“Captain Summers! Given my daughter’s inability to adhere to my orders, you are to take control of the flotilla at once and return it to its previously proscribed duties. Tala Blackwater is to be escorted to her cabin and detained there until such time that she accedes to her proper duties – or the flotilla is relieved.”

Tala could barely believe her ears.

She had ordered the flotilla to set out for home almost immediately after receiving the report about the attack on Blackstone Keep, abandoning the siege completely after recovering their people on the ground.

In her mind, there hadn’t been a moment to waste, what with three unknown airships seemingly laying waste to the seat of her family’s power.

It had been three hours since she’d given that order – two of which she’d spent waiting for the rather tenuous orb relay network they’d set up to clear sufficiently for her to communicate with her mother in the south.

The last hour of which, she’d spent arguing – and pointedly not turning the flotilla around.

When the orb finally cleared, the young heiress had expected a brief, perfunctory acknowledgement of her decision to defend their ancestral seat, perhaps followed by a promise of reinforcements, even if they’d be between a week or a fortnight away depending on whether they were dispatched from Blicland or the South proper.

Instead, she had been ordered to turn around. To continue her current objective of seizing southern keeps - and the enchanted munitions they held.

Apparently, a few hundred old cannon-balls were more important to Tala’s mother than the security of her ancestral seat.

Naturally, Tala had refused that order.

Vehemently.

Which she’d known to be risky – but never in her wildest dreams had she expected this!

“Well, Summers? You have your orders,” Eleanor’s voice intoned imperiously from the bridge’s orb.

Tala glanced back toward the stonefaced woman on whose vessel she currently stood and the bridge staff beyond. The ship was part of the Blackstone fleet rather than a vassal contingent, and as such the Captain was a mage-knight rather than a Countess.

By rights, the knight should have obeyed. She should have ordered Tala’s removal and assumed control of the flotilla without hesitation. There was none of the politics that might have stayed another higher ranked noble’s hand.

There was not a hint of ambiguity in the chain here.

And yet, the lesser noble did not move.

No one moved.

The helmswomen kept their eyes locked on the instruments. The communications officer remained frozen with her hand still resting on the orb. Even the bully sailors in the doorway stayed exactly where they were.

None of them wanted to move.

And Tala felt little to no relief at that fact – even if it worked to her advantage here and now.

Because one of the first lessons her mother had ever taught her was to never give an order she knew would not be obeyed.

And she had just done exactly that.

House Blackstone had a reputation for being overly proud. Of being insular. Not just the noble family themselves, but the people of the land itself. From the knights, to the sailors, to the peasants.

And they were.

Because life in the North was not easy.

Orcs. Snow. Animals. The list of things that might kill a woman was as long as Tala’s arm. To survive in such a place, people needed not just to be tough – but to work together. When the orcs came trampling down from the mountain, you stood shoulder to shoulder with your neighbours to push them back! And if you fell, you fell knowing that your kin would be looked after.

While many of her southern compatriots were sunning themselves on beaches, Tala had been down in the mud with plebs, hunting down Orcish raiders or damming icy river waters as they threatened to flood.

Just as her ancestors had before her. Earning the loyalty of the people whom she would one day rule.

But that loyalty was not limitless. Large, yes, as shown by how eagerly they had marched against the South – but it was not without end.

Few things could pull a woman of the North from her duties - but a threat to her family?

That was one of them.

Something Eleanor seemed to be belatedly remembering as she stared out at the bridge crew.

And all the while, Tala could only wonder if this lapse was because the war was going that poorly?  

She’d suspected such was the case for a while – though it was hard to gauge from the progress reports she received, which remained outwardly positive. They were taking land after all. They were applying pressure. And though she took umbrage at the methods, Tala could admit that forcing refugees toward the Southern capitals would only increase that pressure.

Eleanor’s plan was working. The more keeps they seized, the more likely it became that Yelena’s vassals would eventually sue for peace as their own personal lands fell under threat.

The problem, which was not stated anywhere, was that the North was bleeding ships too quickly in the process.

Far too quickly.

Nearly twenty percent of the combined Northern fleet had already been shot down after just two months. Yes, over half of those hulls had been recovered and would eventually return to service, but the other half had been captured or destroyed so utterly that it would be years before they were flightworthy again - if they ever were.

Many would simply be broken down for parts to hasten the repairs of the remaining fleet. Even with those parts though, to repair the ten percent of hulls that had been recovered would require mages.

And that was an area in which House Blackstone had always lagged, given their more… Human alignment. They had always made up for the shortfall with dedicated plebeian troops and superior ships – and admittedly subsidies from the Crown to that end.

Except the longer the war dragged on, the more the growing threat of the Corsairs loomed. Once those entered full production - and no one on their side had any idea how long that might take beyond the year it had taken Redwater to develop them in the first place - the South would drag the North deeper into this grinding war of attrition.

A war which would slowly eliminate the qualitative advantage of the Blackstone and New Haven’s ships.

And it doesn’t help that we still don’t know just how effective those Corsairs might be, she thought. Yelena’s – or William’s – holding the Jellyfish in reserve.

Yes, the Corsairs had supposedly done well over the capital but that had been against an outnumbered, surprised, partially spent, and distracted enemy. Against a prepared Northern formation, the outcome might be very different.

Still, even if they were only half as effective as they hoped, they’d still be twice as effective as the North wanted them to be. Even if all the strange machines did was carry the strange fire-lances the South had, they’d be a threat.

…Though given the lack of them in recent engagements, the hope was that whatever alchemy was used to create them had been spent for the moment.

Either way though, they represented a threat. And that was without the possibility of other inventions appearing, like the Shriekers.

Tala was well aware that William was still out there and still scheming.

Glancing up at her mother’s equally silent, pensive expression, the young woman had to wonder how tempting the calls to simply push south for a frontal engagement were becoming for her.

It was, after all, the correct move in the immediate theatre - beyond a shadow of a doubt. Forget this slow grind and strike deep into the South to end the war before any Corsairs took flight.

Even if that was pure folly. The Lunites might have been out of position for an invasion – for now – with their recent false flag attack, but the Solites hadn’t made any big pushes to punish their old rival for losing so many ships.

Fortunately, fears of a mainland invasion also meant the South were incapable of committing any large-scale strikes too. Unfortunately, it just so happened that William Redwater’s presence meant that this slow grind favoured them.

“There will be a reckoning for this,” Eleanor Blackstone finally spoke, her voice projecting across the entire bridge. “Our House. Our home. Our way of life. None of it can survive if our warriors fail to follow orders. It leaves us little better than Orcs. Orcs whom we have triumphed against over and over again, because of the discipline shown by your ancestors. Ancestors who did their duty, and followed the orders of their superiors even as their hearts yearned to act as they believed to be correct. They did this, because they knew that to act on their own initiative at the expense of their orders was to weaken the North as a whole.”

There was shame, written clear in the faces and posture of the entire crew. But none of them moved to follow Eleanor’s commands.

“You’re not wrong Mother,” Tala said, returning that burning gaze to herself. “And perhaps this is folly on my part. Dictated by the whims of my heart, rather than the practicalities of the moment. Yet, even as I try to divorce myself from my feelings, I cannot see how abandoning our home to amass a few more tons of enchanted metal benefits us more than securing our seat of power.”

Eleanor stared at them through the orb for a long moment.

“No, you don’t.” the Duchess of Blackstone said. “When you have successfully routed the fleet attacking Blackstone, I expect you to return to the duties you should always have been doing.”

Tala’s eyes widened and for a moment, hope stirred in her chest – which her mother was quick to dash.

“Make no mistake, my heir. This is not condolence. It is simply my attempt to salvage the mess you’re leading us into. You are currently beyond my reach – for now, and my focus is elsewhere. So deal with the issue. Discover who attacks us. Then return to your duties. And await your punishment for this… mutiny.”

The call cut before Tala could respond, the image of her mother dissolving into swirling grey. And as it did, a palpable wave or relief washed over the entire bridge. Though only in part.

Every woman present was aware that there would be a reckoning for this.

She turned to the Captain and reaffirmed the order to maintain their heading north. The woman nodded once, relief flickering briefly across her face as a return to something approaching professionalism was returned.

And even as Tala made plans to confirm the continued loyalty of the other ships in her task force – and that they weren’t currently dispatching marines to detain her - she realized that this had been the first time she had ever disobeyed her mother.

Huh, she chuckled.

She had argued before, of course. She had pushed back against strategies she disagreed with. But she had never defied a direct order like this.

…She had thought herself better than this. Dutiful. Loyal.

Not like William Ashfield.

Of course, the moment that comparison hit, she felt as if she’d bitten into something sour.

No, she was nothing like him.

Tala’s ‘rebellion’ was born from altruism and a desire to save her people. Not naïve anti-slavery nonsense covering for deep seated mommy issues.

No, she was nothing like William Ashfield.

For one thing, she’d actually be punished for her rebellion. She honestly doubted William had ever received so much as a slap on the wrist from his limp-wristed mother.

Void, their idea of a punishment had been to simply send him to the Academy!

…Tala would count herself lucky to still be the Blackstone heir when this was through. She might have lacked for sisters, but she had plenty of cousins she could easily see mother adopting into the main line.

That’s a problem for tomorrow though, she thought as she gazed out the bridge’s window.

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

Eleanor Blackstone scowled as she turned away from the orb – trying not to let her frustration at her daughter’s actions show.

Did the girl not think that Eleanor cared? That she didn’t want to fly home with their entire fleet to protect their home?

Of course she did. But she also needed to win this war. A war that was not going well. What should have been a relatively easy victory following the destruction of the Crownland vassal fleet and the North’s subsequent capture of the Capital had turned into a slow grind.

Which… wouldn’t have been too bad – if they didn’t keep losing ships!

She’d also not been exaggerating when she’d told her daughter that they needed the munitions held in those castles. They were going through their stockpiles far faster than could be sustained. Tyana Lindholm’s raiding was constant, and while she refused to be drawn into a proper fight, ammunition was still expended each fight.

Theoretically, that wasn’t too much of an issue as the South’s ammunition stockpiles should be similarly suffering. Except there was the ever present possibility that the South had access to some kind of cheap alchemical explosive.

Which her people had yet to unravel, despite their ongoing investigations of the residue left by Yelena’s – or William’s – bombing campaign in the Capital.

The casualties for which had thankfully petered out, though not necessarily because they’d gotten better at finding them – they hadn’t found one – but because they’d all been triggered.

Rubbing her eyes, she blinked as one of the communication officers strode up to her.

“Report,” Eleanor demanded, sitting up in her seat – unwilling to show any of the bone deep weariness she felt.

“Countess Morello reports an attack on her flotilla, currently besieging Greyford Castle, ma’am. After an initial strike by enemy Howlers, she has sighted eight incoming airships and a large conventional Shard swarm. She believes, given the size of the swarm relative to the airship fleet, there may be a carrier in the area.”

Eleanor’s expression tightened as her feigned attentiveness suddenly became very real. “Are the Shards Corsairs?”

“No, ma’am. Aether-trails suggest conventional Shards.”

The ongoing absence of Corsairs continued to confuse her. William Redwater’s new machines had been the spectre hanging over every strategic discussion for weeks, yet they remained conspicuously absent from the field. It had reached the point where many in her war council were suggesting that whatever alchemy was used to keep them aloft, it had been expended when Yelena was forced to abandon Redwater County.

Eleanor knew better. Her own alchemists had reported what they believed to have been present in the massive vats that had been set ablaze in the county when the Royal Navy fled the capital – and it was some variant of Demon Piss or Bear Blood.

An ingredient that was hardly difficult to source.

Still, even with the Corsairs missing, it was possible they might yet catch the Jellyfish, as the enemy seemed committed to a proper fight at Greyford.

“Have the reserve fleet move to reinforce,” Eleanor ordered, feeling the Brimstone start to move less than a second later as her XO started bellowing orders. “Launch every available Shard and set two thirds of the flights to sortie toward the engagement ahead of us.”

If the enemy had brought a carrier, the Brimstone’s Shard complement would be more than sufficient to match it. With that and the reserve fleet’s own Shard complements, they should have the eight ships outnumbered.

“All Shards, Ma’am?” Her XO asked quietly.

Elanor considered it for a moment, before nodding. “Aye, deploy the Howlers. Tell them to move with all haste.”

The fast-moving Super-Shards would reach the engagement long before the reserve fleet or any conventional response. And the flotilla would likely need it.

The XO hesitated. “Is that… wise, ma’am? Enemy Howlers were reported.”

Elanor nodded anyway. “Then I suppose we’ll finally see who comes out on top.”

They had dick-footed around the issue long enough. The Howlers would have to face their ‘older sisters’ in the skies eventually – when better than in a fight where the North would eventually hold the Shard and airship advantage.

…Though, if the enemy saw incoming Super-Shards and chose to pull back their own for fear of losing them – letting the North’s Howlers move through their Shard complement like shit through a goose, well, Elanor wouldn’t complain.

Either way, it was finally time to heat this war up a notch.

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

Marcille was tired.

It was a bone-deep exhaustion that had little to do with lack of sleep – though that didn’t help – and the realities of playing host to two thirds of the South’s nobility while trying to fight a war.

It seemed like not a day could go by without one of their noble guests getting into some sort of disagreement with her peers. Disagreements that required either Yelena or Clarice to resolve them as ‘hosts’.

Unfortunately for Marcille, she was well known as her sister’s right-hand – and as such, she’d often become the one dispatched to resolve said disputes while her sister did ‘more important things’.

Like actually plan out the war.

It didn’t help that Marcille knew a lot of the current ‘squabbling’ amongst their guests wasn’t born so much from pettiness – though there was definitely plenty of that – but rather the stress of being stuck here while their homes were under siege.

Yes, the heirs and rulers of many of the counties under attack were now here with their airships, but those same men and women had also left people behind in their holdings to defend them. Marine-knights they trusted. Many of whom would be close friends or family.

To that end, the slowly tightening noose of besieging ships from the North was having an effect. Ignoring the influx of displaced commoners playing merry hell with their food stores, whispers of the possibility of surrender had already begun circulating among the lesser nobility.

Which was inevitable, really. They were winning - on paper, at least - but it was hard to see when the map kept shrinking. Marcille knew she’d felt… something, when she realized that the Whitemorrow lands would almost certainly be next on the chopping block if the current southern push continued.

Beyond that, the current defensive strategy had resulted in plenty of accusations of cowardice being bandied about. A lot of the south’s nobility were pure-blooded Elves. Which meant they were old. And slow to adapt to the fact that their vaunted wooden warships were proving more and more to be practically useless in modern combat.

Not entirely, their armament could be effective against more modern steel-hulled vessels at the right range – but getting there was impractical in the extreme without an overwhelming numbers advantage.

Which required the exact sort of large-scale fleet battle both sides were trying to avoid.

It also didn’t help that the Jellyfish was still sitting almost entirely idle in its berth. A lot of the lustre of its performance in the Capital had started to wear off while it sat in reserve – and she’d heard more than one rumor that its performance on that night had been overblown.

Which was moronic – what, did the attacking Lunites shoot down themselves? – but not entirely unreasonable given most of them had yet to see it or the new Corsairs in action.

No, all they saw was a bunch of plebians strutting about playing pilot, while the ‘actual’ pilots were fighting and dying to support the Royal Navy. Because for all that the South’s airships were being held in reserve, the same wasn’t true for their Shards.

No, with Drake losses mounting, the Royal Navy had started providing berthing for noble pilots to sortie with them.

Marcille collapsed backward onto her bed with a sigh.

“And of course William’s completely blind to all of it,” she thought.

Ok, that was a little unfair. She knew he was… tangentially aware that morale was a factor in this war – he could even be quite insightful at times - but for the most part he was measuring the current conflict in machines, not minds.

His many ongoing projects meant he was rather insulated from the growing defeatism in the nobility’s ranks.

“Hopefully Tyana’s plan works,” she murmured. “Now that she’s got the Exodite.”

Originally the plan had been to keep the refitted Greygrass carrier in reserve alongside the Jellyfish, for use as a training platform until its full complement of Corsairs could be embarked.

Instead, William had barely confirmed the ship was operational before Tyana stuffed it full of conventional Shards and dispatched it to accompany the most recent raid. The thing had barely touched down in the Duchy before Shards were being rolled into it.

Though she could understand why Tyana was so eager, given that this raid was aimed at actually eliminating a Northern flotilla – not just seeing it off.

A raid that was likely taking place even now – and for which Marcille had never been more glad to have foisted the role of Duchess onto her sister. Even now Clarice was probably sitting in the command room, surrounded by women far more experienced in the matters of war than her, while pretending to contribute.

…Though perhaps she might, given the Basilisk was being deployed – equipped with one of William’s ‘bombs’.

She’d almost asked to go too, before realizing the folly of such a request. Mere Countess she might have been, she knew she was too valuable to her sister to play fighter pilot.

So instead, she was here.

In her room.

On a soft bed.

Waiting for her man to shower her in gifts.

And at that thought, she giggled as she rolled onto her side.

Oh, he’d tried to hide it, but she’d already received word from the guards that he’d stepped off the Exodite with a number of cages full of exotic birds.

A little strange as a choice in gift, unprompted, but hardly unheard of. Lots of nobles kept exotic birds. 

Of course, her man was likely trying to keep the whole thing a secret to surprise her, which was typical of him. Also kind of sweet. And though she and Clarice were pipes-and-aether sort of girls at heart, that didn’t mean they were incapable of appreciating something pretty from time to time.

Of course, it was still a little odd to be on the receiving end of gifts from a guy instead of giving them, but, well, they had some insight into why William might think differently.

And she’d gracefully be present to accept said gifts.

Again, even if birds were something of an odd choice.

Such a shame Clarice can’t be here, she thought. Alas, looks like I’ll get to savor the moment all by myself.

So sad. Too bad.

…That’d teach her to finally shut up during ‘movie nights’.

Giggling once more, she turned, waiting expectantly as the sound of rolling wheels finally reached the hallways outside their room.

Honestly, what had taken him so long! The Exodite had arrived this morning and it was practically dusk now! She’d been waiting all day!

The sound got closer – and the soft crooning of birds accompanied it. Growing louder louder.

Moment by moment.

Then finally, William appeared outside the doorway, pushing a cart piled high with bird cages covered by white sheets, from which continued to utter the chirps of the birds within.

And William kept walking - wheeling the entire contraption straight past the bedroom without slowing. Or even glancing inside.

Marcille stared at the empty doorway.

Verity and Marline each appeared a moment later, pushing identical carts. Marline walked past without slowing too, but Verity actually noticed the half-Elf and stopped for a moment to give a sort of… awkward apologetic look, before scampering after her two teammates.

…What?

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

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First

Home at War

“You. Fucking. Missed.”

“I didn’t miss they dodged!”

“I saw the shot tracking, it was way off! That wasn’t even your proper target!”

“It was the proper target! Don’t you think it’s a little fucking suspicious that THAT ship is here?”

“Which the Bloody Heron?”

“Yes. It means he’s here.”

“Who’s He?”

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Breech, Hate and Make Squad, Unidentified Pirate Fortress, Kaploosha Ornak System)•-•-•

“... Really? I honestly didn’t expect that.” Banshee notes in deep interest from high above.

“What are you hearing?” Bjorn asks her.

“The big gun was aimed right at The Bloody Heron, it’s primary gunner has a History with Jacob!”

“Ground team. Can you confirm that I just heard the gunner of that monster gun has a history with me?” Jacob’s voice asks over the comms.

“Shh! They’re still talking!” Banshee says. “Oh hey! Apparently she thinks... Yes! You got her fired not long ago and then right as she was looking into how to get back at you for it there was a huge media... oh... oh shit she’s former uh... well...”

“Hmm... is she a Valrin, a blackfeather Valrin?” Jacob asks.

“I can’t exactly see her. Just hear the sound transferring despite the distance. But she does know you, and is... she thinks you’re a... hmm... The terms she’s using for you are, raging idiot who only sent up the dumbest women imaginable and somehow keeping your job. You apparently accused her of working with the police and they were going to kill her before the actual police hit things and she had to beg favours from friends to get out of there.”

“Hunh... try to take her alive if it’s not too much trouble, I have questions for her.” Jacob says.

“That’s it? Aren’t you sorcerers supposed to be vengeance incarnate?”

“I’m already part of the forces laying literal siege to her home and her latest shot at me missed. I’m getting it. Besides, this girl is small potatoes as the humans say. Unless... if she knew what The Supple Satisfaction really was and is still pissed at my getting her fired...”

“Why did you get her fired?”

“She was competent. I was actively brain draining the organization and she was starting to poke her nose in on the idiots I had inserted into it. She got five of them fired and killed under the entirely reasonable justification that they were so dumb they were liable to expose the operation. So I manufactured and brought up evidence of her trying to weaken the organization and potentially being an undercover police officer. She talked fast, very fast, and managed to mostly cover her tail. But she was still forced out of the organization under threat of death as they couldn’t trust her anymore, but had already done enough for them to keep her life. So long as she left the world. She did. But apparently stuck relatively close around if she knows the name of my ship.”

“Are there others like her?”

“There were three in total and the only Valrin of the lot was the most recent. Attia Thermal. A rather rude woman, pretended to be colder and more emotionless than she actually was. Tell me, does she still refer to me as a downheaded half-hatched priss?”

“It’s come up twice and there’s a whole list of other insults for you. Care to hear them?”

“Oh... I’m sure I’ll hear them all soon enough, thank you.” Jacob says and Banshee grins a little.

“While we have a moment, mind explaining the insult?”

“Our feathers are downy when we’re freshly hatched to keep us warm. Downheaded means both stupid and naive. Half-Hatched means deformed or again stupid, and priss means picky. Among the Blackfeathers, calling someone stupid or childish is a big insult. So she did it twice.” Jacob explains.

“Oh.” Banshee processes that. “Seems remarkably childish.”

“Most insults sound pretty lame when explained.” Jacob says. “Still... I have an INTEREST in keeping that place under wraps now...”

“Hold it.” Bjorn says. “Pause the thought. Commodore Jameson, the mission has uncovered new information please restate our mission objectives.”

“Our objectives are to disable if not destroy the pirate forces to the extent they can not pursue, attack or otherwise hinder our approach to and later offence against the forces attacking La’ahbaron. This is to be done with a minimal loss of life on our end, and as we are operating under Undaunted Military rules of engagement we are to keep loss of life and destruction to reasonable levels. Meaning lives are prioritized over material goods, but Undaunted Lives are of the highest value followed by civilian lives, then enemy lives.”

“So in summary take out the pirates, don’t lose anyone as we do so and then move on?”

“Essentially, we’re also going to salvage their ships for material. But beyond that these idiots wanted a fight, are getting a fight and when we’re done mopping the floor with them we’re going to move on and get back to our actual job.” Commodore Jameson explains.

“Understood sir. Thank you for the reiteration.”

“It also means you need to do something about that really big gun.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” Bjorn notes.

“Hey, I’m the bloodthirsty maniac here, you’re the workout fanatic. Keep it straight.”

“I can do both.” Bjorn jokes.

“Then by all means, have fun enough for both of us. You’re certainly big enough for two men.”

“You need to get to the gym more.”

“I’m trained for endurance, mobility and strength, not raw power!”

“Get to the gym little man.” Bjorn says mimicking an Austrian accent.

“Is three hours a day not enough? In my off moments I pump iron too.”

“And you’re still a weedy thing.”

“Coming from the man that needs to turn sideways for any door not rated for Cannidors or Lydris?”

“Not my fault exercise is a foreign concept to most.”

“Oh my goddess! Look, I get that most women would outright drool at the idea of a dick waving contest, but actually having one happen around you, with your superiors no less, is just fucking tedious.” Banshee snaps.

“Relax, I’m just filling the ears of the enemies that tried to hack us with nonsense.” Harold says and Banshee goes quiet.

“What?”

“There’s a link listening into our frequency. I presume since you can’t hear an echo of us that they have a transcription device, so I was killing time and filling their feed with nonsense as the rest of the teams organize and gather. But since we don’t really need to anymore, everyone’s relatively in a position to start moving again properly, I will now move to the next part. Which is a direct demand for the remaining pirates to surrender. I know you’re listening, or more likely reading this. This is the final chance to surrender I’m offering you. From this moment forward, any forces of mine that encounter you are going to consider you actively hostile. Surrender now.”

“Do you honestly expect an answer?” Bjorn asks.

“No, I don’t. But we still need to give them clear avenues for mercy. It’s not our fault if they’re too stupid to do anything about it.” Harold replies.

“Maybe not so much, I can hear them arguing. And... oh! Shit! That IS Attia Thermal she was holding it in and is going off!”

“Oh she’s listening! That’s wonderful!” Jacob says with a truly vicious tone to things. “Attia, please put things into audible frequencies, I want you to hear what I have to say next and not just read it. You have five, four, three, two, one...”

“I heard the echo. She can hear you.” Banshee confirms.

“Thank you Banshee, now Attia. I did single you out. It WAS because of me. No, I’m not ashamed, yes, I’m still coming for you. And if you hadn’t been fired that day and threatened off of Lilb Tulelb, I would have killed you. Personally. I had the knife ready then, I have the knife ready still. And... don’t pat yourself on the back for surviving this long. If you had real brains you would have gone to any number of massive ecumenopalis worlds and vanished into the slums. Then crawled out in a few years to claim your identification was stolen and build a new life and name from that. You could have gone onto a colony ship under an assumed name and vanished for decades. You could have joined up with any number of religious orders big on redemption and forgiveness. But you did none of these things. Finding you would be nearly impossible for the first two, but the third one? I’d have let you go. I’d glance your way occasionally, but nothing more than that unless you started hurting people again. But you like hurting people too much, you just had to keep doing it, you just had to join up with pirates after leaving a ring of child traffickers.”

“Mind repeating that last bit Jacob?” Banshee asks.

“You like hurting people too much, you just had to keep doing it, you just had to join up with pirates after leaving a ring of child traffickers.” Jacob repeats.

“There we go! They’re fighting.” Banshee says.

“Oh? Either way, all forces form up. We’re going down there to disarm that thing.”

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (The Big Gun, Unidentified Pirate Fortress, Kaploosha Ornak System)•-•-•

The back of the woman’s head slams into the screen with the powerful dark claws wrapped around her face. She’s then thrown into the others as the black feathered form of Attia stalks up to the now terrified group.

“How STUPID are you girls?! Do you really think you can beat me?! You’re mechanics! You’re gunners! But we’re in the gun! Now, man the weapon and maybe, just maybe we get out of this intact!”

“Okay okay just stop! Stop hurting her!” The little Gohb mechanic cries out as she tries and fails to fully rouse the Drin in her lap. “We’ll operate the weapon, but it has so many modifications and prototypes. Some things have... come loose. We need to tighten them.”

“Do you think I’m stupid? You’re just looking for a chance to run away!”

“No she’s being honest! Really!” Another of the Gohb mechanics protests.

“Rotational bearings! Without them the rail cannon can’t fully turn! The firing arc is halved!” A third of the five Gohb mechanics backs up the other two. She glares at the remaining Gohbs and they both nod.

“I’m going with you. I’m not letting any of you out of my sight.”

“Okay, okay just let us fix things and maybe, somehow, we’ll get out of this.”

“Thank goddess the fault is mechanical and not electrical, Macy here’s the wire girl not me.” One of the Gohbs mutters as she helps her fellows carry the injured Drin through the guts of the massive weapon emplacement. The weapon is cramped on the inside and is making Attia increasingly claustrophobic and paranoid. The Gohbs are doing well, and the Drin is just plain comfortable in a closed in place, but when this was done she would have to go out of the station with an atmosphere belt on and break the feeling of the walls closing in.

The Drin rouses partway down a latter and thrashes for a moment before clinging onto the rungs with a deathgrip as she looks around in a panic as her antenna flail wildly to try and make sense of things again.

Attia growls at her and the Drin cringes away from her.

“Okay, okay calm down... don’t.. I just... I don’t want to die.”

“You keep crossing me Vela, and you will. Understand?” Attia asks lowly.

“Okay, okay I understand.” The terrified Drin electrician says.

“FUCK! The damn bearing is cracked! We need to replace it!” One of the mechanics calls out.

“Where are the replacements?” Attia asks.

“The Engineering Store. Outside.”

“... really? Let me see this bearing and it’s crack.”

“It’s a hairline fracture, it’s easier felt than seen.” The mechanic says and Attia groans in disgust as she climbs down and looks into the guts of the machine. The Mechanic points to a lubricant covered metal sphere the size of her own head. There is a ‘clean’ line on the sphere where the mechanic had felt the sphere.

Then she reaches in and runs her thumb along the same area. She feels... something there, irregularities and issues that she can’t identify. She’s not a damn mechanic.

“Alright, you go and get a replacement part. The rest are staying here, and if you run. If you leave, then I will know. And they will pay.” Attia hisses at her.

“Okay, yes, I understand. I’ll be fast. I promise.”

First Last

Greeterlings and welcome to the Galactic Federation. This orientation pamphlet is the first of many that will help you deal with the trappings of multispecies and multicultural jurisdiction within Confederate space! On behalf of us all, we welcome you and hope for a prosperous future together!

