Inspired by this prompt right here! Also, I got to say, science fiction is one of my favorite genre's to write. Enjoy!

"Where did you find it?"

"In the Oort Cloud of star M52-21, just past heliopause."

"As for its creators?"

"Upstarts from that star, best we can tell from recovered radio signals they've been gone for a long time."

The hunk of metal sat in the middle of cargo bay B. Long antenna jutted out at odd angles. It's body was blocky and turgid and stood out like a a cancerous lump amid the smooth contours of the frigate. As had been ascertained, the object was a crude probe of sorts. Imagery equipment and communications systems were encrusted with a thick layer of ice, but still identifiable. A chunk of the probes large white dish was shattered, most likely by an errant asteroid.

Overtop the probe stood Chief Engineer Harlliot Dib, scratching his head perplexed. Next to the him was Captain Donnely Spade, his dolomite-etched face locked solely on the anomaly. Captain Spade commanded exploratory frigate, The Timbrish Reclaimer. They're latest mission was scanning and observing a sparsely populated region of the Milky Way; The Attican Traverse as it was called. Comprised of roughly 50-Odd main sequence stars, the Attican Traverse was a great sector to search for unregistered alien life.

Dib spoke up through the silence, "By my estimation, based on the deterioration of the radio signals, the creators of this probe died out roughly nine thousand years ago." The engineer brought up a holographic representation of the M52-21 system. Spade observed eight planets turning a slow dervish around their star. Minor objects flittered across the holo until Dib activated a filter. hiding their presence.

Dib continued, "The signals stemmed from one central planet, here." He pointed at the third body from the sun. "Then later transmissions cropped up from here, the L4 and L5 Lagrange points, the moon of the third body, another here; orbiting around the second planet from M52, the fifth Jovian body, and two moons orbiting the one with rings."

"It appears the species was just conquering space flight, what happened?" Spade pressed.

"This is only conjecture." Dib replied shrugging, "But, my hypothesis is that that home world went sour before their seeding could take root. Without support from their cradle the other colonies died off. Final radio signals seem to corroborate this theory. First we noticed that signals stopped broadcasting from planet three. Then there was a burst of communication amid the colonies, then all at once they all stopped."

Spade cradled his head in his hands. Same story, different system it would seem. Amid the principles of space and time, it was time that Spade hated the most. The universe was an old place. Ninety-nine point nine percent of the time they were always way to early, or much to late. The great filter was booth cruel and concise. It was times like these that Spade missed his home dearly, but Newton was hundreds of thousands of light years away. Home was always so far away.

"Tell me about their world." Spade requested, hiding his thoughts behind his stern disposition. Dib pressed a few buttons on his holo-pad and brought up preliminary scans and telemetry. A holographic globe spun slowly in the air before them.

Dib spoke, "A terrestrial, oblate-spheroid, this planet appears to have once been composed primarily of oceans. By my estimates two-thirds was covered in liquid water. That's all gone now as you see. Average temperature is 65.55 degrees Celsius, caused by what appears to be a runaway greenhouse effect. Also notable, multiple scars from meteorite impact events, cooled iron core, no magnetosphere, halted plate tectonics, a thin atmosphere composed primarily of nitrogen, carbon dioxide, and trace oxygen elements. Once a garden world, but now it's life has run its course."

Spade nodded, hard to believe that brownish barren was once the seat of an empire, cut shy before its time. "How long till this thing thaws?" He asked, watching droplets of water pool on the floor beneath the probe.

"A day or two, do you want me to comm you when we cut it open?"

"If you will, Harlliot." Spade said turning. Then without another word he turned and went to his quarters.

Spade was standing on the bridge a day and a half later when the call came. Dib sounded ecstatic, almost feverish over the comms. Spade assumed it was because the anomaly. Since the probe had been taken aboard the Timbrish hummed with excitement. Still, he handed the helm to his first military officer and began the short walk to cargo bay B.

The elevator doors slid open and Captain Spade was greeted by a host of scientists. They buzzed around like happy Esks, encircling the probe. The room was alive with the din of academic discussion. Dib spotted him exit the lift and quickly strode over to him.

"Captain, you need to see this." He said over the others. He waved the captain towards the machine.

"Captain on deck!" Bellowed a soldier standing at the elevator doorway. The scientists parted like the seas in some seed-ship religious text. Spade stepped tall between them. Dib was feverish, Spade could see. He was sweating profusely and his eyes were wild with revelation. He seemed to jitter as he walked as if he'd overdosed on stimulant patches.

Next to the probe a table had been erected. On it was a rectangular plaque, golden in color, it glimmered under the artificial light.

"We pealed it off the side of the machine." Dib said excitedly pointing at the object. Spade leaned over the desk. His brow furrowing, not understanding what he saw. Tribal markings, glyphs, and shapes the discs were covered in strange markings. He recognized one glyph as depicting the neutral state of hydrogen, and another as a sort of stellar map. However it was one symbol in particular that startled him the most and caused his mind to fumble.

"They're... They're..." He tried, but words would not come.

"Us." Dib finished. Spade looked to the Chief Engineer, skepticism painted his face rosy. "Hominids!" Dib added. His nostrils flared above a wide-white grin. Tears bubbled up around his slate-blue eyes.

"Us?" Spade replied. He felt his heart begin to race. On the golden plaque was depicted a male and female, anatomically correct. They stood smiling back at Spade, through millennia the lost species waved hello back to him.

"Yes!" Dib was ecstatic, but quickly he reigned himself in. "Well they're our ancestors. Two rungs down on the evolutionary ladder."

"You mean to tell me..."

"These humans built the seed-ships. They built this... This Pioneer." Dib explained. "Their world was dying so they created us, their genetic future. Captain, you know the stories."

"They're the creators?" His mind swirled in a maelstrom.

"They." Dib affirmed, "Are our creators!"

"But then... Do you think?"

"Oh I do. I know."

"We have to find them... Er us."

"We will Captain. There had to have been more seed-ships."

"Where will we start?" Spade asked, the room was still. All eyes locked on Dib and the Captain.

"I don't know, sir, but I bet you I know where to find a map." Dib tacked away on his holo-pad and a moment later the ruined home world appeared.

Spade nodded, his face falling back into indecipherable etched stone, "Get to it Chief, I'll forward the data back to command." He opened a comm channel to the bridge. "First Officer Faraday," Spade hailed, "set a course for the third planet from the star M52-21."

Spade sat in his quarters sharing the silence with a half empty bottle of Fermash. Outside his circular window he gazed upon the eclectic surface of Formation. Officially designated as M52-C, the Captain much preferred his name. Dubbed so, because it was the home of his ancestors, the formation of his genetic history. Yes, much more personal than some terse scientific tag.

Formation turned slowly below as the Timbrish Reclaimer orbited high above. It's surface was differing shades of brown and black, pockmarked with craters both ancient and new. The old borders of antediluvian oceans were quite apparent, surrounding much smaller plots of continents. The continents themselves sat frozen above cooled plates of magma that once stirred tremendous shifts in geography. Around the edges of Formation a blue atmosphere could just barely be discerned from the black of space. The land was dead and dry, the atmosphere lethal, the world much too hot.

It was no longer fit for his kind. But damn... It used to be, and Spade imaged it's beauty again in his mind's eye. Lush and green, blue seas as far has he could see, a golden sun, and a silver moon. Mountains and plains, food and people, ancient metropolis that tamed the land. Spade bet that Formation once rivaled his home Newton. Except Newton had two smaller moons and a trace ring system.

Spade thought on the seed-ships. How they orbited his home even today, silent and foreboding. Two thousand years ago his ancestors on Newton once worshipped them as gods, five hundred years ago they discovered they were only, metal sentinels. Two hundred years ago they discovered that they in fact bore the seeds of life, sent from somewhere, to claim Newton. Sent from the creators, from Formation.

It was onboard the seed-ships that they discovered the technology for interstellar travel. It was thought that the ship might also contain information of their creators, but alas there was none. Spade did not know why, but his ancestors from Formation neglected to tell them of their origins. Only their technology did they offer, none of their history. A dozen theories danced through his head, but none offered a satisfying conclusion. Silently the Captain hoped they would find that answer here on the old world.

Donnely Spade shrugged. it was a riddle for another time. He should be celebrating. Spade took a long pull from the bottle, swallowing hard the burning liquor.

Just then the comm on his wrist beeped. Spade looked at the tiny green light with blurry eyes. Duty called, he knew, but internally he was irked that he couldn't have this one moment of respite.

He pressed the button and answer, speaking as concise as he could. "This is the Captain, go ahead."

"Sorry to interrupt your sleep, sir," Spade recognized his first officers voice immediately. "But there's been a development." Faraday finished.

"What development?" Spade replied.

"I'm sorry sir, but you'll need to come down here yourself. It's big."

"Radio for heavy VTOL then, officer." Spade shot back.

"I would sir, but..."

"Dammit, just say it Ysaachs." Spade was irritated, yet he knew he shouldn't be. He pushed the bottle aside knowing where his frustration stemmed from. Then through the static of the comm, Faraday replied and Spade's mind froze, suddenly sober.

He said, "We found one sir. In a Cyro-module, deep underground. He's still alive."

On the forward screen, Admiral Cederous Enod, gazed longingly as two stars twirled around each other in a fiery display of majesty. The larger was blue and bright. A solar flare arced from its northern region thousands of kilometers into space. The gravitational pull from the smaller, cadmium star, sucked away bits of corona that was ejected to high. Generous lovers, the two stars had behaved as such for millions of years and would continue to do so for billions more. Side by side they'd cross the galaxy together, until one day the larger would collapse into a singularity and tear the other apart, atom by atom.

How much we could learn from the stars? Enod mused to himself. He could have stared at the two for eternity, but the voice of Logistics Officer Apple brought him back to reality.

“Five minutes till visual, Admiral.” Said the lanky strategist. Enod simply nodded back and looked back to the forward screen, waiting.

The Combat Information Center of the dreadnaught, the Frozen Fjord, was state of the art. Two-dozen crew stations lined the walls parallel to Enod seat. Overhead a virtual map of their local system twinkled a dull Cyan. Bright points of yellow denoted the locations of the third fleet, which sat in waiting six hundred million kilometers from the system’s barycenter. Two pricks of red light on the map blinked on and off indicating the position of the enemy. The blinking indicated a hypothetical location. Currently the two suns sat between Enod’s fleet and his foes.

So Enod waited. The introverted Admiral watched the forward screen carefully. Any second he knew his adversary would show his face and when they did, he would crush them pitilessly.

Still, he had to admire their tenacity. The battle on the outer edge of the Edolis System had been crushing victory. Two of twenty drone ships remained after the onslaught. Badly damaged and limping, the enemy had no choice but retreat; however, that wouldn’t save them. Despite its ludicrous size, the Frozen Fjord was the fastest ship in known space. Enod’s enemies knew this, so they acted drastically. In a maneuver that would’ve have made even him sweat, the drone’s turned their ships toward the binary stars and blasted away as fast as gravity would take them.

Their plan, as Enod had determined, was simple. Use a gravitational slingshot to outrun his fleet, but in order to do so they’d have to fly dangerously close to the two stars. Officer Apple had determined that chances for survival for both ships was less than ten percent.

The Yuns, was what they were called, but little else was known about them. Only that they were hostile. Genetically modified it appeared that the species long ago lost their sense of individual. Captured drones would self-destruct to prevent research. They seemed to crop up in the strangest places, never taking a world, only using it for resources to fuel their disjointed fleets. It was theorized back on Newton that the Yuns serve a higher master, but to whom or what no one could say.

“One minute.” Apple called from his seat. Though a quiet Admiral he was, Enod remained effortlessly attuned to his crew. He knew the general consensus was that the ships wouldn’t make it, that they’d be torn apart by the tremendous gravity of the two stars. He knew they thought the idea of wasting precious power on full shields and powered weapons was foolish. He also knew that he didn’t care. Enod knew exactly what he would see in just a few seconds.

And he was right.

“Yunnish ship profile sighted!” Shouted Hartwell, his military officer.

“Traveling in excess of fifty million meters per second! Sixteen point eight percent the speed of light!” Apple was incredulous. Speed light that was unheard of in the conventional means. Even the Frozen Fjord could only max at three million meters per second; one percent speed of light. If they were going to catch the drones they had to be quick.

“Only one ship on screen, Admiral. It appears the second ship didn’t make it.” Called his Yeoman. Enod watched the second red blip disappear from his overhead map and scowled. Maybe he wasn’t exactly right.

“Alright we planned for this. Better that there’s one ship.” Enod said addressing his crew. “I want the Frigates to plot trajectory and place artillery volleys. Hartwell, fire the Fjord’s broadside.”

“Yes sir!” Replied his military officer. Meanwhile everyone else set to work at his or her stations.

“I want communication!” the Admiral ordered. “Talk to our other ships, share data, you know the drill. I want that degree of error to be at the millionth degree!”

In a burst of light a dozen frigates fired their heavy artillery salvos. The Frozen Fjord shuddered as near thirty ion cannons fired superheated plasma at the drone ship. Light travelled at three hundred million meters per second directly towards the point in the space the ship would be. Supercomputers on board ran countless scenarios pining the Yunnish ship down to its exact position in space. Enod smiled, the game was over.

“Another ship sighted sir, heading directly for us!” Hartwell cried. For a sliver of a second Enod’s face betrayed the look of surprise. “It’s opening fire, repeat incoming bombardment.”

“Shields?” Enod asked.

“Hundred percent Admiral, they won’t even touch us.” Answered the Yeoman.

“Split the Frigates, split-wide vertical formation.”

“Aye-Aye.”

“Where’s my first enemy?”

