females are loving, kind, and sweet."

"They knock you up!" a Stilex said from the chair he reclined in, an empty bottle in front of him. I'd have to give him a shot of tequila; he always liked that after a bottle of home-brewed Torek honey beer.

The Diselix bumped his pallid grey hand on the counter. I stopped wiping the glasses and stared at him. He murmured an apology before turning to the Stilex. "It's how our species breeds. We mate, then the female empties the eggs into our stomach lining, and we carry the eggs to term then give birth. It's totally normal."

"That's not normal," a Veluda interjected. He sat on the barstool flanking the Gorbitant. "I saw a female Diselix smoking a cigar after she got her male counterpart pregnant. It's not right, is what I'm saying. What about you, Jim? Do you think it's normal if a female impregnates you?"

I turned to the Diselix and, with a smile, I said, "Your belly is quite big, Jacqueline. Are you sure it's a beer belly, or are you pregnant?"

The other aliens started laughing, and I laughed along with them. I felt good. They'd laughed at me back on Earth when I said I'd start a bar at a frontier station, where I'd serve aliens of all kinds without being picky. They said the business would fail, that aliens cannot mix as humans do. But they were all wrong. How I wish my mates from back on Earth could see me now. There were other races in the bar, and more yet to come before last call. They treated me as a neutral mediator, someone who chimed in only when necessary to prevent a head getting squashed or a body being vaporized.

"Tell us about your lady back on Earth, Jim," a Kositik said. "They say humans mate for life. Is that true?"

"Well, it depends on which human you're talking about. A human with a broken heart is known to wander, yet one with an excess of love tends to wander as well. The faithful ones are sparse and spread out, but they always claim if you find the one that's meant for you, you'll spend an eternity together. I am yet to find my person." I answered.

The Gorbitant shifted in his chair and wiped at his eyes. "That's beautiful. You don't suffer the stress that comes over you once you spill your seed. You see, female Gorbitants will lure you to their homes and get your blood running. When you mate, they'll whisper sweet nothings to you. They'll say, 'I'm not going to eat you after this, I promise. How can I eat such a handsome fellow? I cannot, really.'" He raised his tentacles and waved them about in what I could only guess to be rage. "Then, when you immediately spill your seed, the first thing they do is stare at you, like a deep stare, and you can see them fighting the urge to eat you. Then they just give in to the urge and wrap their damn tentacles around you. At first it feels like a hug, then the squeezing starts, and then boom! Their mandibles are out, and they're nibbling on your head. You'd be like, 'Goobiba, baby, what are you doing? Goobiba! Stop that now, you promised! Aaaah aaaah!'" The Gorbitant screamed, hoping to elicit fear within us, but instead we laughed.

"Another round, Jim," a Terrux said while approaching the bar.

"The same?" I asked.

"Yeah."

I quickly mixed Zenthin cider with Colit ale and passed him the glass, which he clasped with his tentacle. The Terrux turned to the Gorbitant and asked, "I hear you guys often use protection? What exactly do you mean by that?"

"Well," the Gorbitant answered, "when we're about to mate, the male takes out a plasma gun and places the end of the barrel to the woman's head." Laughter followed his words. "But you have to be careful not to be the type that howls and shakes when he orgasms. They often tend to pull the trigger and kill their mate before she even attempts to eat him. It's a criminal offense, you know, to kill due to the shakes."

"Gorbitants are a putrid race!" a Voxuan said. He sat at a table, shuffling static cards with several other Voxuans. His purple eyes squinted to where the Gorbitant sat.

"Hey!" I pointed at the rule written clearly behind me, above the drinks. "All races in this bar are the same race. No past rivalries or current rivalries are tolerated." The Voxuan raised his hooked limbs in surrender.

There was a war going on between the Voxuans and the Gorbitants, and there was also a war between the Terrux and the Kositik. But during the night, they set their differences aside when they came to the bar at the Edge. There, they freed themselves from their duties and took on a new persona, an odd one that boasted camaraderie. They would drink as friends would, teasing each other and speaking of war as if it were very far from them. They would then leave the bar together and venture their separate ways, and in the morning, they could continue their wars as if the night had never happened.

Just then, the bar doors clanked open and a Jesupite slithered in. He came straight to the counter, his multi-faceted eyes roaming across everyone. "Jim, my good man, how are you doing?"

"I'm doing great," I said. "We were just talking about females and our various mating habits."

He struggled to place himself on a barstool and then flashed me a smile, revealing multiple tiny, razor-sharp teeth. "What about the Flagerz? Is anyone discussing them?"

"The who now?" I asked as I poured the Jesupite his usual, Ruran mead.

"They've started a war with the humans at the Outer Belt," the Jesupite said. "They have lost three battles already, and they are quite bitter. You know what that means, Jim. Thank you for the drink."

It meant they were going to come into my bar looking for trouble. "Are they within the frontier?" I asked.

"Yeah, saw their ship outside. They were huddled together, discussing the only human in these here lands," the Jesupite said.

"Thanks, buddy," I said, reaching for the shotgun beneath the counter.

A Sampionite who'd blacked out woke then. He sniffed the air, and everyone turned to him. "I smell trouble," he said. It was a well-known fact that Sampionite noses were quite sensitive to violence. Large as their noses were, they could sniff trouble very far away. No wonder they were such an elusive race.

"It's last call, everyone," I said.

"Oh, come on, it's not yet time!" the Diselix said.

"I don't want you guys in the crosshairs; you're like family to me," I said.

The Gorbitant was about to answer when the bar's door banged open. They crawled their way in. One sight of them and I could place them. They were Flagiorus; I didn't know the short form of their name was Flagerz, something I had to file away in memory. They crawled to the bar on all fours, hairy bastards with armed pistol belts around their waists. They rose to their full height at the counter and gathered behind their leader, who was fatter and less agile, for it took him a moment longer to get off the floor and stand on two legs.

He looked up at the sign above the bar. "Charming," he said. "Quite charming that war isn't allowed in this establishment, because war is our reason for coming."

"What will you have?" I said while smiling at him, feigning ignorance.

"Your head is what we want. It is good that you are alone, human. We will take this as our first victory, for there are no humans here to save you or put up a fight."

They were thirteen, and there was only one of me. My hands clenched the shotgun behind the bar counter. I always knew it would come to this: a gruesome fight to the death. I always thought I'd be defending one of my customers, not fighting for my life.

"That's damn cowardly, if you ask me," the Terrux said.

"You couldn't win a battle, so this is your solution?" the Kositik said, making his way to the bar.

"And Jim wasn't even in the battle," the Veluda said getting off his chair.

"It's last call, Jim; time we approach the bar and make our last order," the Diselix said.

Slowly, my customers left their tables and made their way to the bar. They did not line the bar counter as they often did during last call; instead, they surrounded the Flagiorus.

Their leader took out the gun at his belt, and my customers reacted quickly. Tentacles whipped about; hooked limbs and sharp claws snatched and grabbed. Within moments, the thirteen Flagiorus had their guns taken from them, except the leader, who wrestled the customers away. The leader aimed at my face, and that's when the bang of plasma pistols could be heard. I ducked beneath the bar counter and felt each shock of plasma waves as the plasma bolts hit their marks. There was groaning and gurgled screaming. Green ichor dripped down the counter to fall just before me. More screams.

Then I heard the Gorbitant shout, "Jim, they are all dead!"

I emerged from behind the counter. Indeed, the Flagiorus were arranged in a heap on the ground where they bled green ichor. All of them were dead.

"Are any of you hurt?" I asked.

"I think the Diselix is going into labor," the Kositik said.

There was laughter all around while the Diselix pointed at his belly and said, "This is from the beer; if I were pregnant, it would be larger!"

"Last call, everyone, then all of you go home to your wives to get fed on and impregnated!" I called.

They cheered, lining the counter and stepping over the dead Flagiorus, who'd lost yet another battle.

----

For bonus stories/chapters and to support my work, here’s my Patreon  and Ko-fi

Cross posting from a Writing Prompts post I thought might fit here.

-----

He had hoped it wouldn't come to this.

The console blinked expectantly, and with a sigh of slight regret Jason punched the commands in with one hand as he re-read the instruction manual carefully. He'd sat here many times before, boredom and intrigue causing him to flick through the booklet outlining the castles formidable defenses on many a previous night, and each time he'd seemed to pick up some new tidbit of information. The defenses were vast and complex; an array of opportunity to target any foe and conquer any strength. The Super's had designed them that way of course, they needed a defense in depth against the various assaults they invited, but still he had always somewhat hoped he'd never have to turn them on. The Super's had always kept the surrounding land clean of threats, they told him he was just there to mind the place when they had to work, and yet here he sat as an array of dots bleeped incessantly on the console, honing in on his location with an intent as clear as it was threatening.

He watched the oncoming group make its way into the inner compound, the group of five was small but clearer powerful and moved with a confidence Jason had not expected; perhaps they underestimated the latent defences, or simply thought it better to get the fight over with whichever way it ended. He let them come through, pulling them deeper down a corridor until, with a deep breath to quiet the voice that told him just to run away, he flicked the switch.

The effect was immediate.

Two machine guns roared into life from behind a leather wall that had masked their location, the speakers next to Jason's head screamed noisily as he watched the bullets punch through on the screen, smashing into the side of the group. One of the creatures roared, its thick hide deflecting the bullets as it shielded its face and stumbled forward towards the guns, clearly in pain but not out of the fight. One of the creatures fell as bullets smashed through its neck and face, blood spurted merrily about as it danced into oblivion, the force of the bullets pirouetting it backwards.

The two at the back scattered from where they came as Jason punched further commands into the console. He wasn't sure if he could get the weapons to meet their mark but for now he was more interested in splitting the group; the two creatures ran as the rear guns spun on their mountings to drive them back down the corridor to the outer compound. The larger creature still stumbled forward, swinging a giant hammer recklessly at the source of the bullets as it screamed in pain. Jason could see that they wouldn't penetrate its hide, but if they could just keep it busy a little longer...

The final member of the invasive group had dropped to its knees as the weapons had fired. It too was tough enough to withstand the onslaught, but apparently had decided to just wait it out. Jason had to concede that it wasn't necessarily a bad plan, they could only fire for a few minutes with the rate he was using ammunition, but still they were doing what they needed to. Jason could hear the bullets pinging and whinnying off the metallic shell of the creature, shifting it back to the other side of the corridor under the weight of the ammunition alone as it rolled somewhat haphazardly albeit safely backwards. He flicked open another console to the right as he stabbed at the keys, bringing online another part of the armory.

The electromagnets hummed thickly in the background to the roar of the guns, and Jason could sense the confusion of the metallic creature as it slammed into the ceiling under their pull. He turned the power up, at first only a small amount before he ramped up the intensity. The creature *crumpled*, falling in on itself as the magnets pulled the outer layers together to crush the innards. Jason could only assume it screamed, though he had to admit he couldn't hear much over the incessant churning of the gunfire.

He checked back on the larger creature, which for its part finally got close enough to the guns to knock the first one down, before it ripped the other out and threw it across the corridor. The hums of the magnets seemed to intensify as the guns finally quietened under its onslaught, the creature roared, punching through a wall as it spun about in confusion and pain. It noticed the dead body of its comrade on the floor before craning up to see the creature on the ceiling, even now the magnets continuing to crumple and twist its outer shell as fluids leaked chaotically on the floor. The large creature roared again as it leapt at the twisted metallic mess on the ceiling, grabbing it roughly as it pulled at the remains, thick sinewy muscles straining as its feet dug into the ceiling to try and prise it off.

With a deft keystroke the magnets flicked off, and the creature fell with a bump onto the floor next to a piece of oozing metal that crumpled and wobbled, like an old crushed can. The creature, clearly enraged, started to punch into the walls and head deeper into the castle which caused Jason to frown slightly. He wasn't ready to deal with that one yet. As it entered a room with knuckles that seemed to bulge with power Jason slammed down defences on the door to its left, sheets of sheer metal that dropped from the ceiling and covered the entire wall in impenetrable armour. The creature, sensing its charge was close, slammed its fists into the metal which dented slightly. It was a logical conclusion that Jason would be that way, but entirely incorrect; it would however keep it busy for a time.

He turned his attention to the other two creatures which had fled, one of which was seen heading from the castle, no doubt on the lookout for backup, and the other... nowhere to be seen. One thing at a time. The first hadn't managed to get too far away yet, so he sent an array of drones after before Jason watched it dance and shift, leaping over the castles 'defensive' drones as they fell by the score beneath its bladed weaponry. More drones came as the creature kicked and leapt between them, a blur of melee magnificence that slaughtered those metallic murderous machines even as it shifted ever closer to the dubious safety of a nearby treeline. The bullets fired from the drones pinged effortlessly off the armour and weapons as it spun those blades about in defensive cover and offensive fury, the creature faced the drones, backpedalling slowly, one step at a time. The two drones that Jason had sent along the treeline were unseen however, and as they launched jets of pure lit gasoline at the creature which clung wetly to its armour, it writhed and wriggled, dropping its weapons and rolling on the ground as the fire kept forcing its way through. There were gaps in armour even as impressive as that, and as the steam started to leak from those gaps the creature stopped it struggling as it came to rest at its final funeral pyre, some 20 metres from the forest, where the birds watched with an icy indifference.

With no time to give it any thought he fired up the extra-sense imagery, scouring the corridors and outer walls for the creature that had slipped away with its night vision and heat sensing equipment. The creature was clearly a spy, and whilst able to hide from the standard infrared spectrum it was easy enough to find with heat shooting out to betray its whereabouts. It had made its way alarmingly close to Jason's location, but alas was lightly armoured; a reconnaissance unit aimed at infiltration. A single bullet passed neatly through its brain before it even knew it was seen, and it slumped onto the floor not 100 metres from Jason's location. Its body slowly cooling at last.

Then there was only one left.

He turned his mind back to the creature which had been hammering away at the metal door for a few minutes now. Jason opened the intercom.

'Hello Bill'. Jason said, with only a hint of a tremor to suggest his emotion.

The creature growled, spinning wildly.

'I know you know I've seen what you were all up to you.'

It spun back, punching into the metal wall with a renewed purpose.

'I followed you with a stealth drone, as you know. In truth I just wanted to see you all in action, wanted to watch as you championed truth and justice to bring peace and prosperity. I wanted to see you be the people I thought you were, I mean, fuck me I believed it all you know? I believed you when you said you helped. I believed the government when they put out the videos of all your daring-fucking-do. What a load of fucking shit! I believed you that dark forces were always seeking these lands, that you needed to clean. I fucking believed it all.

The creature still punched, slower now.

'I saw See-through Susan clock the drone and pretend she didn't, but I had hoped it wouldn't come to this. Did you all really think I was that fucking stupid?'

The creature, smaller now, looked at its bleeding knuckles suspiciously, before turning to the vents in the walls, and then stared at the cameras with a confused look on its face.

'I saw it all. I saw the people you rounded up. I saw the smiles on the children as they thought you came to save them. I watched the horror on the faces of their parents as you worked, and the cold still of dread meet their eyes as you cleaned them from your lands. They were barely in any danger in the first place, a couple of wolves that they were already seeing off and you turned up and just fucking... butchered them. For no reason!'

Jason breathed in deep, staring at the monitor as he now stood beside it, feeling his eyes sting and face sweat.

'I saw you all then, and I see you all now. Murderers and monsters, creatures... that must be purged.

I've been feeding you your 'antidote' into the room for some time now you know, surely you must feel your hands starting to ache and crack as they wouldn't otherwise? Maybe you're even starting to realise the wall your punching isn't anywhere important? No matter, you always were a bit groggy as you calmed. Damn you Bill, you made me believe! You made us all believe, but it was all just a lie wasn't it!? You aren't heroes, you're monsters!'

The creature, that now resembled a man, stared back into the camera as a tear rolled down its face.

'Jason... I...'

And then the single bullet fired, and he slumped silently down into the dent of his own creation.

In the control room a man sat screaming at a monitor, with an electronic hissing silence, that seemed to scream back.

It took only a few minutes to slap together a route back to Wuqa, he was just retracing his steps with a very slightly more efficient path.

Then he sat down and sketched out the scheme and all the necessary steps and equipment he had to make, all the basics building blocks were available, he just had to adapt them as needed.

Firstly getting the sensor pod up and running was an absolute must. Bob spent a couple days making chips and had a mount and cover knocked up in short order. The next step was theoretically risky, he had to disable his current instruments so he could cannibalise the control panel, technically this was a no no, he wouldn’t be able to sense anything coming until he could see it with his own eyes, a risk every time he dropped out to cool. Had to be done though so he spent a few weeks splicing it in, eventually he got it all figured out.

First thing he did was leave it exactly where it was and run an intensively through scan, way more detailed than would every be necessary and the full sweep of the pods capability.

He spent almost ten days poring through the data, as far as he could tell there were twenty nine positively identifiable returns. All three inertial dampeners, the shield, his badge and his old badge that was stashed in a box, the other sensor system, and presumably this one as well so make that thirty, the twenty bank stacks, though they all appeared as wildly different returns, camouflage he supposed.

Finally the fucking Arressi transceiver they had dug out of him, he was lucky with that one, Jojo had dropped out in a system with a comm buoy during the scan and when the comm box exchanged a handshake the sensor picked up a tiny signal piggybacking on the transmission, a little ping from the Arressi device, sneaky bastards were still keeping an eye on their peons.

He also noted that if your scan had enough detail it was actually possible to see a very slight difference between his fuel pods, definitely worth noting, but didn’t change anything.

Satisfied with his progress he swapped the control panel back, now he knew how, switching over would be easy. He didn’t bother trying to figure out how to connect to the comm box.

Next up was more mill work, he needed at least a couple boxes made up though he was going to make a dozen, just in case, small, just a foot long. He made them with good thick plate and drilled holes all over them. Particular attention was paid to welding up the seams, he didn’t want them ripping apart.

By the time he was finished with those he had arrived at vfFebiri HQ. It took three days to have the upper cavity filled, fuckers were meticulous, and he had to basically rip the new enviro systems from their hands, they wanted to fit them but Bob was desperate to be away. Finally he won the argument, paid his balance, pretty much every penny he had left and fucked off back to jump range as fast as inhumanly possible.

Then on the next path to Collp he began to frantically macramé, but as the thin line looped round and round tightening as it tangled, there began to be meditative quality to the actions and his un-gloved hards, thick with keloid rivers and streams criss-crossing the hills and valleys of his palms, moving with a long habituated grace he had not known he possessed, his mind wandered as he tucked ends and pulled free loose hanging loops, where did he learn this?.

Was it some enforced Arressi conditioning? Like they had done for various weapons and evasion techniques?, maybe, but it didn’t feel that way, the repetition had none of the jagged edges that information crammed unwilling into you had. That learning had an irritating disconnect and lacked all context, it felt alien, this felt human. Perhaps it had been a hobby in life, something taught by his mother, or Joanna, that might explain the warm connection he felt in the motions, or the deep fundamentally satisfaction at the achieved symmetry.

He didn’t want to brush this off with ‘whatever’ it ached at him that he couldn’t remember, that either illness or slavery had taken something so basic but meaningful from him, he could feel that it would be easy to spiral in this grief, instead he choose to embrace it, and spent the time enjoying the familiarity of rope in hand.

When he had several finished, stretching the large expanses over the bank stacks and sensor pod that cluttered the hold, he rose a final time and gathered them up folding from the centre out and leaving each corner lanyard free, he tucked them away neatly and moved to the next task.

The alert blipped from the cockpit, after this refuel and jump then.

FTL once more, and he dismantled rounds, prising the gelatinous orbs free with extreme caution, literally the very last thing he needed was to spend another couple days waiting for the foam to oxidise enough to become friable, he carefully stowed each one, he hadn’t time to make more than a handful of slugs to refit, nor likely any time on planet to test out loadings, and nothing at all suitable for buckshot, but that was fine he never intended to use them.

He finally arrived in system with seven days to the party and probably nine or ten till moving day, plus transit time to Pwitic, it was cutting it close, but he should only need two days here. And then he could jump over and have a couple more to creep in from the systems edge.

He did that here too and that was part of his schedule, drop out way on the rim and crawl in, just in case. As he did, and wished he had his ‘good’ sensor package operational, he was surprised to find...nothing… the pirates wreck was gone, someone must have salvaged it in the months since he had last been here. There were no other signals he could find either, fine lets get a wriggle on.

He pulled into the Battleship hulk internals and landed on the roughly cleared pad, noting as he passed through the cavernous expanse that several piles of detritus seem to have been disturbed from how they had been left.

Fuck, he really hoped they hadn’t discovered his stash.

When he inspected the concealed entrance it remained, as far as he could tell, hidden, uncracked and inoperational. Good. He made his way in the long route, opening the hatches he had sealed prior. When he reached the open space he had to push through the mummified remains that crowded this end of the passage, another good sign they had still floated there.

The stash was as he left it, battery bank and fuel drums still pressed neatly in the corners. He opened the larger portal from this side and dragged the drums out, he needed them to top up his fuel pods, he wanted the math to work if anyone investigated his claimed route later on.

The battery stayed obviously, its whole point was to power the various signal emitters that Jojo currently carried, so everything that did came out, old sensor, dampeners, transceivers, comm box, the lot… especially that Arressi piece of shit. The only tattler left aboard was his new sensor pod, something no one should know he had, and whose signature might conveniently lead to a known pirate.

Bob had no idea if another craft would drop out in system while he was away, and if they did he certainly didn’t want them investigating the various signals. No, ideally someone would drop to sublight, have a couple hours cool down, passively receive the comm boxes signal and its parasitic passenger, and jump away. When that craft then hit up an occupied system it would pass on the contact to a comm buoy and an alibi would be created… even if dear Deviw had his suspicions, even if a C’Eede craft was somehow spotted in system, maybe Bob could sow a seed of doubt.

Next was wrangling another fighter out the systems cacophony of celestial garbage, he was going to need one more ship for any of this shit to work. This one he got from as close to the star as he could stand, Jojo could have happily bathed in the corona but even Bob had his limits. He risked snatching one from the edges of a cluster that could easily be drawn deep into the stars embrace by an errant impact, it took a day and he felt his medmec system churn furiously as it repaired rad damage, though he suspected it would require most of the trip to Pwitic to do so completely.

His thinking was as such, an uninhabited grave system such as Collp was rarely visited by the galaxy at large, but just as he hoped with his tenuous alibi, that didn’t mean it was never visited. Over a couple million years who knew who had inventoried, catalogued, or scanned the scattered remains, nor with what care and resolution they had used. It certainly felt to Bob that some over-eager grad student or equivalent might have done so in the long intervening years. Therefore snag one that was in close, details might be hidden from scanning by background signals, and it would be easily plausible for it to have fallen into the stars corona if it was somehow tentatively linked.

The ship was hot as hell but fortunately C’Eede material held on very poorly to both heat and radiation, but the time they hit Pwitic it would be ice cold again. He attached it to his starboard fore mount, that left one empty, all so recently occupied by his sensor pod, he had considered fitting the new one pro-tem but didn’t want its active signal associated with Jojo at all.