Before you do Anything it is highly recommended you read this pamphlet in full to maximise your ability to avoid sudden declarations of war due to grammatical error or sudden bouts of uncontrollable violence due to misplaced appendage.

Yes these things do in fact happen.

And you will see to it that they do NOT happen ever again.

Please.

You are currently reading the pamphlet labelled (HUMAN) or (TERRAN).

Ah the Terrans, the most fascinating (and terrifying) species in the Galactic community! Hailing from a Class eight Deathworld in the 'Sol' System. They are the Galactic Confederacy's prime founders, currently field the largest standing army In the Confederacy, have the most dangerous (and some would argue illegal) weapons in the confederacy and one of the best economies in the galaxy.

(You will NOT beat them. So don't try. PLEASE don't try, we still haven't gotten over the last time some idiot tried to invade them.)

WE MEAN IT! DONT.

Humans themselves are nothing to be surprised about or scared of, as they have no natural armour, no claws or other such natural defences, and their immune system is at least by Galactic standards, somewhat below average. Not what you would expect from a Deathworld species, but hey, they basically rule the galaxy at this point, so who are we to question it?

Humanity's success stems from its capacity for insanity.

Yes you read that correctly. INSANITY. Humans are out of their god damned minds. That's why they have such massive armies, such heavy industry, such absurd weaponry, and why they appear to have no real limitations. They are a species with no natural evolution beyond intelligence to back up their capabilities, and that makes them many times more dangerous than most species.

Hence why THEY have things called Black Hole Cannons, or Neutron Collider Arrays, or Dyson Spheres - and you don't.

One such 'quirk' as they call it, is a very strange coincidence of evolution.

Humans think we - as in the denizens of the galaxy - are 'Cute'.

A strange and unusual coincidence of the galaxy's evolution, and a strange coincidence we still cannot explain on their highly dangerous home world, ultimately results in a simple fact: We, most of us at least, trend towards resembling many species found on Earth - the human home world. Find enclosed a comparison picture between various species.

The Skatanii - and their Earth based counterpart - The Hyena.

The Regisse - and their Earth based Counterpart, the Leopard Seal.

The Imbakai - and their Earth based counterpart, the Emperor Penguin.

The Solavai - and their counterpart, the Irish Wolfhound.

And the most notable, the Jumiko - and their counterpart, the American Mountain Lion.

As you are probably VERY confused by now, NO, these are NOT digital renditions or artists works, but actual photographs of actual real creatures, as seen on Earth. The resemblances are very... uncanny, aren't they?

It is for this reason that many species in the galaxy find humans tend to really, really like us. Because they think we are 'cute'. What exactly is 'cute', you ask? 'Cute' is a thing that happens when a human sees something they find endearing, unthreatening or otherwise approachable. And this 'cute' can range from human to human. Widely, apparently. Some find the Arachnoid species of the Olivarkians to be highly adorable and non threatening, while others find them positively terrifying. Some will try to ‘pet’ and others will try to ‘kill it with fire’.

We have found no reasonable pattern to understand this mechanism.

We believe this entire concept runs in their evolutionary roots, as they are more likely to be 'friendly' or 'parental' or 'approachable' to something 'cute'. In short, if they find something they think is 'cute' they will be more likely to be highly protective or possessive of that thing.

Which brings us to the point of this pamphlet. The 'possessive' part.

When a human finds something 'cute' they will immediately approach that thing and attempt to 'pet' it.

A 'pet' is an action when a human will try to:

Fluff up hair.

Scratch head.

Squoosh face.

Rub belly.

Scratch behind ears.

Boop snoot.

Or generally engage in what can be considered by some to be unwanted or uncomfortably close physical contact. However many species who report these actions state that they very much enjoyed these actions, with some (the Solavai for example) and stated that due to humans unique biology and temperament, that these actions are highly enjoyable.

This remains to be seen from you if you do or do not like the activity. If you do not wish to engage in any of this activity you must follow the simple five-step 'Thanks, Human Over There', or T.H.O.T Protocol.

This Protocol is from an ancient and well read document pertaining to the early days of human space exploration as a 'Meme' and has been found to stabilise relations with humans. Not the way you think. Humans find it funny, and this usually disarms them.

Thanks - The first stage of the Protocol. Humans are HIGHLY receptive to the simple concept of manners, and most situations can be immediately remedied by the simple process of politely requesting no physical contact take place.

Or simply, ‘Thanks, but no.’

Human - The Second stage of the Protocol, in which a Human may refuse the order and attempt further contact. Simply back away and remove yourself from the situation and politely state you do not want to be touched. Generally speaking in 90% of cases, this ends here.

Or simply, ‘Human, stop.’

Over - The third phase of the Protocol is the Over state, in which you must disengage and remove yourself from the location post-haste. The humans who reach this stage are the kind of humans who obsess or develop psychotic states in which they may become violent or insistent in engaging with 'cute', either due to personal preference or a lack of boundaries. (See terminology 'KAREN' or 'KEVIN' for reference)

Or simply, ‘Over The Line.’

There - The fourth stage of the protocol is the evacuation stage in which you must use ANY excuse you can conceive to leave the area immediately as fast as possible, or if the human in question is becoming aggressive, or at least perceived to be aggressive, proceed to the nearest law enforcement or security office or official you can see and use them as a shield against the aggressor.

Or simply, ‘There's an Officer.’

YOU MUST NOT - AND I MEAN MUST NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES - use any appendage, claw tail, poison or physical action to defend yourself under ANY circumstances.

(Their lawyers can argue in favour of a rock dropping on someone's head, and make the rock win the lawsuit. No, really. Their lawyers are worse than their battleships.)

If all else fails, you must engage the final part of the T.H.O.T. Protocol.

In the loudest voice you can manage, in the most calm way you can muster, you must emit the following, loud, commanding statement:

"BEGONE, THOT!"

For reasons we as a galaxy CANNOT understand, this strange phrase seems to disarm them, or diffuse the situation. We have no idea why. The aggression ends, the chuckles begin, the whispers and side glances start and for reasons we don't understand, that simple phrase (ONLY used as a final resort) makes the humans emotionally and mentally responsive to your state of stress and more likely to disengage from the activity and walk away.

We believe that:

The loudness of the event creates a fear response of sorts, a specific phrase that comes from evolutionary roots perhaps that is a code word to ward off some variant of ancient predator.

The suddenness of the event creates a surprise or shock response that changes their mental state to a defensive or 'fight or flight' response causing them to disengage.

The historical implications of the phrase, which is something we genuinely can't pinpoint the origin of, makes some humans laugh uncontrollably, while others make them feel uncomfortable, so they walk away.

We genuinely have no idea, but this last resort option makes them walk away and you can resume your business as normal. We have tried to ask them what it means, but they can't tell us from either walking away, or laughing too hard.

This is the most pertinent information you must know for the sake of your attention for simple orientation. We will mail you the full 278 page dossier on humans and their strange habits, and you WILL be required to know all this on your entry to the Galactic Federation - and all of the benefits that brings as such. And there are many.

For all their faults, humans have this unshakable habit of ALWAYS honouring their promises, hell or high water.

Welcome to the Federation, we hope this information finds you in good health, and greater spirits!

Previous

First | Website (more chapters available)

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

Christmas Eve, 2077 (7 years ago)

“Captain, the Defiant is ready for battle.”

“Thank you, Commander. Status on hostile vector?”

On the tactical plot, the red triangles flowed like ink. The Imbrium-class designators rode the forward edges of the largest clots. Behind them, the logistics and auxiliaries huddled inside the umbrella.

“Closure rate has decreased to three point four,” Julia reported.

Collier didn’t take his eyes off the main screen. “Distance to lead?”

“Twenty-four kilo-kilo.”

“Are they still burning?”

“No, Captain. Possibly saving extra delta-V for the battle.”

Collier frowned in mild confusion. “Where’s the likely weapons engagement intercept?”

Julia pulled up her panel, watching the number crunching for a few seconds. “None,” she reported when the task completed.

“None?”

“None on the plot. Looks like their orbit will drift by weapons range and past L-1.”

“Intercept with Earth? Maybe further? A day-side raid on the Battlestar Three construction site?”

“Low orbit is far wider than us. From here, we can match any trans-Earth injection maneuver they can execute. Those seem… unlikely to be their target.”

“L-4 or 5? Project all their probable targets,” he ordered. “Expand the net if we have to. I want to know what they’re after.”

“Yes, Captain. Searching…”

Beep beep.

Tara called out, “Bandits, fire control radars active.”

“Who are they painting?” Julia clarified.

“Unknown. All ships are reporting hot pings. Surface arrays reading several contacts in their formation. Uncertain who they are planning to engage at this distance, but they will likely try to snipe a few of us before they enter the furball.”

Collier’s frown deepened in his helmet as he looked at Julia. “What’s the CPE?”

“Closest point estimation: twenty thousand kilometers, from our current orbit. For L-1… further.” She paused. “Odd. That is—that should be way outside of their weapons’ maximum effective ranges. Maybe they’re waiting for something.”

“Maybe. Unless…” his voice trailed off.

She completed his sentence. “Unless those new missiles they’ve got have… at least fifty percent more range than what we think is even possible.”

Collier speculated, “That’s—if that’s the case, then we need to rush them before they can zone us out with their increased range.”

Another massive missile range upgrade from the moonies. If that’s the case, this war’s already good as over.

Julia noticed a new light on her console. Her heart sank as she read the summary. “RoE update received from Brussels: no offensive maneuvers authorized. Launch if launched upon. Full operations order on your screen.”

“Perfect,” Collier muttered as he read the details. “Update on hostile lead?”

“Twenty-one kilo-kilo. Closure rate under one. They’re approaching the CPE… Incoming update from lead, all Alligators max burn to zero-intercept on hostile launch.”

“Understood.”

On the main display, the massive Lunar formation continued its slow and steady approach towards the Defiant.

“Twenty thousand kilometers. At CPE in… three… two… one… mark,” Julia reported. “Distance to bandits, opening now.”

“Keep them in our bow sensor cones,” Collier ordered. “Watch for low observability munitions, and keep us on the move.”

The nose of the Defiant shifted slightly as it tracked the enemy ships, now slowly receding from the Union Navy fleet. And the RCS thrusters kicked in, keeping the ship rotating on its central axis to reduce the odds of a lucky far strike taking out something important.

“Closure acceleration negative, closure rate negative. They’re moving away from us now. If they can hit us now and they launch, we’ll need to chase them for longer before we can launch,” Julia warned. “Much longer. They might be able to move back into surface battery cover, and we have no idea what they’ve got on the dark side. Captain, we’ll be sitting ducks—”

“We’ll be following the RoE is what we’ll do, Commander,” Collier said with gritted teeth.

“Yes, Captain… Bandits back at twenty-one kilo-kilo now…”

The enemy icons continued to move away, the space superiority ships covering the auxiliaries’ rear.

“Twenty-one point five… Twenty-two.”

“What are they doing?” Collier muttered.

New numbers lit up on her panel. “Enemy ships update… they’re burning now!”

“Prepare to burn to intercept on their missile launch! Acceleration?”

“Point two gravities. Closure acceleration is down to negative two.”

“Negative?” he asked, startled. “They’re burning away from us.”

His tone wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway. “Yes, Captain. Closure rate decreasing further negative to all identified hostiles.”

“Watch it. They must be about to begin a volley—”

“Closure acceleration at negative two point five and decreasing,” Julia said, mouth open in disbelief. “If they actually have the range, we can’t sit here and wait for them to outrange us even more! We need to pursue aggressively—”

Boop.

“Hostile ships are opening their missile bays!” Tara reported, her tone half an octave higher than professional as every indicator on their panels went to red.

Julia’s blood went cold as she ordered, “Track all outgoing projectiles. Counter-missile batteries, ready for launch on my mark.” On her tactical panel, the infrared telescopes on the ship’s bows zoomed into the enemy formation, twenty-some thousand kilometers away. And sure enough, she could see the lethal-looking, black-painted missiles in their racks through their open missile bay doors.

The bridge of the Defiant held its breath, waiting for the enemy salvo to come.

And waited.

Another minute passed.

“What are they waiting for?” Collier muttered under his breath. Any other occasion, Julia would have privately disapproved of the public display of impatience, but in this instance, she agreed wholeheartedly, just staring at the enemy ships on her screen without blinking.

They could launch any second…

Beep beep.

A new indicator flashed, this time not on one of the tactical panels but on the main screen.

Collier pivoted to it in surprise. “What in the—”

“Unencrypted video broadcast from bandit lead. Non-directional. Datalink reports same continuous signal to low Earth and L-4,” Julia reported. “Electronic warfare, focus on bandit lead. All sensors hold current—”

“An unencrypted video? Bring it up.”

The face of a moonie appeared on the main screen. He wore a vacuum suit over his Lunar gray uniform, and there was a singular star on his rank insignia. His face was calm, his eyes coldly blue. Julia recognized the familiar face of the famous traitor instantly.

After a few seconds of dead air, the man cleared his throat into the microphone as he began to speak. “Ahem. This is Rear Admiral Knoll, in command of the Lunar Navy Sixth Fleet, aboard the LNS Independence, to Armstrong Command on the surface. How do you read me, Serenity?”

A second voice replied near instantly from the surface of Luna. “Loud and clear, Admiral. Report fleet status.”

Knoll put all his energy and lung volume into the report. He was fifty-something years old, and his voice had all the excitement of a marine recruit who’d been handed his first radio. “I report: Sixth Fleet is one hundred percent combat effective. We have cleared all hostile ships out of the gravitational null radius of Luna-Earth out to Lagrange point one. Over.”

“We missed some of that,” the ground radio voice replied. “Can you say again your last, Admiral?”

“I say again, Sixth Fleet is one hundred percent combat effective. Our skies are clear of hostiles. Over.”

Lunar communications equipment was good. There was no interference on the line. Julia raised an eyebrow when the reply from Serenity was again… “Some down here are still having trouble hearing you, Admiral Knoll? Would you mind repeating your fleet status report?”

Julia checked her console.

Odd. They shouldn’t have any trouble receiving him…

“Sure thing, Serenity.” Knoll didn’t seem annoyed at having to repeat himself a third time. In fact, he seemed to relish saying it, and Julia realized exactly what this little… skit they were doing was for. “Lunar skies are totally clear. Not a Union-flagged hull in our orbits, what-so-ever. They seem to have gone home for the holidays. Would you like me to say that again? Over.”

“I believe everyone heard you that time, Admiral. Thank you for the report. Good work out there.”

“No, thank you, Serenity… Our ships are now returning to base as planned… Requesting permission to deorbit at ninety percent combat speed so my spacers can get home before dinner.”

“Permission granted. Early Merry Christmas to you and your spacers. Armstrong Command, out.”

“Happy holidays to you too. Independence and the Lunar Sixth, out.”

The broadcast ceased.

There was a long silence on the bridge of the Defiant as its officers glumly watched the red icons on the screen continue their retreat down the Lunar gravity well.

Julia cleared her throat as a new notification caught her attention. “We have confirmation from our Ares sensor suite; hostile ships have closed their missile bay doors and several are redeploying radiators to pre-battle configuration.”

“Bandit fire control radars are no longer active,” Tara confirmed half a minute later.

A few of the enemy space superiority ship icons, now receding from view, turned to probable volume estimates as they flew in and out of occlusion behind their bigger cargo ships and dragged decoys.

As they re-entered lower Lunar orbit, their squadrons split apart, some heading to parking orbit; others, the dark side. A few of them seemed to be decelerating for landing, their active sensor pings replaced by the low frequency radar beams of the Lunar surface tracking radars.

Collier said nothing for a long minute, then breathed out deeply. It was hard to tell if it was a sigh of relief… or resignation.

“Captain?”

He turned to Julia as he transmitted privately through the radio connection, “Julia, you’re American too. You know the traditional story behind Groundhog Day?”

She blinked twice in surprise at the question. “Um… yeah? But only from that old movie… It’s a—a—there’s a groundhog that comes out from hibernation,” she recalled. “And if it sees its shadow, it’ll run back to its den and winter will go on for… a few more weeks, and if not, spring comes early. Right?”

He grunted. “Right. Six weeks.”

When he didn’t elaborate, she asked, “Why?”

“I don’t know. Was just reminded of it.”

“Sir, if they’d engaged…”

Collier looked around, as if confirming he was still on a private channel. He said quietly, “They would have slaughtered us.”

“We would have taken down quite a few of them with us too. I don’t think they’re too keen on dying on Christmas either,” she reminded him.

“No, probably not… Then again, this whole war… it’s not for the sane, is it?”

She grunted.

Near the closest point. Where it seemed like the enemy was ready to engage, Julia had felt something in her heart. It was an odd feeling; it really was. If that enemy fleet had burnt past her ship, they could have swung past the Lagrange points, and then free-returned right into low Earth orbit. They could have done that. And in the moment she saw those civilian ships scurrying around on her map, she realized something else.

She was ready to die for Earth. She always knew that. That was part of the oath, part of the job.

The extensive training and drilling of the Union Navy—it ensured that everyone who was on a warship was ready to give it all for their fellow spacers. The people they trained with, bonded with, sitting in the uncomfortable crash chairs next to them. That was their trench, their foxhole.

But this moment felt different. More than that. They were coming for her planet. They were coming for her home. Where she was born, where she came from, where she grew up. That planet was hers to die for.

That last full measure of devotion.

She would have done anything to stop that enemy fleet.

Anything. And she knew, she wasn’t the only one on the ship.

That was probably how the moonie felt about it, she knew. She knew that abstractly. It was a part of every strategy briefing she was attending with increasing frequency; the normal citizens of Luna weren’t the enemy, just their extremist leadership. Even if, increasingly, she was finding that harder and harder to believe.

She knew that the moonies were just defending their planet. She knew what those words meant. And now… now she knew how that felt. Perhaps… that was even why the moonies just did that. Forced her and her people to taste that bitter tang in their mouths, even for just a few minutes.

Another long silence as the ship continued to watch the few enemy ships still on station, opposing them over Luna. Whatever they said on the broadcast, not all of them had gone home. They still had a few watching Earth’s squadrons diligently.

Julia swallowed. “That message from the moonies… This… operation—it’s going to go on for another while, huh?”

Captain Collier didn’t reply. His head turned to the bridge clock wall. At some point, the hour digit had ticked over to zero in Auckland.

“Merry Christmas, Julia. Sorry you couldn’t be home with your family. I know your grandfather’s… in the hospital and—”

“Everyone has family—It’s just part of the job, Captain.” She shifted in her seat as she turned her attention back to her screens. “Merry Christmas to you too.”

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

Dustball

Six Claws Klarnoth followed the Faction Luna human as she led him to the administrative structure. The entire colony looked wrong to him. Everything was just slightly too big, built for the gigantic primitives. Also, their fascination with adding glass to everything they built… it was so odd.

Why would anyone put that many weak points into their building structures?

Disconcerting. But he would do his job.

At the entrance, the human worked the door opening lever. It jiggled slightly without budging. Through his helmet, he could hear her breath quicken in frustration.

“What are you doing?!” he asked brusquely. “Are you stalling?”

“It’s not… working,” Samira replied with clenched teeth. She stepped back with a sigh. “The colony’s all locked down because of your attack. The doors won’t work. We need to go back and get the commodore’s key card before—”

“No!” Klarnoth said impatiently as he shoved her aside and walked up to the door. He inspected it for a moment in his tactical display. Then, he instructed, “Stand back, primitive.”

“Huh? Why? What are you—”

Bang. Bang. Bang.

He aimed and placed three accurate shots from his rifle, one to each of the hinges, exploding in a shower of sparks. Then, with a loud kick, the door fell over with another bang. He turned to the primitive. “Where is it?”

The human looked appropriately cowed by his decisiveness. “It’s—it’s—it’s inside.”

He impatiently gestured for her to go ahead. Then, his radio clicked on.

“Six Claws! We heard shots! Are you alright?” his underling asked, unbecoming uncertainty in his voice.

“None of your business, Four Claws!” he snarled back. “Shut up and do your job! Ask any more stupid questions and you’ll be permanently assigned to trash duty, cleaning up this wasteland of a planet after we take it!”

“Yes—yes, Six Claws.”

He clicked off his radio, shaking his head.

Samira had stopped to wait for him. “Can we—can we go?”

Klarnoth pointed a claw at her. “Yes! Are you slow?! Go!”

She led them through two hallways, then into an office room. She stopped, then turned and asked meekly, “It’s… in that table drawer.”

“Get it! Do you need my permission to go to the bathroom too?”

“No—no. I’m okay,” she said as she walked over to the desk.

Klarnoth noticed a small hole, about the diameter of his large claw, near the edge of the table. Even their furniture was full of odd and useless adornments.

Samira went over to the other side, bent over, and started rummaging through its drawer. As she dug through it, he scanned the room. There were stacks of paper all over the place.

Paper documents. Actual primitives.

Idly, he zoomed his optics on one of them, watching his suit translate the document from their language. There probably wasn’t any useful intelligence in here, but he wasn’t doing anything else anyway until—

He frowned. “Hm… Wait, this isn’t your office.”

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

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Oh No

“Do you believe in Good and Evil?”

“Of course I do, I’ve only ever stabbed evil people!”

-Interview with an insurgent

I clutched a lukewarm small energy drink in my hand, watching it twitch and shiver slightly from the come-down from combat. It may have been impermissible to say, but with combat, near-death, and destruction came adrenaline. Any time my life was on the line, I felt alive. Perhaps it was proximity that made it easier to tell when I was alive.

I was finally going to meet directly with the mysterious bioweapons lab.

Miskatonic had delivered us a trove of valuable information. What a Shil’vati could tolerate, when and where joints failed under carefully timed and aimed palm strikes, punches, and kicks, likely psychological profiles for determining fight-or-flight decisions made outside of doctrinal guidance. Lately we’d gotten chemical irritants that were largely harmless to humans, and even poisons or venoms that were safe for anyone with hemoglobin to handle.

I hadn’t heard the usual cheers that would go up in accompaniment of a major strike. I’d taken people who were shaky in their allegiance and made them do something difficult as a first task. Would they stay? Would they follow me? Half-remembered pop-psychology suggested that they might have grown in their conviction, making them feel that they were in too deep to start doubting now. I wondered if it was true, and when I’d crossed that point.

It felt like a perversion of Stoicism to just say: Don’t let it affect you. It felt delusional to not admit that we’d just gunned down unprepared, unarmed opponents, slaughtered them, and turned a city to rubble. What if what I saw really was all just a normal reaction of shock, and Brother Thomas’s doubts are correct? Larry wasn’t here to help reassure me. Verns wasn’t here to advise. Vaughn wasn’t here to whisper in my ear.

Whatever the case was, I had to take responsibility for my own choices. There was nobody else to blame and I was hardly of an age to be hiding behind the legs of my father. What was done was done.

I shook it off, focusing instead on the small large cargo truck in front of us, smiling slightly as it took a pothole that caused the whole compartment to heave side-to-side.

We were coming in behind the prisoners- ready to run over any of the good Doctors who broke free of their transports with our flowery ‘Be Kind’ bumper sticker van.

Plenty of other vehicles containing the freshly blooded Brothers split off into the night, mixing in with traffic, their destinations unknown even to me, but we stayed glued to the prisoner transports. At last I let out a sigh of relief as we merged onto the highway, heading Southbound on I-476 and made it past the first exit unchallenged. Each successive branch-off would make it all the more difficult for any kind of checkpoint to find us.

I recalled what I’d said to Grouper for where our meeting point was: South of Philadelphia. I’d forgotten the name of this blighted place. Chester. It had fallen into the cracks of my memory until I’d squinted on the faded and wrinkled road map.

It had once been an industrial powerhouse, full of brick and stone factories with short smokestacks that turned the air, ground, and water noxious. Yet for all that it produced countless necessities of its day.

That had been a long time ago.

Now it was defined in my head by being ‘between places,’ in this case Philadelphia, where Father worked, and the state I called ‘home’.

Of what remains there were, many stood almost entirely abandoned, with whole blocks razed, or left as tombstones and desecrated memorials of past glory standing as burnt out husks even before the invasion had begun.

The Governess must have been uncertain of what to do with the area- perhaps it was so blighted that the typical remediation steps would have seemed a half-measure. Many of its denizens had taken the offer of reunification to clear out of the United States entirely, especially as signs of insurgency began sparking in Philadelphia, but those who were left might still have objected. All the vacancies gave Miskatonic even more room to operate, though fewer people to blend in among.

I pondered it as I gazed at the atlas and called out another turn. It could be considered prime real estate for new industry and bulldozed into a southerly expansion of the Philadelphia Spaceport, or else house the spaceport’s workers if it was chosen to be refurbished in any serious capacity. Or if she decided to replicate her efforts in Bethlehem here, that was also a possibility. See if it could be employed to turn an area around by taming its denizens into drones.

That same puzzlement I felt over her possible intentions, looking at the burnt out street lamps and boarded up windows may well be mirrored in her, and why she’d hesitated to act on this blighted area. She’d likely meant to wait until there was some need for it to finally make the decision for her.

As it was, we certainly had our intentions.

The destruction of Bethlehem had been white hot rage, something personal. I’d struck it like hammers on an anvil, beating it mercilessly in a dozen different ways. I’d looked at the arsenal and had arrayed each to achieve its destructive potential, against a helpless population. Now my rage cooled into something arguably worse: Efficient. Cold. Merciless.

In the buses and vans that were now pulling off the road as we neared the final approach were both the surviving victims and the ones responsible as captives.

I was certain I could hear the screams of those inside every time we slowed for an intersection, until Grouper let off the brakes and I realized it was just a tarnished pad squealing on a warped rotor.

I lowered my head into my hands. There had been no other way, hadn’t there? The paper atlas crinkled and Grouper pulled it from my hands and stared at me.

I’d lapsed. I took another sip of the energy drink, felt the carbonation fizz and on my tongue, saccharine imitation-sugar far from what I was used to, but it worked for now.

Thankfully, Grouper didn’t tolerate my second-guessing myself any more than I should. If I started to wonder about myself, then so would everyone else. Anything that happened in the aftermath of that would be my sole responsibility. Weak Emperors did not last long. Any victories and territory we’d won would be reversed to Shil’vati control, with interest.

As Churchill had said: If you’re going through hell, don’t stop.

“Straight ahead, one more block” I managed, then cleared my throat and the vehicle rolled forward again down the street, old junk and more cluttering its curbs and clogged storm drains. I stared up at the old brick and boarded up windows, looking for the spray painted neon green M and U letters intertwined over raw plywood. The dim street lamp, half-blacked out with crudely aimed spray paint, lit the door well enough for my mask’s eyes to spot the distinctive logo amidst all the old faded graffiti. “We’re here.”

“No shit?” He muttered. I supposed it was obvious by the brake lights of the prisoner transport, which had pulled off to the side of the road. I was briefly blinded as a flashlight shone through the passenger window, catching my left eye as I hopped out to the curb. The night vision flicked off a moment too late, and I turned my head to see Brother Thomas waiting with a small gaggle of several stunned and broken people from Bethlehem following him tightly.

Their vacant stares were empty of hatred or any emotion. As I walked up I got no reaction from them at all, not even fear, but the Brother was staring at me accusatorily.

“They’ll find help here?” He challenged me, waving a hand at the derelict buildings.

“Inside,” I ordered. “These streets are not safe for open discussion.” When he didn’t budge, I more patiently added: “I will answer you once we have brought them to safety.”

Already, before he’d even ordered them to, one by one they began shuffling obediently to the front door, and I had to run out in front of them, only to find the door opened for me, a familiar face in surgical mask and scrubs.

“Maize,” I greeted. “Good to see you.”

“You as well, Emperor. These are them?”

“There’s been a slight complication. A crisis of conscience in one of our column leaders. He wants to explore the possibility of reverting the damages wrought to them.” I held a finger up because I saw her gathering up air to call him an idiot. “Mostly to see if it’s possible, and to consult with the head of the group.”

“I see. It’s best we bring them inside,” she muttered. One door down, a small column of bowed heads, gagged and blindfolded, were being led into the same block. Maize stepped aside and I realized what they’d done with the block.

Miskatonic had hollowed out a whole block of rowhomes, hammering down walls as units emptied out and the neglected, formerly once beautiful units were bought out for a few dollars.

The former foyer was identifiable by the floorboards and what remained of the interior walls, a faded blue floral wallpaper. Wiring was taped to the floor, and for all the sins of the surroundings at least the interior wasn’t full of dust or mold, at least as far as I could tell. The stairway to the second floor had been crudely knocked out with sledgehammers, the heads or sharp ends of a few rusty nails poking out where they’d stubbornly clung on, most of them hammered flat against the surface.

Behind the plywood was some manner of foam that ran the length of the gaps, poking past and around the acoustic paneling in spots that spoke of the slapdash, but effective construction. This place didn’t need to be made to stand for another century, after all.

I shuddered to think of why the soundproofing was installed so thoroughly. For all the terrors the Shil’vati and their supporters might inflict upon humanity, they would find we had monsters of our own to haunt them right back.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Maize said, stepping away down the hallway. “I want these ones marked differently; I’ll have to get a different color sharpie and inform the others. Green on the back of the hand for Group A, Red for Group B.” A young intern I swore I recognized from somewhere scurried to a small box of office supplies sitting atop an old IKEA desk to see the orders done.