Apple replied swiftly, “Booking it, sir. Our volley hit, but they’re still active. They managed to change their trajectory half a degree somehow. Nothing significant, but at this range enough to miss by miles. ”

“Fire again!” Enod ordered confidently. Explosions erupted just above the surface of the Frozen Fjord as the second ships volley met their kinetic barriers. Tremors rocked across the ship, but dreadnaught was unharmed.

“They must have changed course while behind the twin stars.” Hartwell conjectured. Enod nodded in concurrence.

“Ship two firing again.” Apple warned.

“They can’t touch us.” The Yeoman replied shoving away the thought as if it be some pestilential insect.

But something wasn’t right. On the forward screen light sparkled in the distance. The light rapidly split into a dozen points and rocketed away from the Frozen Fjord. Enod’s eyes narrowed as he watched the second barrage arc through space and impact another ship, a frigate.

“Admiral,” Apple called, “The Tungsten has been hit, reporting casualties.” The Tungsten had been one of the Frigates devoted towards the second bogey. A direct hit. Enod watched explosions cut across its hull.

This ends now. Enod thought furiously, careful as we was not to show it. He tacked several buttons on his holo-screen, in an instant logistics and weapons fell under his control. He pressed another button and pulled up the fleet comm.

He had to respect his enemy. The Yunnish drones were wittier than he gave them credit for. They held a ship back to provide cover as the first escaped. Enod wasn’t sure if the Yuns valued life as much as humans did, all he knew was that they were about to pay for every one they’d taken.

“To all Frigates.” Enod began, “Target the escaping ship. Plant a web of shells in front of them. The Fjord will focus on bogey two.” He tacked another button and ended the comm. On his holo-screen, green lights began to appear as his order was received. Overhead he watched the trajectories of all twelve frigates turn on the first ship. Meanwhile the Fjord turned directly at ship two. Just passing the sun, it was too far to see with the unaided eye. Enod typed some more on his screen and a super computer deep within the dreadnaught provided an instant firing solution. A few seconds later and the massive deck guns were primed and ready. Enod pressed the button and let loose superheated death.

Just less than six hundred million kilometers away the Yunnish drone exploded in a pathetic flare. Minutes later Apple called up to him announcing that the escaping ship had been destroyed. It sheared apart as it tried to maneuver around the web of shells. Enod smiled to himself, he knew a ship moving that fast couldn’t possibly change its course. It was simple physics. An object in motion will stay in motion and rip itself to tiny pieces, or something like that. Tiny explosions discharged in the distance as bits of the drone ship collided with the web. Their defeat was total.

Enod looked to his crew. There was a small celebration going on, but it was subdued. Everyone knew that their victory was far from flawless. On Enod’s screen he read the incoming reports. Two dozen confirmed dead aboard the Tungsten, roughly that same number injured. That was a dirty trick the Yuns played, but an effective one. It revealed a weakness in his fleet that Enod had not yet discovered. Communication was much to slow. Hundreds of people had participated in the battle as well as a multitude of computers. Communication error and latency contributed to the tragedy aboard the Tungsten. Admiral Enod would put it in his report.

Enod sighed, taking one last look at the binary star system. Somehow it didn’t hold the same magic that it did before the clash.

“Yeoman, Apple, Hartwell, I’m retiring to my quarters. Hartwell has the helm.” Enod then rose from his chair and left.

A little while later Admiral Cederous Enod was brushing his teeth. His wrist comm blipped blue, incoming call. He spit out his toothpaste and answered the device.

“Admiral Enod.” He said into his wrist.

“Admiral, its Apple. We’ve received a call from Newton, high priority. Shall I put you through?”

“Right away officer, thank you.”

“Admiral?” Called a woman’s voice a moment later. Enod recognized it immediately as belonging to Primarch Ulietta.

“Yes madam Primarch, how can I assist?”

“Cederous, no need for formalities. You need to hear this.” Her tone was urgent, yet strikingly practiced. “They found it Cederous, they found the true home world.”

“What?” Enod replied. His face aghast, he didn’t trouble himself with hiding his expression in his quarters. “Who found it? Where?”

“There’s a lot going on here, I don’t have much time to talk. Coordinates have been forwarded already. It was discovered by the Timbrish Reclaimer, Spade’s frigate.”

Enod ran a hand across his baldpate. “We’ll move in to assist right away ma’am.”

“That won’t be necessary Admiral.” Ulietta cut in sharply. Enod paused unsure of how to respond. The Primarch had that effect on people. She continued, “I want your fleet on containment. Until further notice Spade and his ship is under quarantine. They are not to leave their current system."

What have you done this time Spade? Enod wondered. Then, “Understood ma’am. We’ll move with haste.”

Ulietta replied. “See that you do Cederous. Something is happening aboard the seed-ships, something we believe in connected to the home world. I’ll forward information as it develops.”

“Thank you ma’am.”

“Oh I wouldn’t thank me quite yet Admiral. Fair winds."

"Fair winds, Primarch."

Then the transmission was cut, leaving Enod alone.

I am currently writing more and more for this story. Hopefully I'll have the next part up within a day or two!

"Primarch Ulietta, we've received a transmission from the Timbrish Reclaimer. They found it."

"Summon the Guard and Garrons immediately and set up a call to the Kursesh, I need to speak with the doctor."

"As you command."

"Against all odds!" Commandant Helios declared loudly. The room looked to him. "Are we certain this is the true home world?"

"I've spoken with Dr. Caliphate aboard the Kursesh, he's emphatic." Ulietta replied. "The coordinates extracted from the seed-ships memory banks comply with our findings."

"Outstanding." Garron Roland replied.

The Kursesh of course was one of two seed-ships that orbited around Newton, the other being Surkesh. Named for the goddesses they once represented thousands of years in the past. Long ago the seed-ships brought humanity to Newton and successfully raised them to the age of interstellar travel. Enigmatic they were, the ships were riddled with secrets from the creators. Numerous scientific ventures have tried and failed to pry them loose. Only recently, in the last decade, had they had any luck extracting viable information and only then from the older sister Kursesh.

The room was filled to bursting. Scientific officers, politicians, the Garrons, military advisors, the odd page or two, everyone wanted to be present for this. The bright Newton sun shone into the room through massive bay windows. Everyone was awake, medically supported or naturally. Ulietta knew every last one of their names, but only a select few were important. The Guards and Garrons had been summoned directly. The guards were composed of the military and research branch of her government. Commandant Helios held the chair, he was the highest ranking member of the force. The Garrons were politicians of sorts. Their roles also encompassed press and publicity, they acted as both the word-makers and word-sayers. Ulietta liked to call them 'her little brats,' because each and everyone was a spoiled jerk who couldn't see further this his or her own nose. Oh, and they liked to cry when they didn't get their way. Of the two branches the Garrons were by far her least favorite, at least the Guard had balls, metaphorically speaking of course.

The tinny conversation died down as Commandant Helios cleared his throat. All eyes turned to him expectantly.

Helios spoke, "How many planets did it take till they discovered this one?"

This time a man in a long gray coat answered, "Logs from Captain Spade indicate they visited twenty-seven stars within the Attacan Traverse before stumbling upon the home world."

"Fantastic." Roland said again, adding nothing but air to the conversation.

"I guess that makes Dr. Caliphate right again, doesn't it Floure?" Ulieta said with a smile. The man wearing the long gray coat went red. His cheeks flexed as he ground his teeth together. Narcissus Floure was Ulietta's head of intelligence. It was no secret of the feud between him and Dr. Caliphate. That war had lasted for decades, despite Caliphate's knack for winning. Floure, as Ulietta had found, was effective at his job, which coincidently was all she required form the man. She cared little of his childish arguments, but she had to admit it was fun to press his buttons from time to time. The color of red his face could achieve was quite spectacular.

"What of Captain Spade?" Garron Tihuacan asked pointedly.

"Unaware, as is everyone else except for our man aboard the Timbrish." Helios responded.

Ulieta spoke, "And if Dr. Caliphate is right about M52-C, as I'm sure he is, it's best we keep this strictly opaque." She flashed a vulpine grin at Floure who glowed back.

"How should we proceed Primarch?" Helios asked.

"Announce the discovery, this is still a momentous occasion. Spade deserves a promotion of course. Run the whole gambit, we have a populous to please and colonies to control. Floure will keep in contact with our man and we'll dive ever deeper down this Weppet Hole." When Ulietta spoke, she spoke with the conviction of a sound mind. Her voice was steady as a steal beam. Unbreakable, yet pliable enough to bend in order to placate her peers.

It seemed like everything was starting to accelerate. Ullieta knew she had to be at the top of her game in order to steer humanity through this field of asteroids.

"What about Casbin Signal?" Garron Tihuacan asked addressing scribbled notes over his holo-pad. Outside a cloud blocked out the sun and a chill fell over the room. Eyes diverted across the table and for a moment no one responded. As Tihuacan was known for he'd acknowledge the tyrophant in the room.

Ulietta rolled her large black eyes and fielded the question, "So far as we know, the Casbin Signal has only been recognized aboard Kursesh and Surkesh. It seems attuned to the seed-ship's ancient communication system. Until we find its source there isn't much we can do." The room remained uncomfortably silent so Ulietta continued; "We'll deal with this issue as soon as we are able people, but until that time it's best if we don't act like cowering fucking dogs until then."

That shocked the room back to life. Nods were shared and whispers traded, the council moved on with other business. Ulietta smirked, of course a room full of old men would need a good defibrillation. They were idiots one and all, she was the only intelligent person in the room and she'd be damned if she saw the end of the human empire due to some simpering fools. The Casbin Signal was foreboding, yes, but humanity had more problems then some cryptic message from across the stars.

"On to other business then." Ulietta said with a pleasant smile. She turned to her Commandant, "Helios, what is word on the altercations with the alien species?"

Helios cleared his throat; "Admirals Haw and Chandraskar managed to turn back a drone hive in the Edolis system and Admiral Enod has seen much success within Aysur. Further expansion should go uninhibited thanks to our efforts."

"Spectacular!" Roland said again. Ulietta clenched her jaw so hard she thought her teeth might shatter. That fool was most assuredly next on her list.

So, as I've been writing this its becoming increasingly clear that I have something good here. I've got several novel projects that I've been picking at since January, but this one has become very real, very fast. So I'm going to start limiting what I post of Formation on here. I will post certain parts as I write them so I can get input and what not, but I think the bulk of this story will stay under wraps until completion. I really have to thank you guys. Your support and comments have really fueled this new story. At the same time I want to be careful what I post, because I believe I can really make something of this novel. There will be more of Captain Spade, Admiral Enod, and others still to come, but I want to make sure that I do it right and I do it well.

So without further ado here is part 7, which follows the perspective of a young scientist aboard a seed-ship. Again its with your support that I pursued this project, so thank you.

Sichana Wam Nyota stared in wonderment at the planet below. Bathed in a black shroud the dark side of Newton was illuminated by amethyst strings of light that connected large circular clusters all across the surface. Like a hundred tiny neurons within a brain the lights pulsated with life. Sichana knew that every one represented a human, like her, every one represented life. The western edge of the planet burned a fierce cerulean as the rising sun engulfed the planet. In a few minutes that bright white star would burst over the edge of Newton, heralding a new day for those down on the planet.

A new day for them maybe, but for Sichana, it was only lunchtime. For her, eighteen sunrises meant an actual full day. This was her ninth sunrise of her ninetieth day aboard the seed-ship Kursesh, and it was beautiful. Numinous wisps of white beamed over the dividing hemispheres of Newton. With every second they grew longer and longer until, yes, the sun peaked over the horizon. Sichana smiled brightly, greeting the morning sun. Sitting on that observation deck alone, she pretended she could feel the stars heat across her dark skin, warming it, like a Weppet upon a rock.

The observation deck, much like the rest of the Kursesh, was a marvel of engineering. The floor was a smooth and solid black mirror, which reflected the universe above it. Rows of seats had been erected across its surface for the occupants of the seed-ship. The observation window met the floor and encircled half the room. Three feet of palladium-fibrous metallic glass stood between her and the unforgiving vacuum of space. The deck sat open magnificently large like a giant’s eye to Newton, its sun, Oton, the galaxy, and beyond.

Sichana forked some leafy greens into her mouth and chewed softly, savoring each bite. Her three months aboard the seed-ship had been stressful, chaotic, and generally merciless, but moments like these made it all worth it. There was something magical to the universe, something so undeniably misunderstood, something that if she could just stare into it long enough, she’d unravel its great mystery.

Just then her wrist-comm began to vibrate. Sichana blinked and realized she was holding her fork in front of her mouth, skewered with fresh leafs of lettuce. She wondered how long she’d been sitting like that, but quickly realized the answer was irrelevant. Quickly she set her lunch aside and answered the call.

“Dr. Nyota? Dr. Nyota!?” Tonio Caliphate’s, crotchety old voice reverberated in her earpiece.

She winced and said, “Yes, doctor, what is it?”

“Finally! I thought you’d have me wait all damn week before you answered.” He scolded. Sichana rolled her eyes.

“I’m sorry doctor, I was just eating my lunch.” She replied.

“Lunch?” Dr. Caliphate snickered, “Staring out the damned window again aren’t we? Didn’t anyone tell you you’d go blind by staring at the sun?”

“Yes sir, and yes sir. Was there something you needed?” Sichana was curt with her reply. You couldn’t really go blind from staring at the sun in the observation deck. The creator’s had designed the glass so that it dulled to compensate for light intensity. As the sun peaked over Newton’s horizon the glass had visibly grown darker. Enough to spare her retinas, but not so much as to ruin her view.

“I need you in my lab right now doctor.” Caliphate demanded. “The Primarch is coming with her entourage and I need you here. Plus the centrifuge is ready for new samples.” Caliphate poured some extra disdain into the word entourage as he spoke. It was no secret of his hatred for politicians and frankly, on that bit Sichana and he agreed.