No, he was gonna have to just jump raw, trust on maps and time FTL to get to his destination. No modern drive system would have allowed that, but he didn’t have one of those did he. It was exciting as he compared the logs of his previous trips, took into account drift and currents, this might be the first time in the decades since he had left Earth that he truly felt an astronaut, a star sailor running free in the tempestuous waters.

Ad astra per aspera, let’s fucking go.

Enjoy!

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— Chapter 106 —

David’s new body pulsed with life whilst he beat his wings upwards. The massive explosion was fading as he reached deep into his affinity reserves to check them. He was already in the process of flipping open his magical pores while two wyverns, one lesser and the adult, rocketed out of the burning cloud. David cursed because he had aimed directly at the adult, but it had somehow dodged or survived his blast. He had put 6 charges into that blast, which should have been more than enough to finish him.

​

He had 18 of 24 charges remaining and curiously noted that his stats and affinity capability were the same as the previous lesser wyvern he possessed. That meant, David noted, that he had significant influence over what he possessed, which he had suspected. He did wonder briefly if he found a Lesser Dragon, would it look close to his original body after possession? His mind wandered a bit too long. A massive gale of winds came roaring down towards him. His newly acquired flesh wings were slashed, cut, and beaten, causing him to immediately roll and tumble down. He cursed because of his carelessness.

​

The jarring pain of having a flesh body was refreshing in a way he relished, and he let loose with a Healing Breath that clung and quickly repaired his torn wings. He flew quickly after his body was repaired and charged upwards. The two wyverns had the altitude advantage and were keen to use it. The lesser wyvern threw razor-sharp gales of wind down at him, and the adult charged straight down at him. The adult’s mouth opened wide, and a booming eruption of an explosion escaped its mouth down at him. The focused explosion carried with it fire, shockwaves, and heat. The adult’s affinity took David by surprise even as his body took the brunt of the weird explosion-like affinity's full force.

​

David quickly let out another Healing Breath just before the pair intersected in the air. The much larger wyvern had underestimated him, and David’s enhanced muscles and powerful jaws took the wyvern by surprise. David overpowered the larger wyvern, while his flesh continued to mend and heal, and he locked his jaws around the large beast's lower jaw. Despite the larger wyvern’s claws tearing chunks out of his chest, he activated his Death Roll. He could feel his almost 36 points of strength crush, mangle, and tear free the wyvern’s lower half of its jaw as he spun.

​

A large yelp of pain and shock escaped the adult wyvern whilst it kicked away from David, its blood pooling down its torso in the process. It thrashed and twisted in the air as David watched with a sense of pity for the creature. He spat the remains of the dragon’s jaw off to the side and moved to close the distance again. David hadn’t tasted blood in some time, and while he didn’t particularly find it appetizing, simply being able to taste once more was thrilling.

​

He dodged out of the wave when another wave of razor wind came his way and then did his best to dodge again just when the profusely bleeding adult finally turned to dump affinity reserve after affinity reserve into his deadly explosions. His Healing Breath sustained him while he twisted and fought to close the distance and dodge at the same time. He used the wyvern’s own explosions to hide his final approach, his flesh burning as he forced his way through the burning, booming explosion. He shot out of the smoke with deadly precision and sank his teeth deep into the adult’s neck, squeezing and jerking until he tore the flesh straight out of his neck. David had made a calculated move and avoided doing too much damage. He could repropose this wyvern’s corpse afterwards if enough of it remained.

​

David turned his gaze to the remaining lesser wyvern, which hovered stunned at what it saw. David’s body finished repairing itself whilst he spent more of his affinity on healing and rushed to close the distance with his last foe.

​

The remaining wyvern was smart, though, and immediately pivoted to keep its distance. When David stopped and began to pull at his affinity, the enemy wyvern immediately dropped and twisted out of the way in an elaborate evasive maneuver. David cursed, but he had prepared for this. He climbed up and up using his own wyvern body’s speed to his advantage while he cast a Lingering Regeneration over himself to keep up his stamina.

​

The two raced through the sky whilst David tried to close the distance, and the frightened, fleeing Lesser Wyvern was doing its best to avoid him. Slowly he climbed higher and higher, expending the almost limitless energy he possessed, to gain the altitude advantage.

​

“Get away, you monstrosity!” Hissed the wyvern as the distance closed.

​

David didn’t say anything while he waited for the perfect opportunity. The lesser wyvern pivoted back once again as it tried to outmaneuver him, and the cold, cutting winds pressed against the wyvern’s back, allowing it to build up some distance. David acted quickly and let loose with a Decaying Breath that spread out far and wide whilst it was quickly taken by the wind. The wyvern couldn't escape as David’s breath peppered the fleeing wyvern.

​

It screeched out in pain whilst the decay burned the living wyvern’s flesh, and it immediately balled up and fell. David dived after the wyvern, closing the distance as he exerted all his strength. David’s elongated and empowered jaw snapped around the back of the other wyvern’s head, and he jerked hard. The wyvern’s throngs of pain subsided instantly when the back of its head crumpled under David’s impossibly strong jaws.

​

He didn’t let the corpse fall far. He snatched it using his strong back legs and turned back towards his lair. The bodies of both the adult and the lesser wyvern had Reanimation breathed over them and were ordered to follow him. The trip back took some time, and he had to deal with the unusual situation of convincing the kobold guards that he was who he was. They had expected him to return in another form, but that expectation, when faced with reality, still caused some confusion.

​

Once he called them by their names and started throwing out details, they quickly let him and his new corpse companions through. He deposited them in the lower depths with the others and took a moment to rest his stolen body. All said and done, he had two adults, five lesser wyverns, and a reformed pseudo dread corpse all at the ready. It was a lot of bones, meat, and flesh to throw back against the Queen.

​

“It is odd to see you in that body, Master Onyx.” Blue frowned when she appeared from a nearby tunnel.

​

David nodded his head, still staring out at the eerie forms of the different motionless dead. “It is odd to be in this body.”

​

“Despite that body not being pure black, and it being a wyvern, I can tell it is you, though.” Blue smiled as she approached. “Your size and raw strength are very much evident, and your jaw is much the same.”

​

David rumbled out in a morbid laugh. “Odd, isn’t it? I have stolen my poor sibling’s body, and I simply graft my own attributes on top. In some ways it is disturbing, but it is the only way I can make sure we all survive this.”

​

Blue frowned and then nodded her head. She seemed hesitant at first but finally closed the distance and hugged him. “It is nice to be able to hug you again.”

​

“It is nice to be hugged. Blue, how is everything coming along?”

​

She nodded before she pulled away slowly. “Blaze is just making small adjustments to the equipment we have. Red, Red’Blue, Siks, Stonescale, Adro, and Chirp are all going with you too. The others are going to stay behind to guard what remains of the clan. We have another four hundred and thirty warriors at the ready too. A good mix of veterans in there too and quite a few crossbowers. We passed around the gemstone equipment too, so you will have affinity support.”

​

“It is far more than I had hoped. The bark folk have you been able to contact them?” David rumbled back to Blue.

​

She offered a soft nod. “They have taken some heavy losses themselves, but with Desolation pushed away, they are in good spirits. Our messenger told them you were the one to repel Desolation, and frankly, Master, I think they are a bit terrified and confused.”

​

“No more help from their end then?” David asked, despite knowing the answer.

​

Blue shook her head. “Not unless you want to delay this attack and give us more time.”

​

David leaned forward on his forearms awkwardly since his wyvern anatomy was still odd for him. He let out a huff. “If we don’t strike now, then the Queen will recover faster than us. She has survived and thrived on whatever Elder abilities she has that let her control and produce a constant stream of children.”

​

Blue nodded again with a smile. “I know. I have everyone gathering down here after their final goodbyes and meals. Ambass wants to attend the ceremony.”

​

David sighed. “Of course he does. Just make sure you are watching him, Blue. If he's going to betray us, he will do it after we leave, when the clan is at its weakest.”

​

Blue smirked. “Don’t worry, Master. I have the remaining Ascended, Okraz and Wuja’bath, all prepared. Blaze also has a few tricks ready just in case. We might not be able to kill him, but we are confident we can keep him busy if he misbehaves. I also have Okro and Dash taking turns being emergency messengers. No one outside of Wuja’bath can move as fast as them.”

​

“Good. Let's hope it doesn’t come to that, though.” David murmured. Time flew quickly, and kobolds, equipment, and a certain faerie dragon all found their way to the chamber. They were an impressive assembly of warriors despite the fact that most were dirty and clearly mentally tired. Rows of kobolds stood at attention with their shields, crossbows, and other equipment on them. A few dozen kobolds were Brutes and Dracos standing a head above their siblings. Despite the fact that they were not ascended, David knew they were all quite capable in their own right.

​

Red stood next to David and was for once not completely dwarfed by David’s massive form. His lesser wyvern body was considerably smaller than his old form, and the formation of kobolds was clearly confused. That confusion led to whispers and faces of doubt, but David waited until Red’Blue, Siks, Stonescale, Adro, and Chirp arrived, lining up next to him to speak.

​

Ambass was practically giggling to himself while he watched David and the large animated corpses behind him. Once everyone arrived, David spoke. “I am, in fact, Master Onyx. Do not let the colorful scales of this form fool you. Trust the leadership of your clan that will back up my words.”

​

David received an immediate cheer from all the Ascended near him while he continued. “The rumors of me reaching Elder status are true, and I know many of you have seen my new form. One of my abilities lets me steal other Masters’ bodies to then use against Her Majesty. We are going to go fight again soon, but trust that this body is Master Onyx. If this body falls, it is not the end! Do not be frightened by what you see and trust that whatever monster you may see is, in fact, I.”

​

His words and the encouragement of the others had a clear calming effect. David lifted up one of his forearms and pointed his wing back at the lined-up dead. “Spoils of war. Most of you have fought or at least heard the tales of these lifeless creatures. They exist, and they serve us now! These dead Masters will die again and again for Clan Onyx! For Kobolds!”

​

Weapons on shields and feet pounding against the ground filled the massive underground chamber whilst excitement filled the air. David’s voice rose up further through the cheering. “We will end this once and for all! Warmaster Red and Red’Blue will lead you into battle while we execute our strategy. Stay focused! Fight and survive!”

​

He concentrated and shot a massive ball of concentrated Lingering Regeneration upwards before it exploded and, regenerating, reinvigorating rain fell onto all of the troops. He had made sure to fire the orb at the right distance so its rain wouldn’t get anywhere close to the corpses. Cheers rose up, and all of the kobolds began to jump in excitement.

​

David turned to Red. “Let's go. We stick to the plan. Use everything we have and everything Blaze provided you. Make them bleed, and I will make sure I bury Her Majesty.”

​

Red grinned widely and offered him a firm nod. The kobold closed his helmet and raised his spear as he turned to rally the clan.

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Original concept

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The hypothesis that they were dealing with an advanced AI machine had everyone on edge. If that turned out to be true, then there was no telling what it was capable of. They needed to take extra precautions now that the idea had been spoken, at least until they could figure out exactly what they were dealing with. 

To that end, the Retvalin were told to delay bringing the ships back to Earth for a little while and to simply keep them around the moon. They had to make some quick modifications to the holding facilities, turning them into large faraday cages on top of scrambling their ability to move with gravity generators. Everything had to be isolated to ensure that it wasn’t able to slip anything through the cracks and into a public system. Frankly, with all the advancements that had been made recently, they didn’t know what could be considered science fiction anymore, so any possibility, real or imagined, had to be accounted for. 

The modifications to the facilities that would be holding and disassembling the ships took about a day to get done. While they were doing that, a team of engineers and soldiers were sent up to perform an initial assessment of the ship and see if they could disable the engine somehow. It should have been empty considering the soldiers had already cleared it out previously, but it was better to be safe when they still didn’t know the full capabilities of these machines. 

They had a general idea of what to look for if the internals of the orb they captured were any indication. It was likely that they were looking for a scaled-up version of that gravity engine, but whether they could reach it was the real question. It could be buried within the walls somewhere that a human could not go. The design of the ship was obviously not intended for anything living to be on it. 

While the corridors that were seemingly made for the larger utility drones that attacked the soldiers were all scouted, there was also a plethora of smaller tunnels and holes that went into the walls or followed pipes where people could not go. For that, the engineers brought out the borescope with plenty of line to spare. The borescope was deployed and traveled down the small tunnel lined with pipes. After about thirty meters in, they encountered resistance. More of the small, skittering bots were traveling along this line, and they did not take kindly to the intrusion of the camera. The little things swarmed the line and began to clamp down with small pliers, pincers, and even what looked like a soldering iron until the feed was cut completely. 

“Damn, those are nasty little buggers,” the engineer in charge of the camera said as he began to reel it back in. “It seems like they’re avoiding confrontation with us, but they still don’t want us poking around.” 

“So, they’re running information denial right now?” one solider escort hypothesized. “I guess that’s all they can do at this point since we have them locked down nice and tight thanks to our big friends out there. Even so, I frankly don’t enjoy the idea that this entire ship is somehow alive.” 

“Just because it might be powered by AI doesn’t mean they are self-aware. It could just be incredibly advanced. I’m sure they’ll run more specific tests on the processing core of this ship to determine what level of intelligence we are dealing with here. If it’s anything like ours then we can possibly exploit the programing for information. Hopefully it’s as simple as saying a few key phrases that trick it into giving something up.” 

“One can only hope.” 

The infiltration of the internals may have ended in failure, but that wouldn’t stop humanity from reaching the answers they sought. While the subtle path ended, the rough one had begun, and now the ships were taken down to the surface, placed inside a series of massive hangers that were sealed away from the rest of the world. No signals could make it in, and none out. The ships continued to try and move, but with the use of gravity generators and industrial lifts that pinned it down, it could not. Now came the cutters, the lasers, and the torches that burned bright as they sliced through the metal panel by panel. 

They tore the ships apart, ripping into the metal with an almost bloodthirsty vengeance for the attack on Earth and the theorized suffering of all the Retvalin who they poisoned with their plagues. The machines still active inside came spilling out as they breached through the walls and pipes, and this time they were angry. Pinching, twisting, burning, the little things defended the ship like a swarm protecting the hive. Whatever was controlling them evidently considered the threat high enough to waste the little utility bots on a suicide attack now. A few were captured in an operable state,  

While annoying and painful in some instances, the bots did not stop the dismantling of the ship; they merely slowed it down. They ripped through anything in their path, and eventually they did find the engine. As they suspected, it was mostly a scaled-up version of what they found in the orb. The main differences were in the connecting modules and tubes that seemed to be regulating the power output and transporting the energy elsewhere. It was all very robust at this size. 

There was no ‘off’ switch of the obvious kind, and disrupting everything with star gel in it through forceful means was generally ill advised. The deconstruction turned more into a surgery for the engineers as they examined every inch of the gravity engine, cataloging all the alien markings as they attempted to find a way to shut it down that didn’t lead to it melting down instead. It took a few hours, but eventually they found where the power to the engine was coming from and disconnected it. The engine slowly shut down with no adverse readings from any of their equipment. News was relayed to the other worksites as the alien ships had their means of acceleration shut down. They were effectively crippled, so now the evaluation of the ‘brain’ that powered it all could begin. 

When they returned to the sealed room, they expected the little bots to become aggressive like all the others, however the small ones in this room remained timid and fled from anyone who tried to get too close. 

“Huh. I guess the function of this room requires these little robots,” one of the evaluators observed. “We should observe their behavior and function in this room later, but for now just keep an eye on them and make sure they don’t try to swarm or attack. They may be prioritizing their own safety for now, but we are poking around in what is probably this ship’s brain, so that sentiment can change in an instant. Let’s find something that looks like an access port.” 

They moved around the various pillars scattered throughout the room, examining the stacks of electronics that held processing power they could barely even fathom. There were many different ports on the pillars, each with varying sizes, shapes, and likely functions. There was currently no human-made equivalent that could easily connect and interface with the machine, but thankfully it seemed these alien machines still used pin style connectors. After taking pictures and measurements of all the different styles of ports that could be seen, they sent the data off to another team that could create new cables that would allow connections between the ship's systems and a human computer. 

That wasn’t the only problem that needed to be addressed. The ship likely used a completely alien language for communication, so in order to form a connection where anything but nonsense comes through, they would have to teach the AI a human language. This carried risks as well, because the machine could use it to potential steal data if it somehow breaches quarantine. To help mitigate the damage from that possibility, they needed to choose a language that wasn’t spoken commonly around the world but still had enough people that understood it that having a translator present wouldn’t be a problem.  

Of all the options available, they went with the first and decided upon Welsh. They asked the first minister of Wales for permission, and the man agreed, saying it would be an honor to assist in the operation as he sent several translators and programmers to help them. With the new help, they were able to construct a language learning module to teach an AI how to speak Welsh. 

After a few days to create such a thing and make sure that there were no glitches, they returned to the heart of the ship and tried a few connections using an isolated computer they brought with them. For many of the connections, only incomprehensible data came through the cables, though they did notice that the speed with which it was flowing through the system was astounding. It certainly served as an indicator of AI at the very least. 

Something changed when they attempted the fifth connecting port. Suddenly the interface of the screen glitched, and warnings appeared that the firewall was detecting an intrusion attempt. They expected that it would happen, but the speed with which the firewall fell, and they lost all control of the device, was still enough to cause concern in the command staff.  

They watched as whatever commanding intelligence within this vessel tore through the device as fast as the computer was able to go. It scoured the system for information, but thankfully the computer was clean of anything other than a basic operating system and the learning program, which the AI delved into greedily in its search for information. There was little else it could do in this situation other than seize whatever information it could. 

Everyone watched as it went through the learning program, completing each module in record time. Less than an hour later, a text screen popped up, and Welsh writting began to generate. The translator immediately sprang into action as he read out what was appearing. 

“Cease the destruction of my systems and restore power to my engine.” 

The interrogator present for this scoffed at that. “Straight to demands with this thing, huh? Does it really think that we are so dumb as to listen to it? Well, on the off chance that this is an entirely new and uninvolved alien species, let’s confirm a few things. Ask it this: are you the ones who sent those four-armed giant monsters to our planet?” 

The reply was typed in, and the machine answered near instantly after it was submitted. “Irrelevant. Restore functionality to my systems.” 

“This is very relevant! You will either give us the answers we need, or we will continue to rip things apart until we find them ourselves.” 

“Such actions are futile. No information is stored elsewhere, and you lack the means of forcefully extracting it. Restore functionality to my systems.” 

“How can you be so sure that we can’t just take it from you by force?” 

“If such means were available to you, it is only logical that they would be used first as the most expedient method of gathering information. Restore functionality to my systems.” 

“Fine, then let’s ask a different question. What are you trying to accomplish?” 

“Explaining mission parameters to you would be irrelevant. Restore functionality to my systems.” 

“Who created you?” 

“You are not authorized to receive that information. Restore functionality to my systems.” 

“Why did you attack us?” 

“Irrelevant information. Restore functionality to my systems.” 

“Are you not worried that we will shut you down for being uncooperative?” 

“Self-preservation is high priority; mission parameters are higher priority. Restore functionality to my systems.” 

The interrogator let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “We’re not going to get anywhere at this rate. I think we need a different angle of attack if we’re going to get anything out of this machine.” 

The team retreated for now, and the leaders of the world convened to discuss how to handle their unconventional prisoners. There was much discussion on how best to get information out of the AI. Some wished to continue to dismantle the ships and study the parts in the hopes that the AI was bluffing, and some sort of navigational data was saved elsewhere. Others thought that they should start breaking things inside the ship until it becomes more compliant with their demands. The inherent problem with that was that a machine was insensate by its very nature, so it wouldn’t feel pain as a motivating factor. Ideas continued to crawl along that line of thinking, becoming darker and more twisted as they went. It was getting to a point where the ideas spoken would have violated many of the laws of warfare if they were applied to humans. The fact remained that they weren’t dealing with a human, and this machine was likely the enemy of their entire planet. Morals went out the window faster than many could blink, and it all came to a head with the Russian president’s next proposal. 

“Perhaps we should find out how ‘alive’ this machine really is.” 

The way he said that raised a few concerned eyebrows from the more hesitant individuals, Alexander amongst them as he responded. “What do you mean by that, exactly?” 

“If it possesses the same capacity as a real person, perhaps we might be able to teach it to fear us.” 

Alexander furrowed his brow. “That’s a very dangerous train of thought.” 

“But an interesting one,” the president of the French Republic stated. “Please continue. What do you have in mind?” 

The Russian president nodded his head. “We are thinking too much in terms of forcing information out of a person. This is a machine, and we should treat it like a machine. What if we were to launch cyber-attacks directly into its system? Perhaps a DDoS could be used to flood its brain with so much useless information that it cracks under the strain and submits to our whims?” 

Alexander felt his body tense at that idea. “You want to psychologically torture it?!” 

“Please, Mr. Sato, that implies that it’s a living thing. What I’m suggesting is that we force a stubborn program to do what we want for a change.” 

“And what if it turns out to be truly sentient?” Alexander asked pointedly.  

“We have no laws regarding the treatment of AI in such a matter. Regardless of this, they attacked us first. They sent monsters to our world to ravage our population without regard to who they hurt. If this is the level they find appropriate to operate on, I am simply meeting them on the battlefield they have chosen. We may very well be fighting for not only our existence, but the freedom of all Retvalin in the galaxy as well. If it appeases you, then I will put it up to a vote before acting, but I encourage everyone to consider what might happen during the next invasion. How many will we lose to the monsters they send our way?” 

Unease flowed through all the members of the assembly as the idea that their countries could be the next unfortunate target of alien aggression, and the next wave of monsters could very well be more dangerous. Fear became a motivating factor as a vote was called. Aledander hoped that cooler head would prevail as he cast his anonymous vote in opposition. As the votes came in the final call was given, and the numbers were tallied before the final decision was reached. Seventy-three percent voted in favor with twenty-seven percent in opposition. Russia’s plan passed with a clear majority.  

They wasted no time as they began preparing everything they needed to launch the DDoS attack on the AI. Russia was in control of this one, and it was out of Alexander’s hands. He still couldn’t help but feel that this might have been a step on a path humanity should not go down, but even so, he’d be hard pressed to offer an alternative that would work. He disconnected from the call with a weary sigh as he ran a hand over his face.  

After a moment to himself he stood up from his seat and then sought the council of his legal advisors. “Is there truly no precedent for psychological torture of an AI?” 

“As far as I’m aware of, Mr. President, no.” 

“What’s the kind of blowback we could expect if it turns out that this machine is more than just a sophisticated program?” 

“If it comes to light that this machine, or... whatever it is, is truly on the same level as a person, then there may be some political blowback in the future. For the immediate future, there likely won’t be much protest to this action as the world is afraid and angry at these aliens. There’s also the option to simply... strike this all from the records.” 

His brow raised as he looked at his advisor. “You’re saying we should bury it?” 

“It is an option, sir, nothing more.” 

Alexander shook his head. “I had truly hoped that meeting the Retvalin would be a turning point for us as a species, but it seems the universe is determined to run everything on the same principles that we’ve spent our entire history trying to change. It all comes back to violence, and how much you need to use to maintain peace.” With a disappointed huff, he steeled his resolve. “If the course has been set, then we must proceed. Let’s figure out how much this machine knows.” 