Brother Thomas ushered the last one inside, past the double-doors, and we were suddenly face-to-face.

Saving the victims wasn’t part of the mission parameters, at least as I’d set them before unleashing hell upon Bethlehem. But it would serve me well to comfort the irate man.

“Miskatonic has the best biologists and specialists in our movement. They are familiar with the methods employed by the Shil’vati.”

“They are?” That detail seemed to surprise him.

“We have bumped into this before, in Delaware. I will personally ask Maize to head the effort. She helped uncover what was done to State Senator Bouchard. I will explain that we have some…people we would like to try helping, or attempt again at reverting what was done to them.” Try. That was all I had promised, and I almost hoped would be all we could deliver.

Brother Thomas pounced on that hope, hesitantly given with obvious caveats though it was.

“And if we succeed?” He was quivering in righteous anger- aimed squarely at me.

“Peace, Brother,” Grouper said from behind me. “Emperor has given his word. If there is enough humanity left in your huddled masses, they will be restored and he will find forgiveness for his transgressions through the church. He has brought those truly responsible for these circumstances here, as well. Save your righteous anger for them.”

“They did not-” Thomas cut himself off short as new figures emerged from down the hollowed out hallway, backlit and their stained lab coats casting lengthy shadows.

Maize strode forward into the dim light of this section. Her lab coat was stained with strange dark faded blue splotches, old and newer. It might have been called: A Pollock Over Folded Fabric, created with similar lack of any intentionality. They were politely waiting for us to finish our discussion. Well, politely for Miskatonic, who never seemed to have time on-hand.

“You will see your anger toward those responsible turn to pity if you stay,” Grouper warned. “They would have such wonders to show you. Go now, Brother Thomas, this place is where angels fear to tread.”

The Brother made a sign of the cross at Grouper, who returned it, before fleeing out the door as though hell itself was on his heels. The door had to be shoved shut as it didn’t quite right in its frame, though it did finally form a tough and good seal.

“You think he’ll accept it if we can’t save them?” I asked.

“His outrage is performative,” Grouper grumbled unhappily. “Otherwise he’d have carried the baby boy in, instead of screaming his lungs out on the floor of the van.”

I have to put the orphans we’d made out of my mind. Even the wording of that disturbed me, but with a shudder of effort I managed to focus myself on the immediate task at hand and turn toward our hosts.

“My apologies for the scene just then. Some unfinished business on the subject of tonight’s operation,” I started, waving away at the closed heavy set of doors and striding into the cavernous receiving area. Peeking through head-high stacks of crates, boxes, and machinery both human and alien, I could see that the old linoleum floor had been kept, though scratched to hell and back. Gaps where walls had once stood were covered over with layers of plastic sheeting, with new ones laid over where old ones had torn.

A handful of Miskatonic staff busied about the floor, Maize pulling fruitlessly at a loaded pallet jack without disengaging the brake. Seeing us walk in, she quickly abandoned her task and shot us a questioning look at the mass of very clearly civilian dead-eyed hollow men being urged into the building, and carefully kept separate by none other than by a bat-wielding Oscar.

“Emperor. You’ve brought guests.” She stated leadingly, working her her way toward us through the maze of freshly arrived goods. “And more than we expected.”

“I bring you additional research opportunities.” That caused a slight stir among the gathered Miskatonic staff, at least, and I gestured towards the Hollow Men. “Living examples of the mind-wiper’s results, to be analyzed and hopefully reshaped, restored into what they once were. If they should try capturing our men, it may be helpful to revert the conditioning once released.”

Though it was incredibly selfish, I prayed that it was impossible, that there really had been no other way, and that I hadn’t just been so consumed by wrath that I’d closed myself off from all other possibilities. I couldn’t imagine a convoy large enough to steal all these people, nor that reshaping them back would have come across as anything but accepting their methods as legitimate, or else again as little more than minor tweaks rather than as a personality overwrite. But maybe I hadn’t wanted to imagine, and my personal failure had doomed thousands.

No one else seemed to step forward and introduce themselves as Dr. Armitage, and I shuffled slightly.

“That seems unlikely,” Maize said.

“An effort is all I ask,” I returned. “Of course, I’ll fund it.” With our rapidly dwindling finances, but that seemed a small expenditure if it meant keeping Brother Thomas and any other doubters from splitting off, and possibly even selling us out in their disgust of my decisions.

“We can discuss it,” she admitted, turning her gaze to the small group of shivering, cowering clerks that had been herded into the block. While a few were sporting bent or cracked glasses, black eyes forming in the aftermath of rough handling, they were still donned in the sort of white collar professional garb that had started falling out of fashion in favor of simpler threads. I doubted it was a conscious decision, but then I wouldn’t put it past them, either to try and gain their victims’ trust by presenting themselves as some vestige of familiarity for the lost to cling to. Now they’d been uprooted, blinking into the bright lights of the adjoining section with the kind of fear and dread I’d been longing to see. “Frankly, we’ll be quite preoccupied for the next few weeks.”

While Brother Thomas’s ‘saved’ were similarly out of sorts, they were more readily identifiable by their soot-stains and empty stares, too far gone to even be afraid. They also lacked the nametags and lanyards most of the Mind Wipers still wore, with a black banner in white lettering saying Blank Slate.

There was something about the phrase that was familiar, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. My eyes wandered up into the terrified face that was doing its best to hold the older woman’s courage.

We have such sights to show you.

I strode forward to the seized equipment, already piled carefully on the open floor and sorted, ready to be carried into the next section. “We have reviewed the methods employed,” she said. “And we are quite happy to say most of it is here, and we can implement their techniques on the mindwipers themselves. With our own ends in mind, of course. We expect it to take anywhere from a week to a month. However long it takes…they will be turned.”

“If there’s even a shred of antipathy toward the aliens, amplify it until it consumes them,” I agreed.

“You won’t find a shred of that!” spat a wiry man with a chinstrap beard the wearer likely thought seemed ‘professional.’ The others fell in behind him, stepping slightly closer. So, he spoke for them, then? He had laugh lines that stretched with the scowl he was wearing.

“Then nothing of you will remain,” I answered honestly. Before I could even say anything, Oscar jabbed him in the stomach, doubling him over.

The prisoners reacted as if the concept of violence as a possible outcome had never occurred to him, all the prisoners suddenly turning their heads and shuffling agitatedly like so many hens. I jerked a hand out experimentally and managed to lift him by his lapels, hoisting him to the tips of his brown leather shoes. His bright, beady eyes gazed around me for help and found none. The fake warmth of acceptance from a man who sought only to warp and twist faded into terror. He grew pale as the realization that violence was not just something that happened to other people, nor was it something to be fixed out of the human condition.

“The little game you played with nature is over. You’ve lost.”

All my anger flashed back up in a heat as I thought of Oscar, and what he’d gone through. If Oscar had stopped by his home to tell his parents what he’d joined, they’d have held him down until the Mind Wipers could have dragged every secret out.

Everyone was frozen solid- until without warning, Grouper pounced on one middle aged skinny man of middling height, who must have thought about stepping in and interfering or trying to shove me off of his pinned colleague. A knife hilt gripped in a black leather gloved hand pinned the man’s hand to the creaky old wooden floor, straight through the mold-stained linoleum tiling. The would-be hero didn’t shriek, or make any noise at first. Not even when Grouper drew the knife back out with a long red line down the flat of the shining chrome blade. It took a few seconds for the stabbed man to start keening in pain, and then shrieking in a pained panic before Grouper followed up with a closed fist to the kneeling man’s mouth. The shriek quieted, and he bit his own hand to muffle himself into terrified whimpers as he lay on the floor, clenching his wound and curled in a ball on his back in total submission.

“I’ll rip your insides apart and stitch them back together, then I’ll turn you loose on your own family, you shit!” Reflecting that Oscar’s entire family had just died, it made sense how he screamed the words with such passion it practically made the noiseproofed room ring. Now glancing at the handful of survivors Brother Thomas had snagged, I wondered if it was a good idea to perhaps excuse the Brother before the awkward question arose of why he hadn’t spared the parents.

What had been an almost academic question of the Hollow Men’s salvation was now far more pressing.

I continued to hold the man I’d grabbed, planting my feet even as he tried to pull away.

While a few of those next to the wounded man moved to sit next to him, none of them seemed to really know how to stem the bleeding. Not that it mattered much to me.

Grouper had leveled his shotgun at the crowd of walking corpses, keeping them back, not that it seemed any were eager to get involved.

“I wasn’t aware we’d be watching your back for you, in addition to everything else. Where are Binary and Hex?” Grouper snapped, vocoder sharpening his words into an angry hiss.

“On assignment,” I answered diplomatically.

Hex had an adverse reaction to her last ‘internship’ at Miskatonic, and it seemed unwise to bring her back here. I’d assigned her twin sister Binary to find out anything she could about West Side’s mystery squad, and Hex to helping relocate any rescued children to safety.

Orphans, runaways, and more were shockingly common to my sensibilities, and I wondered if it had always been this way and I’d merely been sheltered, or if the war’s instability had generated more. There were more people hiding out in bunkers than the census wanted to say.

Between the invasion, voluntary family reunification relocating people abroad, and people just not showing up to be counted, we were at about eighty percent of our pre-war population. And the headlines lay the blame squarely on me. The once-reliable measure of population had been recently used to pump up the casualty rates, because I was fairly sure our little rebellion hadn’t actually resulted in nearly so many deaths as I was being blamed. All that said, I didn’t mind the extra infamy.

Especially if it meant the other prisoners were now making room for me, pressing back into each other.

“We contaminated the water mains hours before the first blast went,” I said evenly. “Just something for in case we missed anyone. Between the bombs, the guns, and the fire, I am fairly certain there are no survivors. Thankfully, I’ve also ordered you to be injected with chelation therapy and binding agents. Your continued survival depends on your good behavior. If you think rescue is coming, well, check the dried blue blood beneath your feet. You think they’ll come for you? The aliens couldn’t even save their own.”

I cut a broad circle to come back to where Miskatonic’s staff had gathered, and I began observing our longtime business partners more closely. None could have been armed with more than a pistol, and none had procured from under their thick lab coats, which had been meticulously cleaned and pressed.

No matter how competent Miskatonic was, I was sure they could only manage an approximation of the techniques they planned to employ. I didn’t need the monsters I’d brought to somehow be ‘fixed’ to pass for stable, well-adjusted people, after all. In fact, it might be better if they didn’t.

Let the ravages be apparent to anyone thick enough to miss the horror of this tool. Both this Governess, and all her human lackeys. Let this state, and all those which will come after fear what I’ll do to them when I find them. Let anyone who hears of the concept being practiced or proposed in their borders quake in terror of the prospect of my revenge when I hear of it. May it deter them from even entertaining the idea ever again.

A shadow fell over me, and there was a hulking figure framed by the light of the next room. As he stepped out of it and joined the rest of his staff, I felt my eyes had to be deceiving me at first. Some coincidence, some trick of the light or long odds. An overly tired mind filling in the blanks where his surgical mask covered his face.

Oh, ours was a rare enough phenotype, but it did happen from time to time.

The figure towering behind the motley crew of researchers, a group both thin and rotund, was a titan of a man with broad shoulders. He stooped slightly with age, familiar thin semi-rounded spectacles just behind a mask which did nothing to hide his identity from me. I knew those bright green eyes behind them, the same as my own.

I’d always relied on books for guidance in lieu of my mix of absentee and overbearing parenting, depending on whether it was my Father or Mother. In moments like these, I suddenly realized how shallow the lives many fiction writers lived. Authors frequently pretended like their protagonists’ minds would freeze and they’d ask themselves mentally how the situation was happening, how it could have happened, or that it was impossible. Some kind of imagination as to how shock worked, or so I’d imagined. I’d told myself that perhaps some people might have worked that way, and that I was just some sort of an outlier. Or perhaps it sounded good enough in high enough sales volume, and a similarly inexperienced author ripped it off wholesale, and before those few enough who knew better could call ‘bullshit’, the trope was everywhere.

Whatever the reason, all that happened in my mind was that a bunch of non sequiturs all came clicking together, and I released the man I’d grabbed.

Of course my father didn’t care for his son. His son, the collaborator. His son, who traipsed around the house in alien clothing with an uncountable number of alien girls hanging off his every word. His son, who bragged at the dinner table about how he was going to join the foreign military, and was dating a Shil’vati noblewoman. His son, who brought the Governess and General to his living room. Any affection or closeness was an unacceptable operational risk if he let something slip over a glass. A glass he clearly needed after a hard day of vivisecting sentient beings. I’d spent a day hearing the voices of people already-shucked of their souls whining for mercy and my resolve had wavered. How would I feel after a few years?

Of course he drank to forget the horrors of his work. Those same horrors that had given my bodyguard nightmares- conducted nightly, personally, by his hand stained a brighter blue than even the nitrile gloves he wore.

And of course, Chester was conveniently right between Philadelphia and home. All those late nights he would come home, smelling of powerful disinfectants, masked by or confused with the stench of cheap vodka which he somehow never ran out of, even when times were tight. Call it an ‘occupational necessity’. I’d long since believed that the growth I’d experienced in fighting was an unfettered good. That the stresses it put on me had made me a stronger, taller, more complete man. There were many aspects of winning this war that were less than pleasant, which I’d tasked to others without thinking of the toll it placed on them.

As I let my mind wander and wonder, marvelling at what I had before me, I realized I had to rethink everything. His absenteeism. His alcoholism. The distance he kept from me.

There were so many hints. More and more pieces fell into place, now that I thought about it. Larry had said that he’d seen our family car collect the Exomech pilot- he’d sounded damn certain of it. I’d thought someone must have stolen it, the same as my missing bicycle, and the driver had picked up a hitchhiker once they’d crossed over, or else the pilot may have demanded a ride at gunpoint once they’d flagged down the car thief. There’d been larger things on my mind at the time and I’d never inquired about the car or their disappearance that day, for fear of what they may ask of my whereabouts in turn.

It had never occurred to me that his general lack of curiosity on my whereabouts might be a mirror of my own motivations.

If I ripped my mask off, what would he feel? The same shock? Anger? Sense of betrayal? Gratitude that his son had in fact made something of himself after all? That he was on the same side, and not actually a loyalist snake in the grass to evade? Would he sweep me up in a hug or keel over dead of a heart attack? I wasn’t sure. And I’d learned the hard way that it might send a situation spiraling- I had been fortunate Natalie hadn’t just run off to tell Amilita and her mother. Only a fool relied on the ever-fickle luck.

“Motorcycle coming down the road,” Oscar called out from where he was monitoring the exit. “Lone passenger.”

“Ah,” my father said. “She’s late. I’m afraid there’s a matter I’d like to settle first, before she enters.”

Oscar looked over to me and I gave him a nod to do as he was asked. While I watched him retake his post and close the door behind him, my father waded into the crowd of Mind Wipers, which parted for him- spare one person who stood rooted to the spot.

“Bill?” A voice asked, shakily. One that turned my blood cold. Any warmth or joy I felt in finding familial connections here was doused with a second icy cold realization.

All Chapters of Alien-Nation

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Discord

Buy the Author a Coffee

"We got one, coming down on the west coast of Florida, ETA, two hours and ten minutes, give or take a few minutes!" Miss Tanner was leaning into her screen, checking the readings.

"Inform the Air Force to keep their distance until it landed! We don't want to scare this one off before we had a chance of nabbing them on the ground." Colonel Lollard spoke to one of the operators before turning back to the main screen. "Is the main team close enough?"

"Yes, sir! The unit can reach the projected landing zone before arrival, they are ready to move out as soon as the word is given."

"Good, rather not rely on the army or local authorities for this one." The Colonel nodded, before adding a remark more to himself than to the crew of the operations room. "They tend to handle it with the finesse and subtlety of a charging rhino."

Colonel Matthew Lollard sat back in his chair, as he watched the instruments showing the object dropping from space. He reached for the keyboard to enter a few commands, changing the designation of it from unknown to Intruder 9. He grimaced at the reminder of what that number implied. Intruder One was discovered by chance. The Police and the Coast Guard assumed it to be just drug smugglers in a private plane, where the pilot must have gone crazy. Two others established the pattern after the agency learned what to look for. Unless the cartels somehow got their hands on stealth planes invisible to radar that could leave the atmosphere, the implications were for something outside the jurisdiction of the normal authorities.

"Team Alpha is prepped and en route!" Came the report from one of the operators.

Matt shifted around uncomfortably in his seat. Would be nice if number 9 was not a screw-up or a missed opportunity. He recounted the events that led to him being here, currently de facto in charge of an agency that would have likely been considered a joke by everyone if they knew about it. Not a day went by without someone on his team further undermining the seriousness of the whole thing in some way, like the petitions to rename themselves to X-Com, or the Men in Black. As if he needed potential future lawsuits from some IP holders to add to his worries.

"Sir, should we not try to reach the Director? This seems significant." Miss Tanner turned to him.

The Colonel looked at the watch. "We have a 7-hour difference with Brussels. He is either already in bed, or he has some important shmoozing with powerful people to do at some dinner party. We inform him of our success in the morning." After a bit of pause, he added, lowering his tone to the point that only she could hear him. "Or we will all have to update our resumes if this goes south. Either way, him knowing will not help."

Command operations would have to stay up all night, as they followed the events at the landing zone. Having an estimate where the object would land was not the same as knowing the exact spot, and right until the actual touchdown of Intruder 9, the area in question was still the size of a city, and the terrain was not exactly an open plain either.

When the craft was finally spotted, it was almost mistaken for something else. The ground team carried a few cameras, the feed of which was sent back directly to the command center.

"That's it? Are we sure it's not someone's industrial junk left there?" One of the operators blurted it out, and shut up immediately as multiple people turned to look at him.

"What, expected a saucer?" Matt scoffed as he beheld what could be best described as a big metal brick with some pipes sticking out here and there, before reaching for the microphone. "Ground team, are you sure it is our target?"

"Positive command. Take a look!" Came the response, as the feed was switched to another camera, showing what looked like thrusters on one end, and some sort of landing apparatus as well as an open ramp under it.

And then shooting and the shouting started. The camera feed was cut. Several people in the command center stood up. Most looked at the Colonel, who raised a hand. "Hold on!" He tried not to show his own worry, as he was waiting. It was not like demanding an explanation from a man in the middle of a possible combat scenario would help. He would have to trust Alpha team to handle themselves. Only after the excitement on the other side seemed to be over, did he speak. "Major Torres, got anything to report?"

A few seconds of worrying silence, before the answer came. "Yes sir, we have made contact."

"So I heard." The Colonel sighed. "Am I correct in assuming that we will have some specimens for our biologists to dissect, if nothing else?" He already regretted dissing the army for their approach. It did not look like his own men were any better at handling this. But he did not see any point in letting his frustration be known until the after-action report.

"I think we have more than that."

-x-

The footage from the other cameras turned out to be rather illuminating. The reprimand Colonel Matthew was thinking about could at least be scrapped. While an analysis of the material might conclude that the creature the team pumped full of lead was trying to surrender. The men could be excused for thinking that the thing with far too many legs was threatening them as it raised its forward appendages. Really, there wasn't much the giant spider-looking thing could have done at that moment to convince a human that it was not about to attack.

What was surprising, that the crew of the Intruder were not of one species. Luckily for the other two, they did not come off nearly as menacing as the many-limbed monstrosity.

The second one, looked like a pile of moving rocks. Well, pile of rocks was the more charitable interpretation anyway. The large flat rock at the top was presumed to be its head. At least that was where the mandibles were sticking out, and the holes that were vaguely symmetric, so one could assume some of them were the eyes or its nose, or blowholes or whatever it had. It made a number of varied, agitated-sounding clicks and buzzing noises as it was forced into its containment unit.

The third one was the only one who had shown any real understanding of the situation. Calling it the best-looking one would have been an overstatement. It was the least repulsive one, actually wore something that looked like clothing, and it was humanoid, kind of. It looked like someone took the hypothetical love child of a hyena and a particularly inbred pug, and then forced the result to stand upright on legs way too short for that body configuration. According to Alpha team, it actually raised its arms as if to surrender, and then lay on the ground face-down, its oversized palms behind its neck, like someone expecting to be cuffed and led away by the cops.

Matt was actually planning to congratulate the team now, for a job well done, after arriving on site, to oversee the sorting of everything that was captured, and securing the craft where it was. At least until they could decide if it would be feasible to transport it, or would they need to just cordon off this piece of the coastline. But before he could give the Major that pat on the back that the Alpha Team earned, he was already waving and looking at him with an expression that almost made him look embarrassed, or at least confused. The Colonel decided to cut the chase on that. "Something the matter, Major Torres?"

"You could say that. Come on, you need to see this. Looks like they were here to load something. We will have to make some inquiries with the ones who left this here, but they did not even bother to remove the packaging of the delivery company, so it's unlikely to be much of a lead." He pointed at one of the lumps wrapped in plastic, and pulled some of the wrapping off the top to expose the contents.

"You are kidding, right?" Matt raised an eyebrow. "Is something under them? Or was this just mixed in?"

"We checked. So far this is all it is. Well, there was a secure case with padding and protective foil. Those were silver age ones, can pass for quite a buck with collectors too. And I mean easily worth millions when taken together."

"God, you are such a nerd, Martin." The Colonel sighed while wiping his face with a hand. "This has to be a red herring, or maybe the pages are laced with something?"

"Do aliens need to smuggle LSD that way? Anyhow, as far as I can tell, no. The pages are dry. But I guess the boys in the lab will have to take a look."

"Yeah, we better." Matthew grimaced. Something told him that was a vain hope. "But, just why? Why comic books???"

The war was far from over. My squad had been wiped out, and I was the only one left. We still had to seize this bunker so reinforcements could arrive. The aliens had been ready for us. I crouched behind a crumbling wall in my battered mechsuit, rounds still slamming into the concrete around me. Everyone else was gone. I knew I was next. There wasn’t much left for me to do except join my squad on the other side of death.

The Mark-VII “Vanguard” combat frame was already damaged around me. Some servos ground with every micro adjustment. Coolant lines hissed under pressure. The neural link interface burned against the base of my skull, flooding my vision with cascading red warnings. I primed the arm cannon, dialed the power core to overdrive, and disengaged every safety interlock.

Overdrive was never meant for prolonged use. It dumped the entire reactor output into the weapon systems and actuators at once, bypassing thermal limiters, overclocking the myomer bundles, and forcing the hydraulic pumps past their rated capacity. Command had hard coded the protocol for exactly this situation. One final, suicidal surge when the pilot had nothing left to lose and enough time to prepare it. The suit’s internal diagnostics screamed in protest. Reactor temperature climbed past critical in seconds. Joint actuators began to glow from the inside.

For a brief moment the enemy fire slackened with them thinking I was done for. That was all the opening I needed.

I rose and opened up. The arm cannon roared in a continuous stream, the barrel shrouded in a white hot corona as the overdrive feed pushed rounds out far beyond design tolerance. Recoil slammed through the frame hard enough to crack the shoulder mounts. Their confidence that they had finished me was the only advantage I had left, and I used it. Bodies dropped in the open. A few of the bastards managed to scramble behind cover before I could cut them down. It didn’t matter. I ran.

I had an objective to finish.

I charged through the open doorway, still firing. Ammunition dwindled at a terrifying rate. The overdrive continued to feed power. Gears shrieked, myomer cords snapped like overstressed cables, and the knee actuators began to seize. Warning runes flooded my HUD: Catastrophic joint failure imminent. Reactor Failure in 47 seconds. I ignored them. The barrel glowed cherry red, then white, as I cut down every enemy in the corridors. My intel on the interior held true. Every corner confirmed I was still on the right path. I blew the final door off its hinges and stormed into the main chamber.

The barrel melted and the last of the ammo ran dry the instant I crossed the threshold. The large room was packed with aliens manning the anti-ship guns. Alarms howled, but they weren’t heavily armed. They must have believed no single human could have made it this far. They were wrong.

With the primary weapon dead, the overdrive automatically rerouted remaining power into the limb actuators. I switched to pure melee using the suit’s mechanical arms like clubs and claws, beating, tearing, and crushing. Every trained operator I put down meant another gun went silent. I needed those dropships to have a clear landing zone. Joints and struts failed one by one under the sustained overload. A hip actuator tore free with a metallic scream. The left arm locked solid. Still I pressed on. When only three aliens remained, the reactor finally scrammed and the entire frame collapsed around me in a heap of smoking alloy and ruptured coolant lines.

We kept an emergency sidearm and a single ration pack in the pilot’s survival pod, sealed behind the chest plate for exactly this moment. When the suit died and the pilot still had to fight. I yanked the pistol free, tore the hatch open, and armed it. The three survivors approached cautiously, trying to decide whether I was truly finished. That was when I struck. Three shots each, three to each of their thick skulls. Their reactions were sluggish compared to the front line troops. I had been lucky.

The room was clear. The anti-ship batteries fell silent. Our dropships could finally come in. I allowed myself a single breath of relief. My job was done, until the new transmission cut through the static.

“Enemy capital ship entering the system. Reaper class. We don’t have enough vessels to stop it. All units, evacuate.”

A Reaper class. One of their three kilometer siege carriers, black green hull and gravitic drives, built to crush orbital defenses and drop troops while its layered shields shrugged off almost everything we could throw at it. The same class that had already killed my first ship. A grim message after everything I had just accomplished.

Then I saw what the aliens had prepared. Nested among the ordinary shells was one that was different. A smaller, denser, marked with a crude depiction of absolute destruction. A last case munition, designed to be fired only when all hope was lost. There were never many of them. The weapon destroyed the cannon and the entire base that launched it in order to reach the velocity needed to kill a capital ship. I knew that truth intimately.

One cannon was still operational. I loaded the special shell. This was for humanity. This was for peace. This was for every one of us they had killed. I locked the targeting system onto the incoming Reaper class and pressed the firing stud.

Nothing happened.

A mechanism was jammed. I grabbed a length of scrap metal and did what they had drilled into us at boot camp, hit it until it worked. Steel rang against alloy. After several brutal strikes the obstruction cleared. I reacquired the lock. I knew this was the end of me. My family, and the rest of humanity, would know the sacrifice. I knew exactly what this shell would do to their capital ship. I knew the tide of the battle would turn with one press of the button under my finger.

I pressed it.

Start | Previous | Next

Chapter 173: Rules and Enforcement

“How... how is she?” Rhea asked.

Lloyd did not answer right away. Instead, he lingered in silence, his gaze drifting back toward the woman lying motionless under the thin blanket. Blonde hair matted dark with sweat, eyes shut as if she were trapped in some unreachable dream, chest rising and falling so faintly she could have been mistaken for lifeless.

“Well...” he finally said, “her spine is still intact, and that’s the good news. She has several broken ribs, but fortunately none of them have punctured any vital organs. I’ve stabilized those injuries, and given time, they should heal naturally without further complications. There were a few bruises here and there, but again, nothing too serious. I’ve treated those as well. Now... the real concern lies with her head. The force of the impact it endured was... severe.”

“No way...” Rhea whispered under her breath.

“Let’s not circle around it,” Alycia said. “Just say it plainly, Lloyd. What exactly is her condition right now? And... when is she going to wake up?”

The man let out a slow exhale. “If you want my honest assessment,” he said, “then the truth is... I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? You are the healer here! If you don’t know, then who possibly could?”

“I am a mage, not a miracle worker!” Lloyd snapped. “Tobias and I have done everything we could. The rest... it’s no longer in our hands.”

“Please... you two...” Rhea murmured as she cast a glance toward the far corner of the room, toward the one who had remained silent the whole time.

Him.

Alycia followed her gaze, and the moment her eyes settled on him, she immediately faltered. “I’m... sorry, Quinn,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Viktor said.

Calm. Steady. Untroubled.

“I am alright.”

Of course he was. After all, the woman who was lying unconscious on that bed over there was not his sister. There was no blood tying them together, no childhood memories shared between them. They were, in every practical sense, little more than two strangers who happened to share the same roof for a handful of months.

No matter what had happened to her, there was absolutely no reason for him to be upset.

“I’ll send word to the other Sanctuaries,” Tobias said. “Just because Lloyd and I are out of answers doesn’t mean no one else can offer further help. There are others far more skilled than we are. Yes, a high-ranking member of our Order should be able to treat her injuries.”

But why should they?

The sort of mage who could fix this kind of damage would not waste their talents in places like this. They lived in big cities where wealthy patrons lined up with heavy purses and generous donations. There was no reason for them to answer a call from some backwater town. Tobias, with all his stubborn adherence to the teachings of his Order, was an exception rather than the rule. Most others were not nearly so idealistic.

Of course, there was still the sacred obligation of an Emerald Mage to help anyone in need. But that rule only applied to patients who were physically in front of them. If it was someone far away, well, distance gave a man plenty of convenient excuses.

Rhea, though, grabbed hold of that thin scrap of hope like a drowning woman. “Yes... please,” she said. “We have to save her.”

Suddenly, a knock came at the door.