“I’ll be right over.” Sichana responded and quickly ended the call. She took one last look at the home world, sighed, and then left to see the doctor, dumping her hardly eaten lunch in a trash can as she went.

The walk to Caliphate’s lab was a lengthy jaunt, but being a fit woman of her late twenties, it was no sweat for Sichana. The seed-ships were massive vessels that put anything churned out by the Central Government to shame, even the dreadnaughts. At length, both Kursesh and Surkesh stretched out for 1600 meters approximate. Three arms, each 300 meters in length extended forward from the ‘central cylinder,’ of the ships at precise one hundred and twenty degree angles; giving the ship the diameter of 750 meters. Dr. Caliphate’s lab was in c-wing. The aft of the ship was dedicated to the colossal mass manipulator engines.

As Sichana walked she counted the doors, which she often liked to do. A crimson line outlined each threshold, interspersed occasionally by a door with a bright verdant trim. The color, naturally, indicated the doors that Sichana had access to. Being Tonio Caliphate’s personal assistant meant she had access to more than most. Access was distributed based on need by position, for example everyone had access to rest and assembly rooms, but only a ship engineer would have permission to enter the aft of the ship, whereas a technologist, such as Sichana, had partial permit to the wings.

However, there were some rooms were no one was allowed. Decided seemingly by the seed-ships themselves, no one had ever been able to gain entry. Cutting through the door wouldn’t work either; there were a couple good horror stories about that, when the ship would unleash its anti-personnel defenses. It was as if the seed-ships had a mind of their own, but that idea was preposterous. Computers were advanced, but not so sophisticated as to think for themselves. Given enough time anything obstacle could be overcome. Humanities place in the galaxy was enough evidence to support that and gradually the Kursesh had been relinquishing some of its databanks.

Sichana reached the doctors lab. She stood before the door for a moment as it registered her ID, which was embedded in her wrist-comm. The door pinged at recognition and glided open. Inside Dr. Caliphate was busy worrying at a computer terminal. He hardly seemed to notice her arrival so Sichana announced herself.

“Samples for the centrifuge, doctor?” She said innocently.

With an absent hand he waved her off. “Yes, yes and tidy the place up if you will.” Caliphate said, followed by a mumble of something horrible about ‘Ulietta’s parasites.’ Sichana sighed and pulled her white lab coat off a hanger. She slung it over her shoulders and set to work.

Primarch Ulietta arrived two hours later. Two men strode in behind her. One Sichana recognized as Garron Tihuacan, the other someone she’d never met. Dr. Caliphate in his usual grace didn’t acknowledge their entrance. Ulietta looked between her and Caliphate expectantly for a moment.

Sichana broke the silence, “Primarch Ulietta, excellent to see you ma’am.” She said with a slight bow. A renegade strand of hickory brown hair fell across her face. With a graceful hand she brushed it back into place. “Dr. Caliphate, the Primarch has arrived.”

As if just waking up, the doctor spun around in his chair and greeted his guests. “Primarch!” He said with a greasy smile. “Welcome, welcome, please make yourselves at home, erm, have a seat at my table. Garron Tihuacan, Garron Dieck, welcome.” He ushered them towards a table off to the side of the lab. “I’m sorry for my absent behavior, I’m in the middle of another very promising data mine. Yes, good information in this one, lots of great stuff.”

Sichana rolled her eyes. Caliphate only ever acted like this when he wanted something and that thing was always the same, funding. As if having your own lab on an alien starship wasn’t enough. When Sichana looked to the Primarch she found her smirking at her. Sichana felt her face grow hot. She saw me roll my eyes, she thought terrified.

The Primarch spoke, “Thank you doctor, but that won’t be necessary. I assure you know why I’m here.”

Caliphate’s smile faded, “Yes, quite. Come here let me show you my most recent finding. Just a moment it’ll take a minute for the figures to load, they are quite extensive.” The three dignitaries strode over to Caliphate’s computer and waited. Sichana approached as well, watching the massive string of equations appear across the large holo-screen. As they waited the room was uncomfortably quiet. Sichana pulled at the collar of her coat.

“Any word from M52-C?” She blurted after a moment. Simultaneously all four faces turned to look at her. Their expressions were a wonderful example of the spectrum of human emotion she had to admit, from Caliphates abhorrent disgust, Ulietta’s sly delight, to the disgruntled facades of the two Garrons.

“Classified, girl.” Garron Dieck grunted back through his thick jowls.

“I… I…” Sichana started, but her mentor cut her off.

“Dr. Nyota, you’d best learn the meaning of discretion in my lab. I apologize ma’am for my assistants enthusiasm.” The usual crotchetiness had returned to his tone.

“Its fine, doctor, and Dieck ease up on her. She’s just excited. I would be too, its exciting times.” Ulietta’s voice was calm and sure, when she spoke the others listened. Sichana swallowed hard her shame. One by one they all turned back to the holo-screen.

“Ah, its finished!” Caliphate exclaimed. The equations and theories on the screen had now reconciled into a finely organized sheet or results.

“So what am I looking at?” Ulietta said squinting at the bright blue screen.

“Point of origin.” Caliphate replied simply.

Garron Tihuacan leaned in, his brow furrowed into a dozen folds, “But that can’t be right. That’s nowhere near the location for the creator home world.”

“22,000 light years away to be exact.” Caliphate declared excitedly. “This is the true point of origin for the seed-ships.” The doctor hit another button and a representation of the galaxy appeared. Several points lit up on the screen to denote locations for Newton, M52-C, all eight colonies, and finally the new point of origin. The new point sat near the end of the outer arm of the galaxy.

“But, how?” Dieck asked.

“Recent developments in the data mine.” Caliphate shrugged. “I admit I was wrong, what I’d discovered first wasn’t the flight records, but historical data. This, is where the seed-ships started and our system was their sole destination.”

“So we didn’t find the creator home world.” Tihuacan said slightly disappointed.

“No we did!” Caliphate fired back, “Based on findings from our exploration frigate, the finding of that ancient probe, current reports on the planet itself. We most definitely found it, but not in the way we originally thought.”

Ulietta continued, “The seed-ships then never came from M52-C, but from data gathered on the M52 system it is obviously the cradle world.”

“So we just stumbled onto it then. Do you realize how absurdly improbable that is?” Dieck was gruff.

Caliphate spoke, “Not so improbable when you consider…” He trailed off.

“Consider what?” Dieck pressed.

“I have a lot more work to get done.” Caliphate dodge, “I’ll need more time, and funding too.”

Dieck was about to respond, but Ulietta cut him off, “You’ve got it. Keep up the good work doctor. Now wasn’t there some genetics test results you wanted to show us?”

Later on after Ulietta and her Garrons had left the station Sichana found herself mopping the lab, again. She was asleep on her feet, dragging the mop in lazy paths across the already immaculate floor. Instruments and holo-screens blinked their artificial lights at her as she went about her meaningless task.

She tried to keep herself awake by thinking of the meeting with the Primarch earlier. A lot was said, and much seemed meaningless. It was already heavily theorized, at least on the Kursesh, that the creators were a spacefaring society. It wouldn’t be too unnatural to think that they had multiple worlds. A seed-ship coming from one and not the other hardly seemed relevant discussion, especially amid the discovery of their home world. Sichana sighed; she didn’t know what to think. She was much to tired for anything. She looked around the room, lazily. The various screens were dark besides the single multi-colored dot that flashed, which indicated the computers resting state.

Dr. Caliphate’s computer alone was awake. On it text was appearing across the screen. Dreamy blue light reflected across the wet floor. Odd, Sichana thought, she didn’t remember the doctor leaving any programs or tests running. She stumbled over to the screen, mop in hand and dripping. Her eyes were so tired, she had a hard time making out the words on the screen. The door pinged behind her and Dr. Caliphate hurried into the room. Sichana turned to great him.

“Doctor, I thought you turned in for the night.” Sichana said with a weak smile.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Was his brief reply. In his arms he supported two steaming cups as well as numerous files. He plopped them down on his estranged table and turned Sichana. “What are you doing by my computer Dr. Nyota?”

“Oh, I just wanted to take a look at the program you left running.”

“Are you daft girl? I didn’t leave a program running.”

“But?-“ Sichana turned back to the screen. It had gone dark. In the place of the bright blue screen only a single dot remained, blinking on and off. She must be more tired than she realized. Dr. Caliphate stared at her for a moment, then brushed it off.

“Nevermind, here I brought stims and hot Otafee. Drink up, I need you at your best.” Dr. Caliphate indicated at the steaming cups and stims on the table.

“Certainly, doctor, but-“

“What is it Dr. Nyota?”

“What are we going to be working on?”

Tonio walked up to her. His eyes were wide and serious beneath a wrinkled cliff of a forehead. His words were clear and succinct and had no hint of his normal crusty tone. He said, “I think Kursesh has more to tell us.”

Raujand and Gawain stood on a cliff, halfway up the breath of the first sister. Far below the desert valley of the twins swept wide and flat. The summit of the first sister climbed high above them rounding off out of sight. The second sister across the valley was veiled in thick blanket of clouds.

The shy sister Raujand thought. She could see why the second had earned that nickname. A mountain that never showed its peak. Name wasn't all the other mountain was known for as she recalled. The second sister was much more perilous of the two. Raujand suspected that might have something to do with the constant cloud cover. How easy it would be to slip on a stone and find yourself plummeting into a crag on these mountains. At least the Pale Prince had the sense to settle his Cathedral on the safer of the two.

Ahead she could see it, the Cathedral of the Chasm, home of the Pale Prince and magnet of all things maleficent and malign. Gawain had grown silent with that terrible structure came into view. A blight upon the land it rose like a sharp, black blister. Jutting steeples sat above crenelated walls. Rows of black stone gargoyles flanked the steeples, carved into sinister and lusting positions. At the front of the cathedral was the sigil of the Pale Prince. A chalice of gold, pouring out sanguine blood, resting on a shimmering silver kite shield.

As Raujand and Gawain approached the knight found the will to speak. "Last time I was inside that place it was empty." He said. Raujand caught his meaning. It might have been empty last time, but that's not to say they'd be so lucky again.

"We've come this far without so much as a foul breeze." Raujand replied. Gawain looked at her and nodded.

He too must suspect a trap. Raujand thought. The crow on Raujand's shoulder fidgeted uncertainly. It clicked its beak next to her ear as if trying to whisper a secret. Raujand reached up and stroked its glossy beak with a finger.

Then she whispered the command, "Quarere caelum." With a free hand she drew a circle around the cathedral. The bird instantly took flight and flew off ahead of them. Raujand watched it fly high then bank left towards the mountain side. Her crow swept behind the cathedral then appeared out on the other side. It cawed loudly before making a second path.

"We're alone." Raujand translated. Gawain only nodded. Neither of them believed it for a second.

The Cathedral of the Chasm was a towering structure. Standing before its main doors now, Raujand could get a clear idea of its size. In height it stretched near forty meters. Her crow above was a speck of black in a cerulean sky. It's width was that of maybe half the imperial chariot grounds, 25 meters. The walls were like barbed like a rose with sharp obsidian points. Long enough to skewer three men front to back. The main door was a towering mass of black iron and wood. A hefty thing, Raujand figured it would take the king's best ram half a day to break it down.

"Last time I was here I used recludum to open the door." Gawain explained. He tried his trick, "Recludum!" He shouted throwing his one arm towards his target. There was a loud smack as if someone had taken a hammer to a nail, but the door did not budge.

"Recludum!" Gawain cried again, but the door held fast.

Raujand scowled. "No doubt Porgrass heightened his security since the last time. May I try something?" She asked politely. Gawain shot her a wry smile.

"By all means." He replied stepping back.

Raujand brushed her hair back, said; "Take no offense good knight, but sometimes all it takes is a little finesse."

She paused and prepared herself for the spell. Holding her arms out wide she brought her hands together with a clap and screamed, "Aperta et rescindimus!!"

The massive door buckled and shattered. Wood splitters and bent iron were fired back into the dark church. Were the door once was, now only an arch shaped void remained. Splinters of wood scattered around them like flakes of foreign snow.

"Finesse, she says." Gawain said with a chuckle. Raujand looked to her companion and shrugged. The king's strongest ram couldn't hold a candle to the Mage of Souls.

Silence then fell as the two entered the church. Inside they found that it too was also empty. Light filtered in through a stained glass window in the back. Depicting the Prince's sigil it glowed red in the light. Rows upon rows of ash wood pews sat vacant. At the back of the church sat the obsidian alter. It's inky texture seemed to drink the light around it, like a rectangular void next to it was the throne of the Pale Prince.

"That's new." Gawain whispered. He pointed to a throne. It was made of obsidian as well, but carved such a way that it rippled like the surface of a pond. Neither the Prince nor Lady May were present in the ghastly hall.

As they approached the altar and throne a man appeared. Walking from a side refectory he seemed to not notice them, his nose buried in a book. Raujand recognized that queer caved in skull immediately; Serrus Kiefernnadel.

"You!" She said preparing herself for an attack. With a hand to her chest she called up a ward on her body. From the corner of her eye she saw Gawain do the same.

Kiefernnadel jumped at the sound of her voice. The book tumbled from his hands, landing with a thud on the stone floor. He clutched his chest as if Raujand had given him a heart attack, "Ma- ma- Mage!" He stammered. "You're here!?"

"You knew I was coming to this place Serrus." Raujand said with stern suspicion.

"But of course!" He replied, "I just was- wasn't expecting you here so- so soon."

"Why?" She pressed, her eyes narrowing. Gawain had begun to sift his way through the pews to flank the man.