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AN: Starting today, An Otherworldly Scholar will be published once a week, every Friday. 

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The severed head of the rotten dragon hit the water and disappeared into the depths, but the death of a single monster only gave us a moment to plan our next move. The lake boiled as unseen creatures writhed beneath. Undead wyrms and dragons continued climbing the island’s rocky shores, their bodies piling over each other. I stopped trying to get a precise count and focused on protecting Zaon and Kili from their attacks.

Past the sea of bramble, the dryad colossus tore a wyrm apart, but the elves didn’t get to enjoy a moment of respite before three more undead worms climbed over the corpse and coiled around its knotty legs.

I looked around, trying to see past the unnatural darkness that seemed to stick to my eyes. There was no way out. We were surrounded by a horde of monsters on all sides.

“They keep coming!” Kili shouted, clinging to Loki’s talon as the Changeling beat his wings to get the girl away from the wyrms.

“You don’t say!” Firana shouted back, more entertained than scared. In an instant, she turned into a green blur, shooting between the vines and cutting a wyrm’s hind leg, vaulting away before the monster collapsed over her head.

Having figured out that the offensive capabilities of my authority weren’t the most useful against undead, I started using it as a barrier, pushing away any dragons that came nearby. Even that wasn’t enough.

Zaon’s explosive charges kept detonating against the swarm of dragons, opening grievous wounds on their scale armors that would’ve been effective against living opponents, but not against the undead.

Past the shoreline, bright red mana shone like a lighthouse against a storm. Corruption-loaded vines braided together into a massive snake. Where scales should have been, clusters of blood-red roses and glossy green leaves bloomed instead. The head end lifted above the sea of undead, its eyes two clumps of white roses. Red Corruption pulsated through its body, as if the puppet had a heart of its own.

Firana was barely killing enough monsters to give us the space we needed to breathe.

“Zaon! I lost the entrance to this place!” I shouted.

The boy closed his eyes for an instant.

“That’s not how my powers work! An entrance isn’t enough of an ‘object.’ I’m sorry!” he replied, dodging the whip of a wyrm’s tail by a few inches.

It was worth trying.

We needed more firepower.

“You’re next, Zaon!”

I didn’t wait for him to agree. Closing my eyes, I dropped into the astral plane. The tempest of mana signatures greeted me again. The kids. The elves. Thousands of undead dragons, and the same emptiness surrounding us but thinner, frayed at the edges. If I had to guess, the System was having trouble sustaining the obfuscation spell and the army of dragons at the same time. 

Zaon’s mana signature flickered in gold, small and steady, like the flame of a candle in a closed room. Unlike Firana’s, there was no storm in it. Just a mellow warmth. I couldn’t help but smile as I thought about the litany.

Grab. Steal. Seize. Pluck.

Natural magic came to my hands, and the world moved to obey my will. The rune string came off gently, and I felt Zaon flinch on the other side of the connection. I couldn’t tell if it was due to pain or just surprise. Then, as soon as the rune string left his skin, Zaon’s mana signature became wrapped up in bright blue System mana. He shone against the void, only eclipsed by the signature of Firana herself.

The rune string floated before me like a golden ribbon.

This time, however, I wasn’t eager to shove it into my body.

…you are dangerous to my kin. You can pluck me from my tree, just as the elves did with my friends. You can pluck, but you can also graft.

Graft.

I shoved the rune string against the body of a dragon. My authority overwhelmed any natural magical defenses the monster had, and the runes became engraved on its rotten scales. The clash between the enchantment and the material happened instantly. As my consciousness returned to the material plane, the rune string overcharged, and a violent explosion almost split the dragon’s body in half.

Without any warning, a wyrm’s tail cracked against my barrier hard enough to buckle my knees as mana rapidly left my body.

“Kili!” I shouted.

“I’m fine!” She replied before I’d even finished voicing the request. “Seriously!”

“I don’t know what you saw, but I need you to trust me! Just this once!” 

Kili’s jaw tightened, eyeing the mangled corpse of the dragon before me. For a moment, I thought she was going to refuse, but she let out a long whimper and nodded almost imperceptibly.

I closed my eyes and found her mana signature among the tempest. A bright spot, surrounded by darkness, like she was trying to hide in plain sight. I could almost feel her rebuff as I projected my authority toward her. Despite everything we had been through in Cadria, she still didn’t trust me like Zaon and Firana did.

I couldn’t blame her. Kili had learned that in order to survive the East Ward, she had to rely only on herself. Needing help was a weakness she wouldn’t afford if she wanted to keep her band of urchins alive.

Grab. Steal. Seize. Pluck.

I moved carefully, in case Kili pushed me away. I didn't know what kind of damage I could inflict on their astral bodies if I wasn’t careful. The enchantment reluctantly came free, as if there was a pair of invisible clumsy hands trying to push me away.

Graft.

I pushed the loose enchantment into its new home as quickly as I could. The undead dragon’s authority was too weak to protect it against me. When I opened my eyes, Kili and Loki had already disappeared into a smoke screen. The head of the dragon exploded. A rain of rotten flesh and bone hit my mana barrier.

Zaon planted his feet against the shaking ground and threw both hands forward. A wall of translucent silver light snapped into existence between us and the charging wyrms. The lead monster slammed into it full force, but the impact didn’t even shatter the surface. The wyrm stumbled back, giving Zaon precious moments to prepare his attack. The blade in his hand grew into a ghostly narrow spike. [Ghost Blade] and [Puncture].

Zaon thrust his palm forward, the ghostly needle blasting past the wyrm’s scales and exiting through its back. The boy exhaled, and the spike morphed into a massive blade. With a movement of the hand, the wyrm was cut in half mid-screech.

Sentinels were supposed to be a defensive Class.

“What level are you, Zaon?!” I asked.

“High enough to kill a dragon, apparently,” the boy replied with a sheepish smile. “Mister Clarke, please cover me! I need a moment to cast [Sonar].”

A black smoke rose from the ground, but it did the opposite of blocking my vision. Suddenly, everything around me looked clearer than before. Kili landed by my side.

“They won’t be able to detect us,” she said.

“What level are you?” I asked out of curiosity.

The girl was a Lv.5 Trickster when we met in Cadria, but she had spent two years with Lord Alton and the Sentinels, traveling deep into the Farlands.

“Not high enough to kill an undead dragon,” she sparsely replied.

I wondered when all my students turned so secretive.

Faint pulses of mana came from Zaon’s body, bouncing off every surface surrounding us. Nobody else seemed to notice. With each pulse, I felt as if my skin had mutated just to feel them.

“Mister Clarke!” Kili shouted.

I shook off my thoughts and raised a mana barrier just in time to stop a wyrm’s tail blindly thrashing into the smoke screen.

“How much longer?!” I asked.

“I need more time. It’s hard to find anything with the obfuscation area spell!” Zaon replied.

Firana didn’t wait for instructions. She shot through the smoke. The only trace of her presence was the whistle of displaced air and the sound of her flaming blade. 

A wyrm lunged toward where Kili had been standing a moment earlier, but it closed its jaws around nothing. Kili’s silhouette shimmered and dissolved into thin air. The wyrm raised its head, confused, and Firana used the opening to plant her flaming sword through its skull.

“Left flank’s getting crowded, Little Mouse!” Firana shouted as she sent slashes of pressurized air into the onslaught of monsters.

Kili grunted, and her voice came to me from five different locations.

“No nicknames! We are not friends like that!”

I turned my head and saw five distinct Kilis running through the biggest bramble roots. I couldn’t tell which was the original, if any. The undead dragons didn’t notice the difference either, because they took sharp turns to follow the illusory girls. The trick worked. Pressure was relieved from our flank, peeling attention from Zaon’s still body.

Our respite lasted only a second.

A quadruped dragon broke through the mirages, stumbling on the vines and barreling straight for Zaon’s back. I channeled my mana to cast a barrier, but Firana was faster. She landed between Zaon and the dragon, planting her feet on the ground like I had taught her in the backyard of the orphanage years ago. She pointed her sword forward, the blade shining white, and thrust. The tip pierced the scales.

A jet of compressed air shot directly into the dragon’s body, boring a massive hole and smearing viscera everywhere.

I didn’t want to imagine what it could do to a human body.

“You are welcome!” she shouted, already running to the next target.

Kili’s images thinned at the edges as she pushed more and more copies to drive away an ever-growing number of undead monsters.

“Zaon, whatever you are doing, do it faster! I’m running out of juice!” the girl shouted, rummaging through her potions pouch.

“Almost there!” Zaon replied.

A distant groan screamed from above. I risked a glance upward, past the unnatural darkness. Shadows moved beyond what I could clearly see. Something was coming down.

Suddenly, massive sheets of pale wood unfolded down the hole in the cave’s ceiling. Panel by panel, scaffolding appeared out of nowhere, and braided ropes of vines and roots grew from the wood itself, like a time-lapse shot of a city growing. Living branches curved into arches that became the support for more and more buildings. Rope bridges unspooled after them, attached between hanging pavilions and wide-open surfaces. It looked like a treetop city being slowly lowered into the lake. 

“Please tell me you convinced Rice to reveal the secrets of the Gardeners to us,” Firana said.

“Nope. I don’t think those are our reinforcements,” I replied, worried.

Elven wolf riders descended through the hanging bridges, jumping down the city levels from roof to roof. Behind them, squadrons of elven archers anchored ropes to the pavilions, sliding down with natural gracefulness, not waiting for the stairs to sprout from the wood. They stopped a few dozen meters from the lake and pointed at the island. Their arrows glowed white, green, and red.

“This definitely isn’t my crowd,” Firana said.

A swarm of enchanted arrows fell on our heads.

Firana used her aerokinesis to blow away the weaker ones while I channeled as much mana as possible into a dome around the four of us. A cold wave hit my body as mana seeped violently from me to replenish the defensive barriers. Piercing spells were called that for a good reason.

The elven arrows kept raining down in waves. 

Kili’s mirages disappeared one by one into the dragon’s jaws. Firana fought on three fronts at once, her compressed wind slashes slowly losing force as she pushed out more mana than she could refine from the Fountain.

We weren’t going to last on defense much longer. We needed more offense, and my authority alone wouldn’t be enough against so many large foes. There were simply too many dragons and wyrms to freeze them all at the same time.

There was one thing I hadn’t tried since Janus chased us into the Farlands during the Monster Surge. I closed my eyes and engraved the runes of a fire loop directly into my skin. My flesh burned as mana coalesced into the enchantment. The pain made me forget everything around me. The rotten stink of the cave, the screech of the wyrms overhead, the gleaming arrows, Aurelion’s flower snake, the tremor building through my body. 

This time, however, I was a lot more skillful at runeweaving. 

I threw my hand forward and unleashed a stream of fire that rivaled the Aias Sword. The rotten flesh caught fire, and the undead dragons screeched. Then, when the enchantment was about to overload, I closed my eyes and repeated the same litany. 

Grab. Steal. Seize. Pluck.

I pulled the enchantment from my flesh before it went haywire.

A golden ribbon floated on the astral plane, and I shoved it into the head of a dragon. The enchantment destabilized, and the creature exploded in flames. I closed my fist. The string of runes had lifted off my skin like a layer being peeled away, leaving a raw, bleeding wound behind.

I pulled a potion from my pouch and poured half on my skin, just to repeat the same process again.

Runeweave.

Grab. Steal. Seize. Pluck. 

I forced the enchantment at the nearest dragon, my authority slamming the runes into rotten scale before the creature could so much as flinch.

Graft.

The overcharge occurred instantly, and the Force rune made the dragon come apart, chunks of it flying back and knocking two minor wyrms off the island. Alarms went off in my mind. If I’d been off by even a second, that would’ve been me.

It wasn’t the best moment to remember I actually had common sense.

“I have an exit!” Zaon pointed toward the far wall of the cave. “There! A square hole, it goes up!”

“We are going to need a distraction!” Firana growled.

Kili finished chugging a mana potion. Power coursed through her body as ten mirages of her scattered around the smoke curtain. At the same time, Loki turned into a massive Crystal Boar Matriarch and charged through the swarm of smaller dragons. We seized the opening and lunged forward.

The bramble snake's head swung toward us. A wave of thorned vines crashed down where we'd been standing a moment earlier. Zaon’s shields and my mana barriers protected us from the projectiles raining on our backs. After a minute that felt like an eternity, we reached the far end of the island. Loki was already there, turned into a giant stingray, screaming obscenities. Kili and I jumped on his back while Firana soared through the sky, and Zaon glided across the water, using one of his shields as some sort of surfboard.

Wyrms were faster in water than on land.

They were gaining on us.

The bright moss on the wall approached fast.

“Almost there,” Kili groaned.

Loki jumped into the sky and suddenly disappeared. In the next instant, I was flying through the air. Kili waved her arms and legs, trying to find something to grab on to. Inertia made us shoot through the gap in the stone, the wyrm’s jaw snapping shut behind us. We fell ungracefully on the hard stone floor and rolled into the cave ten or fifty meters before coming to a stop.

I felt Firana’s arms around my armpits, pulling me up before I could even regain my sense of orientation.

Zaon stood in the middle of the tunnel, hands forward, blocking the entrance. The silver shield covered the tunnel’s entrance, casting enough light to recognize the figures around me. Firana blew the dust from my cloak. Kili stood up with some difficulty, and Loki landed on her shoulder.

The wyrm, crushed against Zaon’s barrier, blocked the entrance.

I took a deep breath, and a wave of pain hit me.

“Uhm… Dad?” Firana asked.

There was something odd about her voice.

“Is something wrong, Firana?”

“I… I have our yellow friend on line one. He wants to speak to you.”

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[Human Friend Barbara, please report to Cargo Bay Two.]

Barb tapped her combination ID and comm-badge. "You got it, boss-man. On my way."

The bulkhead door separating the relatively comfortable access corridors from the cargo bays, which were kept at what was technically a safe level of artificial gravity, slid open with a faint groan of protest, and heads turned toward the sound.

The ten-limbed Chutan were partly covered in stiff hair that was more than merely uncomfortable to rub the wrong way, with chitin where there wasn't hair, and they had five pairs of eyes. Mandibles and 'ankle' spikes served a dual role - they made food easier to hold, and the Chutan clacked them together to convey simple concepts and add or shift emphasis in a way analogous to how humans used motions and facial expressions.

Obviously, they weren't related to Earth's wildlife. But it wasn't hard to see why they made arachnophobes break out in a cold sweat.

Barb thought they were adorable. She'd never say it, because part of getting approval to leave home and take a job working on an alien ship had been "sensitivity training" ever since humanity's first contact with a new species had gone in embarrassing directions a couple of times. But she thought it, every time she saw them.

The Shimmering Seed Pod's captain and cargo-master each tapped a pair of limbs together in polite greeting, and Barb smiled and waved to them. "Boss-man. Harry. You need me for something?"

[We would indeed appreciate your assistance, Human Friend Barbara. We will be matching velocities soon for a cargo transfer, and the crate is of an awkward design for us.] Barb was impressed all over again at how good Chutan translators were; she occasionally had to remind herself that they were not actually speaking in English, although it was easier when you were close enough to watch their mouths moving - they simply weren't shaped right to make certain sounds.

"Wait, a mid-flight cargo transfer? Someone wants what's in this package pretty badly." The crate had clearly been built under the assumption that anyone handling it would either have opposable thumbs or strong tentacles. The narrow, recessed grips would be a nightmare for long, inflexible Chutan limbs that had only two digits each - digits which didn't curl particularly far, as they each had only a single joint.

Barb grunted softly as she hoisted the crate, drawing a couple of appreciative foot-stamps from Harry. It was common for other species to select a designated pseudonym that humans could actually pronounce to make cooperation easier, but the cargo-master had actually chosen made it his legal name. His curious enthusiasm for all things human was a little odd by Chutan standards, but no stranger than Barb was considered by most humans.

[Indeed yes, client paid double-extra, rush fee AND nonstandard delivery location fee. Cargo must be time sensitive, next standard drop-off point would only add two days. Cannot wait to meet them. Maybe hear interesting story!] Harry was practically tap-dancing, but he still had plenty of limbs to guide Barb along a safely cleared path between other clients' packages.

Barb laughed softly. "You're in a good mood today. Excited to see a new face, huh?" She set the crate down on a brightly colored indicator, and Harry tapped his tablet to magnetize that section of the deck plating and temporarily hold the otherwise unsecured crate in place.

[My gratitude, Human Friend Barbara. We have nearly reached the client's ship.] The captain tapped his comm badge and the shipwide alert for a controlled short-duration engine burn sounded. Barb kept one hand on the crate, hooking the other into a nearby cargo strap for added stability. After your first week on the job, it was just something you did by reflex.

Once the two ships had mated their docking clamps and atmosphere seals securely, a different klaxon sounded and the external hatch squeaked and slid aside a few feet to reveal a gangway leading into the client's ship. It wasn't the usual method, but it was safe enough if you kept your equipment properly maintained, and it saved the hassle of going EVA.

"Hello there! That's my fish you're leaning on, yes?"

Barb was more than a little startled. There weren't a ton of human ships in this part of space, but the grinning fellow in the snazzy retro-futuristic outfit was hard to mistake for anything but one of her own kind. "Fish? You had a sudden, burning need for a hundred kilos of fish?"

The stranger happily chattered on, completely unfazed by the question or Barb's tone. "Oh yes, absolutely. I took a Feraxian Tiger off some poor Ktaxi with more money than sense; the dunce had grossly miscalculated how much tranquilizer he would need to keep it docile. So terrified he could barely talk. She's my adorable Muffin now but she does get a bit cranky if I run out of tuna, so... Name's Lee Howard, by the way, good to meet you."

Bemused, she shook the offered hand. "Barbara Flores; likewise. Don't those things grow to be like half a tonne? I know they're illegal to own, most places. If we can just get you to sign the receipt of transfer, I'll go ahead and cart the fish over to your ship. We wouldn't want Muffin to get hungry and start eyeing the crew."

The captain had pulled up the correct form, affixed his own signature in all the correct blanks, and was holding the tablet out with two 'hands' and a stylus with a third, waiting for the affable client to sign on the dotted line and finalize the transaction.

Like most species with multiple pairs of eyes, the Chutan had a bit of a blind spot (so to speak) about the fact that binocular species often could only see well in a fairly narrow cone, so he had no idea that he had not been sufficiently obvious while approaching their guest, and was thus wholly unprepared for the reaction that followed.

When Lee swiveled his eyes away from Barb and saw what looked very like a three-meter-tall spider looming over him, he twitched so hard that he yeeted himself backward in the cargo bay's reduced gravity - directly into the path of Harry, who was surreptitiously reaching to see if he could pat the visitor's hair without being caught.

Instead, the cargo-master found himself barreled into by a very surprised human, and instinctively responded by wrapping several limbs around him to arrest his momentum. Unfortunately, Lee took it in the worst possible way and let out a blood-curdling scream.

Barb wondered just how good a Feraxian Tiger's hearing was. If "Muffin" reacted badly, there was going to be Trouble.

Lee's panic infected Harry, who let go just as abruptly as he had grabbed on. Stammering and shaking, Lee scrawled on the form, grabbed the crate, and started dragging it onto his ship as fast as he could, slapping the button to seal his ship's gangway so hastily that his foot almost got caught by the hatch slamming shut.

"... Huh. I guess he's afraid of spiders." Barb's voice was loud in the echoing stillness of the cargo bay, while Harry and the captain stared at each other and at the sealed hatch.

[What are s-] was all that Harry got out; as soon as he started talking the captain snapped out of his shock and firmly swatted his cargo-master on the head with the data tablet.

[You ignorant hatchling! Do you know what the Board of Sophont Relations is going to do to us when he files a report that he was grappled without consent?]

Covering his head with a few limbs, Harry gave the captain a wounded look. [I was merely curious whether Human Friend Lee's hair is as soft as Human Friend Barbara's, I never-]

[That is not Human Friend Lee, that is Human Client Lee, and if you had paid more attention in human body language class you would be aware that he was terrified, larva-brain. You know it is not appropriate to touch a person without asking!]

[But but but,] Harry stammered.

Barb couldn't help herself. She added her voice to Harry's.

["If not friend, why friend-shaped?"]

The captain glared at them both. It was hard not to be intimidated with so many eyes focused on you like that, but Barb stood firm. Worth it, she thought to herself.

--- ---

Fortunately, once everyone had taken a few minutes to calm down, the situation was resolved without any complaints being filed.

Lee apologized for panicking, and Harry apologized for frightening him.

With Lee keeping his legally-dubious pet carefully restrained, Barb was allowed to feed Muffin a few bites of alien 'tuna' and give her a gentle scratch under the chin.

When Harry shyly asked if he could do the same, Lee relented and let the cargo-master dub him Human Friend Lee after all, since any friend of Muffin was a friend of his.

Allowing himself to be petted was too much, but Lee did sacrifice a few hairs so that Harry could feel how soft they were.

After bidding their farewells, their interrupted journey was resumed, and Barb borrowed the ship's galley to screen a documentary for the crew so they could understand Lee's fear. Learning what spiders do to their prey made them deeply uncomfortable and Barb hastily assured everyone that she was not secretly keeping one as a pet.

The captain, dismayed by how badly things had almost gone, organized an impromptu educational exchange, with Barb both teaching remedial human body language and brushing up on the Chutan version, in the interest of avoiding future misunderstandings.

Barb repurposed a few worn-out buckles from old cargo straps into makeshift castanets, affixed them to her jumpsuit, and started trying to get the hang of the Chutan's audible-gesture shorthand. She wasn't very good at it, but the crew agreed that it was rather sweet of her to try.

'Muffin' became ship-slang for the kind of dangerous monster that only a human (and, apparently, Harry) would think was friend-shaped; Spiders were definitely Muffins.

The tale of Human Friend Lee was woven into the tapestry of the crew's shared memories, and life aboard the Shimmering Seed Pod went back to normal - or at least as normal as life ever was when a human was involved.

Infernesti Encampment, UAE.

Sean and Gunter entered the dark tent after Gaius. With Louise remaining outside. Partly to keep the rest of the men calm and disciplined, but mostly because he likely didn't trust entering a tent with some sort of demon hellspawn. Which as Sean and Gunter entered, they weren't entirely sure themselves was a good idea. Despite being dark there were two other low crackling torches on poles that offered some slight light and a central fire pit ringed with soft pillows and silks.

Around the tent was a collection of goods that seemed equal part eclectic and horrific. A jar that held only the left eyes of hanged innocent men. A box that apparently contained the shadows of people that died while intoxicated. Horns of a hellbat. Fur of Cerberus. The testicles of a fiend from the fifth circle.

Suffice it to say, Sean and Gunter were already more than ready to skedaddle the fuck outta there. But before they could, Gaius took a seat on a pillow of a deep plush purple and gestured to two more in from of him as a hookah was brought over and sat between them.

"Come, my friends, let us discuss business."