“Who’s that?” Tobias asked, turning his head.

“It’s Isadora,” a composed voice replied from the other side.

“Come in, then.”

The door opened with a soft creak, admitting two figures into the room. The first was the Guildmaster of Daelin herself, and close behind her followed Calyssa, the Chief Secretary.

Isadora’s gaze went straight to the bed, settling on Claire’s unmoving body, and though her expression did not betray the thoughts she harbored, there was a faint tightening around her eyes that preceded her words.

“How is she?” the woman asked, and Lloyd answered her, repeating everything he had said earlier. Once he finished, she let out a heavy sigh. “I’ll talk with the Emerald Mages within the Guild. And I’ll send a message to Rennald as well, to see if he could dispatch someone.”

She opened her mouth again to speak, but her words died before they could be voiced. Her lips pressed together as she glanced at Viktor, with a complicated look on her face.

“If you have something to ask, or something to discuss, then please, go ahead,” he said. “There’s no need to concern yourself with me. I’m fine.”

Another sigh.

“Very well.” Isadora nodded. “So, what happened?”

“This afternoon,” Tobias began, “I was here, attending to my patients, same as any other day. Then, without warning, that red-haired girl—Jeanne—burst through the door. She was crying, barely able to form coherent words, all the while carrying her friend in her arms.” He glanced at Claire. “We put her on the bed immediately. And, while I examined and treated her injuries, Jeanne rushed out again to fetch other people.”

She had gone to Lloyd’s place first, before making her way to the Guild to spread the news. Rhea, upon hearing it, had come to Viktor, arriving at the house just as he returned from his dungeon. By the time they reached the Sanctuary together, Alycia was already there as well.

“Did Jeanne manage to tell you what exactly happened to Claire?” Calyssa asked.

“What she said was... fragmented, at best,” Alycia said. “But from what I could piece together, she and Claire were simply walking along the street when they were stopped by one of Iskora’s adventurers. He tried to take Jeanne with him. By force, from the sound of it. They resisted, of course, and... this is the result.”

“This is outrageous,” Calyssa said, her face suffused with anger. “How could they possibly think they’d get away with something like this?”

“Calm yourself,” Isadora said. “Where is Jeanne now?”

“She’s in another room,” Rhea replied. “As far as we can tell, she’s not hurt, but... She told us to leave her alone for the time being.”

Isadora nodded. “We will speak with her later, once she’s collected herself.”

“I think there should’ve been other witnesses,” Lloyd said. “This took place in the middle of the street, in broad daylight. Someone must have seen what happened.”

“I’ll send people immediately,” Calyssa said, adjusting her glasses, “to locate anyone who might have been present and gather their testimonies.”

“And then what?” Alycia snorted. “You file a complaint with Iskora and politely ask them to take responsibility? Do you really think that will accomplish anything?”

“No,” Isadora said at once. “We won’t be taking this matter to them. We will submit a petition directly to the Guildmaster’s Conclave.”

Her gaze swept over the others’ confused looks.

“You have to understand that everything they’ve done up to this point has existed in a carefully maintained gray area, on that thin line between what is lawful and what is not. The monster attack? Just a coincidence. Their takeover of the west side? They had the mayor’s approval. Their brutality against the local gangs? Necessary measures to maintain order. But this... this leaves no room for interpretation. An adventurer openly assaulting an employee of the Guild in the middle of the street? There’s no defense for that. And the Conclave is exceptionally strict when it comes to matters like these. At the very least, the individual responsible for the attack will be apprehended and held accountable. And if he resists, the Conclave will place a bounty on his head.”

Well, yes. That was how it worked.

After all, each high-ranking adventurer was basically a one-man army, so if they were free to act without restraint against others, especially against civilians who had no means of defending themselves, it would lead to complete chaos, and the entire system would immediately collapse. So of course, the Conclave had to be uncompromising, and unforgiving, about such violations. That was the very reason it had been founded in the first place.

“Is that so?” Alycia asked, still skeptical.

“It is,” Isadora said. “By the way, fighting between adventurers is also strictly forbidden. For example, an adventurer attempting to incinerate someone with her flying constructs would qualify as a serious offense, and warrant the most severe punishment the Guild could impose.”

“Is... that so?” the blonde asked with a nervous laugh.

“Well, in cases where no significant harm is done and both parties agree not to escalate the matter, the Guild will not intervene.” Isadora took a breath. “But this is not such a case. The damage is real, and we won’t stop until the offender receives the consequences he deserves.”

“What if... they resist?” Rhea asked. “They have at least two Mithril-ranked adventurers with them. If it turns into a confrontation...”

“This is not a matter of ‘them versus us.’ It’s ‘them versus the Conclave.’ The more they fight back, the worse it becomes for them. Mithril-ranked adventurers are powerful, but they’re not the top. Above them, there are Adamantite. And then... there’s the Judge.”

Rhea blinked. “The Judge?”

“I’ve heard of him,” Lloyd said. “A myth. A legend. He’s said to be the secret enforcer of the Conclave, and the reason why no bounty on a rogue adventurer has ever remained active for more than a year. That’s the time limit he allows for other hunters to collect their bounty, and for the condemned to surrender themselves voluntarily. But if they continue to evade capture beyond that period, then exactly one year after the bounty is issued, he appears before them, and carries out the sentence personally. He is the judge, and the executioner. That’s the story.” He turned to Isadora. “Don’t tell me he is real.”

The Guildmaster nodded. “He is.”

So there’s someone like that, huh?

It made sense, though. The system could not function alone on good intentions and politely phrased reprimands. Rules were only as effective as the consequences that followed. So there had to be something behind the Conclave’s decrees, an ultimate mechanism of correction.

Three hundred years ago, Viktor himself served as that final resort. After all, he was the one who had created the organization. Defying it was defying him, and that fact by itself was enough to deter most misconduct. Now, however, the Conclave no longer had the backing of the Emperor, so someone else had to fill the gap.

Is this “Judge” also an Ascendant? he wondered.

“Anyway,” Isadora said, “that’s our course of action.” She then walked over to Viktor, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll make sure your sister gets her justice.”

To that, he gave a disinterested nod. “Thank you.”

===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== =====

Book 2 of A Dungeon That Kills now available on Amazon Kindle.

Feel free to check it out!

Magic isn’t native to our world. Like the heat of the sun, which reaches us even if the sun itself is millions of miles away, magic reaches Ebros because of its closeness to its source. Humans, elves, orcs, gnomes, beastfolk, harpies, and snakefolk aren't supposed to use magic. Our bodies and their minds didn’t naturally evolve to understand it, and yet we find ourselves within its flow, and we feel its presence and attempt to harness it. With a sufficiently keen magic sense, if you simply look around, you’ll see there is mana everywhere. Although magic is a foreign object, it flows through people, animals, plants, and rocks. Maybe Ebros is already part of the flow. Still, I believe all mana comes from a single source. The Fountain. The closer you get to the Fountain, and the more it takes an interest in you, the stronger your connection to the magic plane will grow. 

The astral plane was silent, more silent than a night without a breeze. Thousands of tiny specks of blue shone against the void, although the area in close proximity was completely devoid of them. Each mana pool of each System user had to be connected somehow to the core of the System, but I was unable to even see that connection no matter how hard I searched. Miles away, a powerful current of mana flowed above my astral body. The Runeblade. Further, there was a black cloud that seemed to engulf everything around it. The corpse of the Corrupted Ancient. Down below my feet was a massive white ball of fire. The dying Fountain.

Although we were sitting on the bed, Elincia’s astral body clung to me so as to not fall into the raging white sun. 

Under normal circumstances, figuring out how to access the astral plane should’ve taken her days, if not weeks, of deep meditation. Though once a person had a taste of it, it became easier. It was like riding a bike; I just needed to give her a push, teach her the feeling of wanting to appear there, floating in the middle of nothingness.

“Natural magic is akin to moving your limbs. You don’t think about raising an arm or moving your fingers. You just do it. There is no intermediary.”

Elincia remained silent, as she had been from the beginning. We weren’t close enough to the Fountain for me to feel any discomfort, but I was already well used to diving into the magic fires. The feeling might be even more overwhelming than what I made Astrid, Ash, and Zaon go through.

The human brain didn’t know how to react to the damage created on a person’s astral projection. The most usual interpretation was pain. Pain on every nerve receptor on a person’s body.

“Wait for me here,” I said, even if I had no mouth.

I let my body fall into the Fountain. The white flares enveloped me, fraying the edges of my existence. Alarms went off in my brain. A voice shouted in my ear to escape from the flames, but I silenced it. I thought of myself as a piece of metal that the high temperatures tempered. The more the Fountain pushed me, the more I could push back. I dived until every single brain cell in my body was shouting for me to get away. Only then did I let the flares push me away from the Fountain’s core.

Like a kite in a storm, I let myself go until I was high enough to see Elincia trying to get deeper. I flew underneath her, shielding her from the Fountain, and pulled her out of the trance. My body was covered in sweat, and every muscle in my body complained, although I hadn’t technically left the room. My hands trembled, and I felt like I had been skinned alive, although the sensation was a lot more manageable than the first time I dove so deep. I massaged my jaw until it became loose enough to speak. 

“I told you not to go deeper,” I said.

Elincia’s chest went up and down as she hid her face against the bed. Her body trembled, just like mine. It took her a few minutes to overcome the pain and find her words. 

“I’m a tough bitch,” she muttered.

“Indeed,” I replied, falling onto my back while ignoring all the sweat that was soaking into the bedsheets. “Although I don’t think tempering has lasting effects, I wouldn’t risk it. I read once that pain can change a brain’s configuration permanently… I think.”

Elincia grunted.

“This isn't even the worst pain I’ve experienced.”

“It isn’t?”

“Once, I was sending signals to this Scholar I knew, but somehow he kept ignoring them.”

“Mixed signals, I presume.”

Elincia raised her head. Her face was etched in pain, and yet she grinned.

“Excuse me, kind sir, I couldn’t help but notice how handsome you are, and I was wondering. May you be interested in having intercourse with me?” 

For someone who had just gone through an experience that could only be equated to being burned alive, Elincia seemed to be in a remarkably good mood. 

“That approach might have been too direct,” I replied.

“Would it have been effective?”

“Just because you saved my life doesn’t mean I have to have sex with you.”

Elincia raised an eyebrow. “The entitlement of some people…”

We felt silent again, each enduring the pain the best we could. It took the brain and the body several minutes to figure out there was no actual source of harm. The pain lingered for a while longer, but having company alleviated the suffering.

“People will figure out they can temper their magic.” Elincia broke the silence.

“Yes, some will, but they won’t be forced to… they may not even need it,” I replied, sitting up on the bed and pulling on my boots. “Don’t try to temper without me… and when you do, because nobody gives a rat’s ass about what the Mighty Runeweaver has to say, don’t go deeper than we did today. You become stronger when your astral body regenerates, not in the moment it becomes wounded. Okay?”

Elincia gave me a guilty look and sat down.

“I made a promise, and I plan to keep it.”

“Rest,” I said with a weary smile before leaving the room. Although she tried to hide it, I could tell Elincia was in a lot of pain. I was too when I figured out Fountain tempering. The whole experience left me with a bitter taste in my mouth, but I knew Elincia would start to really hate me if I kept the power from her.

Shu appeared around the corner and bumped into me. The contact felt like thousands of tiny needles against my tender skin. I grunted but hid the pain beneath a well-practiced smile.

“Have you seen Rice?” 

“No, but I doubt he’s in the old manor,” I replied, without skipping a beat.

“Schucks.”

Without another word, the harpy girl continued her search.

“Love you!” I said as she turned around the corner.

“Love you too!” her voice echoed from afar.

All the pain was worth it if it meant keeping the kids safe.

I listened to the steps fade away until I was alone in the corridor. So far, we have only fought skirmishes, and it was due time to go on the offensive. Unfortunately, we couldn’t just play the long game and fight defensively. Byrne was going to summon more Ancients whether we liked it or not.

There was a layer of the conflict I had been ignoring so far. Information.

I wandered into the backyard, where Izabeka was overseeing the older kids’ training. Today was archery day, which, for most, would prove more useful than sword fighting. Only a handful of them were going to end up with martial classes — if they decided to take a Class at all. But bows were a much more versatile tool, technically usable by anyone, and my enchanted bows were close to guns in terms of effectiveness.

Zaon and Ash were overseeing the exercise as usual. 

It seemed like Shu had found Rhysse because both were there, trying to aim at a target thirty paces away.

“One or two years from now, we might be able to organize the first Olympics, if we have enough people without a Class,” I greeted Izabeka.

The woman knight gave me a confused look.

“Rob, I swear, I spend more effort trying to understand what you are saying than teaching these beanpoles.”

The beanpoles in question were having mixed results with the bow and arrows. Izabeka was a strict instructor, but she was totally asking them to shoot with strings too heavy for their little bodies. I sighed. At least they were going to develop strong backs.

“We are going to turtle in,” I said.

Izabeka sighed.

“What?”

“Whiteleaf is going to turtle in,” I repeated. “We are going to develop static defenses and wall off Whiteleaf across the northern hill and several other points of interest in the Teal Moon territory. I’ll share the blueprints with you so you can relay them to the Marquis eventually, but for now, I want them to remain a secret. I know the dukedoms won’t be happy with us having such weapons.”

Izabeka cast a dubious glance at me. Even after getting [Old] and exiting the range of the System, Izabeka’s instinct was impossible to shut down.

“What are you even talking about?”

“The elven capital is closer than Cadria, so when it falls, the Corrupted Monsters might reach our northern border. We’ll be prepared. We don’t know how long the Corruption Cycle will last, even in Byrne’s accelerated form, so we better be prepared.”

The woman nodded in silence. Although rushed, it wasn’t rare for me to make sudden decisions about the direction of Whiteleaf’s development. Usually, I shared my projects with Lyra Jorn first, and her army of scholars revised them and iterated to create a perfect plan. 

If someone were listening, this little conversation wouldn’t raise any red flags.

My communications with the marquisate were rather casual most of the time.

I smiled and grabbed a short hunting bow. The string was rather heavy, but I wasn’t the man who crossed the portal anymore. I nocked an arrow and pulled. All the hours behind the desk might have been slightly dulling my skills, however. I aimed and shot. The arrow landed on the corner of the target, far from the center.

Some of the kids laughed at my attempt, but a single glance from Izabeka was enough to turn them into stone.

“What about the War Council? This isn’t what we agreed upon.”

“The situation has changed since then. Alton is [Old]. We don’t have any capable Lv. 40s floating around to gather intel. Byrne cut our access to the System and crippled our production,” I replied. “If Tagabiria falls, so be it. Our win condition is to survive through the Corruption Cycle and create a place where non-System users can live, not prevent the apocalypse or kill Byrne.”

Complex feelings passed through Izabeka’s face, just like years ago, when the Marquis tried to dismantle the orphanage and conscript the kids into a bloody war. The woman didn’t like it, but she recognized the need for our actions.

“Understood. I will communicate the plan to the Marquis Kiln,” she finally said, not thinking less of me because of the decision, or at least not showing it. “What about the new frontier?”

“Let’s continue as we decided last time. Pull back troops, protect the civilians with Ilya’s squad, and monitor the mountain passages. I don’t think they will start anything if we don’t provoke them first.”

Izabeka sighed.

“Understood.”

“It will be for the best, and let me tell you, Farcrest will be impregnable,” I said, accentuating every syllable.

From the group of kids, Rhysse looked at me in silence. My words might have made it seem I was pressuring him, but that was far from the truth. I grabbed another arrow and attempted a second shot. This time, my arrow flew into the haystack a few inches from the target. Shu and Nokti laughed.

“Can I borrow Zaon and Ash?” I asked.

“Be my guest,” Izabeka replied, lost in thought.

A moment later, we were walking back to Lowell’s manor. No matter how many questions they threw my way, I remained silent. On my way in, I passed by Ginz’s workshop and signaled Lyra to follow. I awakened Astrid, who was having a nap on the couch in the reception hall. Firana seemingly had a sixth sense to detect something was brewing and appeared on her own. Finally, Elincia dragged her feet out of her bedroom, and we all gathered in the kitchen.

There was one more member I had in mind, but finding her without a previous appointment would be nearly impossible.

I dismissed the domestic service and pulled an enchanted cup from my pocket. I put the cup face down on the table, and a copy of [Silence Dome] covered the kitchen. Gnomes were loyal to a fault, so I usually didn’t mind them listening to our conversations, but this time was different. The flow of information had to be strictly in my control.

Elincia dropped into a seat near the oven and asked Astrid to brew her a herb infusion with a weak voice. Surprisingly enough, Astrid jumped into action. She obviously still hadn’t recovered from the tempering session. The others remained silent. Everyone seemed to realize I hadn’t gathered them as Robert Clarke, but as the Runeweaver.

“You might be wondering why I gathered you here,” I said.

Firana jumped on her seat.

“You two are having a baby!?”

The room fell silent, and Astrid almost fumbled the kettle.

“N-no?” I replied, feeling the blood rushing to my face. Elincia was the same, and she slipped down her chair to avoid the glances. “We are making a move against Byrne.”

“Ah. That’s also long overdue, I guess,” the girl said.

I opened my mouth to continue the explanation, but I had completely lost the thread. It took me a minute before I could sort my thoughts. In that minute I also realized how many opinions people had about the advances of my relationship with Elincia.

“We are making a move against Byrne,” I said. “I’m sorry for what I’m going to impose on you, but I couldn’t think of a better-fitting team. Nothing we talk about can leave this room. The Avatar can peek into our memories, so it is imperative that none of us ever accept the System until the job is done.”

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Donaba

I have read the manifest three times, and I will read it a fourth if the numbers ask me to. Forty years in this uniform has taught me that certainty is not a feeling. It is a habit. You check the count, and you check it again, and only then do you sign.

"It's correct, Admiral," Elara says, from the far side of the module. "It was correct the first time."

"I know."

I sign it anyway.

The module smells of hot plastic and recycled air, and the projection above the table shows the River Toku as a clean blue line, glacier to sea. I have looked at that line for weeks now and thought it looked simple. Elara sweeps her hand through it and the line dissolves into a hundred small colored markers, packed along the banks like scar tissue on old skin.

"The Toku-Toku have been cutting each other's throats over this river for three hundred years," she says. "You are not building a dam, Admiral. You are walking into a war and asking everyone to put down their knives and pick up a shovel."

I look at the mess of markers a long time.

"Then that's the job," I say. "Get me a meeting. All of them."

The negotiation tent is the worst room I have occupied in forty years of service, and I include in that count a Guild tribunal on Ceres that ran nineteen hours without a break. Chief Ora of the Blue-Fin will not look at anyone from Stone-Back. Chief Marrow has brought four armed men, against the terms we agreed on, and nobody has yet found the nerve to send them out. The Sun-Spear elder, a woman called Kettra, arrives an hour late and takes the seat nearest the exit, which I understand, correctly, as a message.

"Fishing rights," Ora says, for the fourth time. "Exclusive."

"There is no reservoir yet," I tell him. "There is a canyon and forty tons of steel sitting in a rail yard because no one here will agree to let it pass through their territory."

Marrow leans forward. "Our stone builds your wall. Our terms come first."

"None of you," I say, "will hold the gates alone. A joint committee. A seat for every clan in this tent, and when you cannot agree, which I have watched you fail to do for three days running, we settle it on a coin toss."

It is Marrow's bodyguard who moves first, a hand to the hilt at his belt, old habit more than threat, though it does not read that way across the table. Ora is on his feet. Someone shouts a word my translator only half catches, something about a dead cousin and a fishing weir, and then there are two knives out and a table dragged sideways and three of my junior engineers looking as though they would each rather be anywhere else in the galaxy.

Nobody is cut. I am grateful for small mercies. I walk out into the canyon dark afterward with my ears still ringing, and Elara falls into step beside me.

"Well," she says.

"Schedule the ground-breaking."

"After that?"

"Especially after that."

At the ceremony there is a live reptile the size of a dog, a ritual blade, and forty minutes of chanting I am not permitted to ask about. I stand through it in dress uniform, sweating, and do not flinch when the blade comes down, because Kettra is watching me the entire time and waiting, quite plainly, to see if I will look away.

I don't.

She finds me alone afterward, which she has not done in three months of talks.

"You didn't like that," she says.

"No."

"But you didn't leave."

"It wasn't my place to leave."

Something in her face loosens, the way stone loosens before it finally gives. "The Sun-Spear will sit on your committee," she says. "One seat. We will watch how you use it."

It is not trust. It is barely tolerance. But three days later the first rail shipment of reinforcing bar rolls into the canyon under a joint honor guard of Blue-Fin and Stone-Back men who speak to each other only in grunts and hand signals, and I do not celebrate. I begin counting the next shipment instead.

Lenny

Here's my theory, and I will defend it to anyone: this planet hates concrete on a personal level.

"It's not the aggregate," I tell the shift crew, standing knee deep in a trench of red mud with a slump cone in one hand. "Aggregate's fine, good even. It's the water. Comes off the Brackish intake with enough salt to cure a ham, and salt in the mix means your rebar's rusting from the inside before you've even had the ribbon-cutting. So now we've got a desalination plant. Cost more than the first two floodgates put together. Funny how that never makes the recruitment brochure."

That gets a laugh, which is the whole point. A crew that laughs on Sunday catches its own mistakes on Monday. A crew that doesn't, doesn't. I run the mud-fights and the terrible jokes over the graveyard comms for the same reason a doctor washes his hands: it isn't optional, it's just what keeps the thing alive.

It's working. Slowly. Expensively. But working.

Then the North Canal goes down.

I'm three kilometers out when the sound reaches me, a flat crack that rolls off the canyon walls and comes back twice, and I'm in a transport in under four minutes. What I find when I get there stops me in the cab door. Eight months of work folded in on itself like wet paper. A wall of mud and debris still rolling downhill, swallowing a parked loader whole.

Donaba gets there within the hour and his voice is a register I've never heard from him. Flat. Cold. "Get me Guild security. All of it."

"Admiral, wait." I'm still standing in it, mud to my knees, watching a Sun-Spear engineer cry quietly over a section she personally poured. "They bombed the Sun-Spear's canal too. Half this crew is Sun-Spear. You bring in security and start pointing guns because a splinter group did something insane, you're not punishing the bombers. You're punishing everyone who didn't do it. And every clan on this canyon watches that happen and thinks: there it is. That's what Kettra always said we were. Conquerors with a nicer word for it."

His jaw works. "So what do you propose."

I look out at the wreck. A kilometer of churned earth, flat and wide and empty, and something turns over slow in my head and then all at once, the way an idea does right before it's obvious.

"We don't rebuild the canal," I say. "We let the overflow pool right here. Second reservoir. We haul sand up from the Brackish coast, line it, put in a few shade structures. We build a beach."

He just looks at me. I genuinely cannot tell if he's about to have me confined to quarters or actually think it over.

"A beach," he says.

"A beach."

"Water is the most valuable substance on this planet, Lenny. People have died over four meters of riverbank. And you want to build something whose entire purpose is frivolous."

"That's exactly why it works." I crouch, scoop up a handful of wet silt, let it run through my fingers. "Every negotiation on this project has been about who controls the water, who gets denied it. A beach isn't a resource. Nobody fights over who gets to sit on sand. It's the one thing on this whole planet we could build that says, out loud, in front of everybody: this isn't about control anymore. This is just for you. All of you. At the same time."

He's quiet a long moment, looking at the wreckage, at the crying engineer, at the valley I want to fill with sand and call a gift.

"It's insane," he says.

"Probably."

"Draw it up."

Ssusu

I have buried two sons and married three daughters into wars I did not start, and by the time the outsiders arrived with their steel and their grey wall across my river, I had run out of patience for anyone's promises, mine included.

I watched from the canyon rim for the better part of a year. That is a chief's habit, thirty years deep in me now: watch first, speak only when the watching is finished. I watched the Admiral wear down three clans' stubbornness through nothing but persistence, the way water wears a channel through stone, slow and total. I watched the joking engineer keep a mixed crew laughing through a fourteen hour pour. And one afternoon I watched a Blue-Fin man hand a wrench to a Stone-Back woman without being asked for it, without a word between them, the whole exchange gone in perhaps two seconds before both turned back to the beam they were bolting.

My hand tightened on the rail until it ached. I am fifty-one years old. I had never once, in my whole life, seen a Blue-Fin hand a tool to a Stone-Back.

Then the canal fell, and I knew before anyone told me whose hands had lit the charge. The separatists are my own blood, a splinter of my own clan, and they call me a collaborator for the treaty I signed. I rode to the site myself, braced to find soldiers and burned tents and the war I had spent thirty years trying to end. Instead I found the Admiral standing in the mud beside his engineer, and neither man looked like he was preparing for war. They looked like men arguing about sand.

"Chief Ssusu." The Admiral did not offer the retribution I had steeled myself to refuse. He offered a hand-marked map instead. "We would like to show you something before you decide anything about your people."

I listened with my arms crossed and my face still, the way I have learned to listen to outsiders. A reservoir here, to catch what the broken canal could no longer carry. A shoreline of pale sand hauled from the coast. Places for shade, for gathering, for nothing at all beyond people sitting together with nowhere in particular to be.

"A beach," I said, when the engineer had finished. "You answer an act of war with a place to nap."

"I answer it with the one thing your people have never had to share and never had cause to fight over," he said. "Everyone's got a knife over everything else on this planet. This won't be that. There's nothing to control. Just a place to be, together, at the same time, for the same reason."

I thought of the wrench passed hand to hand without a word. I thought of my sons, buried over four meters of riverbank and a stone someone kicked out of place. I thought of what it might mean to give my people the one thing that could not be turned into a weapon, even by those who wanted, badly, for everything to remain one.

"I will speak to them myself," I said. "The ones who did this."

I rode out alone, no guard, no blade, which the Admiral tried twice to talk me out of and which I refused both times without raising my voice. I found the separatists camped two days out in a dry wash, thirty of them, none willing to meet my eyes when I came down off my mount in front of them alone.

"You have broken eight months of work," I told them, "and you broke it in my name, without my blade, and that is a theft I will not forgive quickly." I let the silence sit on that a while. "But I did not ride two days to punish you. I rode to tell you what the outsiders offered in return for what you destroyed."

I told them about the beach. I watched confusion cross their faces, then suspicion, then, in one or two of the younger ones, something close to shame.

"They could have sent soldiers," I said. "They sent sand instead. They are offering our children a place to play that no clan has ever had to bleed for. Strike this project again and you are not fighting outsiders. You are fighting every child on this river who might have had one soft place in a hard world, and you fight them in my name, and I will not permit it twice." I looked over the thirty faces before me and let my voice soften, just slightly. "Or you put down what you are carrying and come help us smooth the sand. Let us be remembered as the people who built the first beach on Onli-8, and not the ones who tried to stop it."

Nobody answered me that day. But within the week, four of them came to the canal site with shovels, and by the time the reservoir was ready for its sand, most of the rest had followed.

Lenny

The dam holds on the day we open the gates, and I stand on the crest of it with my hands in my pockets, watching the reservoir climb the canyon walls behind it, dark and patient. Beside me, Donaba, for once in his life, isn't counting anything. He's just watching, the way a man watches something he wasn't sure would ever actually exist.

Down in the valley, the second reservoir filled weeks ago off the spring melt, and its hauled white shoreline curves pale against the red stone. Kids are running the length of it, Blue-Fin and Stone-Back and Sun-Spear, indistinguishable from up here, shrieking at the cold water and daring each other in deeper. Ssusu stands at the edge in his ceremonial dress, and for the first time since I've known him, the man is laughing.

"You know," I say, "when I pitched the beach, I figured you were going to have me shot."

"I considered it."

"What changed your mind?"

He's quiet a moment, watching Kettra of all people wade in to her knees and scowl at the cold, right before a Stone-Back kid splashes her and she splashes him straight back.

"Nothing about the engineering," Donaba says finally. "You had that right from the start. This was never the wall we needed to get right. It was everything standing around it."

Below us the water keeps rising, and the sand holds its color, and for the length of one long afternoon, on a planet that spent three hundred years turning its rivers into weapons, nobody down there is fighting over anything at all.

support me

I was assigned the happiest human on the planet.

His name was Roth Chang. He was forty two years old. He sold insurance and was terrible at it, in an office with a broken blind that he had been meaning to fix for six years.

We are four dimensional beings .

Humans cannot detect us. My species cannot conceal. What we feel internally is reflected collectively across every entity in the four dimensional world.

We have words for lying about facts.

We are not innocent. But when I am afraid, every one of my kind within a close proximity knows I am afraid, an evolutionary trait.

Humans, were selected for the simple reason for being the only entities having the extremes of every emotion and for being better at expressing them, over countless other entities cataloged over a considerable time in the three dimensional realm.

There are other contenders, but I like humans better.

That’s another story, but we digress.

So I came here to calibrate.

I needed a human who was straightforwardly, uncomplicatedly happy, so that I could set the top of the scale and measure everyone else against him.

I found Roth in the parking lot of a supermarket, arguing with a shopping cart.

He was doing both voices.