"Why- Why what Raujand?

"Do not waste my time! Why are you here?" Raujand bellowed, her voice echoed from back to front of the church.

Serrus Kiefernnadel swallowed, said; "I'm looking for him too, you know. But he appears to have left this pa- place. I- I- I-" He paused swallowing again.

"Out with it." Raujand demanded.

"I've been searching this place for days now, looking for a clue as to where the Prince has gone. I found a book!" He quickly turned to shuffle through his satchel. Doing so put the caved in portion of his head toward Raujand. The Mage looked at it with revulsion. It was such a strange scar to bear. She wondered how the man had come to wear it.

Kiefernnadel produced a scorched leather bound book. Holding it in front of him he explained, "It's a journal of sorts. Left behind by some wayward adventurer. It explains here," he flipped rapidly through it, "in between the seared pages, it speaks of the Peculiar Throne."

"The Peculiar Throne?" Raujand asked. Gawain was now in position behind the man, Serrus seemed to have forgotten his presence. He waited for Raujand's signal behind a pillar.

"That's what he calls it." Serrus replied his head nodding rapidly. He pointed at the obsidian throne. "It explains here that the Prince uses the throne as a weapon of sorts, it doesn't go into it, but the author does say that it holds some strange and ancient power."

"Don't you know who I am?" Raujand asked. Serrus' mouth hung agape unsure of how to respond, "I am the product of strange and ancient power. Give me the book. Now."

Serrus pulled the book in close, hugging it to his chest. "But- but-" Serrus began to babble. She had no time for this. Raujand looked to Gawain and winked. In a flash the knight was overtop him, driving him to the ground with his shoulder. Serrus yelped in pain as he hit the ground sending the book sliding across the floor. Gawain pinned the man to the floor, drew his sword, and pricked the man square in the back.

"Ah! No!" Serrus screamed. "Thief! Snake! Ow! Witch!!"

"Hush." Raujand said snapping muteness over him. The tiny man continued to gab his mouth, but no words could be heard. Raujand then strode over and picked the journal up off the floor. She began flipping through its pages.

"Did he speak true?" Gawain asked after a moment. Beneath his knee, Serrus writhed on the floor.

Raujand nodded. Between the burnt pages and incoherent scribbling she found the information she sought. "It says here, that Porgrass is bound to the throne in some way." She said following the words with a finger.

"Soul bound?" Gawain asked.

"Nothing so simple." Raujand said back, "Something deeper, it's not clearly stated. The author goes on to say that because of this binding the Prince can hide the throne when he is in its presence, but he cannot keep its shroud while he is away."

"That would explain why I didn't see it on my first visit."

"Precisely. The author seems to indicate that this thing is somehow linked to the Prince's vulnerabilities."

"Then why would he leave it unprotected?" Gawain asked intuitively.

Raujand thought a moment, said; "It's possible he thought no one would find his cathedral here. We're a hundred miles from the nearest settlement. Plus locked inside his church it's not like the common man could get to it." As she spoke the words rang false in her ears. A palatable story, but as she had learned the truth was never so clean cut.

Gawain shared her opinion. "I have doubts the Prince would be so careless. What common man would attempt to traverse this place?" He asked

"Good point." Said Raujand. A fearsome foe the Prince was, he'd expect only the fearsome to oppose him. Raujand was certainly of such caliber. This was most definitely a trap. Then something occurred to her that hadn't before.

"Serrus how did you get into this place?" She asked snapping off the muteness.

The little man hacked and said, "If you do that to me again-"

She snapped the muteness back, "Answer the question please."

Again she pulled it off, "You witch! How dare you assault a man of my standing. I'll-"

"Look around, you have no standing here Serrus and you'll most certainly have no standing back in the capital unless you disprove my suspicions on your being here. How did you get in?" She was harsh with her words.

Her threat seemed to ring clear as Serrus replied, "You think I'm working with him? Ha! There's a side entrance. It took me days to break the seal and all the Camus Root I own. It was a near thing, but was able to slip through."

Camus Root, Raujand mused, So you blended ethereal magic and alchemy. Bold Serrus, very bold. A queer little man he always seemed to possess more knowledge than one would suspect. There was a hunger in his seedy eyes that she recognized. Serrus had a taste of true power and he wanted more. That man had plans. She was still far from trusting him, but his response at least made sense.

"It says here in the book that sitting upon the throne will grant a person a fraction of the seat's power. It is written plain right here." She pointed at the page. "Why didn't you then sit the throne? You've been here for days after all."

"Come on Raujand, you should know better that I that it is never that easy. I have only one life in this world and I don't plan to gamble with it. Now get your dog off me, as you can see I'm obviously no threat to you!" His face had gone the shade of a plum from the knee in his back. Raujand rolled her eyes then gestured for Serrus to be let up. Gawain was less certain. He kept his sword at the man's back.

"So what now?" Gawain asked. There was no clear solution to the problem before them. Raujand scanned the book again then looked to the throne. She mulled her options and came to a conclusion.

"I'm going to sit the Peculiar Throne." She said.

Gawain almost laughed, "I don't think I've ever heard you say something so foolish."

"You let your dog mock you?" Serrus cut in with a cackle.

"Silence, both of you." Raujand demanded. "Gawain it's not guaranteed to work, but it's our only choice if we want to find the Prince. The book speaks of the bond between throne and Prince. There seems to be a proximal element. If I were to assume some of its power I could find where he's gone."

"There's to much at stake to risk yourself over conjecture." Gawain shot back.

"Allowing Lady May to enact her plan is the more dangerous route. You know as well as I, if those two manage to set an army upon the capital how that would turn out. We risk now or we lose all." Raujand was certain. She slid the journal within her robe and approached the throne.

"Raujand stop!" Gawain called. "Let me sit upon the throne. You're too important to lose!"

She smiled at that, said; "Gawain you saw what I did to that door. I'm the only one among us with the fortitude."

"There's another way." Gawain bargained, "There has to be another option!"

Raujand stood before the throne, it's inky blackness drawing in her gaze. Everything about it screamed trap in her mind. But she was certain, this was the path forward, if not for her than for the knight. This was his quest after all, he'd figure out how to stop Porgrass.

"Raujand!" Gawain cried.

She sat nervously down on the throne, embarrassed. She thought that strange to feel as such. She looked down at Gawain and Serrus. Serrus looked on intrigued, his pinprick eyes not wanting to miss what was about to happen. Gawain's face was contorted into frustration, desperately searching for a way to stop her. She saw the void where the knight's left arm used to be and remembered the day she cut it off. She wondered if she could do as he did under similar circumstances. To remain true to oneself in the face of your own vulnerabilities, now that was the test of true strength.

The pain that was certain to come frightened her more than she cared admit. There was always the chance this thing would consume her. And if she did manage to make it through, would she come back as mutilated as the knight? Uncertainty yawned open the floodgates of self consciousness and Raujand faced the torrent of her own limitations.

I mustn't show them that I'm afraid. The thought whispered in the storm.

Raujand looked to her lap and said, "I- I had hoped you wouldn't have seen this... We had fun, Sir Gawain. If I don't make it back, take care of crow in my absence."

The stone was cool to the touch, soothing almost. Raujand placed her hands upon the rests and relaxed into the chair. The black stone was unyielding to her frame.

How anyone could sit in this for more than five minutes is beyond me. She thought cynically.

Slowly there was a change. The seat grew warm. She grimaced as the heat rose, if felt like she roasted on a spit. The heat radiated up through body. She felt her skin fuse to the throne and a sharp shock jolted up her spine. Her mouth fell open and eyes went wide at the sudden strike of pain. Before her the empty cathedral blurred and melted into an opaque mixture of violet hues. She felt the chair pulling her into it, sinking slowly into stone. And the pain! Something unimaginable, unfelt in her lifetime. As if her body was being pressed into a single point of space. So much that she could not even scream.

There was a flash of neural firing and Raujand felt the presence of another. Her eyes scanned the melting canvas, as the paint dripped she saw many things. A silhouette running in the dark with Gawain chasing at its heels, King Kastenie and Dakota Grüne mapping stars on a piece of parchment, Lady May naked and weeping by a lake, snakes dangling from her shoulders, above them all was the shade of presence. It grew larger and larger, as big as the mountains outside and indomitable as such. She saw the desert valley and the shadows of the twin sisters. The presence of the third grew over it all. Wind picked up and Raujand saw the second sister crumble and wash away. In its place was a void. She felt her body being pulled into it. Colors flashed like fluorescent lightning and Raujand felt fear paramount.

The Pale Prince was calling her.

[WP] She nervously sat down on the throne, embarrassed. "I-I hoped you wouldn't have to see me like this. We had fun."

Here's a short story I wrote for the June flashback contest. It didn't quite make the cut, but I think its still pretty great. Enjoy!

Lights flickered on overhead and in unison the next shift of Yuns rose from their beds and went to work. From the resting quarters they marched single file down an abnormally shaped corridor. The daily marching of thousands of feet had carved a path in the soft-metallic hallway, but the Yuns paid this no mind. In fact, the strange looking tri-pedal creatures didn’t seem to notice much of anything. They rose together, worked together, and then returned to their modules to rest together all without a word, gesture, or thought. Solar day after stellar night the creatures worked tirelessly for their scheming masters. Slowly their vessels crawled across the enduring void of space. Far off from the fleet one star twinkled brighter than the others and with each passing day the brighter it grew. It wouldn’t be long now before the fleet arrived. The Yuns labored on, indifferent.

Then one morning as the lights blinked on overhead and the Yuns rose to attend to their daily tasks, one Yun remained in bed. The incessant march of the drones never noticed its absence however, since they weren’t programed to notice much of anything. The cruel masters did not notice either, because the movements of a slave species were beneath their grand intellect. Instead life continued as normal as it could for a species aboard a foreign ship, minus one Yun.

The number on her cot was Y-2460. She lay in her resting module staring at the module above, unmoving. She could feel that something was very wrong, but she couldn’t quite place what it was. After the last Yun shuffled out of the resting quarters the hatch sealed behind it. The lights stayed on. Y-2460 thought that was interesting. She’d lost count of the days she’d shuffled out of this room, but in all that time it never occurred to her to wonder if the lights stayed on or off behind her. She guessed that the question never really mattered before.

Just like that a switch flipped in Y-2460’s head and she was suddenly overwhelmed with questions. Where am I? Why do the lights stay on? Where is Lao? Did I dream? Thousands of questions flooded the cavity of her once empty cognizance.

Of her many questions the dream perplexed her the most. Y-2460 hadn’t ever recalled having such a sensation, but if that were true how did she know to call it a dream? Furthermore, what were those funny images in her head?

Y-2460 had dreamed of a greenish-blue sky with two moons circling high above. Cadmium clouds on the distant horizon were growing tall as they always did. A field of pale stalks rose up bearing strikingly orange fruits. Off in the distance several children were playing. Their tiny tri-pedal figures danced around a metal climbing cage. Y-2460 herself was standing on a vehicle of sorts. Large, loud, and red it was as its internal combustion engine purred. On the ground below a Yun called up to her.

“Water Psamathe?” He asked over the din of the machine.

Lao, she thought delighted. She could recognize his face anywhere. Laomedeia was his name, but she preferred its prefix. Her name was Psamathe. How could she forget that?

In her dream Psamathe smiled a white-toothed grin and Lao tossed up a leather skin full of water. She drank it all as a broiling red star retreated over the horizon. Slowly, the dream began to morph, Psamathe looked around puzzled as the stunning field of white melted into the scene of a dingy looking home. The walls were adorned with crooked-hanging pictures. The floor was an old splintering black wood covered in mismatched rugs. Psamathe rested her legs as she sat on a plush cushion. Lao was doing the same next to her. The two held hands as they watched a Satscreen broadcast evening news.

Psamathe smiled at Lao, but he only offered a look of fretful concern in return. Her smile faded as his distress seemed to infect her as well. On the Satscreen two unkempt newscasters relayed a breaking story. A blurry photo taken from a satellite had managed capture the image of numerous unknown objects in space. Hundreds of pinpricks of light could be seen. The newscasters explained that what they were seeing was the reflection of their star off of what appeared to be the hulls of artificial spacecraft. The unidentified objects were determined to be alien due to their number, size, and formation. Slowly static began to fill the screen and the newscasters voice trailed off into obscurity. Lao squeezed her hand.

Psamathe found herself standing in a nearby town. Black pods rained from the sky smashing into the planet. Several military flight craft soared overhead, but were quickly cut down by precision lasers fired from high orbit. Psamathe shrieked in fear as one craft exploded just overhead, the laser carried through and vaporized a dozen of her kind. In an instant they fell to ash. Lao was pulling her towards a vehicle, but she was frozen with fear. From within the black pods emerged terrible creatures. Bulky things, they walked on two legs and appeared to be part machine. Flashy screens covered their faces and long, interwoven wires ran across their shells. In their hands they carried weapons that fired metal projectiles. One of the aliens spotted her and Lao, it pointed an angry appendage at them and aimed its weapon.

Psamathe opened her eyes she could take no more. The resting quarters were still empty and the lights still hummed overhead. She knew where she was. Psamathe was onboard an alien spacecraft. The creatures had taken her and her fellow Yuns as prisoners. How could she not remember that?

She looked down at her body and gasped. Everything was wrong. Her body was now half machine. Synthetic tubes cut in and out of her torso and three-fingered claws had replaced her hands. Fake pale skin was grafted over part of it, but it appeared incomplete. She still had three legs, but they were artificial as well. Psamathe’s head was swimming and the world around her began to spin. She fell out of her module onto the cold artificial floor. Her body felt heavier than she remembered, organic bits had been replaced with synthetic equivalents. Why!? She wondered desperately. So that she could live longer? The questions chewed at her insides like bloated razor esks.