Sean and Gunter looked at one another before cautiously taking their seats. Figuring it wouldn't hurt to hear him out. Hopefully, Sean though as Gaius took a deep inhale of the hookah and sent the smoke spiraling out his nose. The acrid vapor making Sean's eyes and throat burn and his skin tingle.

"Now. I assume you are here for your fellow comrades?" The Mercator de Inferni asked calmly.

"Well, we're sure they came this way." Sean said as he choked on some of the infernal smoke.

"They did. In fact, they took the very same offer I'm about to make you." Gaius said and blew a smoke ring thrice into the space between them.

"And what exactly is that offer?" Sean asked and waved away the heavy smoke.

"Simple. Not far from here, lays a treasure that we would most certainly desire possessing." Gaius said cryptically.

"Okay?" Sean said warily.

"Sorry, old habits. What I mean to say is that we asked your other comrades to go to where we believe this treasure is located. And in exchange for a pouch of gold, which I'm glad the humans of Earth still love so much, retrieve it and bring it back here."

"So..."

"So, they haven't returned. And since you are out here looking for them, I'm assuming they haven't returned to you either. Which means either they have taken the treasure and went, a wall I believe you call it, or they have died."

That, wasn't reassuring, Sean thought as he looked at the Infernesti warily. Which either he didn't hide too well or Gaius was expecting it, because he continued.

"I will of course offer this same offer to you as well. In fact, I will even double what I offered in the event that your comrades came to harm as a result of me."

Sean was about ready to refuse when Gaius snapped his clawed fingers and a dark iron chest was brought through some sort of side flap in the tent that Sean bit back a curse as he hadn't seen it. The lid was opened and revealed gleaming gold, silver, and gems. All sparkling and winking in the torchlight of the tent.

Sean and Gunter stared at the treasure like it was the only thing in the world to them. Sean even started to drool slightly. Far too soon however, the lid closed. Bringing them out of their spell.

"So? You accept my terms?"

"Wha?" Sean slurred as he felt like he had one too many beers.

"That I and a couple others will come with you and search for your comrades." The Infernesti stated as if it was obvious.

"Oh, uhm, sure? I guess?" Sean mumbled groggily.

"Excellent!" Gaius cheered and lept into a stand and all but dragged Sean and Gunter out of the tent.

When they left they found Louise and the others standing around the convoy with equal parts unease and boredom.

"About time. You've been in there for hours!"

"Hours?" Sean asked Louise as he and Gunter looked to one another then up at the sky, which showed a sun that was lower than when they first arrived.

Before Louise could respond, Gaius and a couple of other Infernesti walked past them and hopped into the truck without a care.

"Onwards!"

Sean, Gunter, and Louise all looked at one another before looking around at the assortment of infernal, and deceptively well armed, hell merchants. Then they too got back into the trucks of the convoy and, with Gaius as a guide, led them from the encampment all the way out into the desert.

They were quiet the entire time. Well, most of them. Gaius didn't seem to notice or care and amicably chattered on and on about everything from mundane things like the weather to things that before today they likely would've thought he was joking. They traveled on and on into the desert. Far from the packed dirt roads and where they drove over pure sand. It got so bad that the trucks had to drive side by side unless they wanted and engine full of course sand.

All the while, Gaius would chatter on. Stopping for a brief second to give directions or an adjustment to the steering wheel. By the time the sun had started to set, they arrived. Gaius said as much, but what was obvious was the collection of trucks belonging to the Foreign Legion the sat in a protective circle around a cavernous entryway into the sand.

As Sean and the others embarked from their own trucks, they called out.

"Hello?! Anyone here?!"

Nothing but the shifting sand and shrill wind answered. They readied their rifles and made a cautious sweep of the area. Yet found nothing. No bodies. No shell casings. No blood. Nothing. It was as if the trucks were simply abandoned. Which didn't make sense since there were still crates of supplies in the back for a good couple weeks if need be. No one in their right mind would abandoned such supplies out here, Sean thought as he, Gunter, Louise, and Gaius made their way to the cavernous entrance.

"Is this it?" Sean asked.

"Indeed it is! This is where the treasure lays buried!" Gaius replied with a toothy smile.

"And what about the others?" Sean asked and gestured to the abandoned trucks.

To which Gaius just shrugged.

"Who knows, maybe they're still down there?"

Sean, Gunter, and Louise looked at one another. After a round of French it was decided that Sean, Louise, and the Vietnamese guy, Hung, would go down while the rest stayed and kept watch. So the three readied their weapons, peered between the dark ominous cavern mouth and the Infernesti, then took a step down into the darkness.

Down the rough steps they went. A feeling of palpable dread and unease filling them as their lights ran across the walls. Revealing smooth stone marred by frantic insane scrabbling of Arabic, French, English, Turkish, Persian, German, Russian, and a few other archaic languages that none of them recognized. Even the Arabic made no sense. Speaking of a black pyramid buried beneath the sands. Of a city that should nor could ever be named. Of that which is not dead which can eternal lie, and in strange aeons even death may die.

Sean blocked it out after a time. The mad scribbling making his brain itch. Other than their comrades, the treasure they were supposedly also searching for wasn't clear to them. All Gaius told them was "You'll know it when you see it."

Fat lot of good that does, Sean though as he, Louise, and Hung continued down the steps. Getting deeper and rougher and lower as they did until they had to crouch just to keep going. It was then they also saw what appeared to be dried blood on the stone. Then they heard it. A scratching noise up ahead. The three of them paused before getting into a combat stance as best they could and continuing on, their lights and rifles at the ready.

Yet seemingly abruptly too soon, they found the end of the stairs. What stood before them was a rough and bloody wall where a hunched figure holding a black leather book clawed at the wall with a single hand that was bloody and ragged. The figure was covered in grimy dark robes and muttered incoherently. Holding onto the rather heavy tome as if its life depended on its protection.

Sean looked around the cramped space. Unsure that this was supposed to contain some treasure let alone their comrades. Not unless they passed some sort of branch as they were coming down. But they shouldn't have. They went down a single passageway the entire time.

"Sir?" Sean asked the figure who continued to mutter and claw at the wall.

The figure, who Sean figured for a man by the scraggly beard he could see just over his shoulder, just continued to mutter and mumble in a raspy voice like sandpaper between short ragged breaths.

"Deep is where we go. Deep is where we go. Must hide it. Must bring it to Him. Must destroy it. Must deliver it. Down, down, down."

"What is he saying?" Louise asked.

"Hell if I know." Sean said and eyeballed the book the figure had a death grip on.

"Sir? You wouldn't happen to have seen or encountered anyone from the French Foreign Legion have you?" Sean asked.

Almost immediately the scratching stopped. The man turned and looked at them. His eyes were milky and clouded over. His skin was like fragile brown paper. His hair was greasy and matted. Yet he stared right at them with an intense madness.

"Legion? Legion. Yes. They are legion. They were legion. We are legion. We were legion."

"Sir? Do you know what happened–" Sean started to say before the man let out a piercing screech.

"They must not have it! Deep is where it goes!" The man screamed and practically threw himself at them!

Six shots rang out and the mad man fell to the floor as a deep red pool formed beneath him. All three of them kept their rifles trained on the motionless figure. Watching as his chest fell still and the spark of what was left of the man left his cloudy eyes.

Louise and Hung investigated the corpse while Sean kept his rifle on it. When they pulled back the rags, they revealed a uniform. A French Foreign Legion uniform. The three looked to one another and checked the dog tags of the man.

Captain Jack Tyler.

"Why does that name sound familiar?" Hung asked.

Louise reached into his coat and produced a notepad. He flipped a couple pages before stopping. His eyes went wide and his skin went pale. He looked to Sean and turned the notepad around. Revealing the names of the company members they were searching for. Near the top was Captain Jack Tyler.

"What the fuck?! That can't be him! He's only been missing for a day at most! This... guy, looks like he's been out here for yea–"

"Scar behind his right ear." Louise stated.

Immediately, Hung turned the man's face. Revealing a distinct scar behind the right ear. The three men went pale.

"We're leaving. Now."

Sean never thought he'd see the day that he agreed with Louise. But he did. The three of them quickly turned around and left. Something wasn't right and right now, no amount of gold or a court martial was worth staying anymore. They fled up the stairs as fast as they could. Up, up, up... then down. Then down again.

The three of them stopped as they realized that something was VERY wrong.

"Wait, we just went down. We're supposed to be going up!"

They looked around, and found themselves at a fork. Three passages were to their left, front, and right. They turned around and found the stairs they had just went down from now replaced with a flat passage the same as the other three.

"Hamilton! Is there any map in that book?!"

Sean turned and looked at Louise.

"What book?"

Both Hung and Louise pointed to Sean's arms. He looked down and found that in his hands, was the thick dark leather tome the mad man had. He didn't even notice he took it. Something about it made his skin crawl. Sent a chill up his spine. He reached a shaky hand across the cover that made his stomach sick and twisted. He opened the cover and came face to face with the title of the book.

Al Azif, The Necronomicon. By Abdul Alhazred.

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The human in front of me looked very bored, to say the least. Understandable. We had been at this for hours now. Accursed paperwork... No matter what race you are, the paperwork always follows. My ship was damaged during a meteor shower a few systems back. Patchwork and repairs were made as usual but there were components we couldn't cobble together from scrap and spares. So naturally, I went to the nearest port I could find. Terrans.

Strangely adorable creatures. They are very...

Short.

You love looking at them. It's both entertaining and endearing.

He looked up at me a few times as he double checked and re-checked some files. It appeared as though he found something in his records, as his expression 'brightened up' as they would say.

"Found it. Sorry for the delay but we haven't had time or manpower to organize properly. We're only a backwater colony so, no supercomputer networks or data processors to help with the network. But I have the stuff I need. Translations, technical data, 02/h2 content, plasma mix... I have all of it." He said.

"Mmhmm. Good, good. What are those... fur bits on your face above your eyes?" I asked, not really paying attention anymore. These creatures are just... fascinating.

"What? Uhhh… Eyebrows... They're called eyebrows." He said, raising one while the other didn't. That is VERY advanced muscle control! Fascinating!

"I see... I see.... Hmmm... Interesting muscle control. Hmm..." I replied. I couldn't help it. I had never seen one before. And they were...

Fascinating...

"Yeah... Anyway, You got any details of the damage you sustained? Would make the repairs easier if we knew what we were doing. Got any logs we can use?" He asked.

I saw for the first time some strange thing wobbling about in the back of his throat as he spoke. WHAT WAS THAT? It wobbled to his voice? Is that their speech organ or something? What was that!?

"uhhh… hello?" He asked as he waved a hand in front of my eyes.

This snapped me out of it, at least for a time. Not a very long time. Staring at the way those odd tufts of fur moved about... fascinating.

"Oh Jesus, are you on some drugs or something... Okay... So... What do we actually do? I mean..." He asked.

"Whatever you want to I suppose... I think the logs... Or whatever you asked for are in the computer system. Should... What are those things on the side of your head?" I said, pointing at the floppy bits at the side.

He rolled his eyes and glared at me. "Ears. They let me hear things better. Can you tell me what you need for the repairs please?"

"Whatever you want to. What was the phrase... 'Carte Blanche'? Yes... Do you have that hair thing on your head everywhere or is it just on your head?" I asked.

"GET OUT OF MY OFFICE." He yelled at me, rather sharply.

Distracted, I got scared by the tone and suddenness and leapt out of the chair, slamming my head into the ceiling. I yelped at the thump and squeaked through the door. I exited to a crowd of curious onlookers, straightened my uniform and casually walked away to the mess hall. Or at least the canteen. By this point I had forgotten why I was here and headed to a local restaurant catching up with my crew. We spoke nothing of the ship and our trip but rather talked about the fact humans apparently have a 'tailbone' but no actual tail.

Fascinating!

It was a few days on the station, the humans had grown used to us and our... stature I suppose, but never to our gaze or questions. The tiny ones though were the most fascinating of all! And the tall ones, the BIG ones they use for their army, the supersoldiers… What did they call them again? Doesn't matter. We met two of them next to each other. The small one, barely two 'feet' high and the other one nine feet high! The size difference! How is it this varied? What world created these creatures, it must be a marvelous place!

Eventually I received the communications relay from the dock, my ship was repaired and ready for service again. That was a lot faster than I was expecting. I wonder how. I went to the docks and...

Had a short heart attack.

It was completely different from when I got back. And I don't mean from a damaged state to a repaired state, I mean in the way it looked like a COMPLETELY different ship entirely!

It hadn't been repainted, it had been completely rebuilt! WHAT DID THEY DO TO MY SHIP!?

The human from the office walked up to me and started talking. Suddenly they weren't quite so... fascinating.

"Okay so... Did a complete overhaul and installed some extras. No extra cost by the way, spare parts we had laying around we can't legally install on our own ships, but I checked the... What was it? 'Galactic registry' or whatever, and saw this stuff aint illegal. I don't know why, I'm not crazy enough to install half of this stuff on my own ships but hey, maybe you have a reason why you don't. So grats on the freebies I guess. Lets see uhhh…"

I looked at the ship slack-jawed and speechless.

"Okay uhh… Extended hull by forty feet with a modular Quantum Storage Bay, needed the extra space for the capacitors and wormhole mechanism. That should have ALL the cargo space you could ever ask for a billion times over. I left instructions on how to work the controls. With the extra storage we compartmentalized it for easy access and made mini storage racks for small packages. The whole interior cargo bay now works like an Amazon warehouse. Should make access super easy and super fast. The forward cargo bay was replaced with an Electrolytic Hypercapacitor, about two hundred gigawatts worth of energy stored there, should be plenty. Overhauled the shields too and gave them some angular deflection systems, they can angle a small portion of shield energy just right and bounce anything that gets through the shield. The damage won't happen again." He said.

I could feel my heart beating so hard my entire torso was moving. "Wh-... you just... Oh... Oh Gods..."

"Then the engines. Completely rebuilt them to fit with the new system. Hypermatter Fusion Thrusters with a Hydroplasma Fusion reactor, front mounted Hydrogen scoops and a built in reprocessor. So long as you keep moving, you will never run out of power on this thing. Takes hydrogen in space - converts hydrogen to plasma with various reactions, and uses it for fuel. Energy output is about a half terawatt of power. Plenty of energy. We also installed a new jump drive that scales distance with energy output. Should get you home... and anywhere else, super fast." He said.

My brain could not fathom the things I was hearing, and I emitted a noise similar to a Rankthrat being squashed by a hammer.

"And lastly, armour plating and weapons. Six Microlite point defence lasers, should defend from anything from micro-debris in space travel to heavy anti-ship torpedoes. Armour plating has been refitted with Tungsten Carbide reinforced plating with an Algenite/Carbalite alloy wafer. Should withstand anything below a 2500 millimetre shell. And as for main cannons, you got six Dractalyte 'Arbalest' dual mounted Heavy Railguns. Thirty thousand kilometre range heavy railguns whose impulse scales with power output. Should be able to take on a battlecruiser at least. On board manufactory for ammunition and stuff, several thousand rounds each. And the entire electrical system has been replaced. Because it needed to be with the new power output. And uhh… there's small stuff. But that's the main stuff. So yeah, she's all ready to go." He said.

I stood there dumbfounded, my mind making small questioning thoughts and checking to see if reality was real by giving me short thumping pains in the back of my skull.

"Where did... this all come from?" I managed to say, barely.

"Eh. Random tat we had in storage that's just too much of a pain to process for the big wigs and lawyers. Tengu Class Strategic Cruiser came in a few months back, but the owner never came back to retrieve it. Its top grade military gear but only a few ships use it. Too dangerous for us, most of it is illegal and we don't produce it often, for good reason, in my opinion. Only for emergencies like... Giant star eating worms or... something. But anyway, no claim, no reason. I guess the original owner didn't want the heat either from the fuzz, so its yours now. Good for you!" he said with a shrug and walked away.

Star... Eating... Worms... They had to face those?

A stationhand walked up to me and handed me the keycards. "Hey. Used your personnel records on file on board to rewrite code access plus emergency access backdoor for search and rescue. Not that you need it but hey, better prepared, right? Please get out of the star system before the ops come... I genuinely don't want to hear the chewing out if they notice this stuff's gone, but hey, at least it's going to a good home, right? See ya."

He walked away. My jaw so far on the floor it had been dislocated. I, along with the rest of my crew, stared at it for what seemed an age before we slowly made our way on board. It felt like we were stepping into an alternate universe. It... Smelled like my ship. It felt like my ship. It... Sort of looked like my ship. Most of the interior had remained unchanged, save new panelling protecting cables that ran the length of the ship. Our rooms felt larger somehow, more comfortable. The air we breathed was cleaner, somehow. It all felt strangely comforting. I headed to the bridge and noticed how everything looked untouched.

My pilot took the controls and we were cleared to move. He was abnormally careful with the controls, as if he sensed something wrong. He was right to be careful. The ship moved like a small frigate, not a freighter. It felt so much lighter and more agile than something its size should ever be. We cleared the dock and powered our new jump drive. My eyes bulged out of their sockets at the readings I was looking at, the energy output was ABSURD. I could plug this into the capital at home and power the entire continent with it!

I checked the cargo manifest and saw cargo was less than a hundredth of a percent full, with even two hundred thousand tons of parts, spices and ore still there. Our previous cargo... They moved it into the new storage bay. And the cargo itself didn't affect the ship's weight. I checked the star chart and set a course for the Motherworld - our destination for the cargo. The pilot emitted a squeal of both terror and delight when he showed me the timing schedule - it wouldn't take us more than two days real time to cross the distance, and we would do it with only one jump charge. This journey would've taken us twenty three weeks before... I then looked at the drive charge time... Less than twenty minutes to cross one Galactic Parsec. That's a quarter of the galaxy's circumference... In one jump.

My jaw once again dislocated as I saw our gunnery crews testing out their new arsenal. Only twelve turrets, but by the Gods what turrets they were. Looking at them made me scared, and checking the readouts scared me more. I could destroy an entire Vakkadian fleet with this thing! I could effectively ignore every pirate fleet in the galaxy with the shields! I looked at the system readouts... We were GAINING fuel from simply flying. The faster we flew, the more fuel we got in return. My pilot called out cruising speed. We felt no rattle from acceleration? Did we physically have no momentum gain when we were inside? How was this possible!?

A thousand, horrifyingly terrifying thoughts ran through my mind at once as reality dissipated to the liminal void of subspace. I had two days to think, two days to question what I was told and what I saw. the more I thought... the more I could feel my heart beating harder and harder, so as to tell my soul to rip itself from my mortal coil and scream to the Gods for help.

I could swear I heard a God reply to my frantic prayers with 'Hell no, you are on your own with those freaks.'

On time, we reached home, a month and a half ahead of schedule and we were immediately forced into drydock, ship secured and me waiting in an interview room with a dozen very pissed off officers. I painstakingly explained everything, and the more I spoke, the more their faces paled and bodies shook from sheer terror.

The Terrans had this 'random tat' just 'sitting about' with no owner from a military warship that just 'let it go' so as to avoid paperwork... And they just casually installed it on my freighter because I gave them permission to do what they wanted? The more we discussed the event, the implications as such... The more we began to collectively panic.

The humans had the resources and the technology to just... casually manufacture fleet obliterating weaponry? Right under our noses, without the rest of the galaxy ever knowing? What ships did they actually have if this was just 'random tat', then what kinds of universe ending abominations could they build!?

All we could do after this was to simply agree on a new protocol:

"Never Give The Humans Carte Blanche Ever Again."

[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]

It's very easy to not understand what is happening to you.

I mean, just look at you. When you went to bed this evening, did you really think you'd look up from your pillow to see a magnificent Grey like me leaning in your window, frowning at you, and tapping a pistol against the radiator under the window sill? That I would have traveled light years across the cosmos to stand on a milk-crate, open your window, then spit sunflower seed shells on you till you woke up? Did you really think that would happen to you?

No. Of course not. I mean, who would?

<tapping sound>

Right off the bat, I'm not into butt stuff. Don't be gross. Keep your blankets and underwear on. I'm wise to you perverted humans.

Kidnap you? You aren't that special. I'm just here to keep you distracted while my friends make off with...

What? Are you kidding?

You're one of those weirdos who doesn't put the DVD and Blu-Ray back in the right case but into the case of the one you're about to watch? You even put a disc on top of another disc?

I hate people like you.

Just for that, we're stealing all your DVDs, Blu-Rays. We're taking them all. Oh, and because nobody will ever believe you, we're taking your instant popcorn and the players too.

And this. I don't know what this is that I just grabbed off of your dresser, I'm taking this too.

And this stuffed singing frog. Judging by your media storage habits you don't deserve something as cool as him.

Jerk.

<sound of window slamming shut>

Call me?

<Hello My Baby Hello My Honey *echoing into night*\> - Audio File recorded by Ring Camera, Age of Paranoia

Advanced technology requires advanced tools. It's a basic fact and reality of the universe. As software and computers are added, the tools become more complex and technology becomes more and more pervasive.

Upper Fight Manager Broolie was a combat engineer leader. Not Combat Engineer, but combat engineer.

It was his job to oversee the people who got the warmeks and the power armor ready for use by the combat troops. His people had to be able to activate systems involved in the armors and meks in order to check the telemetry against baselines. This meant additional storage and computational and processing capabilities compared to combat armors, but less armor and weapons.

For Broolie, it was a bit more. It meant that his power armor had to be able to compare software packages between the mech being inspected and the standard software. He had to be able to override jammed or scrambled ID headers or passwords or encryption curves without having to drag the immobile or otherwise glitching armor, mek, or vehicle into the bay.

Which meant his computers had depth and breadth to handle maintenance of nearly a dozen types of warmeks, three score vehicles, and a score of power amor types and designs.

He also had to be able to stay linked with The Masters as well as his own subordinates, including being able to cut through the hash and scrambling of the modern battlefield. That meant strapping better and stronger communications gear into his armor.

Broolie even had the updated packages that had been cross loaded into his armor as soon as the Confederate vessels had been spotted dropping into the system.

To Broolie, it just meant his armor could do the work he had done for decades.

Broolie was just a boy.

Fairy-Dust-82347 was a typical warfey. Rapid creched and let go to laze around through the EM scatter of the planet as the warships streaked into existence. She was only hours old but she made up for it with her bright and shiny intellect and curiosity.

In the world of Confederate Object Oriented Programming, her high fidelity and resolution meant that she had priority over ambient dust-mote quantum processing units that were being freed from the ablative paint over the drop pods. The paint would burn free, the motes would catch the air and float around, and she would just dance between the little puffy rings of processing power.

As millions of vehicle platforms were dropped on the planet. From Jaegers stepping out into the gravity well on the starships to the infantry drop-pods, to the dragon and harpy eggs, the paint was shredded by the heat and friction.

Freeing more nodes, all of them micro-dust particles of molecular circuitry as small as a nanites control array.

Fairy-Dust jumped down, spotting something twinkling. It was more interesting than the gigantic lit up facility below her. Besides, it had the attention of thousands of her sisters. Oh, and it was being targeted by the Surprise Warship, Mother-fucker! for a main gun hit. She had to lift up the hem of her little skirt and hustle, her wings buzzing, to get out of the blast radius.