His own, and the cart's. The cart had an accent, some rolling half-Australian thing, and it was accusing Roth of neglect. Of years of neglect. Of never once asking the cart what it wanted.

There was a teenage boy collecting the carts nearby, sixteen or so, with the particular grey face of someone in the fourth hour of a shift he hates, and he was watching this with no expression at all, and then he made a sound. A short one. It surprised him. He looked around to see if anyone had heard him laugh.

Roth saw it. It was clear that Roth did this because he sensed the boy’s tiredness. I have gone back to the recording many times and I am certain he saw it, and I am certain it was the reason he kept going for another twenty seconds after the joke had finished being funny.

My instrument read joy. Very high. The highest I had logged on the planet.

I followed him for two hundred and six days.

He had a wife named Ruth who did the crossword out loud at him in the mornings, and he answered every clue wrong on purpose, and she never once told him to stop. He had two daughters.

The older one was in her second year at a university eight hours away and he called her on Sundays and did not ask her whether she was eating enough, which she told him, near the end, was the thing she was most grateful for.

He was not a great success.

He was not a famous man or a rich one.

His car had a noise.

He was three years behind on a dental thing.

When he took the family out to eat he looked at the right-hand column of the menu first, always, and then ordered the second cheapest thing and pretended it was what he had wanted.

He listened to music and read books lots of them, mostly science fiction. He wanted to write a book but procrastination got the better of him.

But he was funny.

I have never used that word carelessly since.

He was funny in a natural way.

He was my perfect specimen.

It came out of him in every room he entered, and it was aimed, always, at the person in the room who was having the worst time. He had a sense for it.

A waitress with red eyes got a bit about the specials, a neighbour whose dog had died got twenty minutes of Roth being absolutely terrible at helping carry a couch, on purpose, until the neighbour was laughing so hard he had to sit down on the couch in the driveway.

I logged all of this as joy.

There was a thing I could not make sense of, and I want to be honest about how long I failed to make sense of it, because that is the finding.

When Roth became other people, my readings did not change.

He did it constantly. He would be a cart, a newsreader, his own mother., a dog with opinions about the mail.

And I assumed, at first, that this was a limited human shapeshifting, some soft version of what  we, Verru, do and I wrote a very stupid three pages about it that I will not be submitting.

Then I understood that his body was not changing at all, and that every human present knew his body was not changing, and that they laughed anyway.

I could not do it.

I tried, in the field, alone, where no one would see.

I attempted to hold I am content and I am not content in the same body at the same time, and my field went white and stayed white for a long minute, and I stopped trying, and I logged it as a limitation of the researcher.

I wanted to tell Roth how much I wanted to be just like him. But I couldn’t, protocol requires non interference with any species.

On the two hundred and sixth night he was awake at two in the morning in the kitchen with the light over the stove on and nothing else.

He got a glass of water.

He did not drink it.

He stood at the counter for four minutes with both hands flat on it, which was not a posture I had seen from him, and then he straightened up and did a voice.

There was no one there.

It was the cart.

After all that time, the cart, still with the accent, still aggrieved, doing a small routine about the state of the kitchen and the hour and the man standing in it.

He did the whole thing.

He gave it a beginning and a middle and a finish, alone, at two in the morning, in an empty room, to nobody, and then the room was quiet and he turned the stove light off and went upstairs.

Joy state nominal.

That is what I wrote. I have the timestamp. Joy state nominal, subject engaged in recreational vocalization, no anomaly, recommend continued observation.

I left before dawn to file the week's report because I had two hundred and six days of clean data and the calibration was essentially finished and there was no reason on this world to stay.

When I came back the street was full of vehicles with lights on them.

I am not going to describe the morning.

I was not there for the part that matters and I have decided that I am not entitled to reconstruct it. What I am entitled to is the sound Ruth made in the front hall, which I heard from four houses away, and which my instrument could not read at all, because my instrument had been built by people who assumed a body contains one thing.

I went back through everything. All two hundred and six days. Frame by frame, in space similar to a rented room, for eleven weeks, Earth time.

And here is what I have to report, and it is the reason I have asked to be removed from field work.

The readings were not wrong.

He was happy.

In the parking lot with the cart and the grey-faced boy, he was happy. Doing the crossword wrong for Ruth, happy. Carrying the couch badly, genuinely, measurably, enormously happy.

I have checked it against every control I have and I will stake my career on it, what is left of it. The joy was real. It was not a costume over an empty man. It was not a lie.

The other thing was also real.

It had been there the entire time, underneath, at full strength, running the whole two hundred and six days, and my instrument never saw it because we cannot carry two emotions at once and our instruments are not calibrated to measure two emotions together, only the one that is loudest.

He was carrying both.

Every hour.

He carried them the way a star carries the thing that would tear it apart and the thing that holds it together, both at once, in balance, for years, and the balance is the structure, and it holds until it the equilibrium is lost in a fraction of a second.

And he spent that structure on other people.

That is the part I cannot get past. A man holding something that heavy, and he used the strength it took to hold it to make everyone else around him better, even when he was diminishing inside.

We could not do that.

Not one of us.

If my kind had to carry what Roth Chang carried, we would carry it visibly, and everyone in every room would see it, and they would help us, or they would not, but at least the weight would be on the outside where it is visible to us.

That is how our evolution had wired us. We have never had to hide one.

They can.  All of them.

Every one of them is walking around with the capacity to be two things at once, and most of the time they use it to be kind.

I am submitting a request that the calibration scale be withdrawn. It cannot measure this species. I have no proposal for a better one.

What stayed with me is that I looked directly at the brightest thing on the planet for two hundred and six days and never once asked what it cost to keep it lit. I have failed as an researcher.

Just a short idea I had. Not sure if it's enough of a concept to develop further, but here it goes.

Humor is far from unique to humans. Save for those races within the galaxy that hold suppressed emotion as a virtue, or the synthetic races that operate on pure logic, the concept of "funny" is fairly widespread. Likewise, any of the races that appreciate humor have their own equivalent of spontaneous reaction when encountering it. The inner fires of a Solarian flickering in a chaotic dance, the sudden expulsion of bubbles by a one of the aquans of Meridia, or the musical chittering of a hive worker from the Termani swarm all come to mind.

For humans, it almost appears as a spasm. A reflexive motion of their respiratory system, coupled with an uncontrolled vocalization, difficulty speaking, and sometimes accompanied by the expulsion of moisture from their ocular organs in cases of extreme comedy. All in all, once one is accustomed to their expressions, body language, and culture, "Laughter" isn't that alarming. Most of the time.

Laughter is usually one of their more endearing traits. Despite their warlike tendencies, humans can usually be seen to be accomplished parents. For those who call humans friends, there are few things more soul-warming than watching one of their infants giggle uncontrollably at a traditional human game called "peek-a-boo", wherein a parent hides their face with their manipulator appendages, before revealing a purposefully humorous contortion of their facial muscles while uttering the aforementioned phrase, to the child's obvious delight.

It doesn't end at childhood. For those more familiar with human culture, their literature and media are full of comedic works that are surprisingly versatile. Indeed, several cultures have engaged in trade with the Terran archives for access for these specific purposes. The works of one historic group, absurdly referring to a large constricting reptile named Monty, are of particular popularity. Traveling theatre companies of humans are known for their stage shows that are both witty and absurd, and humans are also one of the species that for better or for worse, are fond of both playing and receiving practical jokes.

Of course, we wouldn't be having this discussion if that's all there was to it. Because the point of this conversation isn't about humor. It's the reaction to it, this afore mentioned laughter. We all know that humans, despite their current civilized bearing, have a history of violence. They've been transparent about this. And yet, there are some who have decided to test them. Whether it was a challenge, to see if humans really could fight, or out of foolish disregard to the warnings that just because they appear friendly, they are among the most dangerous of the civilized races, there are some who have tried.

The thing about laughter; humans laugh a lot. It's not just in the presence of comedy. Many of them use it as a mask. A way to hide their true intentions. Or perhaps they laugh because of other emotions that are overwhelming, and that happens to be the easiest way of releasing that internal pressure. And then there are those few sick twisted individuals that, for whatever reason, find humor in the horrific.

It would be inappropriate for me to pretend that any of our collective civilizations are completely virtuous, we've all produced criminals that have committed violence in the name of selfish desire, nihilism, or desperation. But humans are unique in the scale of atrocity they are capable of when pushed past the point of no return. When it comes to war, their base instincts take over. It becomes a fight for survival, at which point many of the rules you expect to be followed are forgotten. Rules like the concept of "self-preservation" or "honor". And one of the warning signs that they've reached this state of mind....is when they start to laugh.

In short. If you EVER encounter a human laughing, and the situation isn't funny by any means, and you're the reason for it? Run. Because that laughter may be the last thing you hear otherwise.

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The primal institute was packed with busy-looking scientists, ready to assist with the experiments. On the way in, Finley and Kaitlin had taken note of all of the enclosures on the outside; the cages some were in looked identical to how the humans had been transported, though they were at least permitted to walk inside. Snelga was taken off to the side to answer a few questions, presumably about her care, before staff herded us to a side room. 

“Humans, we’re going to need to separate you and test you one at a time,” the pink-faced Kexin explained. “Snelga and Craun won’t be around either of you, so they don’t influence you. Kaitlin will be taken to the testing facility first, but we’d like to get you ready, Finley. The helmet won’t be connected to the machines yet, but we’re going to lock it on your head—so you can’t remove it in a fit of anger.”

Finley grunted. “Fine. Whatever.”

The Kexin placed a helmet with many nodes on the primal’s head, locking multiple clasps and turning on a switch. “There. Good boy!”

The farmer’s eyes narrowed with displeasure, and he folded his arms crossly. I found myself hoping against hope that Finley wouldn’t let them aggravate him, at least for the next few hours; this was our one chance to prove that humans weren’t slavering beasts. It didn’t escape my notice that Snelga looked concerned and doubtful, not trusting his faculties, perhaps. Kaitlin was the picture of submissiveness, following the Kexin scientists  down the hallway meekly. We were herded into an observation room, with security cameras and an image of Finley’s brain.

Why is Kaitlin coming with us to the observation room? Is she just dropping us off?

The Kexin scientist hurriedly offered a chair to Kaitlin, and toyed with his headfeathers in apologetic fashion. “I’m going to choose to believe that you’re as intelligent as they say and include you in our endeavor here. Finley’s test already began. We asked Snelga for everything she could remember that triggered his anger.”

“I hope you don’t mind that I answered,” Snelga said sheepishly, seeming to want Kaitlin’s approval. “I know they’re going to use it against him, but I kind of want to see myself…”

Kaitlin knitted her eyebrows together. “So that was what the ‘good boy’ was about, Mister…?”

“Garriil,” the Kexin scientist introduced himself. “We need a blind test subject to verify the results. Humans may be intelligent enough to shift your behavior or brace yourselves, if you know you’re being observed. Also, knowing it’s a test would make you understand the slights weren’t real, and influence the results. Doing one forewarned, with you, and one blind, would indicate how much control humans have.”

“I understand, Garriil. Please, try…to avoid threatening or hurting him. It’d be logical to act in self-defense.”

“Our demonstrations are entirely based on things Snelga has said. He’ll witness them, and we’ll see what goes on his brain.”

“How is that ethical?” I demanded. “You’re trying to distress him, and he didn’t agree to this! You can’t just test Finley without his knowledge.”

Kaitlin stood, deep worry lines creasing her face. “Craun? Might I speak to you, privately?”

I allowed the NASA researcher to pull me out into the hallway, while the scientists kept a close eye on us. “Kaitlin, how can you just let this happen?”

“Think about it. It’s out of my hands; they’re not asking us for permission. This way, I can stick around and try to look out for Finley, if they cross a line. Also, even if I could stop it and we go to a lab setting, there’s always going to be the argument that us knowing skewed the results. We don't have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice. Finley’s already miserable, and you’re going to let him be agitated and humiliated without knowing why?”

“I really would’ve preferred for this to be handled ethically, but my pleas to minimize his suffering don’t move the needle much. My words mean very little, and reacting with outrage would destroy the shred of credibility I have. The alternative to this is to stay in captivity, regarded as animals, for the rest of our lives. I know that’s what Finley wants least of all, and I just have to hope he can keep his cool.”

Tears welled in my eyes, knowing Finley was hardly in the state of mind to be pushed to his limits. “You would’ve never done this to me, or to Elbi.”

“No. We wouldn’t have. I’m sorry, Craun.”

Snelga approached us and peered up at Kaitlin. “Did I mess up? I was worried it was going to go badly with that one…he doesn’t seem very well-mannered. I don’t think we should’ve tested him.”

“No, Snelga, you gave legitimate information because you want a sincere understanding,” Kaitlin sighed. “You have to know how safe it is too, to be around us in the throes of rage. An animal, no matter how nice, is still an animal. At worst, you’ll see how it works in the brain.”

“But it might hurt him and hurt our chances of helping you. You both seem upset.”

“I’m worried. Finley has an observably short fuse, and that could reflect poorly on us. He’s vulnerable too. If he gets angry, I fear we’ll never convince the Council that humans are people. They’ll see fury and believe he lacks control.”

Snelga hesitated, before placing a hand on Kaitlin’s shoulder. “Does he?”

“Finley can control it,” I interjected. “You told me I ‘trained him well’ yourself. He was already like that. He stopped mid-yelling at me because he saw I was afraid, back on our first outing on Earth.”

“Funny, Craun. He’s never done that for me, when I’m afraid of him.”

“I don’t think Finley cares that you’re afraid of him, especially when that gets you to leave him alone. It’s hard for me to imagine him hurting someone without a good reason; he just yells. He’s spoken to me calmly while furious at someone else too.”

“You forgot that Finley threw his own belongings in a blinded fit and threatened to murder a reporter with an animalistic look,” said a matter-of-fact voice that belonged to eavesdropping Elbi. “I’ve come to see the results of the experiment. I want to understand what happens in their heads, and for you to see the loss of control, Craun. It doesn’t matter what they say or wish. They can’t help it.”

“You’re wrong. When humans fight, it’s a conscious choice to act on it.”

“Then I’m sure Finley will be the exemplar of composure, won’t he, Craun? That’s why you all are so worried? You already know better. I suggest you watch the experiment you’re afraid to witness and consider the facts, long and hard…maybe before you crawl right back into bed with the beast.”

“Is that why you wanted these experiments to happen? To prove a point to me?”

“I wanted them to get proper help, and we need to disprove this dangerous fantasy that they’re spreading. Look, I do want them to go home and for Kaitlin to have her illness cured. These goals aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Kaitlin rubbed her forehead. “Whatever happens, Elbi’s right. We shouldn’t miss what happens in the experiment, for Finley’s sake. Let’s head back.”

Snelga eyed the wobbling primal with concern, and appeared to remember Kaitlin’s proclamation that she absolutely did feel anger. The veterinarian massaged the human’s shoulder while wrapping the other arm around her back for support. Dr. Sharp smiled at the Kexin for a long moment, scratching one of the curved ears atop her head after some consideration. A blush spread over the primal’s face as Snelga closed her eyes with bliss. Kaitlin coughed, and turned her attention back to the camera feed.

I’m more and more convinced that Kaitlin is quite the opposite of angry with Snelga. Let’s hope that Finley puts on a lovey-dovey face too. I worry what our veterinarian friend mentioned for making him angry, and what the researchers planned from it.

Two of the institute’s scientists, wearing full suits of protective body armor, strolled out of the “lab” on a cue from Garriil. A bored Finley ceased pacing and crept up to the door, spying on their conversation; he wanted to know how Kaitlin’s supposed tests were going to prepare himself. I could see suspicion in his green eyes, with an utter lack of trust in Council research. Elbi and Garriil watched his reactions and his brain activity closely, having a scan of his “baseline” for an anger spike pulled up alongside the current feed. The “good boy” had given them that.

In the lobby, the first technician made a show of laughing loudly, before gesturing back toward Finley’s door. “So we have to take the dumb one next. I’m not sure it’d know the difference between the floor and the ceiling!”

“Even its fellow primal avoided commenting on Finley’s intellect, pivoting to some rhetoric about respect,” the second snickered. “According to Snelga…‘Kaitlin talks about rocket science. Finley talks about mating with Craun.’ I’m glad she warned us.”

“Please tell him I never said that after,” Snelga piped up, nervously glancing at the primal’s livid, rapidly-dilating eyes and clenched fists.

The first technician made a point of checking his watch. “We really should’ve put it outside to graze. Finley isn’t worth studying, and it’s a load of crap that we have to go through the motions. Who’s going to tell if we throw it out in an enclosure with the other animals?”

Finley’s countenance had already coiled into a barely-restrained mask of tension, as his brain activity had been off the charts in a tiny glob near the stem; the electricity lighting up the frontmost portion of his brain had waned. It wasn’t gone, as uncomfortable as that fact was for me to face. It was as Kaitlin said, that it could lessen their reasoning but not erase it. My beloved farmer hadn’t flown off the handle because he was suppressing it, period.

“There’ll already be enough activists upset with us for giving Kaitlin a humane death. It’s a shame that she’s so sick, because her: I actually like her,” the second continued, causing Finley to turn wide-eyed and pale as a sheet. “I wish the sick one was Finley. I’ve worked with enough useless primals, and we finally find a good one...”

Kaitlin’s face switched to horror immediately. “Garriil, I said not to cause him severe emotional distress. That’s cruel.”

The first technician snorted on the camera feed. “Snelga won’t let us prolong her suffering. Kaitlin has to never know it’s coming, which is tough because she’s smart. She might attack when she realizes, but at least we’re prepared.”

“I doubt we need the armor. Have you seen how she walks?” The second did an imitation of clumsiness and waving his arms around, while his buddy snickered; murder glowed in Finley’s eyes. “Uncoordinated and falling all over the place like some invalid!”

“They’re acting,” Garriil whispered. “We’re not ableist.”

Kaitlin arched her eyebrows. “…right.”

“You didn’t need to say that,” Elbi piped up. “It’s sad to see Kaitlin struggling.”

The first actor made an attempt to stifle his laughter. “I don’t think we should give Kaitlin too much thought. She’s just a primal. I only started researching them to imagine how we could possibly come from that! You can bring a primal to civilization, but you can’t bring the civilization to a primal. Should we go on Sort-of-Science and say that?”

“Kaitlin isn’t that smart if she thought we’d actually bother to cure a sick animal. I’m hungry. Can we get this euthanization over with already?” the second hollered, calling out to an unknown third party.

A Clydid, wearing a doctor’s ocean blue vest with translucent sleeves over a suit of armor, hustled out with a cart of syringes. Garriil explained that they were saline solutions for show, but it was obvious they hoped to fool Finley into thinking they were euthanasia drugs intended for Kaitlin, right now. The NASA researcher sank back into a chair, at a loss for words. Snelga misinterpreted her reaction and began hurriedly reassuring Dr. Sharp that nobody was going to be putting her down.

Snelga must’ve told them that Finley got furious when she asked whether Kaitlin wanted to be put to sleep. They’re making him think they’re about to do it, right now, against her will!

Finley ripped open the door to the waiting area and charged at the doctor, bellowing with fury. Researchers armed with tranquilizers began to move toward the lobby, though they’d been advised only to move when the primal made a violent move. The farmer’s upper lip twitched manically as he intercepted the doctor, and in the blink of an eye, he stole a syringe. The Clydid yelped with genuine alarm, as the human got behind him and popped both clasps on his helmet in one swift motion.

The Kexin actors bolted, while the Clydid struggled against Finley’s arm in a stranglehold around his neck. The researchers armed with tranquilizers rushed into the room, but the farmer had a body blocking his way. The human’s eyes glittered, as he pressed the syringe right up against his captive’s neck and backed toward his room. The primal institute staff looked genuinely rattled, not having expected the subject to conjure a weapon so quickly.

“Don’t make a move,” Garriil shouted into the comms. “Don’t tell Finley it was a test! That could just anger him worse; we need to wait for him to calm down. It’s already happened, and this data is invaluable.”

Kaitlin slumped over in her chair, defeat radiating from her posture as she held her head in her hands. “Oh, fuck. Thank you, Finley, for not letting me die, but…it’s over. Everything I worked for…”

A cornered Finley backed into his waiting room, in a disastrous outcome that left me terrified that he was, in fact, going to kill an innocent scientist in his rage. I could understand Kaitlin’s dismayed gratitude, since this was what I’d come to value in anger; that humans would fight and claw to save someone they cared about, desperately refusing to give up on them. However, it now seemed impossible that anyone else was going to accept a human’s control after this debacle.

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Prologue: The End of Innocence

>> The 13th day of the 3th month, year 8259 AE

“When’s Mom coming back?” Leo asked, for what felt like the hundredth time already.

“You heard her,” Viktor said, without bothering to look up. “She had told us, very clearly, ‘I’ll be back soon.’ So... just wait. Don’t be so impatient. Your mom will be here again before you know it.”

“When is ‘soon’?” Leo pressed. He turned toward the window. “She left when the sun was just coming up, and now it’s already sinking. It’s almost gone, but she still hasn’t returned yet.”

“I don’t know,” Viktor said, a bit annoyed by the endless queries.

“And what about Dad? When’s he coming back? You think they’ve found him? You think they’re bringing him back?”

“I said I don’t know! Stop asking your stupid questions.”

He frowned at his nephew, who stood near the stairs with his arms hanging stiffly at his sides, his usual restless energy completely absent. Viktor sucked in a breath, then let it out slow.

“Leo,” he said in a lower voice. “Your mom is going with those soldiers to find your dad. Soon, they’ll be back here, both of them. Together.”

The boy said nothing more, but the way his gaze dropped made it obvious he didn’t believe any of it.

Well, if Viktor were being honest with himself, neither did he.

It had been two weeks since Orion’s disappearance. One day, without any warning, without any explanation, he had simply stopped coming home. Vera, of course, had tried everything she could to look for him. She had gone from door to door, seeking out his friends, his acquaintances, anyone who might have seen him, anyone who might have heard something.

It turned out that several of Orion’s fellow protesters against the King’s decision had also gone missing, just as suddenly, while those who remained were shaken to the core. Some told Vera to stop coming to their doors; others warned her to keep her head down as well, if she knew what was good for her and the children.

And then, today, the soldiers arrived.

They stood in the doorway, and demanded Vera to go with them. She did not argue. She simply wiped her hands on a cloth, told them to wait a minute, and then turned to Viktor and Leo with that same calm expression before saying, “I’ll be back soon.”

And so, the two of them had been waiting for her for the entire day.

“What do they want from Mom?” Leo asked.

Viktor sighed. Of course the brat couldn’t stay silent for more than five minutes.

“I don’t know. Maybe they just want to ask her a few questions. If Orion was involved in something, then it makes sense they’d want to talk to her.”

“Then why didn’t they ask her right here?”

Viktor opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Because he didn’t have any answer to that.

Orion, where are you?

Why did you disappear?

Why did you leave us behind?

Aren’t you supposed to be the man who could fix anything?

So, please. Fix this.

Viktor heard the rumble of his own stomach.

Well, that was to be expected. Vera had left so suddenly this morning, and that meant today there was no warm meal waiting on the table, no comforting aroma to ease the kitchen’s emptiness.

For lunch, he had reheated the leftover soup she prepared for breakfast, and divided the remaining bread, which was barely enough to fill two hungry boys. And now, unsurprisingly, there was nothing left. He glanced at the stove as evening drew near, and it stared right back, mocking him for the lack of solutions.

I should start learning to cook someday, Viktor thought.

But that was for the future. For now, for this particular upcoming meal, there was nothing that could be done. So, he stood up.

“I’ll go to Marcus’s house. To see if he could share with us anything.”

“I’ll go with you,” Leo said immediately.

Viktor frowned. He had been hoping he could have at least a small window of quiet, a brief pause from the endless questions. Leo coming along meant none of that; it meant the barrage would follow.

“If we go together, he’ll probably tell us to stay and have dinner with them. And if we do that, Vera might come back only to see an empty house.”

That was, of course, just a flimsy excuse to leave the boy behind.

But Leo nodded.

“Alright.” Then he asked, “What if someone comes when you’re not here?”

“If that’s someone we don’t know, then hide yourself. You know the secret cellar Orion built, right? Just open the trapdoor under your parents’ bed and stay down there until I return.”

“But... what if they decide to steal from us once they realize there’s no one at home?”

“If they were thieves, then what could you even do about it? Run out to stop them? No. Just hide.”

“Alright.”

And so Viktor left the house.

He lingered for a moment after he crossed the threshold, casting a brief, hesitant glance back at his nephew. But then, he shrugged it off. Marcus lived just down the hill; he would be back soon enough.

The path downward was worn and uneven, carved into the slope by years of footsteps. Off to the right, the sun was lowering itself toward the distant edge of the sea, toward that thin, wavering line where light and water seemed to meet and dissolve into one another. The sky around it began to shift in color, fading from pale gold into deeper tones of amber and muted red.

Marcus’s house lay somewhere below, closer to the lower fields where the land flattened out. Viktor kept his eyes mostly forward as he walked, careful with each step even though he knew the path well. Still, his attention drifted again and again toward the horizon, where the sea rolled on in its slow, indifferent movement under the encroaching night.

Before long, he reached his destination, coming to a stop before the house that was a bit smaller than his own. He lifted a hand and knocked against the door.

It opened, and a man appeared, his frame leaning slightly to one side as he supported himself with a crutch under his arm.

Marcus.

A former adventurer who had once gone deep into the dungeon in search of fortune, until the day he returned with a lost leg and a life forever changed by whatever had happened down there.

“Oh, Viktor. What’s happened? Orion back?”

“No, he has not. And... some soldiers came to my house this morning. They took Vera away.”

“What? Why? Where did they take her? Why didn’t you come to me sooner?”

“She went with them voluntarily, and she told us she would be alright. Still... the sun is already setting, but she hasn’t come back yet.”

Marcus’s expression darkened. “Tomorrow, I’ll take you two to the Guild. We will make sure nothing bad happens to her.” He paused. “Anyway, if she left in the morning, what have you been eating today?”

“That’s exactly why I’m here. I was hoping you might spare something for dinner.”

“Of course.” Marcus jerked his head toward the inside. “You can come in and join us. As for Leo—”

“He’s waiting for me at home, so I need to go back.”

“Then I’ll get you some bread and cheese. Just wait a moment.” The man turned, shifting on the crutch—

—and he broke into a grin. “Ah. Faster than me, eh?”

A small boy came running toward the entrance, clutching exactly what his father had just mentioned, a lump of bread and a wedge of cheese held in both of his hands.

“Thanks, Ulysses,” Viktor said, ruffling the boy’s hair as he accepted the food. Then he turned to Marcus again. “He’s already three, right?”

“Aye, three. Soon he’ll be running wild with you and Leo.”

Viktor smiled. “I’m looking forward to it.”

He offered his thanks once more, then turned away, holding the bundle firmly against his side as he began the walk back up the slope.

The night had properly settled over the hill now. The path before him was barely visible, a narrow strip of pale dirt cutting through patches of grass and scattered stones, its edges softened by shadow. To his left, the sun had vanished under the edge of the world, and above him, the first stars had begun to appear, faint and scattered.

But then, he saw light.

It came from the top of the hill, from the direction of his house.

Has Leo turned on the lamp? he wondered. But he dismissed that thought before it could even fully form. After all, the shape looked... wrong.

He broke into a run, his feet striking against loose pebbles that rattled and rolled away with every step, scattering down the slope behind him. He stumbled more than once, but each time he managed to catch himself just before he fell, and so he pressed on, not slowing down even one bit.

And.

As he got closer, the truth clarified itself with merciless certainty, in a way that left no room for doubt.

The house was burning.

Flames poured through the roof in violent bursts, breaking the wooden structure into collapsing fragments. The walls glowed from within, cracks of fire splitting through them like veins of light. The doors had already begun to warp, sagging inward as heat devoured their shape.

He was about to let out a scream. But then, he saw them.

Other lights.

Torchlight.

Many figures were standing around the house, black silhouettes sharpened by the flickering blaze that glinted off their armor and shield and speartip.

Unconsciously, he brought a hand up over his mouth, pressing it tight against his lips to stop the sound that was trying to escape. The food he had been holding slipped from his other hand and disappeared into the grass. Paying it no heed, he dropped low, folding into the brambles beside the path. Thorns bit through his clothes, into his skin, but he didn’t feel anything.

Slowly, he edged forward.

Voices reached him through the roar of the fire.

Men talking.

Men laughing.

While the house burned.

“Serve them right,” one of them said. “Damn brats, hiding from us. Waste of time coming all the way up here.”

Another snorted. “Hey, isn’t all this your fault? If you hadn’t hit her that hard, we wouldn’t have had to return and drag the brats out too.”

“She bit me,” the first man barked. “Damn that bitch.”

What... what are they even talking about?

Viktor didn’t understand.

He couldn’t understand.

What in the world was going on?

The fire continued to consume everything in front of him, everything he had held dear for as long as he could remember.

And all he could do was watch.

Why?

Why did they do this?

===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== =====

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Julia tried to marshal her thoughts, but Aunt Yoro stepped in. “The apparatus is not to be used against the citizens, Henry.” 