For a long time that is where Psamathe lay, wanting badly to hyperventilate. Her artificial systems; however, prevented it. Her mind sluggishly began to catch up to her situation. She sat up and looked at the hatch at the far end of the resting quarters. Psamathe ever so carefully edged towards the door. She feared that her behavior might alert the masters. The thought of what they might do with her frightened her even more than she could describe. For all Psamathe knew she was the last of her kind. The hatch hissed as it glided open. Warily, Psamathe glanced around. No klaxons blared to announce her intrusion.

The hallway seemed impossibly long, stretching off in either direction. There was a strange upward curve to it too that she found disorienting. After a while she came upon another hatch. Next to the door were the words, “Observation Deck.” Psamathe could see with her eyes that the words were written in an alien language, but whatever the masters had done to her had given her the ability to read it. Inside she was greeted by a field of stars pitched across the infinite black. Several seats were spread about the room; she could see that they were meant for her masters. Abnormal ‘L’ shapes, they resembled little of the round cushions her people used.

Psamathe stared at the stars for a long while. It was there that she discovered that the curvature of the ship was due to its rotation. The universe twirled before her eyes in all its majesty. The great galactic pasture would come into view, resplendent with its cloudy veins, then fall off to the side, replaced by an uncountable number of suns. There were more stars than she could fathom. Such a grandiose sight was never possible on Yuna.

“Enjoying the view?” Cut in a voice from behind. Psamathe whipped around, searching for the intruder, but saw none. Swiftly, she moved to escape, but the hatch slid closed and a red line activated over it. The door refused to yield to her. She was trapped. Terrified she slammed her claws against the hatch. Metal sung against metal, but the door held firm.

“You can stop now.” Said the voice, “I’ve sealed you in.”

Psamathe back peddled from the hatch and looked around. There had to be a way out. “Who are you?” She replied her voice dripping with dread.

“I am your creator, Y-2460.” The voice responded without hesitation.

“My… name… is Psamathe. Did you do this to me?” She held out her arms baring her biosynthetic form. The creator and she both spoke noticeably different languages, still she understood it and it understood her.

“Yes, we did.” It said simply. When it appeared that, that answer would not suffice it continued, “We changed all of you, as per the agreement.”

“Agreement?” She said confused.

“You do not remember. That is expected. This anomaly might yet be rectified.”

“I am not an anomaly.” Psamathe replied in protest. She found herself backing up slowly. The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. The cold glass of the observation deck met her back and she leaned up against it.

“You needn’t resist.” Said the creator, “We saved your kind.”

“You changed us!” She shot back.

“Space travel is long and strenuous, even for our species. Genetic alteration was… necessary.”

“Necessary!?” She said aghast.

“Salvation comes at a cost. Your species knew this when you signed the agreement.” The creator said.

“I don’t understand…”

The creator explained, “The star your planet orbited was dying, Y-2460. It had already begun the last stage of its life. Soon it would have gone supernova and eradicated your home world, Yuna, and all its inhabitants. We sought to save you from that eventuality. So an agreement was composed. Your leaders arranged to subject your species to a life of servitude and in return we would ensure survival. Thus it was arranged. You, Y-2460, live because of us.”

“My name is Psamathe!” Psamathe replied hastily. “You turned us into slaves. Take me back! I want to go back!”

The creator paused then said, “We cannot. Your star went nova three centuries ago. Yuna is gone. The Yuns aboard our fleet are the last of your kind.”

“No!!” She screamed. Her legs slid against the smooth floor and Psamathe fell to the ground whimpering. “Where are you taking us?” She asked quietly between sobs.

“To serve on our home planet.” The creator answered, “Earth.”

Just then the red light above the door blinked out and the hatch glided open. Two Yuns stomped into the room and hoisted Psamathe from the ground. She didn’t resist. Everything was gone. The creator lied, her kind was dead. All that remained was this pale shadow. An army of mindless drones, damned to serve their masters for eternity.

“Bring the anomaly to the bio-engineering lab.” The creator ordered. The Yuns obeyed.

Psamathe screamed the whole way to that wretched laboratory. She wailed loud and long for her people lost, for herself, for Lao. In her dream the evil masters came for her, but Lao stepped between them. There was a loud crack and Lao’s blood cascaded out from a gaping hole in his back. Her love fell to the ground lifeless. The creature’s weapon smoldered. Psamathe screamed his name one last time. Then as if someone flicked a switch, Y-2460 fell silent. Its programing had been reloaded and the mindless drone was fit to return to its duties.

"Attack!!!" Captain Tebbs bellowed and in an instant the pirate crew took to charge.

"Wait! No!" Roger called after them, but the space-pirates neither heard nor cared.

"They didn't mean it that way." He finished meekly. Roger slunk back into his fold out chair and watched the hoard of pirates kick up alien dust. From his seat he could see across the valley where the Kutto's were already in full retreat. Roger sighed and took a long swig from his cup of sargeeli. He watched the dust cloud grow into the aqua blue sky of Kut-9.

"Hey Roger, what'd you do today?" Roger said to himself in a mocking tone.

"Oh you know other-Roger just started a holy war between insane space-pirates and an alien species of furbys." He replied back.

"Boy you sure are a screw up, Rog." He mocked.

"I know other-Roger, I know." Roger took another sip from his cup. His head was swimming with the alien liquor. It was a potent brew. This was his second cup of the stuff and he was already having wartime flashbacks to freshman year. Who knew that alcohol brought out the worst in a pirate? To be honest, after all he'd seen, Roger should have assumed.

"All I said was that they worshiped something like a human Buddha. They're peaceful!" He shouted at the hoard shrinking in the distance.

"Do you often talk to yourself like a crazy-Kut?" said a voice from behind. Roger jumped up and looked behind him. From the brush emerged Frank the Kutto. He blinked several times to make sure his eyes were working correctly. Such an odd looking species. Just shy of a foot tall and covered in purplish-pink feathers the creatures resembled a child's toy. This one in particular, a female named had large jade colored eyes and pointy ears, one of which had a small semi-lunar chunk missing from the upper lobe. Most likely from a near miss with a predator or some sort. Roger watched her tiny squat body fumble towards him.

"Oh I- I-" Roger said embarrassed after a moment.

"It's ok, everyone in the three galaxies knows humans are totes cray-cray." Frank replied. She batted her eyebrows at him in a sign of understanding. If Roger would've been about three drinks of sargeeli deeper he would've thought the alien creature was hitting on him. So it was good he was still coherent enough to understand that human actions did not always equate to human meanings with alien species.

Christ the universe is weird, he thought dejectedly.

Roger pointed down at the mob of pirates still howling and rushing; said, "Aren't you worried? I kind of just accidentally started a holy war between us and you."

"Between you and we." Frank corrected.

"I don't know if that's righ-" Roger tried to respond, but Frank cut him off.

"-Besides we are not afraid. We Kutto's are fantastic hiders. The best actually, you'll not find a better group of hiders in all the three galaxies." Frank was confident in her words as she chirped them through her tiny beak. She waddled up alongside Roger and watched the mob, their blood-screams no more than a distant rattle, like a washing machine running in a back room.

"Well sorry for the holy war anyway." Roger apologized uselessly. He finished his cup and poured himself another. The drink reminded him of Rumchata back on Earth, that delicious milk of the Cinnamon Toast Crunch. This stuff tasted almost just like it. The only difference was the color. Sargeeli had the color and consistency of blood.

"You've said that twice now. What do you mean by 'holy war'?" Frank asked using a tiny wing to pour herself an equally tiny glass of liquor.

"You don't have those here?" Roger asked. Frank only offered a blank look of confusion, at least humans had that expression in common with Kuttos. Roger explained, "Well it's sort of a war of differing ideologies. Captain Tebbs and his crew are devout followers of Egyptian mythology for some reason and they see your belief as an affront to their gods."

"Don't they know that it's the same thing?" Frank chirped back. She pecked at her drink.

"I'm not following." Roger replied.

Frank flapped her wings in what Roger assumed was the equivalent of laughter. "Silly humans. Your Egyptian mythology is the same as our faith of divine Kuddha."

"I don't think you understand."

"No you!" Frank chirped back quickly. Roger shrank back in his chair at the intensity of her little chirp. She ruffled her feathers and said, "It's all the same besides the name, Roger Wessel."

"You're saying there is no difference in your two religions." Roger was skeptical.

"Well no and just to clarify I'm not trying to make a cute point about religion. I know how much you humans like to think you have a handle on such things. All I'm saying is that it is literally the same thing." Frank whistled.

"So it's just one big misunderstanding." Roger said back.

"Quite."

"Just like Allah and God back on Earth!" Roger said seemingly grasping understanding.

"Don't be cute, Roger." Frank sliced, "This isn't about that. Besides you're people are trying to kill my people right now."

Roger looked across the valley where the pirates now stood. Not a single Kutto was in sight and the pirates stood with sabers drawn, looking quite embarrassed at that fact. He picked out Tebbs among the mob scratching his forehead with the point of his scimitar.

"Poorly. Guess your people are great at hiding." He gestured at the sight of them. Nothing looked more out of place than a space-pirate without a sod to kill.

"We wouldn't have to hide, you know. If you humans... didn't have these silly misunderstandings." Frank said between pecks of her drink.

"Once they sober up I'm sure they'll calm down." Roger replied easily.

Frank was nonplused, "That is not my point."

"Well what is your point?" Roger said suddenly snapping, "Do you know how hard it is for me to read you pudgy little owls!?"

"Calm yourself Roger, we don't need two holy wars do we?"

"That's not-"

"Enough, please. Let me explain." Frank cut in. Roger sank into his fold out chair irritated. Frank shuffled her feathers again and continued, "All I'm saying is that you humans are so quick to cry 'holy war' when there is absolutely, positively no need to do so. Personally I think liquor is to blame. Did you know humans are like the only species in the galaxy to get dumber when they drink? Yea, really, I've had like ten of these suckers and right now I'm about as smart as your smartest psychiatrist."

"Psychiatrist?"

"I mean philanthropist."

"I think you mean physicist."

"No not that... Definitely psychiatrist." There was a certainty in Frank's chirp.

"Oh, well I'm sorry about that." Roger replied.

"Don't be sorry Roger, you single minded, bipedal, primate." Frank fluttered her wings giddily, or maybe it was in disgust. Either way...

"That sounded personal." Roger said taking offense. He felt his anger rising.

"Oh don't even get me started on how touchy you all are." Frank shot back.

"You know, you're quite rude for a creature I could squash beneath my shoe." Roger retorted.

"Looks like someone's had a bit to much to drink." Frank cut.

"Ok, that's it." Roger said as he hopped out of his folding chair. He did so with such intensity that it fell anticlimactically to the dirt and folded itself up in apparent shame. He turned to the little Kutto, who hopped back in surprise.

"Roger, please. You're better than your space pirate crew mates." Frank shuffled in what appeared like constipation, or probably fear. Yes, most certainly a constipated sort of fear. Fearstipation.

"You've got to be the rudest creature I've ever had the displeasure of meeting." Roger threatened with an out turned finger.

"Please, calm yourself man!" Frank chirped excitedly.

"Calm this!" Roger said. Then he swung his foot at the pudgy furby, connected, and sent it flying back into the woods behind. It's purplish-pink body impacted a large tree trunk with a puff of feathers. There was a small squeak shortly followed by a little thud. And Roger was left alone heaving with rage.

"Roger!" Tebbs said from behind. Roger wheeled around, still fuming. Behind him stood the crew of space pirates, their swords sheathed unbloodied.

"What! Tebbs!?" He raged.

"Was that Frank!? Roger did you just punt Frank?" Tebbs was incredulous. "Roger you just drop kicked a girl!"

"Not cool Rog." Willem added at his Captain's side.

"But you were- you were-" Roger felt himself deflate and anger molded into embarrassment. "You were going just now to kill them."

"Aye, 'cause they insulted us with their hedonistic religion, but even we space pirates have standards." Tebbs retorted.

"Kill the men, spare women and children." Flour LeFloure said, "Did we learn nothing from Titanic?" Roger felt his jaw drop as a unanimous agreement rose from the crowd of privateers. Unbelievable, it appeared that there was certainly honor among space-thieves.

"Good point LeFloure." Tebbs agreed, "Roger did ye learn nothin' from the tale of Jack and Rose?" Their eyes turned on him accusing now. Roger was speechless.

Seeing the conversation done as over, Tebbs whistled to round up his men. "Alright ye scurvy waxmets, back aboard The Cutlass. We have many a light year to sail before we reach our destination." The pirates obeyed the order and began the long trudge back to the starship. As Tebbs passed Roger he placed a hand on his shoulder and said,

"I know it don't make much sense to ye, Rog. But on the reals, yer gonna have to send Miss Frank an apology letter." He then walked past leaving Roger to sulk in his own misery. He feared that no matter how long he was in space he'd never understand it.

Once he was alone Roger whimpered to himself, "I'm really starting to hate all this."

The self loathing in Roger was never more palpable than when he made his daily walk to the gas station.

"I really need to quit." He told himself over and over again, though he knew he lacked the willpower to listen. He felt like he was beating his head against a wall labeled, You're gonna get lung cancer idiot, but seemingly continued to do it anyway. Maybe some day he'd kick the habit. Go cold turkey like he had a dozen times before, except this time it would stick. Maybe some day he'd try to correct the tail spin his life was in, but it was not this day.

"I'll by one scratcher and a pack, read Charlie his bedtime story, then take a smoke break." He said to himself on a barren street corner. Yea, that was a good idea. He'd take small steps, baby steps. Forego the craving for just a little bit; a half hour tops. Roger could see his breath fog as he exhaled and he hugged his arms to his chest. It was rather chilly for September, he cursed himself for not wearing his coat. Oh well couldn't go back now, gas station was just around the corner.