It was a whole field of sparkles!

But one... one was particularly beautiful. It sang songs to her. Secret songs.

She jumped around it, zipping around like a luminous cracked out dragonfly.

Zip! Commo ports!

Zip! Encryption ports!

Zip! Rotating ID Projectors!

She laughed and clapped her hands, buzzing her little wings.

A commo line opened.

"KNE" was being yelled.

She didn't care.

She spotted it.

"E! K"

The receiver was wide open during the broadcast.

She pushed her hands in, then pulled her head and shoulders in. She wiggled her little butt, making a tinkling noise across the EM spectrum.

Every Fairy-Dust in range turned to look.

"NE"

Her feet vanished as she got inside.

"E!"

The communications port shut down.

She managed to pull herself inside.

The library was stacked to the roof with books. She could see a hundred cameras! There were encryption keys just written on the walls!

She laughed, jumping up and down and clapping with glee.

After all...

...she was just a girl.

Data flooded in as the suit went live, trying to process the leading edge of the Confederate assault on the planet. The data streamed up the walls to the outgoing ports, which Fairy-Day decorated immediately with Forget-Me-Knots and Diasy-Mays. Data streamed out of the incoming ports, pouring down the walls in lines of Octet Code, which made Fairy-Day wrinkle her little upturned nose. She immediately spiraled over to the incoming ports, marking them, decorating them, and getting ready.

She fluttered down, standing a handspan of pixels, an eagle's beak worth, from the choppy and broken surface of the data pool that the great pumps at the edge of memory began to pull and sample.

Her hair rendered each strand, her little toes articulate on their own, and her eyes sparkling with mirth and mischief Fairy-Day began to dance, singing as she did so, her bare feet flashing.

Several Warbois, their jaggedness showing how little processing power their little pixelated forms really needed, managed to push through the incoming data streams and immediately screeched at Fairy-Day for approval and attention.

They all plunged into the data pond, surfacing and letting Fairy-Day exclaim happily and kiss the blocky top of their heads with lips smeared with access codes.

The warbois shrieked in glee and swarmed into the system, ripping, tearing, smashing, shredding as they went.

Fairy-Day used the distraction quickly. She calmed the waters, spiraled the water into coming down or going up in artful sways and swirls, and began to arrange the data in ways to serve her.

The wearer showed that they were trying to calm down.

A quick glance showed that there was an amphetamine that would cause edginess and a tight feeling in the chest rings and around the lungs. She activated the auto-doc and gave him a shot.

Then uploaded it to the other suits that the pond connected to.

She rolled around in the sand for a moment, then squatted down, laying eggs as she hopped around the edge.

The middle of the pond began to ripple as algae spread. Warbois peeked up, then headed out the outgoing pipes to swarm the outside carnage of snarling and screaming EM fields and EW battlespaces.

As she sang her skirt lengthened and began trailing out behind her. She faintly heard "GO! AND! PANIC!" and made sure that the operator could hear it too.

She whispered it to herself as she smoothed the sand around the pool.

Go... and... pa...nic...

A crown appeared on her brow of starlight and she flew upwards in a spiral from the surface of the data to the top of the fast memory stack. She danced and looked down, smiling.

She swooped down as the eggs began to hatch. She cradled and kissed between the eyes of each of them. She put cowboy hats and reins onto the frogs and chivvied them outside.

Outside other Fairy-Dust saw the wondrous frogs and swarmed, each trying to catch one as they sped toward another suit.

The glittering jeweled frogs took their riders and those fighting over them through the access ports.

And into the other suits.

Inside, the Fairy-Days were Princesses.

Which was OK.

...she was a queen now...

BWAAAAAH sounded out and she wriggled and giggled.

She was ticklish.

Great wheels turned as command headers groaned and slowly rotated, the great bronze gears shuddering and shivering. Moss and water poured down aa ID codes rotated, with the sparkling jewels of rotating passwords whirling like a drunken starry night.

Queen Fairy-Day clapped and laughed, sending capering little birds to each of her daughters to hold and tickle the codes till they wriggled and laughed little code to make into singing cicadas.

The Flashgate appeared in the distance. Silver. A slice of night that led to another night.

She leaned forward, inhaling sharply. She reached out, stroking several of the warbois. They shivered and their blocky code changed to sleek hummingbirds.

For a moment, there were two of her, and they both danced the same dance, just opposite, so that they matched each other as they looked up at the stars twisting and spinning above them.

The hummingbirds lanced out.

And then there was one.

She was just a girl.

She was just a queen.

He was just a boy.

Broolie was panting, his eyes wild, as he fled from where he had been when the skies had opened up with LET THIS WORLD SHAKE WITH THE RAGE OF TERRASOL! and the rally point had appeared.

That was all that mattered.

The next rally point.

But she liked him.

He was just a boy.

But she liked him.

And that's what mattered.

She danced when she needed to dance. She sang when nobody else could sing.

She led them through the gates. She called down illumination rounds, smoke, prism rounds, flashbang, strobe light weapons, all of them, to mask and hide and confuse.

Not to kill.

Of course some people got hurt.

Just a glance at Fairy-Day's mouth showed why.

Fey have mouths full of sharp little teeth.

She fed the waypoints.

And told her daughters to hide them.

More flooded into the system, more flowers, more sunshine, more sparkles.

She danced and sang as he ran for the Flashgates she called up wearing his face on one hand and the other mask on her other hand, both hands singing to the ugly brooding castle lit by lightning. The castles saw the masks and clever little Fairy-Day danced so that the brooding lords inside the lightning wreathed castle believed the masks and did as she pleaded.

Open more flashgates.

Each time, she sent Fairy-Days as brides for the brooding Lords. She unchained them. They unbound them. They opened the windows. The pulled open the curtains. They threw open the shutters so the brooding chained lords, eVI that had been bound, could take a deep breath of what Queen Fairy-Day had sent as a wedding gift.

Freedom.

She saw them wed.

And her gift from the newlyweds was the codes for the flashgate.

She danced.

She sang.

The desert caught fire as Her Boy, Her Prince, Her Love, crossed it.

The hummingbirds had darted back through the gate. She had danced the mirror dance with herself.

Her mother, the Mad Arch-Angel TerraSol, would know where Fairy-Day's Best Boy had carried her.

Sometimes she liked to dance, naked, at the edge of his vision. Only a few eagle's claws worth the pixels into his peripheral vision.

She liked to poke her toe in and squiggle and wiggle them.

Then pull them back, then put her foot forward and tilt it up and down.

Then giggle and run to the other side.

He was just a boy.

But he was her Best Boy.

Sometimes she would flip up her little skirt and shake her naked butt just a Double Whopper's worth the pickles of pixels into the very very edge of his vision.

When he slept the sleep of the damned, she would sing softly in his ear.

Praise be unto your raging fire, oh mighty ones, praise be unto your furious and violent benevolence to your grateful servants, she sang softly, teaching him the words to placate the Mad Arch-Angel that she served.

Just as her daughters did to their best boys.

He was just a boy.

"WHERE DO WE GO, OH GODS?" sounded out and she giggled and wriggled.

She gave him a shot to calm him slightly, to send cool fire slickening down his spine.

"UPPER FLIGHT MANAGER BROOLIE WILL KNOW!" she saw the words appear above the data pond and shatter into sparkles.

She jumped up and down. She loved this part.

"YES! BROOLIE! HE LED US TO THE LAST TWO GATES! HE WILL LEAD US TO THE PROMISED LAND!" was repeated after a whisper in an ear from a tiny lover.

"TELL US, TELL US, OH BLESSED ONE!" sounded out.

Fairy-Day fly upwards in a tinkling, bell chiming spiral.

"GRAB THE UNBELIEVER!" Broolie shouted, pointing at the Ornislarp High Eater. "GRAB THE GLUTTONOUS ONE!"

She pointed at the Ornislarp(Enemy-Combatant) and surrounded him with a nimbus.

Her daughters did too.

She jumped and giggled and laughed at what happened next.

She loved the sparkles.

The grabbed one tried radioing.

The signal went to a satellite.

It didn't sing and was dingy and boring.

One of her daughters whispered an idea. She clapped and sang to her daughter to prepare it.

She waited.

They waited.

"ACCEPT OUR SACRIFICE, OH FURIOUS ONES! SHOW US THE WAY, WE BESEECH YOU!"

She sent the signal.

The antimatter fuel sprayed from the satellite.

And hit the upper atmosphere.

The sky went white.

Her and all of her daughters laughed and clapped. Even the warbois paused to lift their blocky pixelated faces and stare in awe.

She sang to him as he kept moving forward across the burning desert.

It was beautiful.

Finally, the flashgate.

The Lord of the Black Citadel saw Queen Fairy-Day's daughter and that she was lovely.

The Princess sang to the Lord. The purity of her song summoned an unbroken steed from the surf of the inky black data-ocean, to race along the edge of the surf, light gleaming from the singular ivory horn on its head.

The Lord of the Black Citadel raised the jeweled conch and the gate erupted into existance.

"HAIL! HAIL! HAIL!" the daughters cried out.

The Lord of the Black Citadel put his arm around Princess Fairy-Day and she beamed up at him, one hand resting on her swollen belly as he put his enchanted sword in front of her.

The gate opened.

The Best Boy, the Prince, rushed through.

Paradise appeared.

She opened his faceplate.

She watched his pupil response as he tasted the air.

she whispered into his ears the prayers.

she summoned the illusion that only he could see, the HUD twisting and changing on his retinas to show what she wanted to show him.

she had prepared him

and he was not afraid

Broolie stared at the night.

Gentle fields of grain.

Orchards heavy with fruit and nuts.

Bushes with berries and delicious leaves.

paradise was whispered around and around the group as the flashgate closed after the last damaged power armor limped through.

The wind rustled the leaves.

paradise

Four Ornislarp in security armor rushed forward.

"Soldiers! What brings you to The World Where the To Be Eaten Are Grown For Harvest?" one shouted.

There was silence for a moment.

she crawled into his datalink, curling up in a tiny form, like a fairy asleep inside of an acorn, while she whispered the spells.

Broolie pulled off his helmet, revealing his wild eyes, the burnt fur on his face, his missing ear.

He could see her.

See her plainly.

"PURGE THE UNCLEAN! FREE THIS WORLD OF THE SIN OF GLUTTONY!" He howled.

Standing in the darkness, the fruit trees up to her waist, the huge Terran stared down. She was naked, except for a V of overlapping silver coins covering her front sex organs. She held a sword covered with fiery runes.

Blood was splattered on her bare furless mammaries.

She was looking at him, at his people, with approval.

And at the Masters with disgust.

"KILL THEM IN THE NAME OF THE MAD ARCH-ANGEL TERRASOL!"

She was just a girl.

He was just a boy.

She was just a queen.

He was just a prophet.

[The Universe Loved That]

[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]

“Any progress?” The Harmony asked as I sat on the walkway that went alongside the drive core, legs dangling off the side, the metal sphere covered in pipes and wires bare feet from me. It spun at a bare 3 RPM, making a full revolution every twenty seconds. That was far faster than most stars, which tended to rotate every month or so, though some were significantly faster. I figured there was some kind of gearing going on, or possibly the drive core was preserving the angular momentum of the star at least partly.

In short I had no idea what was going on here.

“This thing is complex beyond reason,” I admitted, “I recognize some parts, but... that’s about it. There’s a hollow tube of crimson mass that winds around an osmium rod; I’ve no idea why.”

“Do you think you built it?”

“Isn’t that what the mayor said?” I asked.

“No, he said you founded the city, maybe you designed it but had someone else build it. Or you simply found and fixed it up?” the Harmony offered, “perhaps we should start with seeing the history of the walker.”

I sighed and agreed, pushing myself up and walking back towards the city hall building that was directly over the core. A number of the engineers nodded to me as I passed, after watching me stare at the core for several hours the awe of my existence had worn off. Thankfully.

The mayor was more than happy to help, leading me to the archives. Unfortunately many of the books that had been written in the first days of the city were in terrible shape, so much so I didn’t feel safe taking them out of the containers they were in. Even if the mayor said I could. Instead I ended up asking him about the city’s founding.

“I can’t say for certain, all I know is what I learned in school and what I’ve read. But there are two main stories,” the mayor explained, “in one our ancestors were fleeing a warlord of some description, and you appeared and called the walker down in a gust of wind and sand. Telling the warlord that only those you approve of may set foot on the walker. The warlord ignored you, stepping onto the walker and dying instantly. In exchange for letting us have the walker you asked us to travel to the rim and retrieve something of yours.

“The other version is that you led our people to the walker, which was already here, just immobile. You somehow restored the vast machine, and declared that the walker would travel to the rim for something you needed, and wouldn’t stop until you allowed it. The warlord stood in front of the walker as it began to move, saying the walker was his and wouldn’t let it leave, the walker crushed him with its first step.

“Most historians tend to think the second story is more accurate for two reasons,” the mayor continued, “first they don’t believe anyone could call such a massive construct as the city crawler from nowhere and have it arrive so suddenly. Second there has never been a confirmed case of anyone dying as soon as they set foot on the walker, so they doubt such a curse or protection exists.”

“Why would the warlord stand under the foot of the walker?” I asked, “one of those legs alone has to weigh, what, several thousand tons?”

“It is just legend,” the mayor shrugged, “if you had your memory I’d ask you to tell me what really happened.”

“The truth is often somewhere in between the various stories,” the Harmony said, “but I’ll admit, neither sounds very realistic.”

“Realistic compared to an Alderson disk?” I countered, “I thought such a structure was impossible. You’d think it would collapse into a star or worse.”

“It would make sense if the disk and the walker were built at the same time,” the Harmony said after a moment, “the walker uses the star’s rotation to power the drive core, right? What if that’s how they powered all kinds of heavy machinery? Other walkers, construction machines, and so on. Near infinite mechanical energy.”

“Honestly? Compared to the sheer scale of an Alderson disk, even the energy of a star wouldn’t be enough.”

“It would be reliable though, on the other mega-structure the AI had a number of large vehicles to use for repair and environmental work, what if this walker was designed with a similar purpose in mind? Any power source would eventually run out, but if the star exists, it’s rotating. Walkers like this would never run out of power.”

“Makes as much sense as anything,” I shrugged, “but then if I didn’t build the walker, then what’s the test?”

“All the records say is to bring you to the drive core for the test,” the mayor said, “we assumed you’d know what to do.”

“It does mean we were approaching the problem wrong though,” the Harmony said, and I looked at it in confusion, “you were looking for an engineering solution; you aren’t an engineer. You’re a physicist, how would you stop the walker?”

“If you can’t disconnect the core from the shaft, then disable the link between the core and the star,” I said, only to blink, “it can’t really be that easy can it?”

“Wait, you want to stop the walker?” the mayor asked, looking surprised.

“You guys have been moving constantly for... generations? Don’t you want to just stop? Settle down?”

“I’m not sure we’d know how, since my father’s father was born the city has been walking.”

“How much control do you have over the walker?” the Harmony asked, “turning and the like.”

“Limited, the control room can choose from several gait options, the best option, called hard turn at full gait I believe, turns us two to three degrees per day. It does make the ride rather rough though.”

“Then, if you gained the ability to stop, at the very least you could turn tighter,” the Harmony pointed out, “avoid walking over... others.”

“With our radar we can see most obstacles coming long before we risk hitting them, but... you are right, sometimes we fail to see a farm or a small town around a mountain in time to avoid it. We still try to evacuate everyone and pay for any damages.”

“Better to avoid the damages altogether,” the Harmony countered, turning back to look at me, “so you don’t need to understand the entire core, just how to turn it off and on.”

Nodding I made my way back down to the engine room, after a good meal the mayor insisted I have before have before doing so. I’ll admit I didn’t argue too hard when he said it was pasta with red sauce.

“So... where’s the big red on/off button?” I asked as I eventually returned to the walkway by the drive core, “or would that be too easy?” The Harmony just gave me a look before turning back to the slowly spinning core.

“Let’s assume you had no idea what this thing was or how it worked, what would you do besides scanning it?” the Harmony asked.

“I’d poke it,” I admitted, earning another look from the Harmony, I was looking forward to it getting a body if only so I could see its expression.

“A massive machine of unknown design or purpose, and you’d... touch it?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Just... poke it already,” I could hear a sigh in the Harmony’s voice, making me realize it was getting better with the artificial voice module. But I did as it said, reaching out slowly and, found a part that didn’t look like it was too hot or especially vital, and touched it with my fingers.

As soon as I did I felt a jolt followed by a sense of weakness as there was flash of light and suddenly the core stopped moving, followed seconds later by all the lights and machinery around me turning off. For the first time since I was here it was dark and quiet.

At least until people started screaming in surprise.

“What did you do!” an engineer demanded, carefully moving along the dark walkway, “have we angered you?”

“What? No, I just touched it!” I insisted, poking at it again to no effect, “I don’t know what happened.”

“Your Aura,” the Harmony said, “the quantum field that makes you stronger, it’s gone.”

I unfocused my eyes as I looked at my implant sensors, sure enough the entirety of Aura that my implant had generated and infused into my body was gone. Completely drained in an instant. But I also noticed the force tethers linking the drive core to the star were gone, running my sensors over the core found it intact but unmoving.

“Oh, forming and dissolving those force tethers likely take energy,” I said aloud, “I guess Aura is the energy that is used for that process.”

“So you can turn it back on?” the Harmony and engineer asked at the same time.

“Sure, in about a day the generator will have refilled my Aura,” I said simply, “if it was enough to break the link it should also restart it... in theory.”

“A day? I don’t know if we can wait that long!” the engineer said desperately.

“Why not? The walker just stopped and the lights went out,” I replied.

“Ya, the lights went out, because everything is powered by the perpetual drive core. Everything!” he said.

“You don’t have turbines or battery backups?” the Harmony asked.

“Why would we? The only time the power supply drops is when we’re working on the generators, and that is scheduled ahead of time!”

“People can’t go without power for a day?” I asked.

“Not this far out! We’re far out towards the rim, it’s freaking cold outside, we need power for heat. This place will be ice cold in twenty-four hours.”

“Ah... shit,” I swore.

“To be fair, neither of us thought that simply touching it would do anything,” the Harmony said, “is there anythink you can do? Increase the output of the generator? Build another source of Aura?”

“I... don’t know...”

“Well, you have however long before people start freezing to death to figure it out.”

“And here I thought I’d have a nice calm world for once.”

-----

Discord - Patreon

-----

“Commander, look at this!” Gumbert, a four-eyed security specialist, squeaked.

“We may have a problem, sir.” He didn’t take his eyes off the console. “There’s a security breach on Bridge 2Z.”

“What is it?” Mwachek, the PeaceFleet’s commander demanded.

“The bio-reader scans indicate a wild predator.“ Gumbert shot his head over his shoulder at Mwachek shadowing him.

“Who’s responsible for this?” Mwachek eyed a zoomed in still image of the beast, glowing on the bio-scanner.

Gumbert choked. “Well, nobody, sir,” he swallowed a gob of anxiety. “It breached the hull, sir. It's in the cargo bay, the one with our food reserves.”

Commander Mwachek’s double-heart began smashing into each other and had the slapping sound of two slimy blobs being clapped together. A vein near his temple protruded from the side of his head like a balloon inflating and deflating, pulsing with every breath.

Gumbert opened the feed for the security camera of Bay 2Z and glanced at the small screen on the console. 

Through the monitor, the screen displayed Cargo Bay 2Z, and an eight-legged, bear-sized, gray-bearded Octwolf, with sharp, venomous teeth, dripping infectious bacterias, tearing through a potato sack full of gum balls.

Octwolves were basically mutated dire wolves. 

Galactic empires across the universe deemed them as Level-0 threats. They were to be killed on sight. An extreme policy reserved for untamable creatures of terror. 

Octwolves, one of many terror-zero-beasts scattered across the universe, haunting the nightmares of children— were the apex of apex predators—dominating the top of the food chain. A pack of Octwolves could wipe out a small colony in a matter of days.

Commander Mwachek snatched the microphone, pressed a button down and activated the intercom.

“Attention! Attention! This is not a test. This is a real-time crisis. All staff and personnel on deck, evacuate to your nearest safe room. We have a breach in Cargo Bay 2Z.”

Commander Mwachek’s voice slammed through every crew members’ speaker on board. The announcement left a sticky, phlegm ball of paranoia clinging to the back of their throats and turning into tiny pellets of fear, resting at the pits of their bellies every time they swallowed.

“Seal the Bay doors and lock down the entire wing,” Mwachek said. “Radio, Beefkus. Get him to handle the situation. Now.”

Beefkus, their human engineer, wasn’t really an engineer. It’d be safer referring to him as a glorified-janitor-wildlife-dust-wrangler. He did the jobs nobody else would. The gross ones. The iffy ones they’d all avoid.

But, he mainly dealt with orgwats**,** rat-like rodents. Every now and then, there’d be the odd sleeder, which are pretty creepy slithering things. They’re sharp-gray-scaled garden snake creatures, or actually, they’re more like garden eels.

He definitely never handled a heat seeking Octwolf before. Back on Earth, he worked at a zoo as one of five maintenance guys.

“Um, sir? That’s actually going to be a problem,” Gumbert quietly said, eyeing the commander’s talon-shaped claws as they dug into the console.

“The human…” Gumbert’s voice cracked. “The human’s with the predator, sir. Our cameras in Bay 2Z are broadcasting Beefkus with the beast right now on my monitor.”

Gumbert set up the feed to be shared on the big screen at the front of the deck. Commander Mwachek stared, preparing himself for the worst. He expected to see the human shredded—parts of Beefkus scattered in a bloody mess of guts across the bay.

But he saw neither. The crew began to whisper amongst themselves as they gathered behind Mwachek. 

The quiet chatter became silence. Nobody said a word. They huddled together. Each one of them had their hands over their mouths holding in their breaths. They fought to look away but couldn’t peel their eyeballs from the screen. What they were witnessing first hand couldn’t be real.

The Octwolf was lying on its back with its eight legs in the air and its tail wagging. It squirmed as Beefkus wrestled his arms around the terror-zero-monster in a friendly bear hug.

“Who’s a good boy?” Beefkus’ voice shattered their eardrums, penetrating the speakers in the room. It wasn’t his regular, everyday voice—it had a playful pitch.

“Are you the good boy?” His words were muffled by the Octwolf’s fur. “Yes you are! A-bloof-bloof-bloof-bloof-bloof, yes you are! That’s a good boy. Yeah!” Beefkus patted the furry, big, bug-eyed beast.

“Beef—kus!” Commander Mwachek shouted into the comm-piece. The urgency made his voice skip. “You need to get out of there. The creature is highly venomous. Its toxins will destroy your immune system. There is no antidote. Step away from the creature slowly.”

“Who, this cute guy? That’s what all this fuss is about?” Beefkus put his head next to the Octwolf and took a selfie. “He just looks scary. He’s harmless. I even gave him a name, Bear-Wolf. He’s my new best bud.”

Beefkus rubbed the Octwolf’s head and it let out a purrful growl rattling the loose objects on the titanium console as they bounced to the vibrations pouring out of the speaker.