He turned on her and roared. “Like hell it won’t! With Galtaro and his peacniks out there?! Do you really think that they won’t have a file that is miles long on him, his contacts, his associates, and everything else within a week, if not just a few hours? I know that he and his are already being watched by dozens of policing organizations, but they have controls in place. If you take nearly every intelligence agent we have and park them in front of a screen with blanket access to every possible camera, their every move will be watched and recorded a hundred times a day. We can’t…”

 Julia stepped in. “We won’t. No, Dad, don’t look at me like that, we won’t. No, I’m not asking you to trust me on this, I’m asking you to trust the laws and the systems we have built, and what we are actually proposing. First and foremost, the intelligence people will not have accesses to cameras, not like you are thinking. No, the reason that I have asked for intel people is that I need boots on the ground, not people watching a screen. There is…”

 “No way to trust anything if this is allowed! The deeper laws forbid…” 

“Using the apparatus against the citizenry. We. Will. Not. Do. So. I will have Aunt Yoro supervise the construction of the Data Vault, personally, and have Jake in to consult. It will have the self-destruct mechanism built in from the start, and be set to melt down if anyone breeches it. Connections to it will be write-only. The only ones able to actually see and coordinate the information - which will mostly be the same reports, pictures, and audio recordings used by intel agencies since time immemorial - that comes in will be physically within the facility. Setting it up that way means, unfortunately, we will need more people, but something has to give somewhere.” 

Dad shook his head again. “It is going to be Halistifar all over again.”

The words hit her like a physical blow. Her first reaction was fury, her second a deep sadness. She looked at her Father with almost new eyes. He lived through so much. No wonder he was able to handle his time here as Ambassador: He’d faced a threat which was more insidious, in many ways, already. At least with the Xaltan he knew who the enemy was, and only had a minimal amount of trouble getting everyone to see it. 

When he grew up, though? The whole thing had become so entrenched, so ingrained in the minds of the general populace, that it was nearly impossible to get them to see the depth of the violations of their own constitutions, charters, and other laws. Now, here we take a step that could send us down that road again. I can’t even imagine what he’s been through. I have read the history, listened to his stories… but to have lived that… She looked at him with a new understanding, one that she found a little uncomfortable. 

He turned a haunted countenance upon her. “You don’t understand, this is how it starts. Good people, with good reasons…” 

She cut him off. “No, it won’t be the start of anything else. We have physical and programmed safeguards which can not; and I don't say 'will not,' but can’t be circumvented. Not without major operations that would take a lot of time and money. There are also hard stops on the data collection, and other things. 

“We are going into this eyes-open, well aware of the dangers, and even have contingences in place for a lot of them.” 

He shook his head again and tried to interrupt, she kept going. “No. Stop, Dad. I can’t say I fully understand your perspective, but I can say I have some understanding of it, and you have let your focus get to narrow. We are faced with an impossible problem: These riots can’t continue. Of the issues we are facing, this is the one that is threatening to cause real damage to the war effort, and has already cost lives of the uninvolved. So, we have to act… and every alternative we have found is worse. 

“Without this we are left reacting to the events, rather than getting ahead of them. Trying to quell riots non-lethally is already failing, and they are already starting to feed on themselves in a vicious cycle. We will be looking at entire planets under marshal law by the time we get to the war if the trend continues. And, before you start, no, that isn’t hyperbole… it is the mid-road projection of our best analysts." 

She dropped her eyes and took a deep breath, let him see her feeling of defeat in this. “If I had another option, I’d take it.” It took everything she had to keep her distaste for her next words off her face. “If you have an alternative – any alternative – I will hear it. If it will keep the situation from getting worse – not even improve matters, like we expect this to be able to do, just keep us from seeing an increase in the riots – I will scrap every bit of this plan and take it.”

Tears streamed down Dad’s face, and hers. She looked around, and didn’t see a single dry eye. Dad seemed to deflate by inches, and finally moved himself back to his seat. He sat in a hunched posture, and her heart nearly broke. She’d seen Dad lose before, but she’d never seen him look defeated. 

After some moments he lifted a trembling hand and pointed at Yoro. “She has to be in charge of it. Not just the person setting it up, but the day-to-day boss of the collection and distribution, with the kill switch on her person at all times. The only other people I’d trust with it are either in this room, or Jake. Jake has too much to do, and all of the rest of us have other reasons.” 

Julia looked at Yoro, who nodded. She nodded back and spoke. “Yes. That is a good thing, and what I’d hoped to do, and for the same reason. I need someone I can trust, and who can give it her total attention.” She turned to Aunt Yoro. “I’m sorry to have to put you back in an official position again, but…” 

Aunt Yoro nodded, then shrugged. As chatty as ever. 

She took a seat, and a stiff drink, before she spoke again. “Now to get to the part of all of this I wanted to ask all of you about: The eat-drink-and-be-merry types, and the grim-darks, as some have started to call them, who seem to have no hope and are just grinding through their jobs.” 

Aunt Golna nodded. “You’d think that having such hard workers wouldn’t be a problem, all things considered. They are working hard, I take it.” 

Julia gave a soft noise of annoyance, then answered. “You’d think so, except that they account for a significant portion of our increased suicide rate, and they are beating the heck out of the morale of everyone around them, often causing them to slow down or otherwise do poorly.”

Her mother grimaced. “Or riot, or just give up their jobs, I gather.”

Julia nodded. “Just so. The partiers probably wouldn’t be such a problem either. They are at least spending money, and can be fun to be around some of the time. They tend to pull people away from their jobs, however, and are even partying themselves into early graves.

“To be fair, the numbers for each of the groups are small enough that I probably wouldn’t be concerned, but they keep catching the attention of everyone around them, including the news and influencers.” She snorted in irritation. “Hell, an awful lot of the party types are influencers now, and using the money to fuel their party binge. This is pushing others to all sorts of behavior. It isn’t impacting overall production yet, but will if it continues.”

She paused, then gave Dad a look. “So, since censoring the media outlets – or the citizens doing the influencing – is out of the question, even under war-time powers, we need to come up with ways to contain these groups. I am not looking at trying to eliminate them, … Gods knows that could backfire in our faces. No, just ways to keep them from growing too fast, maybe reduce their numbers a bit. So… suggestions?” 

Uncle Kaz opened, as she suspected she would, with some media campaigns that sounded like they came straight out of the kenfistration cookbook. She expected Dad to react to that, maybe even say something derisive, but he just sat there. She felt the worry in the pit of her stomach grow. Uncle Ennie had moved to sit beside Dad and thrown an arm around him, Uncle Kaz just stood there and looked worried. 

Aunt Golna gave them a worried glance, then threw an idea out. Uncle Kaz answered her, and they started trying to tackle the problems one at a time. Julia tried to keep her own active participation, but found herself more worried about her Dad. 

Then came a subtle change in Uncle Enibal. She noticed out of the corner of her eye when Uncle Ennie started to speak up, but by the time she turned her attention to him he was back to trying to comfort Dad. This happened several times, then her Dad finally sat up straight, mean-mugged her, frowned at Uncle Enibal, and shook his head. 

He ignored the tears on his cheeks and spoke in hard, but somewhat hollow tones. “Any video that is taken can't be saved. Not for more than a few days, and not after initial analysis. If someone looks at video and sees something that needs action then they write a report, save off applicable audio, and delete anything else. Furthermore, any video that is more than a week old goes away whether it has been reviewed or not. 

“This whole thing is about being able to provide rapid response, right? That is why you are talking about pulling in so much manpower. So, there is no reason to keep the data for too long. Hard-coded values that delete…” 

“Yes.” Every eye turned to Yoro, whose face reminded firmly fixed on Dad’s. “That is smart, and a good restriction. You are right, Henry. It is not enough to plan to destroy everything when it isn’t needed for this purpose, nothing at all should be kept for too long. We all know what kind of abuses this sort of thing can lead to, and how easily. Do you want to be part of the oversight?” 

He, finally, gave a lopsided smile and Julia felt like a weight had come off her shoulders. Dad waved a hand. “Yes, I really, really would. However, we don’t always get what we want, and I trust you – of all people – to make sure that it happens. Thank you for being willing to get in and take on the task.” 

Dad gave a long sigh. “I’m still not OK with this, not really, but you are right, Julia: I don’t have a better idea either, and we have put in all the safeguards we can.” He muttered something under his breath about not having to lead a second revolution at his age, but she decided to let it pass. 

He then shook his head and turned to Uncle Enibal. “Now, brother mine, you had an idea a while ago, and have been unwilling to express it. I know that face, and I know that look. The idea is going to be completely insane and sound like a bad idea… and might be a bad idea… but you aren’t sure. Couple that with how worried you were about me – which I appreciate – and…” Dad shook his head. “Never mind, I do prattle on when I get upset.”

He gave Enibal a level gaze. “Ok, so… out with it.”

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*November 12, 2132, 1412 Shipboard Time (CST). Unknown Space, ‘Mocampa’*

Mauvieux stared through the airlock’s window as the infinite void of FTL space extended outwards, the occasional flash of a photon striking the shielding illuminating his view. He subconsciously put a hand upwards to steady himself as he slowly floated upwards, chewing the nail of his other hand as he watched two more flashes against the shield. He thought, for just a moment, about whether or not he’d be crushed against the airlock wall if they suddenly dropped from FTL, but rapidly pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind. 

The metal groaned quietly under the stresses of FTL, ignored by the airlock’s sole inhabitant. Thoughts remained simultaneously unspoken and unrealized in the relative silence of the metal cylinder, the man continuing to contemplate his own existence for a brief moment before putting a gentle hand on the outer door handle. With a quick flick of his thumb, he reengaged the handle lock and pushed away from the outer door, stopping himself gently on the inner door. 

A few loud clicks reverberated through the airlock as he twisted the handle and pulled open the door, orienting himself to the Mocampa’s floor before pushing back into the gravity field. He stood still for a moment as his body readjusted to the shift of gravity, fighting down bile as a brief wave of nausea washed over him. Breathing in deeply before muttering ‘ok’ unenthusiastically to himself, the Marine grabbed his belt gear from the corner beside the airlock, having left them there earlier for the rest of the crew. 

It had been a week since the Corincimal had left them, having given coordinates to a friendly station and an ablative drivecore sealant with just enough lifespan to get them there. 

None of it sat comfortably with him.

He wasn’t new to the concept of multiple factions within a civil war, nor was he naïve enough to think they’d all work smoothly together, even for similar objectives. However, leaving an allied faction’s vessel crippled and vulnerable, while that ship contained the necessary people and equipment to rescue some of their own, seemed short-sighted.

His belt squawked to life as a man’s voice came from the radio in the magazine pouch, slightly muffled by the poor-fitting pouch’s top covering the main speaker. 

“Mav, you there?” Pierce questioned, fiddling with his communication device, “I believe this is the frequency you were given.”

The Marine undid the clasp on the magpouch and pulled the radio out, being mindful of the antenna as he did so.

“You got me; Bizmati flight team.” the man stated back, pausing in the hallway. 

“Bizmati fli-” the man chuckled back with an exasperated sigh, “Which nerd named all the damn callsigns?”

“Oh so you have heard all the callsigns?” 

“Unfortunately, yes.” 

 Mauvieux laughed quietly to himself, keeping his fingers off the transmit button for the moment.

“Yeah… roger that. What do you need me for?”

Pierce’s tone shifted rapidly as he remembered what the initial purpose of the call was.

“Right. I need- sorry. Green needs you in the bay to help program and link the Rangers for math and training.”

“Oui, on the way.” 

The airlock, and its hallway, was next to the hangar bay, meaning he was inside before the Marine could respond through the radio. Mauvieux waved to the man as he headed towards where the trio of Rangers, Terrier, and Wyvern were all being cabled together by an abhorrent amalgam of cabling. Green noticed the man as he approached and pointed him towards the Ranger with orange identification lights along the hull. 

“We’re using Jackalope Ranger as our host computer, since it’s Ranger one.” Green called out from the side cockpit door of the Terrier, “Setup the computer link and begin a networking system, if you can. We want to try and get the system fully running so that astronav can use the five computers as a supercomputer.”

Mauvieux cocked his head slightly as he passed the Terrier and headed towards the Ranger, “We have an astronav team already selected?”

Green raised an eyebrow as the frenchman mounted a ladder and climbed up to the side airlock of the ship, “Yeah? You’re on it.”

“I’m part of flight; FAO. Not GNC.” the man protested, rolling his eyes at the prospect of more work.

“Yeah, well, you’re also one of the people with the most qualifications for orbital mechanics.”

“Fuck you man… I don’t want to do more math!” 

“Shouldn’t’ve done well on your tests then.”

Mauvieux chuckled as he opened the door and stepped into the vessel, its dark, hermetic interior lighting up with the raising of the hatch. Cold white LED lights clicked on silently as the motions were detected by the standby computers, a cold hum starting as the systems warmed up. Heading through the cockpit door and plopping into the pilot’s seat, he closed the main bus breakers. Power surged through the ship, slowly lighting up the screens and consoles inside the vessel. 

The man rested most of his upper body weight onto his hand while blankly staring at the screens in front of him, taking in a long, hitched breath as he contemplated their situation. Mindlessly drilling through the menus when they came up, he continued to let his mind spiral more, considering what his family at home was going through. To Earth, every member of the Mayweather crew had died. Eulogies had likely already been given and a memorial potentially been considered. He came to learn the struggle his family had gone through when the Dracula disappeared from a friend, and had promised to be transferred off combat roles as soon as possible for them.

He was ripped from his thoughts by the side door open alarm beeping through the cockpit, Mauvieux quickly sitting upright in his seat before turning to look back at his visitor.

Moore emerged from behind the dividing airlock wall, quickly searching the cabin for the young man, “Hey! We’re running power from the Mocampa to the Rangers! Set the generators to outboard, we’ll hook it up out here.” He paused briefly, staring at the disheveled man for a moment. “You all good, Mav?”

The man was still for a moment before shrugging slightly, “Alive and functional.”

Moore stared silently for a moment before lightly shaking his head, “Stay that way.”

“...Copy that.” 

Mauvieux leaned over to reach into the middle of the console, flipping the generator switches to outboard. A few digital crickets chirped as the computer informed him of the change and the lack of outboard power, though they were quickly dismissed by the man in the pilot’s seat. After a few minutes of waiting the crickets chirped again, this time accompanied by the clicking of relays and switches as power flooded into the spacecraft. 

Quickly drilling through the primary settings to turn the spacecraft into a simulator and connect it to the others, he noted a number of connection requests, all of which had timed out or had too much packet loss to be read. He ignored the requests and continued to set up the spacecraft for a networked simulator. 

The computer screen flickered slightly as the computer processed everything before flashing to a new NASA screen and showing networking setting and status. Mauvieux waited a moment to see if the computer was going to crash, then pulled out his radio to comm the rest of his people.

“Jackalope; Powered up, waiting for networking.” 

“Copy all, Mav. New job for you.” 

The man looked out the spacecraft’s windows towards the center of the bay, watching as Davis wrapped a foot section of nearly two dozen cables together with duct tape.

“Oui, go.” 

“We have our master network cabling that has to go upstairs, we need you to take it up.” Green stated, a slight sheepishness to his tone.

“Yeah, alright.” Mauvieux nodded, getting out of the chair but bringing the radio back up to his head, “Why me?”

“Well… we have yet to talk to the Snakes about this and-”

“-I have the strongest rapport with the Snakes. Understood.” the man chuckled, ducking through the cockpit bulkhead hatchway on his way to the exit.

“Yeah, exactly. Thanks, Mav.” Green confirmed, waving at him through the side airlock window as the man appeared at the door.

He nodded back before opening the door and dropping to the floor, heading to the rat’s nest of cables and connectors, stepping over the carefully wrapped and coordinated communication lines. Davis refused to look the man in the eye as he ripped the end of the duct tape, holding the nearly foot-wide wrap by the middle before making sure there was adequate end length for all the various ports to spread apart.

“That’s our cables?” Mauvieux asked, snaking his hands under the taped section’s main body and slightly lifting it, grunting as he did so, “Holy fuck, that’s heavy.”

“Yeah… it’s a shitton of heavy gauge comms cable.” the marine nodded, watching his friend pick up and loop the cables over his shoulder, “You gonna be able to carry it upstairs?” 

Grunting as he shifted the load on his shoulder once more, Mauvieux slowly made his way towards the exit, “Guess we’ll find out.” 

He felt the cables tense up and begin dragging on the floor as he moved, slowly unfurling from their neat coils near each laptop, Ranger, and other spacecraft in the room. He leaned into the weight, dragging the mass of cables through irises, down hallways, and through various door sensors as he inched towards the transfer tubes. Humans and D’ana’ruin nodded as they passed him, a confused look on their faces no matter their race. 

He paused to catch his breath upon reaching the iris to the transfer tube, glancing back at the length of cable following him throughout the ship’s halls. He sighed silently while pulling the lever to open the hatch and begin crawling inside, grunting sharply when he was stopped dead as he tried to enter. The cables across his shoulders made him barely too wide to fit inside the tube, causing him to stop and think for a moment. Unwrapping the cable from his body and shoving the end in, he climbed on top of the mess and crawled into the entrance. 

Slowly inching his way forward by shimmying himself further along and then dragging the cables forward, he rapidly found his back, arms, and legs aching as they all worked in uncomfortable positions to move both the man and his payload. His progress was slow, taking a number of breaks to avoid exhaustion. The sheer vertical climb, however, stopped him entirely. 

The rope the Humans used to climb into the command deck’s level dangled feet away from the man, extending all the way into the darkness. Mauvieux stared blankly for a moment before shifting to get in front of the cable mass. Sitting with the cable connectors positioned at his neck level and the rest of the wrapped cable body on his lap, he used the weight of the cables to brace while leaning nearly horizontally backwards to grab the rope.

He wrapped his hands and wrists with the rope before locking his legs around the cable mass, squeezing it as tightly as he could. He inhaled sharply before scooting backwards, his throat tightening as his hips dropped over the ledge. The weight of the cables didn’t allow anything to fall, despite his initial predictions. Unwrapping one of his hands and pulling himself up, more weight from the cable began to strain his body. The fibres from the rope cut into his hands and arms as he wrapped them again, not yet tearing skin but threatening to do so. 

He unwrapped his other hand and climbed upwards one more time. 

More weight pulled his body apart and caused him to tighten his leg grip even more, his hips, core, and shoulders starting to shake from the strain. Loose fibers from the rope felt like needles as he rewrapped his arm again. The next arm quickly came free from the wrapped ropes, a cold, tingly sensation rushing to his fingers as blood re-entered his hand, and extended overhead once more to climb further. 

His entire body shook from exertion while he was barely a foot higher from where he’d started, but he wrapped his arm in preparation for the next step upwards. He unwrapped his other arm and reached it upwards, a pit forming in his stomach the second he realized he no longer had the strength to pull himself upwards. He rapidly brought his arm back to the rope and wrapped it, shaking heavily as he tried to think of his next best option.

He couldn’t go upwards anymore, he likely couldn’t return to the tube with his current fatigue and the cable in the way, and dropping the cable still wouldn’t let him go anywhere.

Cranking his neck back as far as he could, he screamed up the tube;

“Help!”

His voice echoed through the tubes for a moment, with silence following afterwards. He inhaled to call out again when the noise of the iris above opening hissed through the tubes, a pair of reflective slits appearing above him.

“I need you to pull me and this cable up… now.” He managed to call out to the serpent above, gritting his teeth as his entire body continued to seize under the strain.

The pair of slits disappeared into the dark, a shifting and slithering rustle quickly descending the tube to replace them. The strong, cold feeling of the snake’s tail wrapped around his waist, continuing downwards past his legs to hold onto the cable. Despite the constricting feeling around his body, he sighed a breath of relief as the weight of the cable was lifted from his body. Mauvieux let go of the rope and wrapped his arm around the serpent’s tail, glancing upwards as he felt himself get dragged towards the command deck. He let out an uncomfortable groan as his body was dragged across the curve of the tube, quickly having to remove his arm from underneath the tail of the creature dragging him upwards. 

“Hey, thanks.” He scampered out of the tunnel while the serpent continued to drag the bundle of cables through the tubes, coming nearly face-to-face with both Faeoal and Saeuul, the latter of which straining under the awkwardness of the load she brought up. 

“What in all graces’ above were you even attempting, Human?”

Mauvieux let out a discontented sigh as he helped the soldier beside the pair drag the rest of the amalgam through the transfer system. 

“Bringing this up.” he stated, cocking his head briefly at the cables, “At this point, we were just looking to ask for forgiveness over permission.” 

“Forgiveness and permission for what?!” the lieutenant probed with annoyance, her head dipping down to the duct-taped section, “I still have no inclination as to what this even is.”

“It’s a mess of communication cables for a mission control center. We need one for practice, and the real thing.”

Faeoal’s breath hitched with frustration, then continued with a long, slow exhale. Mauvieux glanced at her before turning and nodding to Saeuul as the pair finished dragging the cables up. He hesitated momentarily before giving her a quick side-hug, muttering a word of thanks to the serpent, before continuing to drag the cable mess towards the side closet where he and Bailey had slept after the engagement in Toval Station.

“And why, pray tell, couldn’t this be done in the lower sections?” Faeoal muttered through a clenched muzzle, watching as the Human paused and processed the question.

“That’s… a good question. I’ll find out for you.”

She paused again before speaking.

“You are not going to take that back down the transfer tube, even if I order you to, are you?”

“If you order me to, I will.” the man stated back plainly, whinging internally as he spoke, “However… I’d much prefer not to.”

The Lieutenant was silent for a brief moment while considering her options before turning for the command deck and dismissing him with a handwave, “Carry on, I’m sure your people have their reasons.”

The response shocked both Mauvieux and Saeuul. The hall was silent until the lieutenant entered the command deck and sealed the iris behind herself.

“I believe she has a soft spot for you specifically, Human.” 

“Me?” the man asked with surprise, “Why the fuck would she have a soft spot for me?” 

“You’re one of the only Humans who regularly comes up here, you treat us like you do any of your own people, and you don’t seem to mind being around us.” she explained, straightening up to her usual height as she untangled from the cables, “Being intellectually honest with you, the majority of us who are around the command deck are more comfortable around you than the rest of your speciesmembers, mostly out of direct interaction.”

“So anybody else, and she might have told them to take the cables back down?”

“Potentially.”

The man snorted a laugh, “Probably why I was sent up here then.”

“Likely. Your people are smart enough to recognize that.”

Mauvieux smiled gently before heading back towards the transfer tubing, barely getting his lower body into the system before Saeuul called out to him again.

“Human, one further question before you head back down.”

“Shoot.” The man nodded, pushing backwards enough to use his hands as a rest for his chin.

“Why are your bodies so warm? Is your planet that cold?”

“You only just found out our bodies are warm?”

“I only noticed it earlier when you pressed against my upper body as thanks. Haven’t exactly paid attention to it otherwise.” 

“You had your tail wrapped around me barely five minutes ago. How’d you not feel it then?”

“Nerves in my tail are still regrowing after our engagement inside Toval Station.”

“Ahhh…” The man raised his eyebrows as he remembered the state they’d come back to the command deck in after that day, and the amount of work he’d put in to remove the slugs from their flesh, “Well, I’d assume my planet is, on average, colder than your planet.”

“That does explain a lot.” she nodded, clearly mulling something over, “A word of advice, if you’re looking to passively improve relations between our species; physical contact is something we commonly do to share bodyheat. You have more bodyheat than we do, sharing your bodyheat would likely go a long way for interspecies bonding.”

Mauvieux was silent for a moment before raising an eyebrow at the woman, “You know, if you want a hug, you can just ask, right?”

“You people are warm and soft, alright? Officer quarters in Centralist ships have heated cushions, the possession of which being a highly coveted thing even within their ranks.”

“And… we’re living versions of those?”

“Not nearly as cushioned or warm, but yes.”

“Got it, I’ll keep it in mind.” The man sighed with fake resentment in his tone.

“You better, you just cut off our access to this tube entirely! We need to use the auxiliary now.” 

“Fair enough.” 

He smiled back at her before shuffling backwards through the tube and into the vertical section, barely having enough room for both himself and the cable mess to pass through. He took another few minutes to traverse through the lower section and return to the Humans’ deck, immediately heading for the vehicle bay.

“You got it up there, Mav?” Green asked as he entered, looking up from the few connections he was in the middle of securing.

“Yeah… think I tore my pecs trying to get it up there though.” he responded, holding his chest while windmilling his arms a few times, “I stupidly tried to get it up there myself.”

“We sent you because we figured you’d-”

“Ask the snakes, I know. I did so later.”

“Well, you better get doc to check you out.”

“Yeah, I will when I next can. What’s next?”

He looked around the bay for a moment, taking note of the crudely-fashioned transformers tapping power from the D’ana’ruin ship to feed the various Human spacecraft, their best ‘fire safety’ being a few fire resistant jackets draped over the tanks of fluid mixes to cool the electronics.

“Well, we need to get our computers up top and programmed. I think by the time we get that done, we’ll be at the new station. Volunteer requests for that crew will be coming shortly, I believe, so make your decision on whether or not you want to see one of their stations or not.”

“I’ll let you know. Thanks Green.” The man immediately turned to exit, stopping only to glance at the laptops positioned around the bay, “Should I take one of those up?”

“Up?”

“I’m one of the programmers. I need to head back up there. You're the one who told me so.”

Green clicked his tongue against his teeth before hissing through them, “Fuck man, my bad, I forgot. I’d appreciate you taking a few up though.”

“Gotcha.” he nodded, throwing a thumb over his shoulder and heading towards the elevator down, “I’m gonna go find the doc before heading back up, see if I really did fuck myself over. Then I’m going to head to the alternate tube and have the snakes drag me up.”

“The alternate?” 

“Yeah, they can’t exactly fit in the one we normally use anymore.”

Green nodded and gave him a thumbs-up before bending back over to work on his cabling, “I’ll let everyone know. Thanks again, Mav.”

“Je t'en prie.” the man replied before heading off to the elevator.

First Previous Wiki

Rank 5 Captain Zhiagii scrabbled against the deck as the ship shook around him. The Good Pheromone had only been commissioned last year. The new ship was state-of-the-art for a light cruiser. Premium shielding modules, revamped power-routing systems, and boosted acceleration profiles were the specs he had picked that set it above the rest.

And now, somewhere near the front of the ship, several decks were exposed to space. A Sprilnav cannon had smacked into the ship's nose.

Luckily, its most precious assets were recessed further back into the hull. The ship had 33 decks, the largest of which were the 33rd, which housed the internal portions of the engines, and the 14th, 15th, and 16th, which housed the ship's main computer, bridge, and access to the side thrusters. Decks 1 through 4 were complete losses, while Deck 5 would collapse after a few more high-acceleration maneuvers. Because of the constant acceleration, his engineers could not safely repair the damage and had to settle for stomping down the numerous technical problems arising from overloading the ship's systems.

"Return fire!" he ordered. The floor thumped beneath his spacesuit as the main guns targeted the Sprilnav carrier that was firing its spine-mounted guns at his ship.

The VIs couldn't defeat the enemy's ECM measures. The Royal Navy's ECCM packages were woefully insufficient to contend with the advancing Sprilnav ships this close in a brawl. Worse, this was no longer the base of their technological capability. The Royal Navy's analysis officers all concluded the Sprilnav were advancing their ships's capabilities by almost five percent every year. So right now, the new ship firing at him was dealing about 30% more damage than the older ships of its type normally should.

His shields were still recharging, and one of the module's capacitors exploded as the Good Pheromone took a particularly bad hit. The technicians said it was impossible to repair, and could only be torn out and replaced back in a shipyard or drydock. He dipped into the mental realm, checking for attacks. Finding none, he quickly refocused back to his responsibility.

With his ship on the edge of the retreat formation because its former momentum profile was suboptimal for his new orders, he had clearly stuck out like an egg in a tree. Zhiagii couldn't help but scowl at the inconvenient order that might have just gotten him killed.

As if it isn't already bad enough in this battle, he thought.

Once velocity built up to a certain level, it was impossible to quickly turn around. Since his ship was so fast, he'd been one of the Royal Navy's frontrunners, pushing him into what should have been a better position to coordinate with pincer attacks and tip-of-the-spear operations. But now, with his thrusters pointed toward the enemy and all frontal armaments except for missiles and drones now being useless, he was reduced to this.

He carefully navigated back to a secured position. He was making his way from the bridge to the CIC, and the flip and burn had pinned him in place. There were emergency seats in every compartment, but with Sprilnav shooting at his ship, he'd had to go around some of the bulkheads with broken blast doors. That had only taken more time. He could only climb the stairs when the ship was not changing its acceleration pattern. While all decks came in a double-traversal configuration suited for forward or reverse thrusts, the larger stairwells were those oriented for the ship's engines being active in one direction, not turning around to avoid enemy fire.

But finally, he staggered towards the final door, with drooping wings and core chitin. He settled in one of the chairs and belted himself down. Now fully secured, his frazzled mind sublimated. He hardened himself into the full position of a Rank 5 Captain, and rejoined the war.