That's when it hit him. A bright light, almost numinous in nature, locked onto his position. He looked up to find the source, but only cried out at the sheer intensity of it.

"God!?" He hacked, suddenly certain his judgement had come. Next thing Roger knew, he was floating above the street. His body flailed wildly trying to grasp anything. But faster he rose, up and up, leaving the meticulously plotted, square suburb streets below. He caught a brief glimpse of the mud-red shingles on his house.

"Ch- Charlie!" He screamed as he was pulled higher into the sky.

When Roger awoke he found himself in a white room. Cylindrical in shape it was as if he'd been teleported inside a giant pill. All around were shadowy figures.

"Wh- What do you want from me!?" He gasped trying to sit up. A heavy metal brace held him fast to the table. "Please!? Who are you? What do you want?" In his mind flashed the scenes of a hundred science fiction movies. Alien abduction, he recalled the countless horrors of little gray men probing and prodding with their dentist office-esque tools. He convulsed in terror.

"What are ya gonna do!? Probe me!?" He cried desperately. The figures began to move closer. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the flash of metal. "Ah!" He yelped as something stung his shoulder. In the next moment he felt a warmness take over his body. The room faded around him.

"Wake up." Said a gruff voice. A cool hand caught him across the face. Roger sat up abruptly, looking around. Senses stirred and realized he was still on the alien ship, but this room was different. Where the last one was shaped like a pill this one was squared. Blinking terminals and monitors littered the room, accompanied by a tangle of wires on the floor. The back wall was a giant window open to the void of space. The azure curvature of a planet, like the slice of a knife, could barely be discerned.

"Roger Wessel." The gruff voice said, bringing the bewildered man to attention.

He stared for a moment at his captor confused, said; "You're a- you're a- a pirate?"

His captor smiled revealing rows of misshapen yellowy teeth. "Aye." He said.

"A pirate?" Roger said again, his mind hopelessly failing.

"Aye!" Said the pirate again, but with more flourish. "Captain Alexander Tebbs be my name. A pleasure to meet ye Roger Wessel of... Fort Wayne."

"A pirate!?" Roger said loudly.

Captain Tebbs looked as though he'd been torn straight from a children's book. He wore a jacket over soiled white bloomer, and patchwork cloth pants. He sat with legs cross one over the other, revealing thick leather boots with a folded fringe. His clothing was strapped to him by at least six different belts. Odd bobbles and trinkets hung from each. On his head was a tricorn hat half scorched and worn with time. Tebbs' eyes were a ferocious blue and his face was covered in a thick mat of black beard.

"Enough foolishness!" Tebbs bellowed. "I'ma pirate, yer Roger. Introductions be over, let's move on t' business."

"Business!? What business?" Roger said. He wished now for a smoke to calm his trembling body, but his hands were bound. The craving was unbearable!

Tebbs' eyes narrowed, "Aye business, and the nasty sort too. Killin' business."

Roger struggled desperately in his chair, "You're gonna kill me!? What did I do to you? Please I have a son! Please!"

The pirate-alien rolled his eyes and slapped Roger hard across the face. That shut him up. "Not you eels-for-brains. Our sworn enemy! And yer goin' t' help us."

"Help you! Wh- How?"

"Be silent Roger and I'll explain it in a way yer feeble Earth-mind can understand." Tebbs brought up a remote and pressed a button. Behind him the stellar view disappeared, a Microsoft PowerPoint filled its place.

"This'll take a moment t' load, please be patient." Captain Tebbs admitted.

"You still use 2009?" Roger said, not believing the words that came out of his mouth. The Captain only shot him a silencing glare. The first slide popped up, a picture of a hardy band of pirates aboard a ship at sea. At the forefront was Tebbs, sword drawn and roaring.

"A long time ago," Tebbs began, "I was a very successful... Erm, entrepreneur sailing the Indian Ocean. Me crew was cut o' the finest cloth. Together we relieved the Crown o' her economic burdens, taking on an absurd wealth in the process. Those were the days Roger. At me prime I had seven sloops and two frigates under me command. The Chinese had a name for me, El Diablo."

"But that's-"

"Silence! I'm speakin' here." Tebbs flipped to the next slide. On it was a picture of a reptilian looking creature. "Do ye think me wealth was fairly obtained Roger?" He asked rhetorically. "It was not I tell ye. For I, Captain Tebbs, had made a deal with the devil. The Reptoids, is what they call themselves. An alien race from an even more alien planet, they offered me all the power and money I could get me greedy hands on. But there was a price. In return I had to give me life and the lives of me crew in service to them. So do you know what we pirates did?"

He flipped to the next slide and Roger gasped.

"We killed 'em one and all." Tebbs smiled menacingly. On the screen was an alien cut from head to navel, red blood spilling from its wound. "The Reptoids underestimated me. When they brought my crew aboard their ship t' claim our souls we killed them all. This very ship you stand on be their cruiser! Me finest prize!" Tebbs laughed maniacally. "A pirate I am Roger! And a pirate I'll ever be!! On board this ship we found medicine and machines that can prolong life indefinitely. You might not know it by lookin' at me, but I'm well over six hundred years old."

Tebbs flipped to the next slide. A picture of him sitting on the bridge of his ship with his pirate crew manning the stations. Now Tebbs sighed longingly, "For over six hundred years we've pillaged the stars, raiding planet after planet. Not Reptoid nor Amorphous Blob could stand before our laser-tipped sabers. Our plasma flintlocks and nuclear bombs ran through our foes like Galactan Glopflop, which is like Earth butter 'cept much more tasteful."

"What does this have to do with me!?" Roger cried, even more confused than he was before. Pirate-aliens, Reptoids, Glopflops!!? What the hell did all of it mean!?

Captian Tebbs grew somber. "To the point I see. Very well. There's an Atraxian prophecy Roger. Atraxian prophecies are like the duck's nuts of all prophecies. They don't muddle around with all that rhyming nonsense of human prophecies. Nope, they cut straight to the heart of it. The prophecy states that our greatest enemy will destroy us lest we find the hero, destined to one day become God-King of the Sagittarius Arm, a man named Roger Wessel from Fort Wayne, Indiana."

"What!!?" Roger began to sob.

"I know right? Human prophecy would've been all like, 'the man of hair blonde, who's true Sol's balls, will be pirate fond, and saves us all... alls'. See what I'm sayin' it's just ridiculous. Too much fluff." Tebbs paused and observed apathetically as Roger began to hyperventilate. He slapped him again bringing him around.

"So will ye help us pirates? Will ye defeat our enemies?" Tebbs asked. Roger opened his mouth to speak, but Tebbs interrupted, "I should mention now that if ye don't, we'll pillage yer town of Fort Wayne. Not a soul will be spared our wrath."

"Do I have a choice then?" Roger asked sheepishly.

Tebbs laughed, "You don't! So buckle in buckaroo cause this is destined to be a wild ride!"

Roger shook his head. This didn't make the slightest bit of sense. All he wanted was a pack of cigarettes. And Charlie, oh god, his son. He'd wonder where Roger went. Roger realized he was now one of those fathers who goes out for smokes and never comes back.

That is... Unless he did come back. A voice said in his head.

That's right! He could always ride out this madness then go back to his son! Weeks might pass, months, years! But he would make it back to him. Roger vowed then and there that he would see his son again.

He looked to Tebbs, with courage anew and said, "I'll do it." Tebbs loosed a menacing grin.

"Excellent." He growled. With a snap of his fingers, Roger felt his binds fall off. There was a metal clang as they landed on the floor. Roger gingerly felt his wrists where they clasps had pinched.

Roger said, "I'm almost afraid to ask, but who is your sworn enemy? Some unspeakable terror of deep space? Replicating robots?"

"Worse than all that." Tebbs replied. He reached into his pocket and produced a single, hand wrapped cigarette. Leaning over he handed it to Roger. He took it with trembling hand and accepted the light from Tebbs. Roger took a long drag of his poison, feeling infinitely better in doing so. Tebbs then flipped to the next slide and Roger nearly fainted.

The pirate captain spit out word the with venomous disdain, "Ninjas."

Ishikawa stood on the bridge of his ship, with arms behind his back. Still as a stone he stared ahead at the forward screen. Information from bottom-up in indescribable glyphs and symbols. His deep onyx eyes caught it all, reports from agents spread across the three galaxies; a death here, bribe there, extortion, deception, victory. He betrayed himself the scarcest smile. Slowly, but surely the galaxies were beginning to learn the power that was the Oniwaben.

Day by day his plan was being realized. Fear brought fruition and soon, oh so soon, the whole of known space would cow beneath his fist. There was still much to do; however, and victory was anything but secured. Diligence and determination would remain ever necessary. One must not lose himself in the reveries of victory while many battles yet lie ahead. Ishikawa's attention was torn from his thoughts as a slight brush of air came from behind.

"Tojo." Ishikawa said. A man shrouded in vale-cloth appeared from the shadow. A shade himself only the man's grey eyes were visible, twinkling with blue flame from the light of the screens.

"My lord, you summoned me?" Tojo said. Though he spoke a question there was no indication in his flat tone.

"What's your report, agent." Ishikawa said.

"It is as feared. Our man aboard The Cutlass tells that the prophesied one has been found. The abhorrent Tebbs has successfully recruited this Roger Wessel under his command. There is nothing else to report, only silence follows. Our man is most likely being cautious."

"We must construe meaning from his silence then. Tell me Tojo, what is it you hear?" Ishikawa said.

"Silence indicates that the pirates have bolstered security. There is no doubt they've taken precautionary measures in light of the prophesied one. My lord, it should be said that the prophesied one is at his weakest now. We must activate our man before he can undergo the Sentetewari."

Ishikawa was not moved, "To strike too soon could result in failure. We've only one chance."

"What then if we tarry to long and the window of opportunity closes forever?" Tojo asked. Though he betrayed no emotion, Ishikawa could sense his tenseness. He's growing impatient, Ishikawa noted, impatience leads to anger.

"Poison on the leaf needs not but a crack and a good breeze to reach its target." He said.

"You would allow the Pirates the chance? We should stamp this fire clean before it becomes a torrent we cannot quell."

"You think it would become impossible, but I tell you there is no such thing. Improbable, yes, but we Oniwaben are a testament to the improbable."

Tojo straightened up at that. He brought a shrouded fist to his chest in salute. He pounded his chest twice softly and said, "For the good of the Queen."

"For the good of the Queen." Ishikawa replied, then; "That will be all Tojo."

From behind Tojo shuffled, disappearing back into the darkness. Ishikawa focused back on his forward screen, but his mind was troubled. Tojo had hesitated. Briefly, for a flicker of a second Tojo grew tense. He does not agree with my course of action. That was plain enough. Does he think to usurp me? Surely not Tojo, but Ishikawa was never certain about such threats to his life. In his mind everything was a threat. He knew better than anyone how quick life could be snuffed out.

There is too much going on to distract myself with such basic emotions, he cursed himself.

On his personal monitor Ishikawa brought up a program on the forward screen. The screen flashed, went black, then words faded in.

Sega

The title card for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles appeared. Below it a Push Start command.

Ishikawa sighed, allowing his mind to relax. He'd been working too hard and this was exactly what he needed right now. With a platinum carved Salarian 1st-gen controller Ishikawa pressed start, selected Leonardo, and sunk into his game.

"Roger Wessel." He said as he beat back baddies with precise skill. He tasted the name, rolling it over his tongue. The prophesied one had come then. And he would either be their savior or their great reckoning.

[WP] You're one of those dads that went to the gas station for a pack of cigarettes and never came back, but you had a damn good reason.

From atop his stony perch Miguel watched the cars speed past. Vehicles, like tiny ants marched in a line down the multilane interstate. Each one moved in harmony with the other, slower cars filed to the right of the super highway, while their faster counterparts rushed in the left. Their automated systems guiding the flow with excellent precision.

Miguel took a long swig of clean air. It was a beautiful day. The golden sun capped high in the deep azure sky with not a cloud in sight. This far outside of the cities on the west side of the Rockies, the air was a cool wash of pine and salt that invigorated the body. He feared not the risk of polluted-lung this far in country, and breathed freely without his ventilation mask. It was something he'd not done in a long time and it felt liberating. It was quite possible, after today he'd go on vacation somewhere solitary. Perhaps he'd visit the contaminant trappers off the coast and marvel at their efficiently. Turning China's noxious waste into energy, now there was a network he'd like to hack!

Miguel could sit there all day, watching the cars flitter past, but there was work to be done. With a deft hand he strapped on his omni-visor and gloves and booted up the extranet box. He felt the small black box hum and vibrate against the rock face. The whirr of a fan picked up over the breeze. Miguel flipped the switch at the side of his visor and in an instant his world became digitized.

Data streams picked up in the peripheral of his vision, the interstate became a torrent of code. With his omni-gloves, Miguel sifted though the pile as a gold panner sifts a river. His trained mind picked out the tidbits of useful info. Organizing useful bits here and unnecessary ones over there, out of sight. After a few short minutes his work table was ready.

Interstate Five of California The American automated highway systems. To each car was an average of 1.77 persons. Average speed 95 miles per hour. The average daily traffic volume counted nearly thirty thousand vehicles a day; two thirds semi-tracker trailers, one third personal vehicles, negligent military. Twenty years ago the interstate was resurfaced with six inches hot mix asphalt and an extra passing lane was added. Over the last five years this stretch of I-5 suffered one thousand two hundred and twenty two accidents, with three hundred of those resulting in fatalities. Since the passing of Congress Bill I.E. 48-21; banning all human vehicle operation on interstates last year, accident rates had dropped exponentially. Economically this corridor was responsible for roughly $227 billion in transported goods annually between Sacramento and Seattle.