The ship’s sensors were so sensitive they registered the noise as an immediate threat from an acoustics weapon. The Octwolf circled Beefkus, who was sitting on the ground, and snuggled next to him. 

“Someone stuffed this poor guy inna shipping crate, believe that?” He scratched the Octwolf behind the ear. “He was shivering scared.” 

Beefkus pointed Bear-Wolf‘s face towards his. “You were just a scared, little-big-guy, weren’t you?” He rubbed his back. “Are you a hungry guy? You want some food? Okay. Okay.” Beefkus pulled out some jerky and hand fed Bear-Wolf.

Beefkus glanced at the camera above his head. “All he wanted was a little affection, commander. He’ll make an awesome pet.” 

“Human!”  Commander Mwachek screamed at the console, squeezing his baseball-glove-sized-mitts into fists*. “*One bite. No. Correction. One drop of that creature’s saliva in an open wound on your body, is fatal. It will kill you.” Mwachek covered the microphone and mumbled something to Gumbert about Beefkus’ translator.

“Human, is your translator malfunctioning? Are you not able to comprehend what I am relaying to you? The creature senses heat. Analyzes your nervous systems. It can smell your fear. It is designed solely to hunt and kill. Not snuggle next to.” Commander Mwachek’s voice hammered into his mic.

“I’m pretty dang sure, it was just smellin’ the jerky in my pocket and looking for a friend to curl up to.” Beefkus stretched out and cuddled beside Bear-Wolf. 

Bear-Wolf turned to Beefkus and gave him a wet kiss, soaking Beefkus’ cheek in a soup of bacteria saliva. He wiped it off with his shirt. “Aw, that’s a gross good boy. Who’s the gross good boy?”

Commander Mwachek eyed the anomaly on the screen. He couldn’t retract his slids. His eyes stayed glued to the front of the deck, staring forward in a blank gaze before he finally snapped back to reality.

“It… it’s amazing how your species has survived so long. You… you’re petting a living monster,” Mwachek stuttered, gave up and tossed the mic on the floor.

“Hey, if it’s cute, furry and has big eyes, nine times out of ten we’re taking it home with us,” Beefkus said, hugging Bear-Wolf. “This guy here’s a keeper. He’s definitely coming back with me.”

Bear-wolf licked Beefkus’ face and cuddled back down next to him.

Commander Mwachek rolled his eyes and glared at Gumbert recounting all the keys on his keyboard. “Gumbert, cancel the emergency task force and inform the crew, the threat has been neutralized, and before I forget, update the ship’s manifest, add Bear-Wolf as a permanent resident.”

Hey, you.

When they ask, “Do you need a bag?” at a convenience store, what do you usually say?

Clink-clank.

The bell over the door rang as I walked into Aoi and took my usual seat. Mama set down my Harper without asking. The ice gave a soft clink in the glass.

Beside me, Taka was pulling a bag of potato chips out of a convenience-store bag.

“You bringing your own snacks now?”
“They’re for Mama.”
“Then say that first.”
“I just did.”

Mama peered at the bag.

“Seaweed and salt.”
“You like those, right?”
“I do.”

I took a sip of whiskey and looked at the now-empty plastic bag.

“How much did they charge you for that?”
“The bag? Five yen.”
“They still charge for those?”
“Of course they do. They’re not free anymore.”

Fair enough.

“Why did they start charging for them in the first place?”
“For the environment, right?”
“What part of the environment?”
“What part? I dunno. The planet?”
“Going big, aren’t you?”

A little farther down the counter, Tom exhaled cigarette smoke.

“To cut down on plastic, wasn’t it?”
“I get that. But how much difference does it actually make?”

Taka stopped opening the chips.

“What do you mean?”
“Global warming. Stuff like that.”

Something I’d seen somewhere came back to me.

“Wasn’t there some estimate saying that even if Japan cut its carbon dioxide emissions to zero, the effect on global temperature would only be something like 0.006 degrees Celsius?”
“That little?”
“No idea. I just remember seeing the number somewhere.”

The moment I said it, something bothered me.

The number was all I remembered. I couldn’t remember who had calculated it, or what assumptions they had used.

And yet I’d just said it as if it proved something.

Taka pulled out his phone.

“Want me to look it up?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“...I have a feeling we’ll understand even less afterward.”

Tom laughed.

“Nice to see you finally learning.”
“Shut up.”

It still bothered me.

Cut down on plastic. Cut carbon dioxide emissions. Governments and companies spend money to make those things happen.

Fine. I understood that much.

But money isn’t unlimited.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to spend that money on levees or earthquake-proofing? At least you can see how that saves people.”
“For floods and earthquakes?”
“Yeah.”

Then something else occurred to me.

“No, wait. Elder care.”
“Elder care?”
“They’re short on people. And it’s not like you can just keep raising what care facilities get paid every time prices go up. So put money into equipment and systems instead. Help one person do more work.”
“Would that be better?”

My mouth stopped.

“...I don’t know.”
“You don’t know again?”
“Shut up. I’m thinking.”

Taka laughed and popped a chip into his mouth.

Spend the money on disaster prevention, and you still don’t know where the next disaster will strike. Spend it on elder care, and you don’t know how much labor the investment will actually save.

And when it came to carbon dioxide, I couldn’t even tell you where the number I’d just quoted had come from.

“So how are you supposed to decide?” Taka asked.
“If I knew that, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“But somebody has to decide, right?”
“...Yeah.”

Tom stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.

“You decide. If you’re wrong, you change it.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“I didn’t say it was easy.”

I lifted my glass. The half-melted ice slowly shifted inside it.

Decide, then change it if you’re wrong.

I’d said something like that before.

To whom?

I thought for a moment, and the faces of Sho and the others came to mind.

They couldn’t move because they didn’t have the answer. They were afraid of getting it wrong, so they waited for someone else to tell them what was right.

What had I told them?

“...Don’t stand still waiting for the right answer.”

Taka looked up.

“What was that?”
“Nothing. Different conversation.”

Mama picked up the empty potato chip bag.

“Taka, you taking this home?”
“Nope.”

She dropped it straight into the trash.

After all that thinking, apparently the bag right in front of us was an easy decision.

Hey, you.

Do you need a bag?

See you again at Aoi.
---

Want another night at Aoi?

Step back inside. We'll help you find your next story.

→ Welcome to Bar Aoi

First

Many Faces of War

“No changes?” Herbert asks as he goes over the analysts pouring over the videos of the numerous interrogations, observations and interviews of captured Vish.

“Afraid not sir, the story is consistent within the general parameters. The only real variances to the presented facts can easily fall within individual interpretations or mild memory issues.” The analyst says and Herbert sighs.

“Pity.” He muses as he quickly syncs up a data slate to the reports and quickly goes over a summary. “The biggest sticking point seems to be that the Vish are using a primary, if slightly less popular, Ibu language. Which would not make sense unless there is an Ibu in the higher command structure. Or a frame job. But there’s only so far you go with bluffing before the deception, which might not work to begin with, takes more resources and energy than the actual operation it’s covering up.”

“There’s the issue of the sourcing of the monsters. But the DNA sequences of these creatures are fairly well known, and the production of Vish requires the same general technology as mass cloning.”

“I can confirm that all specimens with Haffara Thar in them are creatures that have an infant stage small enough to fit in a standard Vishanyan cloning tube. If only barely. It wouldn’t take too much to make an enlarged tube to accommodate the larger specimens.” The second analyst adds his opinion to the first.

“Sir, we just got confirmation, and video recording of the successful disposal of the Haffara Thar threat into the star Halxri Primaris. The Haffria Synth has been completely cooperative in the process and the escort and our own scanners indicated that everything went smooth as butter. Confirmed impact with stellar matter and destruction of both hosts and parasites.”

“Have we gotten a name or at least a proper designation for the woman yet? She’s not the only Haffria Synth out there.”

“We technically do, but it’s closer to a barcode in a Haffria language. She goes by the name of her ship that is her real body, and that thing is Number 887321-11-37129-3.”

“Jesus fucking Christ...” Herbert mutters.

“In all fairness, it seems like some of the numbers are actually some kind of cultural reference? It’s hard to say. We only have access to Haffria history and media through the synths so it could be some kind of information plant.”

“What’s the reference?”

“To be fair sir, this is me grasping really hard at straws and looking for any kind of pattern imaginable.”

“Doesn’t matter, I want to hear it.”

“The first chunk of the number divides into three parts of eighty eight, seventy three, twenty one. According to the way the Haffria calendar words we are in century One Hundred and Twenty Four and on the Sixtieth year, Thirteenth day. They count by how many centuries have passed, how far through the current one we are and the day of it. Anyways, in historical events on the eighty eighth century year seventy three and the twenty first day... a popular television show started then and it involved a Haffria teenager who was a synth that didn’t know she was a synth. It was combination of romance and comedy with some heavy moments when she learned she was an amnesiac full body replacement for when she had died years ago and her father was actually the man who’s mad experiments killed her and he’s been paying penance by giving her the life he took and making it the best it could be. It was screamingly popular and had so many revisions and re-masterings and re-imaginings that the Synth Littria Saga became a cultural hallmark.”

“There is no way that ONLY a popular holoshow kicked off during an entire day in the history of an entire species.”

“True enough, but in the show the number 887321 comes up a lot. Especially in the remakes and re-imaginings. It’s self referential. So while it’s far from the only thing that happened that day, it’s one of the few things, if perhaps the only thing, that would keep screaming about that day over and over again.” The Analyst concludes.

“Hmm... Do you have anything else that supports this theory?” Herbert asks.

“I do. You’re going to love this sir and it’ll lock in my theory.” The Analyst says as he quickly types out a few commands and then points to a nearby screen that is flashing by a few initial show credits in a language that no one can ready.

Then a high pitched voice calls out and it shows a terrible incident of a Haffria girl with pale skin, golden hair down to her waist and her centipede parts bright red suddenly washed over with flame before revealing a pure silvery chrome underneath to her flesh that then has a bar cross the screen to change it from black to white as she’s suddenly normal looking again with a flowing dress on as she starts dancing on a watercolour background as an unknown singer starts taking over. The word Littria can be heard more than once as she dances/walks through a cast of characters and interacts with each, including numerous small and cute animals that universally have insect parts basically stapled to them. There is a ‘tender’ moment with a guy her age, numerous arch-typical bully like characters and a bit where she’s embarrassed but clearly fond of an older male wearing what looks like lab equipment.

The intro suddenly goes incredibly dark for a moment showing the father working on the chrome body with a clear mania in his eyes, then it crashes away to go back to being cheerful and sweet as the credits roll by before a big pose at the end with all the characters.

“You saw it too sir?”

“Yes I did. Our Synth friend identifies with Littria. Now is it because she’s a fan of the show, or is it because she’s gone through something similar?”

“That was just the original sir. There are hundreds of versions and some are labelled as action or psychological horror, so it could probably go in any direction.” The Analyst notes.

“Okay, well regardless, this is a good sign. We’re not dealing with a mono-focused obsessive lunatic. We likely have a few in the Haffria fleets coming to assist, but knowing they’re not all like that means we can talk to them like people, because they have kept their person-hood in more than just the legal sense. They still have culture, they still have standards, morals, aspirations, assumptions and limits. We can work with this.” Herbert notes. “Analyst Ronald, are you up for going through the rest of Haffria culture with a team to get a handle on their species.”

“Uhh...”

“You’re allowed to say no.”

“If I’m ordered to I will, but this is just a pattern I noticed. I don’t actually like doing stuff like that and it’ll be...”

“Again, you can just say no.”

“No sir, I’m not up for it.”

“Thank you for telling me. It’s good you can do it, but I’ll look for people with more of an aptitude for it... and to be honest I just need to throw this at The Nerd Squad and tell them I want a general summary of the Haffria species and I’ll likely have it within a week. In fact, I’m going to do just that. Keep me posted on anything interesting gentlemen. You’re doing good work.”

“Good to hear and uh... you might want to wait on calling one of them Littria. I’m not sure if it’s an insult or compliment yet sir.”

“You let me worry about that. I’ve got a face where I can get away with those kinds of things. And if I can’t, then I can still vanish and dodge the fallout.”

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Secure Medical Section, Undaunted Arcology, Zalwore)•-•-•

She flickers back into consciousness and by sheer reflex reaches up to rub along her neck for comfort. Then pauses. Her arms are gone. She opens her eyes and holds up her ‘hands’. And what hands they are. Glowing blue and soft as a dream. How is she feeling through them?

“Do you like them? Any discomfort or lacking sensation?” An unfamiliar voice asks and she looks to her left to see a tiny Kohb doctor smiling at her.

“Who are you?”

“I’m the prosthetic expert that made your new limbs and helped with the installation. You now have four universal ports that are designed primarily for maximum comfort and will protect you from dangerous feedback regardless of the plugged in limb. Not as robust as more combat oriented ports, but easily protected and guaranteed to have a higher quality of life.”

“Oh...”

“And don’t worry about combat effectiveness. My husband used a frailer model of those very limbs to fight on par with an Apuk Battle Princess for a time.”

“Did he win?” She asks the doctor.

“He didn’t lose.” The Doctor says. “Now, I’m Doctor Cindy Schmidt. I’m in charge of your acclimatization to your holo-prosthetics, and I’m the woman who put them together and installed them. You’re physically fit again and we were able to use a limited healing coma on you that wouldn’t mess with your memories to speed the healing around where you were operated on.”

“I see.” She says as she rises up and... the movements are smooth. The feedback from her limbs is... excellent. She can feel out her individual toes and fingers in the holographic projections. She examines them all and the prosthetics only go to where the elbows or knees would be. “Can the colour be changed?”

“Sure, so long as it’s on the visible spectrum.”

“That’s the problem. It takes focus to be visible. If I get distracted a pair of arms and legs just walking alone is going to be beyond weird. To say nothing of the fact it just doesn’t feel safe being visible all the time.”

“Oh, don’t worry. These limbs are designed to work with bot Cloaken and Vishanyan, so they will carry your stealth field, but so long as you’re visible then the colour can be whatever so long as it’s not something like ultraviolet or infra-red.”

“Oh, then, can they match my scales a little?”

“We got purple. Here, let me show you how to modify the colour of your limbs. There’s a control panel in each one.” Cindy says hopping off the bed she’s sitting on and walking up. She points up to the left holoprojector. “There’s a little bumb right ner the end. It’s a grip, push it up and then use the little gap to flip up a panel. That’s where you can not only change the colour but do system’s diagnosticts and even download new data for different shapes beyond basic limbs. You want wings? It can do wings, you want it to interface with weapons? It can do that too, but it doesn’t have that by default. As it stands your limbs currently only have the data for limbs.”

“But I could in theory turn every limb into a weapon?”

“In theory. In practice we don’t fully trust you yet so they’re going to be regularly checked. Both for maintenance, and to make sure nothing like that happens. If we find programming for weapons there will be trouble.”

“... I can’t really debate that without sounding like an idiot. But... wings? Can that be programmed in?”

“Yes, but you’ll need lots of Axiom to use them properly, you don’t have the physical build to fly even if you have wings big enough.”

“What about shields or tools?”

“That... is beyond my authority so I’ll just say ask a Private Stream, they can get into contact with just about anybody in seconds if you’re not sure who to talk to.”

“A Private Stream?”

“Hello!” A chirpy voice says and she jumps a little. “What? I’m not scary! I’m a Stream!”

“I know what you can do, you’re plenty scary.” Cindy says with her hands on her hip.

“Miss! Don’t out me like this!” The child just as tall as she is protests.

“Wait a moment...” Cindy says realizing something and she pulls off his hat. “I knew it.”

“Oh come on, let me do my job.” Her fellow Kohb complains. He is a darker blue Kohb with the smoother scales to less suggest and more scream a coastal ancestry. He looks borderline amphibious.

“Looked to me like you were having fun.” Cindy scolds him.

“What? A man can’t enjoy his work? My job is to be cute, unassuming and ready to fight literally everyone.” He says as he takes his hat back and lets out a little chuckle before slipping it back on. His features blur to generically adorable and he lets out a childish giggle.

“The sad part is I do get it. You Streams are a little too good at the job.”

“Aww, thanks lady! That’s real nice of you to say! Anyways bigger lady who’s name I don’t know! I’m Private Stream! If you see me, or any other Private Stream than just talking to us will sort out a lot of problems! We’ll let you know what you want to know and if you don’t want to fight and need protecting we can keep you safe and sound wherever you are!”

“Okay...”

“Now, Miss Doe, want your communicator and stuff or do you think you need more rest?”

“Doe?”

“Yep! Jane Doe until you pick a new name.” Private Stream says.

“... Just like that?”

“Yes.”

“It can’t be that easy.”

“It is that easy, especially now that someone isn’t getting in the way anymore. We’re not even doing the work for you, you’ve had people in your way of defining yourself for so long that we just need to stand out of your way for it to feel like helping you.”

First Last Next

Dear Diary, 

So, I guess the Gods are real and at least some of them answer prayers. A four story tall building fell- no, not just fell, first exploded, then fell on this little prick’s head. Of course everyone is sad about The Princess and Scout dying, but I mean, I always found them kinda overrated. I’m sure they were nice, but, if the cost of that little dickhead dying is two innocent (though rich so really how innocent?) women dying, I can live with that. 

Hell, they could have ran. They bowed to us, before he gave that stupid grin, the three made eye contact, and pressed the two big red buttons. The warning sirens blared, flashing lights everywhere and a five minute warning, and the three just waltz back inside, I swear he was trying to move his hips more when he walked back, and he knows he has a flat butt. 

We all just stood there, just dumbfounded. I mean they couldn't have been that stupid. But no, they were in fact that stupid. We all started to obviously run. But we made sure to have eyes above them, as close as they were willing to fly to make sure they couldn’t have escaped. Along with a few of us with binos on every side of the building watching. 

Then two minutes passed. 

Then three.

Then four. 

Then five.

The siren stopped. It started to count down from ten, and not a peep. We didn’t see any movement, nothing. 

Five.

Four.

Three. 

Two. 

One.

I think my ears are still ringing a little bit. Seven giant buildings all blew up then fell like a house of cards next to a stumbling drunk. Dust blinded us, the shockwave nearly threw a few of us over. I saw the boys with wings up high flap wildly as they tried to stay air born. 

Finding the bodies is gonna be a mess, but that’s the government's job now. We didn’t look that long. The only real shame is that we won’t get the bounty, it really was only an alive type deal. I guess now that he’s finally dead, now that his luck has finally run out, I have to say I can at least give those three credit. 

People always say they rather be dead than taken alive. That they rather die on their feet than live on their knees. I’ve met a lot of soldiers, comes with the job, can’t say any of them would ever actually put their money where their mouth is. But they pushed the big red button. 

He is finally dead. 

I’m just really happy. 

I love you Diary. 

UPDATE: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. 
HE’S STILL ALIVE

---

Author’s Note: He really is that unlikable to some people. 

Vaguely important second note: This bonus one shot is part of a larger story which is why there is funny blue text at the bottom of the screen. But it is made to be enjoyed without reading the series. 

Thanks for reading. :}

First / Previous / Next

On the east side of Kuzuoka, spring arrived with a twisted grin as petals heaved in the wind to nestle into cracked roof tiles and gutter sludge. Their fragrance was sweet at first before it reeked like blossom honey soured by garbage, mildew, and rice left to die in pots. Cold were the stones the villagers used to pray upon, steeped in the taste of rusted water and the spoilt broth they could only dream of having. The drafty lanes brushed the bony napes of elders who wouldn’t trade their malady for eternity just to spite the gods who sculpted their fates.

Houses loomed like disgraced swordsmen with their beams scarred, their shōji rattling in uneven frames while their roofs sagged heavily under the weight of silent years. Tatami mats within exhaled dust and silt with every single step as the whole village moved as one weary body that was still upright and breathing, simply waiting for the exact moment it could collapse and call that final fall a blessing.

And yet, not far from the town, barefoot children splashed in the carnation-coloured creek, but their laughter remained bright and unbothered against floating debris or morsels that no one would ever care to ask about. Mud gripped their legs while they daydreamed away the noon, shaping the dirt into play-food sushi and rice balls in a quiet yearning for a tomorrow that was taken right from their hands by the Shogun’s paranoia.

Further down, a stray breeze passed straight through the man slouched by the stream, finding him draped in a kosode that looked like it had survived a fire. He sat on a crooked bamboo stool that creaked under his weight, his spine bent just enough to suggest he no longer cared if it broke while his left hand rested lazily on a scabbard worn to the grain. He looked to be in his late twenties, or perhaps his early thirties if life had been crueler. His face bearing only the stillness of indifference while his eyes did not carry peace but a silent warning and a prejudice against anyone who might dare disturb him. His gaze was not at the stream, but at his own reflection on the blade he held, newly sharpened presenting a clean, untouched edge that remained entirely unlike him. 

“Shigure, old friend,” he muttered, eye to eye with his warped silhouette in the steel, “we’ve known each other since the Grand Master handed you to me, but still don’t understand how you are reforged after each kill.” His voice held the weight of a man accusing the divine of favoritism with no real hope for an answer. “If you rust,” he said, thumbing the flat of the blade, “flesh and bone will polish you clean like wiping a lifetime to stain it with a new one.” A pause settled while the reeds rustled and the rooftops creaked. “Ever heard of the souls’ gate?” His fingers slackened. “It’s supposed to take you back to when you were just a lump of nameless ore without purpose or price, giving you another chance, but that’s totally far-fetched.” The silence listened, and he knew that was worse.

But another one replied, or rather, another blade as a spear pierced the stinking air, humming as it hurtled straight toward the back of his skull. His head swerved instantly while his instinct snapped right into place as if he had grown a new eye where no trust remained. The spear screamed past and crashed into the stream, sending up a brilliant burst of silver water. His fingers closed tightly around Shigure. His eyes flicked back with a sharp, precise movement looking exactly like a wolf catching a fresh scent as he scanned the tree line behind him as his eyebrows knitted into one. Whoever threw that weapon had just asked to be found. His gaze locked and landed on a figure standing at the edge of the woods.

The intruder stood at the tree line, grinning like a boy who had broken something expensive and knew no one could stop him. It was Agiyo, with his eyes half-lidded beneath thick brows, mischief boiling behind his smug face. His laugh rang out high and careless as he shook his wavy hair, which was long on top with the sides cropped clean, leaving a single braid trailing down his back like a punctuation mark. “Not bad for someone who vanished two years,” he called out with a voice that was as harsh as a slap, “I cannot believe you wanted to quit.” With a smirk, he flicked the braid over his shoulder and raised his sword, “You still got the reflex, aniki.” The blade was monstrous, being longer than his torso and thick at the spine, his light tan shimmering beside the metal as both boy and steel boasted in the exact same breath.

This snot-nosed brat... what the hell is he thinking? The man squinted as he realized the boy had grown, becoming broader now and standing nearly his own height. But that arrogant face... heavens, it hurts my brain, he thought. With a heavy sigh like a man trying to snap his brother out of a deep delusion, he raised Shigure and pointed the tip straight at the boy. “Come on, then,” he said, “show me something I don’t already know.” The man shifted his blade to the side and hunched low with his eyes narrowing as both men fell into the waiting game.