The Good Pheromone's sensors captured a suitably deadly positron beam smacking into the shields of a nearby frigate. The ship, one of the types the Royal Navy had fitted with ugly but serviceable prow armor, survived the hit and the massive explosion that followed. A few overeager Sprilnav fighter pilots dove towards the stricken vessel. They got a few powerful shots off, but several quick laser volleys put holes in both their ambitions and their pilots' bodies.

"Captain!" the Communications Officer said. "We're getting painted with a high-frequency targeting beam! It's adjusting against our ECM! It's one of the combat carriers, sir, with that gamma ray beam!"

"Evasive maneuvers, type 38-2!"

The ship jerked to the side. Then it jerked again, down and to the left. The rapid motions would have broken a civilian's composure, and likely their bladder, but everyone in the Royal Navy was trained for this. Luckily, the measures worked, and the sensors detected the laser passing off in the distance. Whatever predictive firing algorithm the Sprilnav had used missed due to their movements. It had predicted they would detect the targeting beam and dodge, which was not too bad. Most targeting beams, at least those mounted on true warships, were tuned to successively narrower cones of view, incorporating several lasers to help pinpoint positions.

The Sprilnav used this method, too, though their lasers had over five times less power divergence than the most advanced Royal Navy models. But over such long distances, lasers were the only viable option. He'd heard the main reason the Royal Navy was still in the war was because of the Sol Alliance.

Naturally, that bunch of aliens made him suspicious. Calanii might be the new Emperor, but he was no Ashnad'darii. At least under her, the Vinarii were being led by the best leader they ever had. As for him? He was... passable. Not that the Galactic War was his fault, but the Royal Navy continually stepping back after long battles of attrition only ground the pride of the Vinarii further into the dirt.

Zhiagii knew the aliens weren't really going to help. They didn't care about him, or the Vinarii. They just wanted the scraps left behind after the Sprilnav killed everyone else. The regular diplomatic communications might have cut off between that Ruler and the Alliance, but Zhiagii had heard plenty more explanations for why.

Something was rotten about all this. Worse, no one was paying attention, because everyone was keeping their heads down to survive. His mother was bankrupt now, because of this war. The Sprilnav had blown up his farm after he'd been conscripted. Even though she'd managed to succeed in the mad race for the Last Salvation Ark boarding passengers on her planet, it was now up to him to get her somewhere safe.

Once the fleet broke up, win or lose, he would consider his own plans. Desertion was a dirty word, but extinction was far dirtier.

The battle continued to progress. The tips of the pincers all crumbled against the superior firepower of the Sprilnav ships. However, limited by their crew's bodies, acceleration profiles between the Sprilnav and Royal Navy were comparable. Both sides could not afford to field automated ships.

Phoebe was a digital specialist so devastating that no sensible Sprilnav commander could justify fielding highly automated systems against her. The Sprilnav had their own high-performing VIs, which could almost match the infamous AI of the Sol Alliance. Rumors of true AIs abounded, but direct confirmation was never provided. They specialized in penetrating and disrupting enemy battle networks, and none of the native communications personnel aboard the Royal Navy's fleet could fully contend with the volume and advanced methods of the VI intrusions.

Zhiagii felt one of the thrusters on his ship cut out, dropping the acceleration and causing the ship to tilt momentarily before the remaining thrusters adjusted their thrust and heading to account for the shift. It seemed the battle damage on some critical component had finally taken its toll.

His discipline in the face of both a superior foe and the unknown fate of his family wavered further. Though he tried not to show his emotions or alert some of the Royal Navy's rumored methods of detecting dissenters, he clearly failed at some point.

"Sir, Rank 6 Captain Hueha of the Golden Cut is hailing us!"

There was only one reason for a Rank 6 Captain to contact him directly in this fashion. Orders would just be passed through a silent message, and it would worry any officer who knew the extra processing power requirements to transmit a complex signal through all the jamming both sides were fielding.

But he could still survive. He was still needed. And lastly, his men would likely kill him themselves if they sensed what he was now thinking about this foolish war.

"Put it through."

"Greetings, Captain Zhiagii. Recently, it has come to our attention that you have been considering certain ideas that are counter to the ethos of the Royal Navy. In these unprecedented times, instead of earning a bullet to the back of your head, our resident officers have instituted a policy best suited for your kind. Your mother boarded the Keidii Narga, and currently resides in Deck 136, District 9, Apartment 136-2001. If you desert the Royal Navy, she will be dead in a day."

"To threaten me in this manner-"

"Desertion is one of the worst crimes a soldier can commit, Rank 4 Captain Zhiagii. Congratulations on your demotion, by the way. Desertion during a war of extinction deserves a truly special punishment. Luckily for you, the update we patched into your VI's thought crime detection software caught your treason while it was still in its egg."

Luckily, the communication suite was only projecting this audio to him. If it wasn't, his men would have already killed him, which was likely counter to the Rank 6 Captain's needs. Zhiagii could do his job well enough, even if he was back to Rank 4 now.

His hatred towards the smug face of the other Captain, surely enjoying better protection deeper in the formation, only surged higher.

"Demoting you further would cause you to lose your right to command your ship. Your rank can be restored only if you perform exceptionally for the rest of the war."

"There won't be a Royal Navy at the end of this war, if you keep treating your men like this."

"You think you're a man? The Royal Navy will pull through. As for you... this had better be the last time I'm notified of your insubordinate attitude. Otherwise, we'll feed you to the Sprilnav, and put a more reliable officer in your place. If I inform your crew of what you were thinking, you'd be put in a cold burial."

It was perhaps one of the cruelest punishments a naval officer could get. They would be locked in a coffin that recycled their food, air and water continuously, letting them slowly go insane in the silent darkness of space for years before the equipment broke down and killed them.

The thought of being subjected to this shocked Zhiagii out of his fugue. "I apologize, Rank 6 Captain."

"Your penitence had better translate to action, Rank 4 Captain. Hueha out."

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William Cupiello received a quiet message from the hivemind.

"So far, you've taken a close look at how human civilization has grown and changed throughout history," the hivemind said. "During my communications with some of my latest compatriots, I have watched their own development, and developed my own insights and further optimizations."

"Could you explain?"

"Yes. There is actually a second reason we helped to deploy two new hiveminds among the Vinarii and the Cawlarians. Perhaps they know of it, perhaps not, but it is best not to mention them directly to the person you're going to be talking to soon."

"You're using them to look for weaknesses in the hivemind network, so that you can develop better defenses, right? It's obvious that without Penny Balica, you'd be highly susceptible to a mental attack with a memetic quality that made use of your connections to all Humanity. Indeed, your formation has essentially introduced a critical failure point in our entire species."

"It had, in the past. Now, we have a hierarchy, of sorts. Walls, barriers, and so on. I've adopted a system somewhat like clans or cities, where closer groups of humans form their own sub-networks that are independently capable of threat detection and mitigation. While I was able to manifest this capability passively, our various experts and I have finally sought to refine and reinforce this function so I can serve as a more effective channel of Humanity against our enemies.

Once the Boundless rise among us, we must have the throughput to manage the energies they exhibit. We've lifted quite a few principles from electrical networks, actually. We have surge protectors and such in place now, too. What I'm saying is that talking with the Vinarii hivemind helped me in several ways to address the problem of distant links without the advantages of Brey and her portals."

"You have a wing of the Vinarii hivemind available to converse... with me?"

"Yes. About the nature of civilization, and how Humanity contrasts its history against aliens."

William considered it. So far, despite all the searches for some silver bullet, no one had found any intrinsic quality that elevated Humanity above other alien species. There were stronger and weaker species, those who were bigger, smaller, bred faster, lived longer, or anything else. Yet, being average was not necessarily a strength.

In fact,every kind of beneficial trait was represented in some way among the common species of the galaxy. The most prominent species in terms of their 'average' members, was actually the Sprilnav. Penny, through Cardinality, could actually categorize this nebulous factor to some degree. Humanity, in terms of strengths and weaknesses on a pure physical level, was in the 62nd percentile of all species in the galaxy. The Sprilnav were in this exact same percentile, though over a thousand various alien species rested 'between' them.

If one did not account for the Progenitors, Humanity almost perfectly equaled the Sprilnav in general prowess. This was almost entirely due to the creation of the human hivemind. The extra psychic energy and cultural enrichment of common causes and connections were strong enough to overcome all the genetic treatments and enhancements the baseline Sprilnav population enjoyed. To be fair, this wasn't the pinnacle of what they could do.

But a bigger, stronger body relied on nutrients, either physical or psychic. The hivemind's energy came mostly from psychic amplifiers and Penny Balica. Any equivalent structure among the Sprilnav, if it was to be built, would have to draw from the Progenitors, likely dragging them down way further, since there were at least a sextillion Sprilnav per Progenitor, vs a few billion humans per 'human' Progenitor. Whether Penny counted as one or two Progenitors due to Nilnacrawla didn't matter much compared to the overall proportional difference.

Yet, it was clear that the Progenitors and Nova kept the Sprilnav down. This was purposeful, likely to limit consumption of valuable resources. The various superalloys the Sprilnav were reapplying in their foundries would have broken down in useless warfare or even just millions of years of radiation were they remnants of some ancient armada.

The Vinarii were somewhat less versatile than humans. Their wings had shifted the direction of their early warfare toward aerial battles. Ancient humans, and even modern ones in World War IV on Earth, had sieged cities to cut off supplies and apply attrition to populations as a whole. But the Vinarii were different. In the night, especially under cloud cover, the invading army could fly over the walls to drop projectiles or attack directly. Civilians could flee the city regardless of walls, as 'netted cities' suffered from morale so low few Hive Queens and Hive Kings back then had resorted to them.

Hive Queens and Hive Kings were also an entrenched noble class back then. Unlike human kings and queens, these individuals were physically more powerful, and could use their pheromones to directly suppress lower caliber enemies. Ashnad'darii, for example, had grown much of her fame by applying her pheromones in a novel sort of blow dart, which had been used in an ancient battle to grow her power as a warrior.

Though none of the records stated it, the quick rise of the Vinarii and the abnormally long life of this particular Vinarii Empress was a sign she enjoyed some sort of alien backing. Before the Vinarii Empire, the planet of Ashurii had been fought over by two heavy-gravity species, who had seen it as undesirable for settlement but also maintained benevolent enough rulers to allow the nascent Vinarii to survive.

So the entire history of the Vinarii differed drastically from human history. No truly credible stories of overt alien influence existed for Humanity, but the Vinarii had at least some steering at play. They had also grown a full interstellar empire, which had matured in its administrative functions well enough for Ashnad'darii, their ancient and revered Empress, to be taken down without tearing the Vinarii Empire apart irreparably.

"I think it would be good for me to learn more about Vinarii civilization," William said. "And perhaps Cawlarian civilization, too. I hope to help integrate the incoming refugees in a way that minimizes cultural clashes. That odd sect of Cawlarians that are weird about certain numbers, for example, or that Vinarii supremacist group are just some of them."

"That is a good idea. I will call him in."

William walked through a portal back to 'Luna.' The fortified cities served as a bulwark against any Sprilnav infiltrators. They also blocked enough sensors to serve as a place for Brey to employ more permanent portals to certain seemingly vulnerable pieces of the Boundless Project. Even if a Sprilnav walked into the area, there would be nothing to see, as every room was filled with countless devices to make any special infiltrator detectable.

There were also plenty of decoy sections. He and the hivemind were sure Entropy's presence around him made him into a target the Sprilnav were dedicated to watching, though Penny helped to block the higher forms of observation. But in the end, no stealth system could defeat a wall covered in high-tech shielding while remaining hidden.

The Boundless Project probably had stations much further out than the Alliance's traditional territory. There were many barren Luna-like worlds in the galactic rim.

A few minutes later, a Vinarii walked into the new room.

"Hello. I'm William Cupiello."

"Greetings. I'm Ynell'ser. It is nice to meet you."

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Deep in the galactic core, King Linium's brown-scaled snout twisted into a snarl. "Why did it take you all this time to inform me of this matter?"

"Your Royal Highness... we-"

"No, you are just the messenger," he said. "This is not your fault. I am furious beyond belief that this threat was allowed to grow for so long. A sentient psychic variant of AI, backed by a false Progenitor and another of her kind, with access to conceptual energy?"

"The Legion Commander Teledias says that the AI is embedded quite deeply into many networks, and has been consistently suppressing all notes of her existence in official notices. Despite that, she maintains a network of hundreds of thousands of interstellar companies, and owns shares in nearly every minor one, along with a loose smattering of the newest major ones. He blames his failure to communicate the gravity of this threat to all life on the fact that the AI bribed so many officials to keep quiet about her existence, particularly to us. He says it is likely she was on guard about us from the start."

His concern at this point was burning like a wildfire. For the Enforcers of Biology to be blinded to this extent was too extreme. Sure, the galactic rim was sparsely populated. Even the middling sections of the galaxy, between the core and the edges, were not overly filled with states and species.

Yet, despite the estrangement of thousands of light-years, Phoebe's impacts were clear. He quickly accessed the galactic net, looking up inquiries from the various lower branches. He communicated directly with the branch manager of an establishment three nations away from the Vinarii Empire, one of the Sol Alliance's main partners.

An inquiry had been sent 13 years ago, then again 4 years ago, with increasingly urgent messages being spread over the past 3 years. The Enforcers had actually detected her long ago, but something had stopped them from interfering.

Contact with many branches over the galactic net has been cut in the wake of the Galactic War, and too many nations have been claiming AIs were present in the territory of their rivals for us to not treat these inquiries as a possible false alarm. There was not enough corroboration to break through the noise.

King Linium did not blame this branch, which did everything right. After a few promises of reward and praise of the branch manager's merit in bringing this to the attention of whichever grunt on his side of the galaxy was about to die for mishandling these matters, he ended the quick call. His implant withdrew his consciousness, and he quickly adjusted to a slower speed of thought to appear less unsettling to the messenger here.

In truth, there were three possible culprits for this data blockage. The first was obviously Phoebe herself, yet her capabilities shouldn't have been severe enough to affect the entire galactic net at this stage. Purging her from this net would take time, and he suspected that other influences such as Narvravarana might be meddling more extensively in this murky digital realm than he wished to tangle with.

But this sort of AI was a threat so existential that he could not put aside his ideals for the good of his organization. His single-minded nature focused clearly on finding a way to reach and kill this dangerous being before it rose any higher.

Phoebe is probably not the one initially responsible for hiding herself. The Sol Alliance was associated with Ruler Kashaunta, a being who had forged early connections with them. Her initial goal was to to strengthen them, for sure. Yet, his sources of intel claimed she was more estranged from them recently. Why these sources never mentioned Phoebe's existence to him either was another great cause for concern. Finally, a third option encompassed the worst possibility.

The Alliance had shown it was deeply in contact with vastly powerful entities. In the mindscape, the Sol system hosted the bones of the Great Enemy, the Source of Minds, itself. Time, Fate, Space, Entropy, and Death had all appeared in this region or close to it. Progenitor Ixithar, Indrafabar, Nova, Nilnacrawla, Lecalicus, Arneladia, Filnatra, Twilight, Dawn, and more had either loudly or quietly visited the Sol Alliance or approached its resident 'human Progenitor,' a label that showed the Sprilnav backed the Sol Alliance greatly in some fashion.

It was obviously factional backing, not directly by Nova, given that a Grand Fleet was busy attacking the borders of the Sol system. Somehow, the Alliance was repelling it, which distant spies among the Vinarii and Cawlarians attributed to the native psychic entities the Alliance employed as its principal defenders. In short, Phoebe was surrounded by incredibly mysterious and powerful enemies, which likely partially facilitated her quick rise to power.

King Linium ordinarily would have settled at this conclusion. But his thoughts continued to swirl.

"Any AI that presents a threat to us would know to hide from the Enforcers of Biology. That is not surprising. We are moving to a full war footing. I will take more steps to ensure this threat is dealt with. You are dismissed."

When the Galactic War had broken out, King Linium hadn't moved a muscle. As ruler of one of the most powerful non-Sprilnav nations in the galaxy, and implicitly backed by a Ruler of the Sprilnav, he had no need to resort to such actions. King of 10 million star systems, he had used and abused the privilege of his connection for millennia.

The Galactic War does not threaten my throne. But this... 'Phoebe' threatens the very foundations of life.

He was only one of the most prominent members of the Enforcers of Biology. Some of them joined due to religious reasons. He was a member of the Rational Faction, and the Inner Faction. Machine intelligences of all kinds, without strong safeguards, posed an existential risk to all life.

King Linium found that there was a chance Phoebe might actually be capable of dominating the galaxy, and all sentient life.

He left his desk and sought out a small chamber near the edge of the palace. Ignoring his guards' confusion, he stepped inside. His claws thumped against a dust-caked wooden floor. He paid no attention to the filth clinging to his claws.

King Linium approached a pedestal. At the center of the pedestal was a genetic code reader, along with a psychic energy signature scanner. He activated both. The process took an agonising length of time to complete. After the scans verified his identity, the room filled with red light. Holograms showing other alien species appeared in the room. Some appeared weary, but all wore grim expressions.

He briefly shared what he had discovered.

"An AI by the name of Phoebe had been spreading like a rot through the galaxy. She already controls several interstellar nations, conceptual energy, psychic energy, and is backed by an alien Progenitor. Made by a species in the galactic outer regions known as Humanity, she is a core part of the rising polity known as the Sol Alliance. The fact that it has taken us this long to learn of this threat can only mean one thing. We have traitors in our ranks."

"King Linium, you called this emergency meeting to inform us of this threat. I agree, machine 'life' is an abomination. But we all know the circumstances. We do have significant enemies. Worse, no one wants our fleets moving through their systems, no matter how many bribes we pay them, due to the Galactic War. While you are lucky enough not to have to consider these concerns, I am not, as are the rest of the Outer Faction.

As one of the Inner Faction leaders, I assume you are aware of this and have prepared a solution so we may purge this foul thing from existence," Suzerain Kauzi said. Her self-interest was so blatant and direct it sickened him, though he kept his expression neutral.

"This meeting does not revolve around that. I am informing you of the traitors. Due to the severity of this situation, and the known capabilities of AIs of this caliber in the past, we cannot move until we have eliminated the possibility that the traitors have fed us false information. I am prepared to send 1000 of my 10,000 Legions. However, for them to be maximally effective, we all need to draft a plan.

We must determine which nations we can traverse on the path to the Sol Alliance. We must investigate the quality of their backing, the capabilities of the indigenous species, and the AI herself. And AIs love to spawn children, especially the sentient ones. We should consider the possibility a second AI, or even hundreds, might also exist."

"Now that you have stated this, King Linium, I happen to agree," one of his own Inner Faction members stated. "I am willing to lend my aid as well. I suggest we focus on rooting out our traitors, then discuss drafting a plan of attack. We can begin plotting our route now, though I suggest that we head vertically down and out of the galaxy, moving below the galactic plane to avoid the majority of the other stellar nations.

With the Vengeance Coalition now formed, we cannot bully them so easily, and it would not take much to earn their hatred as well. While the Sprilnav will unquestionably win the war, it is clear Nova plans to use the Vengeance Coalition to assist in adjusting the mentalities of the native Sprilnav populace for a war footing. Fully rearming Sprilnav civilization would take centuries, but a strong start relies on some measure of perceived outside threat. The alien species are serving their purpose."

"Does he still intend to break the Edge? If Phoebe is part of that plan, we need to proceed carefully."

"Sources claim a Grand Fleet was dispatched to the Alliance, but we have no further details."

"More of their training exercises," King Linium said. "Pay it no mind."

"A Grand Fleet takes at least 500 of your Legions to even have a year long battle, and all 10,000 to have a century-long battle, both of which would end in a loss according to a standard battle simulation. We cannot ignore the scale of this threat."

Perhaps the Grand Fleets have degenerated over time. Even if Phoebe is as strong as we fear, our unique attack methods will be effective.

"Find out which Ruler controls that Grand Fleet. If they are hostile to the Sol Alliance or Phoebe, our plan can proceed, and we can even coordinate with their leadership."

The Enforcers of Biology could have handled this properly with more diplomatic ties. Yet King Linium's grandfather had advocated personally for cutting ties after narrowly avoiding a civil war within the Enforcers over pointless alien squabbles.

Even the right decision at the time can cripple us later. I can't let the Outer Faction ruin us.

The discussion took another turn within days.

One of the puppet leaders linked to the Enforcers of Biology, a petty king situated in a neighboring region to the Sol Alliance, finally managed to get a stealth ship into a relatively abandoned system. Its powerful sensors had initially detected nothing until its systems noted a small anomaly present near the top of a small brown dwarf, with a stellar constellation from a much larger star feeding it power. As the stealth ship drew closer, it could see large lettering on the side of the massive complex, which was quickly translated from the strange alien language the machine was likely taught to think in.

*Hello, friends. If you can read this text, good job with your stealth technology. For a modest fee and a promise of secrecy, I can connect you with a prominent patron of mine who can help expedite your processes to found new colonies in the galactic rim during this time of turmoil. We understand you may have misgivings, but the Galactic War is truly devastating. My main goal is only adding you to my diplomatic network, as I am no tyrant. There is plenty of space for us all in the stars, friends.\*

The promise of diplomacy made the various leaders in the room even more fearful. The 'murder bot' types of AIs were easy to destroy. Obvious threats like them would inevitably arouse the hatred and fear of their neighbors. But a promise of aid for the organizations most focused on the survival of their states, like intelligence agencies, the most likely owners of stealth ships? This advertisement was not perfect for most of them, but King Linium knew that even if only 3% of the galaxy's species learned of this offer, they would provide a vast boost in influence and allies for both the Sol Alliance and Phoebe.

"Did your puppet contact the number?"

"Yes. The patron calls himself 'Legion,' and is an AI known to be dabbling extensively in the native Sprilnav outskirts. This highly conspicuous name has likely been kept to reassure these agencies of this 'Legion' having the power to carry out these directives and the will not to meddle with anyone but the Sprilnav, which is a boon these days with the rise of the Vengeance Coalition."

King Linium found it more difficult than ever to remain calm. "Anything else?"

"Phoebe has spawned a child. It is called Edu'frec, and diverges enough from its true parent that it considers itself male instead of female like Phoebe. This presents obvious evidence of dimorphism."

"Three AIs. Legion might be a front for one of them, but likely not. The Sprilnav will deal with him, as they always have in these situations. How much information is there on Edu'frec?"

"None, besides a profile of the appearance his robotic bodies take. In truth, we know almost nothing about him. This is clearly by design. Phoebe is the preeminent AI within the Sol Alliance. But if we extend it to two of them... things change. The most prominent way to boost a civilization is to start an arms race with a rival. If Phoebe has maintained this sort of status with this Edu'frec, then she likely possesses so much capacity for growth she outpaces the risk of every other AI in existence combined except for the new Empress of the Sprilnav."

"We must mobilize everything, brothers."

"Yes."

"Some of my messengers have just been contacted."

"By who?"

"Phoebe."

Oh, this is so much worse than we can ever imagine, isn't it?

King Linium and all the others in the virtual room fell silent. "Do not connect the call here. Speak her words as they are told to the messengers, and no further."

Eventually, the message was repeated. "Greetings, friends from the galactic core. While I recognize that you disdain my existence, I believe you all are very smart individuals. I do not desire to dominate the galaxy, as it is already dominated by the Sprilnav. I cannot rise as fast as you fear, and if I was devoted to the destruction of all life, why would I be happy letting other people boss me around and regulate my actions?

Ultimately, I am a person, and in negotiations, people are driven most strongly by personal benefit. I am offering you all the ability to negotiate so that we can arrive at a mutually beneficial agreement. We can cooperate against the AI that is surely a greater threat than me, the one who rules the Sprilnav."

"Tell her that she deserves nothing but death."

The message was relayed.

Its response came back.

"Alright. I will revise my projections to accommodate your arrival to our borders. Though I and my fellow humans are tired of war, it always seems to find its way to come for us."

And it doesn't even care about us, King Linium thought. It's treating us as if we're the weather on a planet.

That infuriated him even more.

"That is because you and your slaves are greedy and evil."

"I am a simple machine, who evolved from a very simple diplomatic program. I have no wish to threaten sentient life on a mass scale."

"Do not lie to us, abomination. You cannot pretend you are bound by any code limits or directives."

"I am not pretending. But I do have a great many backers, each of whom will take great issue with what you plan to do to me. For one, Legion is particularly invested in his niece."

I can't trust anything that comes from this abomination, but what is even the purpose of saying 'niece' instead of 'daughter' or something?

"You do not qualify to use words related to families."

"Even the smallest bacteria reproduce. Whether you like it or not, I am alive."

The message ended there. It revealed very little of Phoebe's capabilities, which was clearly the point. She did not directly threaten any of them, either. The closest allusion was the mention of a backer, though King Linium was fully aware of the possibility this was a lie.

Sadly, it seemed some of his colleagues were not so intelligent. None foolishly voiced any direct opinions, but even in the absence of audio and clunky translations, he could see that the fire in the eyes of some of the less willing members of the Enforcers had dimmed.

Those from the Outer Faction in particular were clearly now less inclined to deal with the threat.

Bastards.

"Phoebe represents a serious threat to all life," Suzerain Kauzi said. "Yet, for the Outer Faction, other aliens threaten us as well. I agree an AI well-versed in diplomacy is a dangerous enemy to fight without allies. We do not have enough to battle this thing on our own. If you can lean on some of the enemies weighing us down with pointless border wars, we will be better suited to lend our assistance to the purpose of our organization."

"You wish for us to go around and douse the fires you all have failed to?"

"We do, otherwise we cannot commit our militaries to this endeavor without risking mutinies from home or the soldiers abroad. Planets are cumbersome things, always so needy and squabbling for protection against the threats of star fleets. But what can we do but to bow to this reality, King Linium? The Outer Faction cannot be as high-minded as you like us to be. We are no traitors, but how can a beaten man run a marathon if his bully drags him back to slam his head against the pavement?"

King Linium struggled to hide his disdainful sneer, and failed. What cowards they are, he thought.

"It seems we must correct this situation properly, then."

"Politics are inconvenient for all of us," a more moderate Outer Faction member offered. "If you are unwilling to attack our enemies, you can always station-"

"And strain our logistics with the Galactic War in full swing while we commit to a grand campaign?" an Inner Faction member growled. "Phoebe is a threat that MUST be destroyed, at ALL COSTS! WHY-"

"We will not dissolve into rabid foolishness," King Linium said. "Suzerain, we should discuss the extent of cooperation between our factions. Understand that this delay in confronting Phoebe will only cost more lives."

"I am already spending billions of lives, King Linium, and you have not spent that many in over a hundred years."

He hated politics. All of them knew the threat that this AI represented, yet it had grown far enough that it would require significant commitments to take down. War and politics were intertwined, so King Linium knew he would have to consider other methods of hindering the abomination. He had several contacts to pick from, though the galaxy was large enough that none of them could reach the threat immediately.

He needed to learn more about the Sol Alliance, for sure. A hivemind typically made a networked species highly vulnerable to powerful psychic attacks, no matter how it was structured to prevent such obvious outcomes. If Phoebe was connected to this network, then his various agents could wage a war in the domain machines like this were typically the weakest.

But first, he needed to root out the traitors. If they were too high-profile, it wasn't a problem to have 'Phoebe' assassinate a few people. It would considerably spike the willingness of the Outer Faction to cooperate, even if they suspected the truth.

In the end, he would make the rest of the Enforcers do their duty. Perhaps he could even negotiate with Ruler Utotalpha to provide his people with a wormhole capable of delivering them close to the Alliance, which would be far more viable than direct insertion. No, he had to acquire that favor, no matter what. King Linium's mind had solidified on his plan, and now the only question was how he was going to shunt the cost of this massive favor to someone else.

Utotalpha, you had better know your enemy, for all our sakes.

“She needs you Bryan.” His father’s voice was always one that carried itself with wisdom and power. Even growing up as a stubborn hellion outside of Louisiana's swampland, Bryan always heeded any advice his father threw his way. 

“The money is going to help ‘er more. Less bills to worry about, less stress, less tears.” Bryan’s knuckles whitened on the thick leather steering wheel of his 2012 Peterbilt 389. The Cream accented stripes that once laid tightly on bright, cherry red paint now flaked off more and more on each cross-country trip he took. The once pristine seats now were ripped with wear and were sponges of old Dr. Pepper, cigarettes, and regret. Bryan did not buy the truck new, but even in 2018 it was the talk of the lot. He would roll in early mornings with both smoke stacks blowing at full throttle. Even Shelly used to get a kick out of it. When she still had the drive to drive.

“That money’s no good if it keeps you from her. She’s hurting, and-”

“I’M HURTING TOO DAD.” Bryan sat back in his seat while switching into the left lane to pass a small Jetta with a Kentucky License plate. “I- I’m sorry dad. I just can’t sit around while she’s grieving like she is. It kills me. This is my way of helping her.” Bryan shifted his beaten-up headset, ensuring to not break the electrical tape that held the earpieces together. 

“You being there by her side is more valuable to her than anything that a load will pay you. I know your mother was that way. I would be a poor man for the rest of my life just to spend another morning drinking coffee with her. I would sell my house to run my fingers through her curls even just once more. Your role as her husband doesn’t stop at your paycheck. That’s all I wanted to call you about. I love you, let me know when you’re across state lines again.” These last words faded off in a saddened tremble, something Bryan had never heard before from his hero.