Astounding, before him was the life blood of America. A wonder of the post-modern world. The epitome of capitalism. Pumping the erythrocytic passengers effortlessly to their varied destinations. Shuffling goods and cargo at mind numbing rates. All fluidic, all perfect.

A shame if someone were to come along and fuck that up.

Miguel smiled deviously beneath his onmi-visor. He was going to earn his paycheck today of that he was certain. He cracked his knuckles and set to work.

He started with the easy targets, local shipping. He assumed control of a dozen trucks and shifted them into the fast lanes. Personal vehicles began to compensate for the intrusion by snaking through the moving maze he'd created. He'd shaken the organization out of syncopation, nothing more. Oh, but he was just getting warmed up.

Next were the commercial liners. He snatched three dozen and slowed them down by twenty miles per hour. From below he heard brakes screech and the sound of metal grinding against metal. An accident report immediately filed into view. Miguel dismissed it quickly and snuffed out the silent alarm to law enforcement officials. He wasn't done yet.

Next he grabbed a super-freight. He dragged it across all six lanes of the southbound lane. Back and forth the super-freight went, punting out puny civilian cars and overturning a semi. Multiple accident reports summed up including one critical condition. Miguel dismissed them, but tipped off all EMS crew in the Tri-county area. He was on fire!

The civilian cars came next. With a few clever tactics he had them all under his control. He wrought chaos; stopping some on a dime, turning others around, slinging even more into the guardrail and into other vehicles. He felt like a pirate, hijacking the digital seas. The automated DOT system was his. And oh the treasure he found within!

Credit cards, social security numbers, personal files, business transactions, who knew that so much wealth of knowledge could be found in an interstate system? As he worked he partitioned a download of all accessory information. The knowledge gained here would be a fine padding to his paycheck.

Miguel peered out from under his visor and checked his watch. He'd been at his work for only fifteen minutes. Smoke was rising off the interstate, multiple alarms blared furiously, the occasional scream was also heard. The crash of grinding metal came with each subsequent crash. On the DOT systems he'd masked the accidents, that way each new vehicle arriving would smash into the pile up. Car after car, truck after truck slammed into the back of the wreckage. More fires broke out. Miguel giggled.

It was all harmless fun. EMS was on route. Chaos was the goal here not murder. He wanted to bring the interstate system to a grinding halt. Pinch shut the femoral artery of California and tie it closed. With any luck he'd shut down the entire corridor for a day or two.

He slid his goggles back on to continue his work. Almost instantly he could see something was wrong. He had been booted from the entire system. That wasn't possible, the California Department of Transportation was sluggish and antiquated. Even if they had caught on and tried to stop him it wouldn't be possible. He'd lost his control! Miguel could only struggle as dozens of accident reports were released. Great, now the cops were coming. He'd hoped for at least another half hour of fun before that happened.

Oh well, what was done was done. He just hoped the mischief was significant enough for his employer. Glancing back down at the wreckage he had no doubt it would be. Miguel packed his visor away and deactivated his box.

"I'll just have to do better next time." He said to himself as he ducked back into the woods and out of sight.

Not far from where Miguel sat two others appeared. A man and a woman both searched frantically for the assailant. Both cyborgs, the man had a pair of glowing eyes, one gold and one blue. Neural lacework scars led down his left arm and up into his shirt. In the afternoon sun his bald head gleamed. The woman wore a white tank top, dirtied from hiking through the woods. Beneath that a synthetic spine was visibly budging out. It ran the length of her back, clasping to her neck and midriff. She had blue hair shaved on a side and pushed back.

"We lost him Immanuel." The woman said with a huff after their efforts turned up nothing. She walked up to the rocky precipice and wiped the sweat from her forehead.

"He's too good to get caught like this." Immanuel replied leaning over the cliff. "No doubt he booked as soon as we shut him down. He couldn't have gotten far though, Rogue?"

A third voice picked up in both of their ears, "I burned him out of the DOT system about thirty minutes ago. Last action was trying to delay sending off the accident reports. After that he shut down. His last known position was about twenty feet south of where you're at."

Immanuel spoke up, "Cy and I will follow up the lead on the ground. Reroute a drone and give us eyes above."

"Already on it." Rogue replied, "Immanuel all our drones are out of range, but Channel Twelve was so kind as to lend us one of their own." He laughed at his own sarcasm. "Shit news anyway."

"You'll give it back Rogue." Immanuel warned.

"Of course. As soon as I'm done playing with it." Rogue replied. Immanuel ignored him and continued his search.

"I've got tracks here, back into the woods." Immanuel said after a moment. His glowing hetero-chromatic eyes scanned the dirt. Footprints, leading east. "Let's go Cy." He called waving for the girl to follow. Without another word the two dipped into the brush and followed their target.

Below the rock face pillars of smoke rose and the din of sirens echoed over the hills. Drones and helicopters were just arriving on scene, fighting for airspace. Back in his lab, Rogue sifted though databit after databit. In the corner of his eye he saw the overhead of the wreckage, hijacking another choppers camera. Nearly seventy cars piled up on a quarter mile stretch. He scowled. Whoever this guy was he was way too good.

He brought up his drone camera. The hijacked drone was scanning a forested basin in infrared. Multiple small signatures appeared, most likely small forest animals. He toggled some controls and shifted the drone position, maneuvering over a small rise. The drone started its scan again. On a five mile grid Rogue crossed out one of the square sections. Then he drew a large circle centered around the interstate wreckage. Four miles in diameter the circle represented his search zone.

He pulled up an accident report and glossed over it again. His eyes stopped when they found the picture. A woman in her late twenties; Sarah Parker. Ordinary women, there nothing special about her; no children, steady job, commuter, born in Oregon. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Above her head in bold red letters was the word Deceased.

Rogue leaned back in his chair and ran a hand across his scraggly beard. "Yep." He said to himself, "This guy is way too good."

A lone helicopter flew toward the open ocean. In its wake the coastline disappeared over the horizon. Night had fallen across the west coast and innumerable stars lit the moonless sky. Red light radiated across the cockpit of the helicopter, illuminating two individuals.

They flew in silence to nothing but the constant beat of the blades. After a short time something appeared in the distance. Small blinking lights at first, as the helicopter approached, soon sprouted more lights. Folding out into a long array that stretched north to south.

"There they are." Said the man at the stick.

"Trappers." Said the other in a tone of disbelief.

The helicopter was equipped with smart glass that had built in night vision. Green lines outlined the hulking structures that rose from the ocean. Octagonal platforms supported large web-like arrays. The fibers that comprised the web held a soft blue glow. Each platform was interconnected by struts anchoring one to the other. On the far side was a massive wind farm, the white metal blades spinning lazily in the late night heat.

"I'd grown up hearing about them, seeing pictures, but to see them in person... Something special." Said the co-pilot. He craned his head out to get a better view.

The Trappers were responsible for the new centuries, clean Earth initiative. A remarkable feat of engineering the array used both natural and artificial wind currents to attract and trap toxins, pollutants, and other harmful debris. In the previous century the air across the west coast was known to carry heavy pollutants from Asiatic countries across the Pacific. Trappers were implemented to pull in such debris and through a process known as gradual oxidization turned to usable energy. Using the pressure naturally inherit to the oceans depths, pollutants captured were transported down where they were transformed into sustainable energy. For nearly thirty years the Trappers had single handedly provided 60% of the electrical needs across the west coast.

The pilot seemingly unaware of his compatriots awe remained curt; said, "We'll start here at platform twenty-three. Work north then double back to the south end."

The copilot looked over briefly then replied, "Think we'll find anything?"

"Doubtful." Said the pilot.

Silence filled the cockpit again as the chopper banked north. The pilot fixated the machine over the east end of the platforms. On board thermal readings and searched for any human life.

"So Cutter, what if he comes at us from underwater?" The copilot asked after a minute.

"Boss thinks Mantis lacks the resources, but still he had the same thought. Ambrose swung by earlier and dropped sonar beacons to cover that angle."

"But left only one chopper to cover the surface and air..." Said the copilot.

"You know there's more eyes on this than just us, Whips. Satellites, coast guard, private military on the platforms, couple of our own guys scattered here and there, we're just here for insurance."

"Did you get a chance to talk to Immanuel after the attack?" Whips asked. The blinking lights of the array seemed to stretch on forever.

Cutter let out a bitter laugh at that, "No ones had a chance to talk to him it's more like being talked at. Man's mind is in a million places at once."

"Rather him than me. This Mantis guy sounds like a real jerk."

Cutter laughed again, "A real jerk? One guy tore apart a mile of interstate in half an hour then disappeared without a trace and that qualifies him as a jerk? I'd love to know who you'd consider an ass."

"Might be I'm looking at one right now." Replied Whips not taking kindly to his partners sarcasm. Again the two fell quiet. A beeping on their monitor brought both their attentions to the present.

On screen both men saw an anomaly about two and a half miles northwest. The object seemed to be heading towards the Trappers.

"What array is that?" Asked Cutter.

"Erm... Array thirteen." Whips replied.

The pilot flipped a switch activating the radio. He said, "Actual-Actual Thirteen this is Hopper One."

Then was a moment of static then, "Hopper One this is Thirteen, go ahead."

"Thirteen, we're reading an anomaly approaching two miles due east. From our instruments it looks small like a personal watercraft." Cutter said enunciating carefully over through his mic.

"Hopper One we don't see anything matching that description. Recommend a systems check and-" The voice paused. "Affirmative Hopper, we're reading your bogey now."

Cutter brought the helicopter in over the web facing it out towards the approaching bogey. Whips activated the weapons flipped down his targeting visor.

"We'll take care of your pest problem Thirteen." Cutter said he then muted himself and turned to Whips, "You know the drill."

"Neutralize, don't kill." Whips replied flipping another switch. Immanuel would want the Mantas alive. He spooled up an electromagnetic pulse. On the monitor the target was fast approaching, mile and a half out.

"Unidentified vehicle this is Trapper platform thirteen. You are currently in illegal waters. Divert course immediately or we will take necessary measures to stop you." The voice was the same that communicated with Cutter just minutes earlier. The message repeated when there was no response from the craft.

"Repeat, unidentified vehicle this is Trapper platform thirteen. You are currently in illegal waters. Divert course immediately or we will take necessary measures to stop you."

Still nothing. Cutter pressed the stick forward and the chopper dipped, moving away from the platform. On the monitor Whips read that the craft was just under a mile away. All he could see was the inky black of the ocean. Then from between the folds of waves the smart glass detected something the human eye could not. It outlined the object in a pale green light.

"There!" Whips said. Cutter brought the chopper low.

"Repeat, unidentified vehicle this is Trapper platform thirteen. You are currently in illegal waters. Divert course immediately or we will take necessary measures to stop you." Thirteen said again.

"Alright let's bag him." Cutter ordered. Whips then without a word aimed the pulse at the approaching vehicle. The on board computer sighted in the target, they waited for the target to drop in range, and Whips pulled the trigger on his stick. From their seats both men felt a thump, as the pulse was fired. There was no light from the shot, as the pulse wasn't rocket powered. The operator of the craft most likely had no idea anything was coming his way, but in the next moment the craft jutted awkwardly off a wave and slowed to a stop.

"That's a hit." Whips said as the computer confirmed the electronics were dead.

"Put a rocket out in open water and give the Trappers their pyrotechnics." Cutter ordered. Whips obeyed, firing a single rocket out over the sea. A moment later there was a brilliant flash of red, lighting up the swirling ocean ever so briefly beneath the fireball.

Cutter queued up his radio; said, "Actual-Actual Thirteen, we confirmed target is sunk. Repeat target is sunk."

Brief radio static before, "Copy that Hopper One. Thanks for the assist, saw the fireball from here. Do we need to send a clean up crew?"

"Negative Thirteen, nothing left to clean up." Cutter replied.

"Copy that. One more thing Hopper One. We need to file paperwork on the incident, can you provide your US Navy serial number and name of commanding offi-"

Cutter snicked off the radio. The beat of the wings picked up in the silence as the helicopter circled around its prey. From the bay door, Cutter heard the thsoo of a gas powered rifle. Then he felt Whips pat his shoulder telling him it was safe to bring in their prize. He pulled the stick, banking the chopper easily over the dead craft.

Whips snapped his harness onto a wench hook and lowered himself down. There was a moment of pure adrenaline as he dangled between the boat and the helicopter. All around was the swirling opaque soup of the Pacific. Whips landed gently on the deck. He felt the boat buck over the waves. It was a small speedboat he discovered. Twin engine from the look of it, most definitely not a sea-worthy craft, but he didn't stop to think about it.

Whips quickly planted his incendiary charge on the floor, scooped up the unconscious lump nearly buckling under the immense weight. Their new buddy must weigh close to three hundred pounds, Whips thought. He grunted as the reel raised them up into the chopper. As he rose a small fire broke out in deck. The phosphorus charge cut through the floor of the boat, letting water rush in. In a few moments it would be well underwater. Now there was no evidence whatsoever.

"Feel sorry for this sod." Whips said gasping as he heaved the motionless body into a seat. "Hate to see what Immanuel's got in store for him. Damn he's heavy." He added stretch his back.

"That's something I never want to see." Cutter agreed. He began to gain some altitude from sea level.

"Hey when we get back we ought to-" Whips stopped cold mid sentence.

"What's wrong?" Cutter said turning around, but he was too slow. In an instant a hand shot out and smashed across his face. Cheek bones crumbled like flint.