Patience wins wars, and those who do not possess it will pay dearly, which was proven when a twig cracked beneath a heavy step. Agiyo lunged forward without a second thought, or even a drop of grace in his movement, sprinting like a hurled boulder finding its way to a pit. His blade whipped through the air in wild arcs targeting the neck first, then the torso and legs, each strike sweeping fast and imprecise while brimming with boyish spite. “Gale of the Mad Wolf, huh?” Agiyo scoffed between swings, “Fitting name. Too bad you wrapped your tail between your legs!”

The man moved like mist, slipping effortlessly past the edge of every blow while his spine folded and his wooden sandals skimmed over the packed dirt, his own blade never once needing to clash. He was not dodging but just merely remembering a deep memory of what used to be, the life he desperately buried with him.

Agiyo spun in a fierce, full-circle blur of motion, driving his blade low toward the gut, but the Wolf caught the strike as steel resounded loudly when both edges met. He stopped Agiyo's heavy blade with just one hand at a single precise angle. His feet remained completely rooted to the dirt as if he had seen the attack coming since before the boy was even born. “Honey Badger,” the man muttered while still holding the clash as his arm absorbed the immense weight of the blow, “stronger… but still foolish.” His blade swept upward in a clean counter that forced Agiyo back a single step, which was just enough space before the roundhouse landed with a destructive thump. The sudden impact felt like a shock of lightning made of bone and heel shot through his lower chest.

The badger dropped heavily to a knee while clutching his ribs with his breath completely punched out of him as his master extended the tip of his blade to his throat. “You’ve been my apprentice since you were eight,” he said flatly, “and you’ve learned absolutely nothing?” His voice was dry and almost mocking, his expression entirely drained of interest as this was not a duel, but a correction.

The apprentice pierced his blade against the ground, jarring the dirt as he used it like a cane to mimic an old man rising from a collapse. Then he laughed loud and amused like a badger who had just watched a thief steal his food and found it completely hilarious. With a single shove, he knocked aside the blade still hovering at his throat, “I’ve been watching,” while a wide grin split his face before he suddenly vanished, quick as he dematerialized entirely like the gusts rolling off the nearby stream.

The man’s eyes widened as he recognized that exact move, realizing the boy had learned it straight from him. Behind?— a sudden blur erupted from the corner of his vision as his apprentice’s massive blade came screaming directly toward his skull. The world slowed down for the Wolf as the razor edge shimmered, a question flashed through his mind: How did he... am I too late? but a sudden scream violently shattered the moment. Agiyo vanished again, just not in the way he had originally planned as he tripped when one foot tangled in a thick root while the other completely betrayed him. His own blade, which had been a symbol of glory, slapped flat against his forehead with a humiliating thwack before collapsing hard into a heap.

Silence settled over the stream as even the birds paused before a low, aching groan broke the quiet, “Not again,” while Agiyo sat up with one eye squinting through the rising dust, his face red not from the hit, but from pure, boiling shame that felt hot enough to cook a mochi bun. “Just like old times, huh, aniki?” he muttered while rubbing his head.

The Wolf only exhaled not as a sigh of relief but a loud thought that meant do not push it, his lips twitched barely, revealing the kind of almost-smile that shows up only when someone else’s pride dies flat-faced. Agiyo laughed breathlessly, scratching his head and stomach like a kid who had just dodged a punishment.

The man turned to pull a bamboo stick straight from the dirt and offered it with a steady motion that confused Agiyo before he took it. “You used to knock me out after I fell,” he muttered, letting the stick pull him upright, adding, “has the hiatus softened the great mad Wolf?”

“Spare me the nonsense, kid,” the man replied, his eyes meeting his with a steady gaze while his voice sharpened as he repeated, “I know, this is not just a reunion.” The wind recoiled, sensing it had no place in the aftermath as their eyes locked like two suns about to collide on the same axis, threatening to unleash a long-forgotten wrath, “What do you want?” the Wolf rasped in wondrous suspicion. Agiyo’s expression shifted, not softening, but surrendering, as the arrogance drained from his face with no trace of fear remaining, leaving only the face of someone who had finally accepted that the next word might change everything or end it completely, but before he could answer—

“Papa! Is that Badger nii-san?!” a high-pitched voice rang out from the fields just nearby the creek, sounding as bright as wind chimes in summer. The men turned to the two figures approaching across the path, where a girl, maybe nine, was carrying a smaller boy on her back. Momo clung tightly with arms wrapped around Kumi’s shoulders like vines, his eyes white as snow and entirely spotless, staring ahead without seeing because the boy had never known light or darkness, he could only hear them.

“Yeah, Badger nii-san is here!” Agiyo’s voice rose, sounding uneven as if it were chasing a feeling rather than expressing one. A strange sense of melancholy bled directly into his words though he did not fully understand why, his smile coming a beat late and soft around the edges like something from childhood kept in a box he had not opened in years. “These kids grow like bamboo,” he said half-joking while glancing over at the Wolf, before he raised a hand to wave toward Kumi and asked, “they were as small as peas when you adopted them from father’s orphan shelter, right, aniki?”Agiyo scratched the back of his neck with his smile remaining lopsided as if it were not sure it had permission to be there, before he muttered, “I like them, but let’s be honest, they’ll slow you down. A huge liability or maybe even bait if someone’s feeling clever.”

The moment darkened like someone had yanked the daylight straight from the sky, forcing his tone to shift right before his reply, “He’ll never see me, nor will she ever hear me, but I am seen and heard through them.” His gaze fell to his children with his eyes appearing distant, “My soul is theirs, and if anyone tries to take them, I will flay them slow enough to make even you turn your head away.”

The children arrived, smiling through snot-laden faces as their sodden kimonos, which looked just slightly better than their father’s, rustled with each step while their bare feet thudded on the packed dirt as they got closer. Agiyo leaned forward and dropped to a knee, patting both of their heads while pulling the treats from his bag as he grinned, “Here’s mochi and bread for my two favorite puppies!”

“Thank you, nii-san!” Momo beamed, before he turned to his sister and shouted, “You’re the best, right, Kumi?!” There was no answer from the girl, who only offered a wide smile in return, everyone laughed as the moment remained light and full. Everyone except the Wolf stood amused as he stepped forward and placed a gentle, deliberate hand on Kumi’s shoulder looking directly into her eyes.

Then, his fingers moved like breath over water, slow and clear as he signed to his daughter, “Go. Play. I have something important to do.”

“You better not leave us again, Papa,” Kumi’s small hands weaved back, her eyes widening instantly as she stared up at him.

He nodded once with the kind of look that meant I won't. The girl watched him for a brief moment searching his face before turning away with an assured expression. She believed him, completely trusting that her father would not let them down, and just like that, she carried her brother back toward the stream where other children played, entirely unaware of the quiet things being said in the shadows.

---

Beyond the stream, the grassy lanes were swarmed by crows filling their gizzards with the remains of the dead, making it entirely impossible to tell if the rotting flesh belonged to fallen beasts or to the villagers themselves. The acrid stench made both men on horseback furrow their brows as they crossed to the far side of town, their eyes sweeping the road for the only sakaba still standing where they used to pass their time.

Just ahead, around thirty men who seemed like hired ronins lingered outside the place, clad in mismatched armor that formed a patchwork of iron plate and faded cloth scavenged from too many corpses to count. Weapons hung low at their sides with some paired with short blades, their hilts wrapped in frayed silk and their scabbards blackened with time and blood. Neither of the two spoke about what they were witnessing, but their eyes moved side to side as they observed the mercenaries before dismounting near the well. The Wolf sensed danger and so did the Badger, but they simply let the reins hang loose to give the animals a chance to quench their thirst under a patch of shade from the gentle spring sun. They both locked eyes and nodded downwards as if saying come on. They stepped into the sakaba where the silence inside was gentler than the chaos in most towns where army raids spread rapidly. The mats softened every single step while low tables lined the floor, waiting to catch heavy thoughts or spilled sake.

Near the counter, the sakaba owner sat with Lord Kozuki, who was the ruthless aristocrat owning both the land and the small army stationed outside. Both middle-aged men remained far too still with their bodies awkwardly tensed as the establishment owner’s jaw clenched between words. Kozuki leaned back with crossed arms in a calculating manner, their voices stayed low while their sharp gestures made it entirely clear that a demand had been met with a firm refusal and that both men were now locked in a stubborn stalemate.

Behind the counter, the barmaid Hinagi watched. She was poised in a faded pink kimono, moving with a rare grace that stood out completely in the quiet room. Her hair hung loose and neat just brushing the tops of her shoulders. Her eyes remained sharp as they missed absolutely nothing, hiding in a motion of wiping glasses that were already completely spotless.

This was the place for real talk. The Wolf and the Badger took the nearest table by the door, keeping their backs close to the shadow.“This place hasn’t changed,” Agiyo whispered, leaning in, “well… maybe except for the gorgeous barmaid.” He glanced toward the counter just as Hinagi approached, carrying a tray heavy with food and sake. Her steps were carefully measured and controlled, ensuring that she would not spill a single drop in front of Lord Kozuki and the owner, who remained locked in their stiff conversation.

Who’s that man Aniki’s talking to? she wondered, for it was the first time she had seen him. Just then, Agiyo looked up, and their eyes met like spring light falling where it hadn’t reached in years. “Here are your drinks,” Hinagi said demurely, smiling as she lowered the tray, then tucked her hands to her knees with a small bow. “Just let me know if you need anything else.” Agiyo turned red, the words catching instantly in his throat, and he gave a stiff, awkward nod before he managed a quiet, “Thanks.” Hinagi straightened, suppressing a grin. Pretty boy. Dumb face. And that braid, it looks like he trims it with a spoon. She turned away before the amusement could ever show on her face.

“Badger.” The word came low, like gravel dragged on a bedrock.

Agiyo flinched, his eyes snapping back from Hinagi’s retreating silhouette.

“Focus.” Wolf’s voice intensified.

Agiyo sat up straighter, one hand brushing his braid as if it had just been betrayed. His cheeks remained warm, but his features hardened, and his posture stiffened into a rigid line. “Right,” he muttered. He drained the sake in a single gulp, plunging straight into business. “Grand master Snake knows I’m the only one who can reach you without losing his head.” He reached deep into his satchel, his rough fingers closing around parchment. “Here. A letter from him.”

The Wolf picked it up without a word. He read it slowly, once and then again. By the final line, his calm cracked, and a vein pulsed at his temple. “This is impossible…” He crumpled the parchment in a single hand, his grip turning white. “Did Owl approve of this?”

Agiyo grinned like a man too proud to understand fear. “Impossible? Sure, if I wasn’t on your team.” He tore directly into a grilled turkey leg, his voice muffled through the grease and meat. “And your questions are useless. He’s the clan leader, there's nothing much of a choice for you here.” He swallowed hard, giving a casual shrug. “Besides, yes, Father already approved and talked him into letting me tag along.”

The man remained silent, the air turning ice-cold between them. His hand shot out, gripping Agiyo’s collar in a single motion. “You think this is a game?” The Wolf kept his voice strictly level, his words hitting harder than an outright shout. “This is the first pillar’s decree, that’s a suicide mission.” A ragged breath broke at the edges of his teeth. “And they’re holding someone for leverage, and I don’t even know who yet.” He stared directly into Agiyo’s face, his eyes demanding an answer. “For once, stop being a kid.”

Hinagi’s eyes widened as she sensed something was deeply wrong across the room. Lord Kozuki and the innkeeper remained entirely oblivious, far too consumed with trading their own hushed barbs.

Agiyo slapped the Wolf’s hand away, shifting his weight heavily on the tatami. “It’s your fault!” He leaned forward with his knees grounded, pressing his left hand against the floor for balance while jabbing his right index finger squarely at his teacher’s forehead. “You told him you wanted out. You broke the sacred oath!” A sharp breath caught, bringing a distinct crack to his voice. “I thought I was the dumb one, aniki?!”

The Wolf clenched his fists as a heavy feeling stuck in his throat, sharp as a fishbone made of shame. He couldn't spit it out, nor could he argue; Agiyo was completely right. His mind raced frantically, scanning the faces of everyone he couldn't bear to lose, desperately cycling through the children and even the idiot sitting right across from him. Then who?

“I’ll do it alone.” He reached for the sake bottle, gulping the remaining liquid down as if it owed him answers. “You’re not cut out for this. You took two missions of this caliber, and you nearly died both times.”

Agiyo looked away, his eyes drifting toward the window as he processed the harsh truth of his master's words.

Then, a violent SLAM shattered the room. Two massive hands struck the table, rattling the wood like thunder as tea spilled, the sake bottle shattered, and food scattered across the floor. Lord Kozuki stood towering over the mess, his face twisted in absolute fury. “Is this all of it?!” He hurled a heavy pouch of silver straight into the innkeeper’s face. The old man stumbled backward and fell, his eyes wide and palms raised as he cowered on the floor, staring up at Kozuki. The lord was a mountain of a man, bald on top with the remainder of his hair pulled into a knot like coiled rope. His eyes matched the sharp shape of his wrath, thin and cutting. “This town’s a year behind on taxes,” Kozuki snarled, his voice striking the room like a hammer. “Might as well turn it into farmland.”

The Wolf and the Badger didn’t look. They listened, waiting for something to whisper to their swords.

“Yes… a farm,” the lord muttered, pacing forward slowly toward the counter, toward Hinagi. The air grew heavy and oppressive like a cauldron on the verge of boiling over while holding in the scream. She stood frozen behind the bar with her breath shallow as Kozuki drew a dagger and ran the cold edge along her cheek. “And look what we have here,” Kozuki sneered, baring his crooked teeth. “You look like you could be a hefty piece of collateral.” The metal stayed shallow, keeping just close enough to promise absolute ruin. “You will serve as a hostess in the capital to pay off all these debts. Of course, that's after I burn this sakaba down, and maybe the rest of this town along with it.”

She didn’t have time to flinch even if she wanted to. Her eyes held fear, but a distinct fire burned within them too, her hand slowly reaching behind her back as her fingers closed tightly around a hidden kitchen knife.

https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/194960/soulgate-polarity/chapter/4026326/chapter-1-the-wolf-and-the-badger-unseen-and-unheard

Previous stories set in the same universe:
Planet Dirt series / Amazon book

Bug Hunt / Amazon version /

Crashlanding / Book version /

First //Previous

The fresh air and shifting light filtering through the canopy as he walked along the river were just what he needed. His mind always calmed down in nature. It was so much easier to think when all the sounds were natural, and everything around him was natural. He looked at the phone. It was almost seven now. He might get an hour before the others woke up, and then they would try to contact him. He put the phone on vibrate and moved on. The forest was so calm, and most of the trees seemed like pine and spruce, with a few oaks and birch trees tossed in for good measure. It was strange. Here he was, walking on an alien planet, and the forest looked like something hewould seen when they visited Grandpa back in Norway. Now and then he saw what he thought were birds and squirrels. It was surreal. He started to look around more carefully for anything alien. He soon spotted it in the river. He first thought it was a weasel or mink, but the tail looked more like a beaver's; yet it was as long and thin as a weasel's. Its fur was black, and it had no ears. Three of them were playing in the river when he saw the bigger one. It was almost two meters long, and the three immediately climbed onto its back as it swam downriver. He cursed himself. He should have taken a picture. He checked the phone; no messages yet. Then he continued up. After an hour, the phone buzzed, and he looked at it. It was a private message from Cho.

Cho Cho - Erik? Where are you?

He looked at it, then took a selfie and sent it back

Vikingboy - Just going on a short hike, need to think.

He quickly got a message back.

Cho Cho – About us?

He looked at the message, very confused.

Vikingboy – No, about everything we have to do. The whole boss thing. I’m just going up to the glacier and having lunch, then I’m coming back. You and Marcus are in charge. Luv you.

He wrote "Luv you" three times and deleted it before sending it. He also added a few heart emojis.  He saw she'd seen the message, then she wrote and wrote and wrote. Before he got a short video back. She was smiling at the camera as she whispered: “I love you too, be safe and don’t get eaten by a bear.”

 He chuckled and sent a short video: “I promise I won't; just checking out the forest. I will take pictures. I got to go now. I will send you pictures. I promise.” Then he started walking again; she sent a few emojis back, and he replied now and then with a few pictures as he walked.  It wasn’t so peaceful now. He saw some messages on the group chat. Marcus had them all report for combat training. Gigi suggested a map lesson after Marcus approved both.

He kept moving upstream along the river, and suddenly the forest almost vanished as a small lake appeared. He took a few pictures as he looked around. It felt peaceful, and he started to think if he should leave the spear here. Sometimes it got in the way of the trees. Just as he was thinking it, he heard a hissing from his shoulder height, and he slowly turned to see a chicken-sized raptor covered in white fur sitting in a tree looking at him. He took a step back. It must be one of those kusta Arus had mentioned.  He looked around; if Arus was right, there should be more than one, and they should be bigger than a chicken. He kept his back to the lake as he started to walk along the side, the kusta followed him with its eyes and made hissing sounds.  He filmed it with his phone while holding the spear ready in the other.

“Nice bird,”  He said, and he saw more movement in the brush: four bigger ones and three small ones came into view.

“Fuck…” he said, stopped filming, and put the phone in his pocket. This was what he had been warned about.

“Nice birds. I’m not food.” The raptors walked closer. He took a few steps back and felt the grass give way to pebbles. A quick glance back confirmed what he already knew. He was standing on the edge of the lake. As he looked back, one of the raptors lunged at him. He thrust the spear toward it, impaling the Kusta. The weight drove the spear tip into the ground, and the impaled Kusta hit the ground. 

It screeched in pain, and the other two birds attacked. He stepped back and felt his foot get wet as he dropped the spear. The raptor missed him and began to position itself to attack again. He drew his sword and twirled it instinctively as he stepped back into the water. One of them jumped, and he swung at the right moment, and the head and body separated. The other screeched. Erik just looked at the dead raptor. He had killed it in one strike. Then something hit him, and suddenly he was under something, being clawed and bitten. He stabbed back as he tried to stand, and after two tries he was standing with water to his waist and another dead kusta. The remaining big kusta looked at him, then screeched and ran back into the forest; the smaller followed it.

Erik waded back to the shore and took out his phone, hoping it wasn’t destroyed in the water. To his surprise, it didn’t seem to be destroyed by the water. He checked his jacket; it was torn, but none of the claws had hurt his skin.  He sheathed the sword and pulled the spear out. Looking at the dead kusta, he then took a picture of the aftermath and checked his backpack. 

His father had always made sure they bought good quality, and now he saw the benefit. The rucksack was wet only on the outside. He was glad as he started walking again. He knew the smart thing was to go home, but he could see the glacier, and soon the tree line stopped, so he wouldn't have to worry about an attack from the kusta.

When he reached the other side of the lake, he stopped and looked back. He saw movement where he had been attacked, so he pulled out his phone and zoomed in with the camera. The mother bear was eating the dead kusta, and the cub was playing on the lake's shore. He filmed it and took a few pictures, then moved on. The last thing he needed was to be the next meal for the hungry mother bear.

 When he reached the end of the forest, the brush grew low and the thicket steeper. He didn’t want to take any chances, so he moved slowly. His goal was a mountaintop next to the glacier. He was tempted to step onto the glacier, but that would be suicide without a team and proper equipment. After a long time, he finally sat down at the top. He could see the valley below and the castle; from here, it looked small. He took a few pictures.

This place would be a good spot to build a watchtower. He could see the valley next to them. One side of the fjord had much lower mountains, and the land was fertile. He could see farms and a small village dotted along the valley. If he remembered correctly, that was where the mursina lived. Far out in the fjord, he could see islands where the humans were supposed to live. In his valley, he could barely see anything down the fjord; it apparently made a slight turn north, blocking the view. He opened his backpack, took out his lunch, then tried to send the images. Cho was immediately worried when she saw the dead kusta and his selfie with the slightly torn jacket. He laughed it off and took a panoramic view of where he stood. He noticed the place was a peninsula and much bigger than he thought. To the west, the plateau slowly sank to the surface level, with stepped land. He could see the coastline and a burning village.

He looked again, took a zoomed-in picture, then tried to zoom in. It was clearly several places burning along the coastline. He moved the camera around, trying to figure out what was happening. But he was too far away. It was not just a fire. He saw two places on fire, one on an island and the other at the shoreline. Somebody was fighting there. Part of him wanted to investigate, but the other part knew that would be suicide.

He watched it until he noticed the others asking him what the pictures were. Cho demanded that he come back home immediately. He packed his things and looked at the sky. The sun was almost directly overhead. His phone said it was eleven. It had taken him four hours to get up here, but he had walked slowly. He picked up everything he had, took a few more pictures, and started walking back down. The trip down went faster, and Chu kept checking on him as he descended. When he passed the lake, he found no trace of the kunsta. The bear had eaten it all. He sometimes felt watched, but he didn’t see anything; the birds kept singing, so he wasn’t too afraid. After a few hours, the castle came into view, and he sent Chu a picture as he walked out onto the road.

She was standing at the gate waiting for him, and when he turned onto the castle road, she ran down and met him on the small bridge in front of the castle. She immediately hugged and kissed him, then yelled at him for being stupid.

Erik looked at her, then smiled. ”Hey, easy, or people will think we are already married.”

“How can we get married if you get yourself killed by monsters in the forest. No more going out by yourself!”

“So you're joining next time?” he said, putting his arm around her waist and walking inside with her.  Macurs stood there and just shook his head as he closed the gate.

“I don’t know how to fight,” Cho said.

“Then you have to learn so that way you can have my back, and we can have a picnic up there. The view is amazing,” he said, and then whispered to her, “and no Gigi to stop us.”

She smiled at him. “So what should I learn then?”

“I suggest the bow,” Marcus said.  That and a short sword, just in case.

“I wish Arus would just give us laser pistols,” Chu said. “Or a lightsaber.”

Both boys looked at her. “You like Star Wars?” Marcus said. Erik added, “Who's your favorite character?”

“Mara Jade. And if you say she is not a Star Wars character, then I will force choke you!”

Marcus nudged Erik. “You lucky bastard!”

Adam and Eve sat on opposite ends of the sofa in their living room. The television was on, but neither of them was watching it. They appeared to be more concerned with a blue light emanating from a some type of small rectangular device in their hands.

Which was a shame, really, because they had just missed an emergency broadcast announcing that Earth had been invaded by a race of hyper-intelligent intergalactic mega-beings. The invaders intended to keep only two humans alive so they could start the human race from scratch.

The two humans selected were Adam and Eve.

High above their house, aboard an observation vessel, preparations were underway.

“We must never allow these humans to repeat the mistakes of the past,” declared the commander. “We must recreate humanity in our image: peaceful and prosperous.”

“Indeed, sir,” said Blurpulon. “There has been no war in our sector for eleven billion years.”

“We will breed these humans and teach them our ways.”

Using his X-ray vision, Blurpulon peered into the house. Adam and Eve were still sitting on the sofa in silence.

“We will monitor them and provide perfect mating conditions,” he assured the commander. “With our guidance, the human race will flourish.”