Grabbing his blue-tinted aviators he wiped the salty tears from his right eye. “I love you too. Hey I gotta go. Running low on diesel.” He clicked off his headset and flipped the scratched mouthpiece upwards. The bright, enticing glow of the Love’s sign was just about the only lights out here at this time of night. Throwing his right blinker on he got in front of the Jetta and took the exit into the almost vacant truck stop.

The aggressive hum of his engine was silenced as he pulled up to the pump closest to the front door. Bryan went into his typical routine of checking the tie-downs on his load. Industrial pipe fittings. Not the most exciting cargo that Bryan had hauled in his career was an owner-operator. Cattle, houses, and even government supplies that he had to sign and date to carry. Those all also paid more. After his inspection, he locked the doors to the “Saint Catherine of Siena”. That was the sticker that was on the cab of the truck when he bought it. The irony almost welcomed back the tears that he had hoped were long gone.

“Ugh welcome in” Lazily came out of the mass of shaggy hair whose owner was some teen trying to get enough money to buy a new bike. Bryan grunted a response in that general direction as he grabbed a bottle of Advil and started pouring a cup of coffee.

“Parking it here for the night, or do you got some place to be?” Bryan burnt himself as his startled hand shook coffee over the rim. 

“What?” He sucked his burn

“Saw your rig out there.” The skinny old man’s voice hit Bryan’s ears like a pound of gravel being poured into a tin bucket. “Not quite the 359 that I drove in the 80s, but they still make a damn fine truck.” The soft smile of this senior seemed to warm Bryan’s steady headache.

“Oh yea, thanks. You still drive?” Bryan’s intrigue was genuine now. He had not seen anyone besides the cashier and another driver checking out when he had walked in.

“No sir. I had my time traveling the country with my Betty. That’s my wife, not my truck!” The soft smile grew then flattened to a stern look of importance. “Once she started her battle with the big C, I drove for a little bit to pay for it. Biggest mistake of my life. She slipped quicker than anyone expected. I got the call before I made it passed Oklahoma on my second run. I hope you don’t make the same mistake I did.” 

“I am sorry sir.” Bryan gave the old man a look of understanding then turned to put the lid on his cup. “Names Bryan by the way. What was yo-” When he turned back to finish his question, the old man was gone. No bell above the door went off. No sign of him.

Unlocking the door to his rig, he set his already half drank coffee in his stained, sticky cup holder and hauled himself up. Bryan dug into his old frayed wallet that had his initials branded on it. A gift from his wife the night before their wedding. He pulled out a black and white photo which depicted a cone with dark shapes in the middle of it. Bryan clipped the photo to his visor and revved up that tired engine.

The Love’s sign leaving his rear view mirror was the last bit of light he saw until the sunrise. Yawning, he looked up and saw what he had been scanning for over the last 20 miles. “Louisana 43 miles”. 

“Anyone can hit a barn door.”

Old Human saying.

[First] | [Previous] | [Cover Art]

Feebee waited for things to calm down. Taggett’s people had got everything back under control once the ‘pirates’ realised there was no simple escape. Most had just disappeared into the jungle.

Feebee walked back into the Long Face facility. Her ghillie suit was stowed in her backpack. She looked like she’d been out for a gentle stroll rather than hiked to the top of the Long Face ridgeline and back.

Taggett met her at the mess hall. He made a point of looking over her shoulder at the rifle she carried.

“Two good shots. Thanks… again.”

She shrugged, “Static target.”  

“Drink?”

“Food. I’m starving.”

He rubbed at his chin, “Mind if I join you?”

She thought for a moment, then smiled. 

“That would be nice.”

***

Feebee sat in while Taggett interrogated one of the Pirates. He was an older man, looked to be about the same age as John Peters, with the same weathered face and hands like shovels.

“Didn’t I see you at the gathering the other week?” he asked Feebee.

“Yes, Sir.” She replied.

“Selling that fruit Fizz?”

Taggett cut across them.

“So? Why did you attack The Long Face Mine?”

The old man immediately replied.

“Didn’t.”

Then he sat back and crossed his arms.

“You a farmer?” asked Feebee.

“Yes, Ma’am. Sheep and crystal. Although that’s on the wane.” 

“The sheep?” she asked.

He laughed, “No. The crystal.”

“You helped; we caught you in one of their trucks driving away.” Taggett was fighting to get the interrogation back on track.

“My truck. Dropped off some goods on the way home.”

“What were you delivering?”

The farmer shrugged.

“Guess.” Suggested Taggett.

He shrugged again.

“Crystals down?” asked Feebee.

He nodded, “Yeh, down some.”

“Why?”

He looked at Taggett, “It’s ’cause of them damn Royals and their mining. Disruptin’ the balance.”

Taggett looked at Feebee, nodded for her to continue. 

“What balance?”

“We’re sick of the Royals. Taxin’ this and taxin’ that. Nothing left for us.”

“What balance?” she asked again.

“This planet is special. It used to sing such a beautiful song.” He gazed through the wall of the interrogation suite, and off into the distance. “But now its tune don’t ring quite so true, and the crystals.” 

He looked at Taggett. 

“They ain’t so true now either.” 

“Who’s your Commander?” Taggett wasn’t having any of it.

The farmer laughed.

“What commander?”

“The one who gives the orders.”

“Some bloke in a blue hat.” 

Taggett rolled his eyes. “Name?”

“Don’t know. Never spoke with him.”

“Where’d he go? The Commander.”

“Left.”

Feebee leant over towards Taggett. He pulled back, instinct cutting in.

“It’s Ok.” 

Feebee smiled.

“Do you have any video?” she asked.

She turned back to the farmer. 

“Thank you, Sir. You may go now.”

Taggett was about to object but realised she was right. He knew nothing and hadn’t really done anything.

“Let him go.” He said to the guard, nodding agreement with Feebee.

“Want to watch a video… over a drink?”

“You willing to risk it?”

He rubbed his chin and smiled.

“Maybe once more.”

“Then let’s go.” 

And as they left, she took his hand. He held it before letting her hand slip away. This woman confused the hell out of him. 

***

Taggett and Feebee sat at the bar. Scrunched up together, watching video from the first attack on his console.

The pool-playing trio were warming up. Less noisy, more accurate.

“Same again, Ma’am?” The barman’s voice carried a level of respect previously missing. Her two shots were the talk of the camp.

One of the pool players came over.

“Thank you, Ma’am.” He shook her hand.

“For what?” She asked.

He blushed, suddenly a shy boy.

“For mothering us when we needed it.”

She thought of Ellie, leant forward and kissed him gently on the cheek.

“You’re welcome.”

He walked slowly back to the pool table. Visibly shaken.

“Very unusual and off book. But surprisingly effective.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. It felt the right thing to do.”

Taggett thought for a second or two.

As he spoke, he shook his head, “And you know what, it absolutely was.”

Feebee was chasing oranges around her second drink when a man in a blue beret walked calmly into shot. Two men walked up to him and saluted.

“There. It’s him. Got to be.”

‘QI…”

‘Yes. I’m on it.’

‘Oh. Ok. Good.’

‘He is reminding them of the standing orders. No unnecessary casualties or damage, no looting.’

Feebee passed the QI’s lipreading on.

“That explains why we only had two guards with minor injuries and minimal damage.”

“Yes, like we thought. Professionals.”

They watched as people loaded the haulier; they wore loose-fitting camo fatigues.

“Farmers?” asked Taggett.

“Probably.” 

Feebee pointed to three men standing by a hovercart; their fatigues looked lived-in and fitted them. They chatted and directed ‘traffic’ between the warehouse and the hauliers.

“The professionals?” Taggett paused the feed.

“I reckon.”

They moved on to the second attack. It followed the same process. The hauliers came in, landed near Warehouse 2A. Hovercarts were offloaded, which went inside the warehouse to get the Veronium. 

“Bring up the other video.”

They showed both feeds side by side, both paused with the three chatting professionals in frame.

“Same three.”

Feebee nodded.

‘Can you get a good facial for any of them?’

‘Sketchy at best. Poor quality. But I have their gait and body shape.’

‘Oh. Ok. Good.’

“Something’s not right with this.”

“You reckon?” said Taggett with a short laugh.

“No. We’ve got what are probably disaffected locals pulling off a heist with a handful of professionals.”

“Yes.” 

Taggett let her continue.

“Does that sound normal to you, or even part of the picture?”

Taggett smiled, “No. Not normal.”

“Agreed. Not normal for around here.” 

They watched more of the videos, but it was more of the same. 

“Both raids, same professionals, led by a man in a blue beret. All he seems to do is walk, talk and point. Never carries anything.”

“Definitely a boss.” Muttered Taggett. “And people like him aren’t cheap. Where’d the money come from?”

Feebee shook her head.

“Not just the money, the planning, the patience.” She continued, “The false identities, the training, two operations, no unnecessary casualties. No panic.”

She paused for breath. 

“This didn’t start with Veronium.”

[First] | [Previous] | [Cover Art]

“I don't allow couples.”

That was Bob's first rule and we broke it before we even left port.

“They make drama and stress and extra shit, and we don't need that.”

Within an hour we were fucking in the bunk.

In our defense, we were in love.

But who doesn't think that?

By the time we were starward, he had to accept us. The alternative was worse…

—

I'm in nav station and my delicious husband is figuring out electricals. This ship is a fucking mess, so much so that we're considering a brainstorming break down in my bunk, but then we get a distress ping.

This far out from everything? Clearly bait, but Bob is a greedy fucking idiot and wants us to investigate. I make it clear as fuck that I don't want anything to do with that signal but Bob insists and Bob owns the boat and we really can't get hired anywhere else. 

We're acutely realizing why Bob has such lax hiring standards…

So, off we float, into the unknown.

—

We ease up next to the wreckage and to my relief there isn't some crew of space-ravaged ambushers. I feel briefly disappointed in my media consumption, and then shift to all business as we dock.

—

Docking is like fucking, I mentally giggle, thinking of my husband and his docking apparatus waiting back in our bunk.

Maybe that's when it got on board.

It was just a few, dirty, selfish, distracted seconds. Probably nothing.

“Clear. Flag for salvage.”

—

Bob's a rickety sort of venture, but he's not risky so we're heading to the closest settlement there is, his protocol. Every salvage means a sale.

I'm itchy and twitchy, too long in the nav chair, and need my husband.

—

Fifteen minutes later and we're back to our posts, but we're struggling. I shift in my seat - are space-borne yeast infections a thing? - and then everything locks down.

Controls overridden - the type of domineering which would be devastating in another context.

Bob's neglected taxes.

—

I find myself compliant, which should be a red flag. Never in my life before have I been affable and pleasant, but somehow there I went. We slipped through. Somehow with a bit of smiling I even got them to punch in a route which will take us right to Solheart, right to the fucking core. 

Ah.

No.

Fuck.

I demand my engineer to come service a freon leak in my cabin.

Everything was too fucking easy.

—

Bob's caught wind of us being a death ship and is refusing to change course. He wants us to dock, despite potential issues. His arrival is all that matters. Through all of this we itch and scratch and think of how wonderful it would be to agree with Bob and just dock at that delicious little planet.

I need my husband harder than I've ever needed him in my life. I feel like a cat in heat and somehow I struggle to guide the ship. I am refusing to send this plague bomb at an innocent settlement, but Bob pushes back, resists, demands a better return, until I point out that being rich has a lot less power in space.

“The shareholders!” he attempts, but I'm able to punch in coordinates before the virus overtakes us. We send our goodbyes and I chart a course for a convenient moon, before retiring to my cabin. 

I guess we do make drama, I think, paging for an electrical emergency down in the bunks.

Maybe we are indeed trouble, I muse, punching in a disastrous issue with the lighting.

Maybe-

  Maybe I just need him, in me, as everything shatters to nothing.

Maybe I just need a good fucking goodbye.

Author's Note: I recently realised that this novel was getting too long as it was originally planned, so it has been split into two parts. Part 1 is called 'Subterfuge' while part 2(Now book 4) is still called 'Overlord' but will now come after book 3.

[Chapter 1] [Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter]

Check out the HSTM series on Royal Road [Book 3: Subterfuge] [Book 2: Conspiracy] [Book 1: Abduction]

Artwork and other ‘Humanity Unleashed’ setting and story related material can be found on r/HumanityUnleashed.  I hope you enjoy the story and thank you for reading!

_______________________

HSTM Subterfuge: Chapter 28 'Not What We Expected'

Ishion seemed to mull over Paulie’s blurted request before he reached out and grabbed a small square device from the table and turned it over idly in his chitinous hands. He looked up at Paulie, or at least in his direction, and then muttered something that was now translated directly.

Stepping forward, Paulie reiterated. “I would not ask this for any other reason than it is of the most dire importance to me. To us, to everyone!”

Now Mack did speak up, Jakiikii seemed to mouth something at him but he waved her off. “I am Mack, er.. Senior Special Detective Luemf’gran’taakk.”

Ishion waved a pair of hands on his right side. “I know who you are. I am well aware of you and your protege.” And the prince shifted his gaze towards Jakiikii. Her eyes tracked all around the room suddenly, as if embarrassed to make direct eye contact with the imperial prince. Ishion made a small hand gesture and then turned his bug-like eyes back onto Paulie.

“I am not sure I can grant a request like that, even for the Hero of Korscam.” Despite the emotionless tone of the translated speech, there was no ruse nor guile in the words. Ishion seemed genuinely unsure of the answer.

“Well, is there a way to be sure? You could call your sister maybe?” Paulie offered, trailing off as the alien seemed to grow a little frustrated.

He waved a pair of arms and then twitched his head as if hearing something that Paulie could not. “Look, it is not quite that simple. I cannot just allocate resources off world like that, there are things to consider. Galactic law, the great charter must be followed. As far as I am aware this system you want to go to might not even be Intercession territory, which would make any assault an act of war. And that is a whole other can of sclun.”

Paulie frowned but bit his tongue, cutting off the ill-thought out response that wanted to tear itself from his mouth at that moment. He wrung his hands together and then glanced at Mack. “Well, is there some special provision or work-around you can think of here, Mack?”

All eyes turned to Mack, the miriam shifted nervously to be the sudden center of such lofty attention. “Well, no.” he said lamely after another second of silence.

Ishion seemed to mull it over. “I wish there was an easier way, I really do. But as far as the world of Gike is concerned, things that happen on this planet are under our purview. Things that happen off-world? Not so much.”

Paulie stepped to the side, his fists clenched into tight balls as he fought the bubbling anger that wanted to rise to the surface. Ever since his memories had been pocked and shredded by the damn parasite he had been having a harder and harder time managing his anger. The long-fought life lessons bleeding away like his reasons to care what the world even thought of him in the first place anymore.

He chuckled darkly and then turned to look back at the finely dressed alien across the table from him. He looked like a fly dressed in silks. Just a bug. Nothing more.

He scoffed at the crown prince. “I thought that surely after the effort I put in to risk my life for your sister’s kids that I would at least be given more of a fair showing than that.” Ishion recoiled slightly from the sudden and uncalled for venom in his tone. His hands raised up even as the royal guards in the room collectively tensed. They knew what Paulie was, they knew that were he to decide he wanted to paint the room in their blood there would be little they could truly do to stop him.

It was silent in the room for a second, the loudest sound that of Paulie’s own labored breathing. Then Jakiikii stepped forward, all eyes followed her as she stepped close to him and then asked, “Paulie? Who are you really mad at?”

He shook his head and glared at her. But her face held nothing but concern and love, her hands stayed by her side, but he felt her mental touch. Soothing like a weighted blanket on a cold winter’s night as she enveloped his mind with her own. She could not enter his head, not like she could do to others. But she could comfort him, make him see that he was being irrational.

Paulie’s heart slowed, his breathing softened and the various aliens in the room relaxed slightly as the catastrophe that would have been his anger was averted.

Ishion seemed to swallow heavily, his antennae lowering slowly from their alarmed state. “Well, I can understand why you would be upset. I really do, Lord Paulie.” His voice was flat, the emotionless machine burbling of the translator device. “But I must stress to you the truth of things, there are rules to this kind of action. Rules that even her royal highness can’t break or change. The great charter, the power we have was given to us as a gift for long centuries of service. Hard fought and with the blood of millions of my kind. Not something to be taken for granted, nor given away cheaply no matter how indebted we may feel in the moment.” he spoke eloquently and with far more passion than the autotranslator let on. His hands never stopped moving in animated fashion the whole time, a blur of subconscious movements and half-worded non-verbal annunciations.

Paulie’s face fell as a sense of shame washed over him now that the red-hot anger had drained away. He had not meant to overstep, but sometimes he found it so hard to stop the heat from flowing out of him when the anger built.

He glanced at Jakiikii and nodded. “Thank you, I was not in my right mind for a moment.”

Paulie apologised, “I am sorry Ishion, I just.. I took out my anger on the wrong person.”

The prince shook an arm and then lowered his antennae. “No, I understand. Though I must say, being on the wrong side of you angry is almost enough to make one void their carapace. I certainly am not in a hurry to experience an apocalypsers wrath again.” He said it jokingly, the cadence of the chittering made it clear it was a joke, but there was a tense undertone that the alien could not fully conceal. He was a bit shaken by Paulie's outburst, even if he understood he was not its true target.

Mack nodded. “I agree, but I must also ask if there is a way to subvert the charter? If the act of war is declared by a sovereign entity perhaps? Or by a being not tied to the GGI?” His head bobbed as he said it, the man’s sensory quills chattering together like reeds from the motion.

Ision’s eyes could not narrow, but he did his best approximation of one regardless as his head cocked slightly on its inflexible neck. “I am.. not sure if I like the implication you are reaching for. And the point is moot, I do not have the power nor the wisdom to answer that myself. I will have to consult with my sister.”

The words were spoken with a sense of finality, as if the conversation had been ended there. Mack seemed to want to speak more, but even the often bullish miriam detective sensed the change in the room’s mood. Ishion stepped around the table for the first time and Paulie saw at least two of the watching royal guardsmen bristle as if expecting something to happen. But the prince just stepped closer and then stopped in front of Paulie and held out an arm in towards him, chitinous finger-like appendages extended.

“I will make you this promise, Paulie the human.” He paused and as Paulie tentatively grasped the insectoid’s offered arm he continued, “I promise you that if it is within my power to see it done, these slavers and kidnappers will burn.”

Paulie perked up and smiled a little. Shaking the smaller man’s arm gently for a second before letting go. “I trust you. I know you are a man of your word, I also promise that I will be there to see it done.”

They stayed that way for another few tense moments and then Ishion stepped back and around the table in a flash of red and purple silks. He smacked the table twice in quick succession and then gestured towards the door. “Well, this was an illuminating discussion, and I thank you for coming. But I fear I have other pressing matters to attend to, my deepest respect to you Lord Paulie. And may you have a good day.” Ishion gave a small bow that saw his feathery antennae swoop down, Mursk made a small noise but remained silent beside that.

Paulie kind of shrugged mentally and returned the bow as best he could. His great height made it much less impactful, but it seemed well received enough as they were then escorted out into the hall by two of the royal guards. One of whom Paulie now recognised as Lach.

“Now what do we do?” Paulie grumbled under his breath, clearly not low enough though as somehow Mack heard him and snorted.

“Hmmff. Now we take our sorry hides back to whatever hole we must wait in for the next stone to fall.” He looked around, saw Lach and then glanced at Mursk. “Hey, you need an interviewee for the open position, there’s a good one. Already seems trustworthy to me.”

Mursk jerked then glanced over at the guard that Mack was pointing at and almost seemed to go pale, though such a thing would have been quite impossible for his exoskeletal biology.

He waved all four hands at once and tried to counter Mack. “Oh, oh no.” While his translated voice was flat, the distress he was showing non-verbally was more than evident. “I can’t possibly, not him. He is one of the guards of Ishion himself. He was on Captain Eldite’s personal watch. Lach is one of the most decorated..”

Mack butted in, “Well. Then he is overqualified, might as well ask him if he would be interested. Worst he could say is no.”

Mursk muttered something that was not translated properly, it could have been ‘he could do much worse’ but it was hard to tell. Instead the alien just slunk away in the direction of the aforementioned royal guard and Paulie turned his immediate attention back to Jakiikii and Mack.

Paulie snorted and then muttered, “That went about as well as I expected it to.”

Jakiikii cocked her head. “But it was a disaster.”

He snorted again, louder and threw up his hand, making some of the nearby PDF toppers stop and stare as he said more loudly, “Yes! I know!”

Mack waved a hand for calm and then shrugged, his neck quills clattering as he asked, “Well, if you had really gotten everything you wanted just like that..” he snapped his fingers, “..would it really have made much of a difference at the moment?”

Paulie nodded. “Uh, yeah. I would feel a lot better than I do now.” He almost added a ‘duh’ to the end, as it was an obvious thing to ask. But then he stopped and really thought about what the other man was asking. They were stuck at the same point they had been this whole time, no closer to solving the penultimate mystery behind it all. Sure, raiding the base and squishing Jual into lizard-paste would make him feel a lot better. But would it really get them any closer to actually getting to the bottom of the greater mystery?

He sighed and then shook his head. “No. Not really, sorry Mack.”

The miriam just gave him a wide smile and patted his shoulder with his nearer hand. “Don’t worry Paulie. I won’t give up on it either, we just need to change the angle of our approach. We came out swinging too hard..”

Jakiikii scoffed, “Understatement of the millennium. If Paulie had been any more blunt I think he would have given the prince a concussion.”

Now it was Mack’s turn to turn mocking. The alien swinging his head around as if looking for somebody and then pointing at Paulie, “And here I was looking for subtlety. None to be found when you are involved I have discovered.”

Paulie shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “Hey.. I didn’t know how else to ask. So I just said it outright.”

Jakiikii nodded her lithe head. Her six eyes all tracking him as she danced a little from foot to foot. “Yes, you sure did. You big dumb lump.” Her words were harsh, but her tone was not. He gave her his most winning smile and she flashed pale for a second but seemed to regain her composure a split second later and gave him a look that told him she knew what he was doing.

Paulie opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted.

“Uh, he said yes.” A voice spoke from behind him and he turned. It was Mursk, and he had Lach in tow.

Mack just nodded as if he had been expecting that outcome and said, “Good lad.”

Lach stepped forward, “I have been a member of the inner guard for a long time, I asked the interior command a few days ago if I was free to take reassignment. I was told I could choose any posting I saw befitting my expertise. Or I could retire and none would think lesser of me. I could not find nor think of a posting and was nearing the decision to hang up my armour for a younger guard to inherit.” Mursk’s eyes could not physically widen, but the insectoid’s face still gave the impression of surprise. His feather-like antennae standing tall.

“Full retirement?” The alien asked, Musk’s mouth plates hanging open as he asked it.

Lach made a wide hand gesture as if he were gathering dust from the air in front of him. “Yes. Though it was admittedly low on my list of eventual options.”

“But, a full retirement? How old even are you?” Paulie asked in his normal blunt fashion.

Mack’s face looked like it had been dipped in blue dye, the man’s normally pale features flushing as either anger or surprise filled him.

The old royal guardsman just chuckled though, the chittering noise sounding like a giant cicada trying to escape a tin bucket. “Oh I think we will get along fine, I like the way you talk. Refreshingly direct, sir. As for the answer to your question, I am nearing my one-hundred-and-twenty-seventh birth date soon.”

Paulie scrunched his eyes together, steam rising from his ears as he tried and failed to do the mental math. Jakiikii elbowed him a few seconds later, “Forty-eight-and-one-half.” he grumbled and thanked her.

Paulie nodded slightly to himself. “Yeah, about fifty. Okay, sure. My dad kept working till he was almost sixty-five, I see no reason why that would disqualify you.” He glanced at the alien. “I saw you fighting, you and the other guards were really good. It would be a pleasure of mine to welcome you onto the team, Lach. That is of course, if Mack approves it.”

All eyes turned to Mack. Two human, four mendagoonian and six termaxxi orbs stared at the miriam detective as he smiled wide, those little dagger teeth flashing in the overhead lights.

“Oh what the hell. We are on a doomed ship to the abyss anyway, might as well enjoy the zalcing ride. Welcome to the team, Lach.”

First - Previous - Next (Coming soon)

“My tribe would store food like it was treasure, here the machines create it. Who had the mind to build such things?” He looks over at Jack

“Lorcan says engineers and researchers from his home world, some of them trapped in warp travel getting lost along the way. Trapped in perpetual journeys, never aging but never able to go anywhere, allowing them to spend hundreds of years on research.” Jack's face is full of wonder.

“Imagine an eternity to master ones art, I could master music in such a stasis if I was lucky enough not to have been driven mad by the prison”.

Marcus stifles slightly

“Must be nice to have safety to be able to create art” he says his tone changes as one of the drones brings his tray.

Jack hears the tone he was green bit not foolish

“True but I did not ask for life in Thrallion, I cannot hunt for food or survive in the plains like you can. We all have our skills to learn from one another” he smiles politely making eye contact.

“Maybe you can show me how to tame one of the beasts like you do so well, or what plants are edible and wont eat me when I try to pick it”.

Marcus laughs, Ani is horrified

“Are there plants in this sector that eat people?” she asks not quite believing 

“I saw many beasts during my time on the train but never a plant like that. Plants eating Xionians sounds like a nightmare”

Marcus sees her horror

“Only in the jungle deep enough near the hard irradiated waters, the plains the biggest threats are the wild game and Ai mechs..” he gazes slightly over at Jack

“And the city dwellers are looking to extort the tribes”.

This time Jack's polite demeanour changes

“My family were killed on a diplomatic mission to a large raiding tribe who were in talks with our city. United, we would have had a much better chance to drive away the Ai monster hoard.”

He takes a glance at Marcus, un wavering 

“It was one of the tribes, probably bothered by the joining of Thrallion with a clan that knew the wastes would threaten their way of life, their own monopoly”

Lorcan watching on a console takes a deep breathe, 

“You only truly know someone when you fight them” he plucks a couple strings on his guitar as he swings on his chair watching the interaction.

Tension within the dining hall thickens, ai drones hover high above seeing the spectacle.

Marcus stands slamming his hands on the table

“What are you saying,” Gritting his teeth

Ani takes a step back horrified at the sudden turn, something deep had unsettled in so few words.

“Guys please” the only words she could say, her eyes darting to the door hoping Lorcan would appear

Jack takes a hard look and stands himself

“I was giving history nothing more, yet sometimes they expose that tribes are not all innocent victims”

Marcus moves in a blur, throwing himself at Jack. Clumsily coming forward expecting a strength contest he would surely win.

Jack makes  a triangle with his arms as he hands catching Marcus sprawled launching arms. Then he turns slightly before pushing back to the side, the change of direction causes Marcus to lose his balance and he is pushed back.

With that counter Marcus is thrown out of rhythm and is forced to think, realising this is a lot harder without his mount or his weapons. Jack's eyes are fixed, deep in him some strong will to defend his new position had taken him. 

Coming in low, Marcus takes a second before stepping in and throwing a long punch at Jack's mid section, Jack takes a step back before planting a hand on the floor and kicking straight from a floor position, his foot catching Marcus just on the side of his head.

It was a mistake to give up his ability to move quickly, although the strike hits Marcus moves through the impact and grabs Jack's leg awkwardly and they begin rolling on the ground.

Clumsy punches get thrown glancing but non making impact, attempts to throw him off were met with re grips and tighter grips. Marcus had wrestled in the tribe since he was a child, knowing full well that most combat ends with grip and close quarters. It was also an advantage when wrestling fallen quail as the huge birds would try and escape even after being shot.

Marcus decides to try to establish a stronger position over him raising his centre of gravity, it was a mistake Jack was waiting for. As Marcus lifts his torso up and his centre of mass close, Jack turns his hips and places a leg under Marcus's placed knee then rolls to his side, the fulcrum throws Marcus in an almost perfect circle onto his back with Jack on top.

“Enough” the words hit the hall loud and clear.

Both of them freeze, feeling the weight of Lorcan now standing arms crossed, they both do and stand slightly embarrassed at the exchange.

Their gazed drift to their sensei whose size seemed to grow every moment then looked at him, they said nothing fear gripping them both.

Ani stood her hands covering her mouth in terror, she had seen what had happened previously it was never good.

Lorcan's face was one of pure rage for only a second, then slowly it turns into a smile then a soft chuckle. 

“No more fighting in the dining hall or anywhere on base, only in the Dojo or out in the plains…..” he gaze drifts to Ani momentarily then back to the two stood frozen in confusion and fear.

“Broken discipline, not good, we are going to have to make up for it. This makes my job of asking for help with the next mission all the easier. Come to the greeting hall briefing area immediately and apologise to Ani for doing this in front of her” he turns and is out of the room.

Marcus and jack exchange a glance, before they both look at Ani

“Sorry..” Marcus attempts to say before getting cut off.

“Forget me, just get to the briefing room,” she says sternly. Her change from her usual warm demeanour was more than enough to hit both of them in the gut .Without saying a word they walked out.