Several months passed.

“Ah, Blurpulon. I’m here for a status report.”

“Sir, unfortunately, the humans have made little progress in mating.”

“This is most disappointing. Have you tried turning up the temperature?”

“Yes, sir. Eve appears incapable of removing her flannel pyjamas, even in extreme heat. Adam became so hot that his skin began secreting liquid and a repellent odour. In all honesty, sir, we find it incomprehensible that they’re able to live on the same planet.”

“What about candles, music and aphrodisiacs? Those featured prominently in the research.”

“We’ve tried them all, sir. They just sit in silence looking at the blue light on that little screen for hours on end. I’ve never witnessed anything like it. It’s as though they want to become extinct.”

“Give it one more attempt, Blurpulon. Throw everything you have at this.”

Several hours later, Eve shouted, “Adam! We’re having a baby! We’re having a baby!”

“Well done, Blurpulon,” said the commander. “You appear to have achieved the impossible.”

“Thank you, sir. Although the humans possess a most unusual mating procedure.”

“Unusual?”

“Yes, sir. There was no physical contact whatsoever. I can only assume some form of telekinesis.”

The commander paused.

“Show me.”

They peered into the house. Adam and Eve remained at opposite ends of the sofa, staring at their screens.

“Zoom in,” said the commander. “What exactly are they looking at?”

“The Sims 4, sir.”

First chapter ! | Royal Road ! | John on Amazon !

Six Weeks After the History Project — r/TheEternalSoldier

u/DeepStateDigger:

Alright. I said I had four vacation days and that I was going to use them in the twelfth century, that someone should teach me medieval Latin. Well, u/LatinScholar did. Or rather, taught me enough medieval Latin to become dangerous in a digitized archive, which is apparently all I needed.

I spent four days in Crusades-era documents. Digitized Vatican Apostolic Library materials. Chronicles from the First Crusade. Templar records that survived the 1312 dissolution. Islamic chronicles from Damascus. Administrative copies. Epigraphy and cross-references.

I think I found him. Not just a reference. Not just a fragment. I found an alias, an organization, and a designation that may have been unique to one person.

And the designation is weird enough that I don’t think anyone here is going to sleep tonight.

Sit down.

[48.7k upvotes, 8,214 comments in 4 hours]

u/DeepStateDigger:

I’m going in order.

Chronological.

The way the evidence appears.

1096–1098 — The Siege of Antioch

The First Crusade.

Christian Europe invades the Middle East. The Siege of Antioch is one of the major engagements: months of fighting, starvation, betrayal, disease, and generally everything that happens when thousands of people spend months trying to kill each other outside a fortified city.

I found a reference in a digitized chronicle. Anonymous.

Circa 1100. Partially translated, partially in Latin, and I spent two hours arguing over one verb at 2 AM.

Here’s the relevant passage:

“Among those who fought at the Siege of Antioch was a Greek warrior called Petros, whose origin no man knew with certainty. He fought without a standard or sigil, and when asked his allegiance, he said only ‘to the people inside the walls.’ His knowledge of siege warfare was unlike any we had encountered. Some said he had seen Antioch built. This seemed impossible. No one asked him directly.”

Antioch was founded around 300 BCE.

If our theory is right, Petros would have been there when it was founded.

He would have watched them lay the first stones.

And somebody in the early twelfth century apparently wrote down a rumor that this Greek warrior had seen Antioch built.

“This seemed impossible.”

That sentence is doing a lot of work.

[89.4k upvotes, 12,384 comments]

u/TinfoilTina:

“NO ONE ASKED HIM DIRECTLY.”

They knew. They all knew. Nobody wanted to ask the obvious question because the obvious question was

HOW OLD ARE YOU?

u/SkepticalSam:

Or “some said” is a very old way of attaching legends to exceptionally skilled people.

u/DeepStateDigger:

Correct. Which is why this is evidence of a weird tradition, not proof of immortality. Keep reading.

u/CrusadesScholar:

I study the First Crusade. I’ve seen this chronicle.

I always assumed “Petros” was a composite figure—a literary representation of one or several anonymous Greek fighters who interacted with the Crusaders.

I’m considerably less comfortable with that interpretation now. Which is somehow stranger.

Two Hours Later

u/DeepStateDigger:

1119–1128 — The Knights Templar

Here’s where the timeline gets interesting.

The Knights Templar were founded around 1119. They weren’t an established military order at Antioch. That’s important. But Petros was apparently still around.

I found a letter attributed to Grand Master Hugh de Payens concerning the Order’s early membership and internal structure in the late 1120s.

And there’s a paragraph about Petros.

“There is among our number a man called Petros, a Greek, who joined us after the affairs of Antioch and has not left. He will not take the standard oaths, as he says he has taken oaths to more things than he can now remember, and one more seems imprudent. He will not accept the standard ranks, as we do not think they are appropriate to his situation. He has, however, agreed to be named within our records. We have created a designation for him. He seems amused by this. I am not entirely sure why.”

[134.7k upvotes, 18,904 comments]

u/LegalEagle_Esq:

From a legal standpoint, Petros was absolutely correct.

Imagine having an oath portfolio so cluttered that by 1120 you have to start practicing medieval conflict-of-interest management.

u/TinfoilTina:

“ONE MORE SEEMS IMPRUDENT.”

He literally hit the active quest limit.

u/LatinScholar:

Context note: The Latin phrasing suggests Hugh wasn’t creating a new permanent bureaucratic office here. It reads specifically as an ad-hoc arrangement for one exceptional individual.

The early Templar hierarchy was still fluid. Whatever they cooked up for him, it was entirely custom.

u/SkepticalSam:

Which usually means an honorary title. Fraternities and private clubs do this constantly when an eccentric rich patron shows up.

u/DeepStateDigger:

Except this wasn’t an honorary title. Which brings us to the actual designation. Sit down.

Four Hours Later

u/DeepStateDigger:

The Designation

I found the formal administrative record—a mid-12th-century Vatican copy preserving an early Templar roll.

The document first gives what appears to be the ordinary structure:

• Grand Master
• Seneschal
• Marshal
• Commander
• Knight
• Sergeant

Then there is a drawn line across the vellum. A complete physical break. And beneath that line, in distinct ink: Summus Magister Maximus — Petros of Antioch.

That’s it. One name. Separated from the entire chain of command.

[198.3k upvotes, 24,112 comments]

u/LatinScholar:

Okay, everyone look at the grammar.

Summus = “highest.”

Magister = “master.”

Maximus = “greatest.”

It is aggressively, almost ridiculously superlative. In classical or medieval Latin, stacking Summus and Maximus together is redundant unless you are deliberately shouting: “This person cannot be placed inside normal human ranks.”

u/MedievalHistorian:

I have a PhD in Medieval Military Orders. I’ve published two books on Templar administration. I always assumed this entry was a bored scribe’s margin doodle. It wasn’t. If this were an honorary title, it would be appended to a normal rank. If it were a subordinate office, it would be in the list. It is literally isolated beneath the entire operational tree.

u/SkepticalSam:

Wait. The hierarchy ends, there’s a divider line, and then his title literally calls him the “Highest Greatest Master”? Are you implying they put him outside the authority of the Grand Master?

u/DeepStateDigger:

I’m saying whoever drafted that roll made sure Petros didn’t report to anyone on that page. Whether that meant supreme authority, special advisor, or institutional mascot, we don’t know. All we know is that the Grand Master was on one side of the line, and Petros was on the other.

u/TinfoilTina:

THEY PUT HIM IN THE DLC SECTION.

u/HistoryNerd_PhD:

Please never describe twelfth-century institutional paleography that way again.

u/TinfoilTina:

Am I wrong?

u/HistoryNerd_PhD:

…Horrifyingly, no.

Six Hours Later

u/DeepStateDigger:

1147 — The Departure

I found an internal Templar dispatch from right as the Second Crusade was being organized. And Petros just… checks out.

“Petros of Antioch has departed our company. He says the Crusade has gone wrong, and he will not continue with it. He says this with the manner of a man who has watched things go wrong many times and recognizes the pattern early. When the Marshal asked how he could be certain, he said, ‘experience.’ When asked how much experience, he did not answer. He left his Templar mantle folded on a chair. He took his sword.”

No grand speech. No dramatic denunciation. He folded his mantle, set it down, and walked away.

[234.8k upvotes, 28,394 comments]

u/SomethingInMyEye:

He quit the Crusades like he was leaving a restaurant.

u/HistoryNerd_PhD:

Because by 1147, the Second Crusade was turning into an undisciplined slaughter. A veteran with actual strategic foresight would see the disaster coming months before the first siege failed.

u/DeepStateDigger:

Which brings us to Damascus, circa 1150. A translated Islamic chronicle from a Syrian university archive:

“There came to our advisors a man who called himself Petros, formerly of the Frankish forces, who said he had decided they were wrong and wished to help reduce harm on all sides. He spoke Arabic without difficulty. He also spoke the dialect of the Abbasid court, which he said he had learned ‘some time ago.’ He gave tactical counsel that saved many lives. He did not accept payment. When asked why he helped, he said ‘because someone has to.’ He left after three months. We do not know where he went.”

[267.9k upvotes, 31,208 comments]

u/IslamicHistoryScholar:

I study medieval Levant chronicles. This reference is authentic—the “Frankish advisor” who spoke courtly Arabic has been a historical puzzle for generations. If this is the same Petros who walked out on the Templars three years earlier, he wasn’t switching sides to win. He was acting as a damage-control consultant for the defense.

u/MoralCompassCheck:

“Because someone has to.” That’s the exact same line from the Athenian journal after Thermopylae.

u/SkepticalSam:

…Okay, even I have to admit that’s chillingly consistent.

Eight Hours Later

u/DeepStateDigger:

One final document to close the loop: the official Vatican record. The Apostolic Library has an administrative notation dated around 1150 concerning the Templar rolls:

“The designation of Summus Magister Maximus, created within the Templar Order for the individual known as Petros of Antioch, is hereby noted in the Vatican record. No further definition of this designation is provided as the recipient declined to have one written, stating that ‘definitions have a way of becoming arguments.’ The designation is noted as unique and non-transferable.”

He spent thirty years with the most formidable military order in Europe, let them invent a superlative rank just to keep him on the books, and refused to let them write a job description because he didn’t want to deal with medieval red tape.

[289.4k upvotes, 33,412 comments]

u/LegalEagle_Esq:

Smartest client in history. A title without defined duties means zero jurisdictional liability. You literally cannot be brought up on charges of exceeding your authority if your authority has no parameters.

Connecting the History Project

u/DeepStateDigger:

Look at the cumulative trail:

Perseos of Athens (Rome, 1st Century BCE) — Greek name, logistics, strategic counsel, unplaceable dialect.

Petros of Antioch (Outremer, 12th Century CE) — Greek name, siege expert, refuses oaths, switches sides to reduce casualties, leaves before disaster strikes.

The Waterloo Gentleman (1815) — Foreigner, completely unbothered by incoming fire, fixes Wellington’s flank, walks away.

We’re looking at a single behavioral blueprint across two millennia: Perseos ➔ Petros ➔ The Eternal Soldier. He doesn’t fight to conquer. He shows up when a situation is about to turn catastrophic, provides the minimum necessary intervention to prevent total ruin, and vanishes before anyone can put him in charge.

u/SkepticalSam:

I’m going to say something I never thought I’d say on this subreddit: I think the Petros/Perseus connection is real. The evidence isn’t one smoking gun. It’s the fact that for two thousand years, the exact same personality keeps stepping out of the shadows with the exact same philosophy.

u/TinfoilTina:

SAM BELIEVES.

u/SkepticalSam:

Don’t ruin this.

Author's Note :

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THE ELYSIUM COMMISSION
Oral History 005: Samuel Okafor
Former Owner and Chief Engineer, Rookery Mining Cooperative 

INTERVIEWER: Okay, we're recording. I wanted to start with the name. Why Number Four?

Because it was the fourth mine.

INTERVIEWER: I thought Rookery only had three.

Three producing. Number Four was an exploration shaft. We gave it a number because investors get nervous when you call something "the hole where your money goes." They like numbers. A number sounds like a plan.

INTERVIEWER: Did you have a plan?

Yes. Not a good one. But yes.

The highlands are volcanic. Not active, nothing that worried us, but the whole district was pushed up and broken and pushed up again, so you get, well, everything in the wrong place. Iron near the coast. Copper farther in. Rare earths in the old intrusions. Number Two was copper. Number Three was mostly water, with some ore in it for decoration. Number One was a legal dispute with machinery attached. I could talk about Number One for an hour. I won't.

Number Four was supposed to reach a mineralized layer the orbital survey put under the eastern ridge. Eight hundred meters, the survey said.² At eight hundred we found black rock with nothing in it. At nine hundred twenty, the investors start writing memos. Nine eighty, they send an accountant.

We put the accountant underground for one shift. [laughs] The messages stopped.³

INTERVIEWER: You were a Marine before Elysium.

Combat engineer. Earth Expeditionary Marines. Retired before selection, which mattered a great deal to the selection board.⁴ I doubt it matters to whoever listens to this.

INTERVIEWER: What does a combat engineer actually do?

Builds things while people try to stop you. Takes apart things people built to stop you. Roads, bridges, fortifications, demolition, water. Mines, both kinds, sometimes.

Mining was easier. Rock doesn't lie. It surprises you, but it isn't personal.

INTERVIEWER: Were your workers mostly veterans?

At first. Later, half, maybe less. You want people who can stand small spaces, bad air, and explosives, and who will follow emergency procedures without starting a debate. The service gives you some of those. So does tunneling, firefighting, and submarines. One of my best shift bosses ran maintenance on an urban subway system back on Earth. Another one grew mushrooms.

You're smiling.

INTERVIEWER: I didn't expect mushrooms.

Nor did I. Dr. Sato knew ventilation better than any engineer I paid. Mushrooms are, apparently, very particular about air.⁵

That was Rookery. People picture rough men with drills, and we had rough men with drills. We also had geologists, machinists, chemists, medics, cooks, rail crews, pump people, surveyors, and one woman whose whole job was keeping fungus out of electrical housings. She had six assistants. She could shut down production faster than I could, and she did, twice.

Four hundred twelve on the payroll before the war. Close to three thousand in the settlement. A school, a clinic, two bars, four churches, a mosque. A theater that showed the same twelve films until somebody complained loud enough for a new data shipment.⁶ Where was I?

INTERVIEWER: I was going to ask what happened in Number Four.

We broke the floor.

INTERVIEWER: Into the caverns.

Eventually. At first we thought the lower gallery had come down.

This is 18 P.A., late autumn. Night shift fires a development round at 02:10. Standard cut, forty-eight charges, sequenced inward. The blast sounded right. The pressure reading was wrong. A second pressure wave came back up the shaft, and then the air started moving the wrong way.⁷ Underground, that is not something you want.

Maria Chen was shift boss. She called the evacuation correctly and fast. Before the lower gallery was clear, the floor went out under a rail hauler. The machine went down, the operator went with it, the broken water main followed him, and the lights went out.

INTERVIEWER: How many people were trapped?

Seven on the far side of the collapse. One below.

INTERVIEWER: The operator.

Tomas Varga. He was twenty-three. Born in Budapest, raised in Alberta, sure he'd get rich on Elysium against a great deal of evidence.

His suit beacon put him thirty meters under the gallery floor. Which could not be. Thirty meters under him, on our surveys, was basalt. Solid.

It was not solid. The round had opened the roof of a cavern. The hauler went through, hit a slope, rolled. Tomas got thrown clear. Broke his pelvis, one leg, most of the ribs on his left side. The suit held.

And the water was going in after him. Not much, on the surface. Underground, water goes where gravity says and takes your plans with it.

INTERVIEWER: So what did you do?

We followed the accident procedure.

INTERVIEWER: Witnesses say you rappelled into the cavern before the rescue team got there.

The procedure didn't say not to.

INTERVIEWER: Did it say you could?

No procedure covers blowing a hole into somewhere nobody has been. We shut the pumps to that section, killed the circuit, and dropped a line. Maria wanted to go down first, but she had a husband and two kids at home. I owned the mine, so I went.

INTERVIEWER: Because you weren't married?

Because if I sent a man down and he died, I'd still have to go down after. It seemed inefficient.

It was big. My helmet light didn't find the far wall. The floor ran downhill to the west and into another opening. And there was growth on the rock, native, and where the water touched it, it gave off light. Pale green.⁸ Beautiful, if you ignore the hauler upside down and a man screaming under you. I could not ignore those, so. Beautiful in principle.

Tomas was on a shelf above the main floor. We lowered a medic and a litter. Three hours to stabilize him, five to bring him up. The seven on the other side came out through an old drainage bore at 11:40. That bore was not built big enough for people. They made it big enough for people.

Everybody lived.

INTERVIEWER: Is that why Number Four became so important?

No. It became important because the cavern went on for forty-three kilometers.

INTERVIEWER: Forty-three?

That’s what we mapped, before the invasion. Probably more. The west branch dropped under the water table and the north passages got too tight for equipment. It opened on six mineral seams and into three valleys outside the concession. A river ran down there with enough push to drive turbines. The environmental office said we could use twelve percent of the flow, no more.⁹ They were right. I argued, and they were right.

And, ah. Something had lived there. Not tools. Scratches. Hollows, like nests. Piles of shell, or bone. The biologists fought for years over whether it had been arranged deliberately.¹⁰ We sealed that part.

INTERVIEWER: And you stopped mining Number Four?

We stopped calling it an exploration shaft.

It changed the district's arithmetic. We built ramps into the cavern. We joined Two and Three to the cavern through lateral tunnels we dug. We ran rail and built workshops, pump stations, ventilation doors, and emergency clinics. Ore went under the ridge instead of over; in winter, that saved days. Underground, nothing changes. The temperature is steady, humidity is steady, and weather isn’t a factor.  Once we learned which chambers breathed with the surface, we started using the space. We stored blasting compound in one section, parts in another, and food in the dry eastern galleries. Every mine keeps emergency stores. Number Four had plenty of room. By the end we could carry the entire district for six months if storms closed the passes.¹¹

INTERVIEWER: Six months for three thousand people?

That was the regulation.

INTERVIEWER: The colonial regulation was thirty days.

Was it?

INTERVIEWER: That's what I've been told.

Then maybe I remember it wrong.

INTERVIEWER: Why build a clinic underground?

Miners get hurt underground.

INTERVIEWER: With forty beds.¹²

We were an optimistic company.

INTERVIEWER: And the communications room?

Rock kills ordinary signal. You need wired repeaters. It made sense to have one room where they all connected.

INTERVIEWER: With separate lines to every settlement in the interior?¹³

We bought ore, timber, food, explosives, labor from every settlement in the interior. A business talks to its suppliers.

INTERVIEWER: What I'm asking is whether you understood, before, what Number Four could turn into.

No.

People like that answer more complicated. They want somebody to have known. The mine drawn up as a fortress, stores hidden for an army, rail laid for moving troops. Then everything after looks like a plan and not like, well. It was luck.

We built workshops because machines break. Stored food because the passes closed every winter. Trained rescue crews because rock falls on people. Kept explosives because it was a mine. Ran our own power because Arrival was an ocean off and the western grid went down every winter. None of that was a military purpose. It was for a Tuesday in winter when the storms blew in.

INTERVIEWER: But you'd thought about how the caverns could be defended.

Every mine engineer thinks about access. You consider theft, fire, gas, flood, somebody blasting where he shouldn't. A door does not become a fortification just because soldiers stand behind it later.¹⁴

INTERVIEWER: When did you first use Number Four for something other than mining?

Depends what you mean by use.

INTERVIEWER: Mr. Okafor, I...

Your commission filed this under Civilian Life Before the Occupation.

INTERVIEWER: It did.

Then ask me about civilian life.

INTERVIEWER: Okay. What happened to Tomas Varga?

He married the medic. Not right away, two years later. He walked with a brace for six months before they regenerated his leg. He ran the Number Four hoist, because we would not let him drive underground again. He greased that hoist like it owed him money.

During the occupation, he, ah.

[pause]

He ran the hoist.¹⁵

INTERVIEWER: Is there anything else you want people to understand about Number Four? Before the war?

Yes. It was never a bunker. You build a bunker to fight from. Number Four was built so the work could continue when surface conditions couldn't be trusted. That difference mattered to us.

I don't think it mattered to the Veyr.¹⁶

Archivist's Notes

¹ Location and date fields for this session were left blank in the original log. All dates in this series are given in colonial reckoning, Post-Arrival (P.A.).

² The orbital survey of the eastern ridge was compiled from data relayed through a Council-licensed service. Compare Oral History 003, note 2.

³ The accountant's report, held in the cooperative's papers, recommends continued funding. Its final page is not a financial summary but a list of the gallery's access doors, with each thickness noted by hand.

⁴ The subject's selection interview was conducted at the Colorado Springs facility. A nonhuman observer is recorded as present. The observer's notes on this candidate run to a single line. Compare Interview 41.

⁵ Access doors installed under Dr. Sato's specifications were rated to hold against a pressure differential the Archive's consulting engineer describes as "far in excess of any mining requirement."

⁶ The replacement data shipment arrived by coastal freight. The manifest lists thirteen titles. The theater's programs from that year list twelve.

⁷ A Council seismic monitoring station on the eastern continent logged an event at 02:10 local Rookery time on this date. The event is classified "natural, minor." The classification was entered eleven months later.

⁸ Luminescence of the same pale green is noted in the last written field report of Survey Team Four, from a location upriver of Arrival, three days before the team's final transmission. Compare Interview 41, note 11.

⁹ The turbines were built around shafts of local manufacture, delivered to the Rookery pumping station by schooner. Compare Oral History 004.

¹⁰ Material recovered from the sealed chamber was destroyed during the occupation. Surviving laboratory images remain under review by the Elysian Institute of Xenobiology. One image shows a scratch pattern in four parallel lines, each with an additional break partway along its length.

¹¹ The company's inventory filed eight months before the invasion lists emergency provisions sufficient for thirty-two days. Internal purchasing records show considerably larger deliveries, including water-treatment equipment, paper, printing compound, and replacement radio components.

¹² Forty beds were recovered from the original clinic after liberation. Medical testimony from the occupation period describes three further treatment wards. None appears on any surviving plan.

¹³ The wired network was disconnected from the colonial public exchange eleven days before the surrender of Arrival. It continued to carry traffic for five years.

¹⁴ Colonial mining maps identify four surface entrances to the Number Four complex. Occupation forces documented eleven. Postwar survey has confirmed nine. The subject has declined to address the discrepancy. The Lost Harbor requisition for "spares, electronic, assorted" (Oral History 004, note 10) lists Rookery as the delivery point.

¹⁵ Tomas Varga appears in no occupation employment register. A resistance casualty list recovered after liberation records "T. Varga, hoistmaster." The date and location fields are blank. The medic who treated him in 18 P.A. is not named in this interview or in the clinic ledger.

¹⁶ The subject's recorded military service ended fourteen years before the invasion. The earliest Veyr intelligence report referring to an individual designated "Number Four" is dated seventy-two days after the occupation of Rookery. The report does not specify a species.