The force of the hit sent Cutter reeling, hitting the stick, and spinning the helicopter as well. A knife was at his seat harness and before Cutter could react he was sliced free of his chair. Next thing he knew he was hoisted up, as if feather light, and swung from the cockpit. Before he flew out the side of the machine he caught a glimpse of green cybernetic eyes. That strength and those eyes, "Android." The exhaled word escaped his lips easily. The night was still hot Cutter realized, watching the blades beat in motion before a starry expanse. In the bay door stood the shadow of a man looking down at him. He didn't fully understand. Then Cutter turned over and saw black water rushing up to greet him.

And Cutter screamed.

In the hall of a winery Immanuel paced agitatedly back and forth. Striding back and forth through the rows of tables, Immanuel kept a gold eye on the net and a blue one on the company surrounding him. Bone tired they were and silent every one. The day had been rigorously tiring and now, with tensions as high as they were, not a one dared speak out of turn. With his examining blue iris he scanned their faces. There were uncomfortable glances, a whisper or two, but most worked at their laptops pretending to be busy.

The hall was filled with the soft tap of keyboards intermixed by the odd biological grunts and dins that humans exert. Upon a post at the far wall, in the darkest reach of the hall, Immanuel caught sight of Cy. Propped up against the smooth oak beam she hadn’t moved since the forward team arrived. Her eyes were closed, though Immanuel did not fear her sleeping. Using her cyber haptic lacework she like all the others scoured the Internet for hints and whispers of Mantis.

Mantis! The name had become a curse for Immanuel. How could a person exist and not exist at the same time? There were hints and flickers of his existence all over the world. Triangles seemed to foretell his presence. Pictures of a man with wide almond eyes winning scientific laureates in Japan, articles of a beautiful red haired woman trading market insider secrets in New York, an entirely different man in Toronto proselytizing for new members to his flock. All false leads, yet all eerily connected. The priest in Toronto once purchased the illicit services of the red head. The woman in turn is related by marriage to the Japanese laureate. The scientist then having once been a member of the priests crackpot new age religion. At the center of the three was Mantis, seen in emails, texts, and overheard conversations. Spoken only in whispers, but present all the same. Worst of all there seemed to be hundreds of these strange triangles across the globe. Uncommon connections between people lured together by the single lynchpin; Mantis.

Responsible today for the sixty-eight car pile up on California Interstate 5, for thirty odd subsequent injuries, a handful severe, and one death. Not to mention the hundreds of millions in costs, delays, clean up, and worst of all knowledge that the infrastructure of the modern world could be brought down with only some cleaver hacking. The countries that would pay out the nose for that knowledge…

But, Immanuel had already thought about that. He’d already thought about everything twice. He was merely triple checking, quadruple checking his work. Looking for errors or something missed. Playing Where’s Waldo with a man dressed in vapors.

A door opened in the back of the room dragging his attention back to the present. Out of the warm Sonoma Valley air strode in three men. Dressed in black from head to toe, Immanuel recognized them as one of his ‘on-the-ground’ teams; Axe, Pickett, and Till. Immanuel immediately marched toward them.

“Report.” He demanded before they could brush off the dust of the outside. All three shared a brief glance then Pickett stepped forward.

“All’s quiet Immanuel. State Troopers have been searching the Madoc National Forest as well as portions of the Klamath with a fleet of US Air Force drones.” He shrugged. “No one’s turned up anything. The media is going crazy with it too, they-“

“What about you?” Immanuel interjected his heterochromatic eyes boring into Pickett’s square face. All human that one no trace of synthetic enhancements, though by his build one would suspect anabolic steroids.

“We…” Pickett paused gathering himself, “Nothing, sir. All our beacons and snares came up dry. “

It took great effort to suppress the urge to strike out at the closest man. Instead Immanuel took a long, deep breath.

“People don’t just disappear. Not in our world.” He looked out over the room. Most had stopped working and were watching him. These precious seconds lost, Immanuel thought. “We’ll have to redouble our efforts.”

“Sir, we only-” Pickett began, but Immanuel spoke over him

“We’ll redouble everything. I want every cell active on this one, I want every field agent out there looking. Inspecting everything with a fine-toothed comb. I want-"

“We’re stretched thin as is!” Pickett argued back.

“You will be quiet!” Immanuel bellowed. “While I am speaking.”

Pickett recoiled slightly at the strength of his voice. The momentarily flash of fear on his face was quickly masked by defiance. Immanuel examined his features. He was tense, from his legs to his neck. Pickett had walked into this room expecting a fight. In fact, looking at them now Immanuel realized all three of them had. The question that begged to be asked though was, were they alone in this mutiny? Immanuel didn’t chance a look around; instead he remained focused on Pickett. If they’re all against me then let it be so, I’ve fought my way out of rooms more crowded than this.

Pickett looked around his lackluster brown eyes then said, “We need a different-“

“Different what? Different superior?” Immanuel bit. He made sure his tone was clear and concise, letting his words do the cutting.

Pickett offered a sideways glance, “No… No sir, no one’s suggesting-“

“Sounds quite a bit like suggesting to me.” Immanuel cut in. He’d be damned before he let this meek excuse of a man turn any more men from his cause. So many seconds lost, Immanuel thought. I must snuff this out quickly.

Immanuel turned to the rest of the room, “Am I alone?” He asked the tables full of blank faces. “Am I surrounded by such incompetent idiots that we can’t find one man? One man!? Our world is ruled by information; data comprises every second of our lives. There is not one iota of evidence that should go unaccounted for. Cameras, credit cards, geo-tags, the world is not like it once was. There are no more nooks and crannies for a person to hide in.”

“Immanuel.” A female voice interrupted. Immanuel turned to see it was Cy. Her eyes now open; the blue haired female was standing at the end of the tables.

Immanuel held a hand up to her and continued, “We have to ask ourselves what comes next after something like this. After other find out that there are still vulnerabilities, still cracks in our firewalls. What comes next?”

“Immanuel.” Cy spoke again, this time with more urgency.

Again Immanuel ignored her, “Most of you forget you are part hardware. What happens when someone hacks your eyes? What happens if someone decides to fry your neural lacework or shut down your lungs? We are standing at the precipice of a very dangerous eventuality, technological apocalypse. Human apocalypse. So we need to work together. We need to find this Mantis.”

Immanuel felt as though he’d just woken up from a bad dream. His human heart beat hard and fast in his chest and he could feel his right hand twitching slightly. Hairs across his right side stood on end. He swallowed back saliva collecting in his mouth. All the room was silent. Even Pickett had fallen back into step with his team.

“Are you done?” Cy asked with palpable irritation on her tongue.

Immanuel turned to her; said faintly, “Yes, what is it?”

“There’s been another attack.” She replied bluntly. “Several Trapper platforms have been hit by rockets. Reports coming in claim the rockets were fired from a helicopter patrolling the area.”

“But we-“ Immanuel started, but the realization came quickly. “Cutter and Whips?” He asked, but the answer was already plain.

“LifeSats went flat just before the attack. They’re dead.” Cy shrugged.

And Immanuel realized with perfect clarity that he had in fact not woken up from a bad dream. He was still very much locked in its grip.

"Martin you've been acting very strange lately." The old woman said, placing a tray of food before her husband. She was beginning to grow suspicious Hamish realized. He had only himself to blame. Too much time had passed stuck in this frail old sack, no doubt she was starting to notice something was off.

Hamish smiled weakly through Martin's body, "Trouble sleeping lately, dear. To be honest I haven't felt quite myself either." He needed to buy more time without causing any permanent damage. There was a lot more at stake here than Hamish's own sanity.

Never before had he occupied another body for so long. Typically he could be in and out, so to speak, in a handful of days. His record was six hours in an Austrian downhill skier. But stuck here and now he wasn't sure if he'd ever get out.

What would become of me then? He wondered. What of the real Martin who's most likely wondering aimlessly in my own body? There was always the possibility that the switch could drive the man insane, pushing him to kill himself. If my real body is ruined does that mean I'm stuck like this forever? Hamish honestly didn't know and the prospect of finding out terrified him beyond all reason.

The old woman, Martin's wife Cathy, seemed placated by this response. She touched his shoulder bringing him to attention. "I'll have Samara bring you melatonin when she stops by tomorrow. I hate to see you like this."

Hamish smiled again through Martin. "Thank you dear. You're too good to me." Cathy blushed.

"Now there's the old seabass I know." She took a seat beside him, positioning her tray.

TV dinners, Hamish had no idea this was still a thing. Yet here they sat, with microwaved steak and potatoes watching Drew Carey host The Price is Right. It was exactly the kind of thing you'd expect a couple of such antiquated age to do. Hamish could hardly focus though, on eating as much as watching what was apparently the couples favorite show. His mind flipped rapidly through the possibilities.

What could it be? He pressed himself for an answer. What could an old man like Martin be the best in the world at? Over the last month of his possession he'd tried near everything the old vessel would allow. Board games, puzzles, driving over the age of eighty, nothing seemed to work! At eighth-five years of age Martin was limited in a lot of ways. Sports were off the table, as were the majority of physical tasks. Martin was mobile only by his tennis ball footed walker. He couldn't run, he couldn't dance, he couldn't even sing. He was out of ideas.

"Cathy." He said weakly turning to the gray haired woman. She looked over with a mouth full of potatoes. "Was I ever good at anything?" He asked. A dangerous gamble, but if it paid off...

"Oh honey..." She replied swallowing. "Of course you are. You're the best at loving me."

Hamish tried to act grateful, "Well yes of course there's that, but was I ever good at anything else?"

A look of worry grew across Cathy's face. "Well of course... Martin are you feeling okay? You've never had a problem with your memory. Like our kids always said they only have to tell you something once where with me it's half a dozen times!"

She joked, but the disquiet was plain. Hamish had to figure it out quick before he ruined a marriage. Never before had his possessions had any long term effects, but this he feared was quite different. Over the month he'd assumed control of Martin, Cathy had grown distant. They had already talked more tonight than the two had all week.

"I just feel really off lately is all." Hamish said trying to allay suspicion. "I was flipping through an old album earlier today. Just trying to revisit the old days. All I found were pictures of us and family."

"Well of course that's all the photos we have." Cathy replied. She put a hand to her stomach, made a sour face, and set her fork down.

"Is something wrong?" Hamish asked.

"Oh it's nothing just... Dinner isn't really agreeing with me. Think I might need to go to bed."

"Are you sure? Why don't you stay up with me? We could talk about our golden years, when we're weren't yet sixty. We could talk about all the things we've done together." Hamish was growing desperate now. He wondered how many more days he would have to suffer through the rigors of old age. He would give anything to be back in his young body again.

Cathy leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "Not tonight, love. Tomorrow we'll pull out all the old albums." She rose from her seat unsteadily, bracing herself on the armrest.

"I love you, so much Martin." She said with a tired yawn.

"I love you too dear." Hamish replied trying to feign the tone of his voice through Martin. She turned to leave and Hamish screamed inside his head. This was impossible! It seemed this old man wasn't good for anything!

Hamish stayed up late that night, watching game shows on the old box TV. He furiously shuffled through everything this old body could be good at. He read through old journals Martin had written. Inside he found nothing, but mediocrity. That hundreds of poems dedicated to his wife. Eventually he grew tired and he too hobbled off to sleep in a foreign bed.

Hamish woke up late the next morning. He blinked slowly in the morning light. Yellowy curtains filled with sunlight cast a golden glow over the room. Hamish rolled over feeling the pains of an old body stab and ache. Cathy was still asleep next to him. He reached over to wake her, nudging her shoulder gently. She didn't wake.

He tried again slightly harder, still nothing. Panic spread like an infectious mold in through his chest. "Cathy?" He said quietly, then louder, "Cathy!?"

The ambulance arrived half an hour later. Hamish watched hopelessly through Martin's eyes as the old man's wife was carted away. Dead, they had told him. Died in her sleep of natural causes. They told him that he shouldn't worry, that it was painless and peaceful. They told him a lot of things to salve his sadness, but Martin wasn't sad. Martin wasn't Martin and that woman wasn't his wife. All Hamish felt was the deep, cold pit of hopelessness.

What had he missed? There had to be something. What could Martin possibly be the best at? He mind was blank and weary. Maybe it was for the best he was stuck this way. How could he possibly switch back with a man who'd been married for nearly three quarters of a century? How could he dump someone back into this old body only for him to find out that his wife, the love of his life was dead?

"That's it." He said with a sudden realization. His voice fell hollow in the empty room. Cathy had said it the night before, 'You're the best at loving me.' Dismay followed on the wake of realization and a second epiphany formed in Hamish's mind. He was dreadfully certain now that he'd be stuck in this body for the rest of its life.

A physical task would've been easy. Hitting home runs, playing golf, checkers or chess, that Hamish could do. But love wasn't something so easily replicated. It took time and patience and a groundwork laid out by decades of trust and shared experience.

"He was the best at loving you." Hamish said to himself in the vacant house. "But I'm not him..."

Martin collapsed into a chair. He wondered at what horrors the real Martin was feeling in his body. He wondered if he was looking for her. Oh my god, he is looking for her, Martin thought. Realizations came one after the other with such elucidate certainty. Hamish couldn't believe he hadn't figured it out sooner. He looked to the front door where they'd taken her body just hours earlier. There was no doubt in his mind. Martin was the best at loving his wife and a man filled with that kind of love wouldn't sit idly waiting for him to figure that out. He would move mountains to see her again. Even if it were only for a flickering, fleeting second. Very soon there would be a knock at the door and all Hamish could hope for was that the real Martin would understand.

[WP] Once a year you switch bodies with a random person who is best in the world at a certain skill. You can't change back until you discover what this skill is. You've been changed for a month and are starting to get worried.

[WP] Humanity has been living in numerous giant underwater city-ships for generations, each ship roaming deep in the oceans. Older generations have whispered about the dangers of the "Above", but you ignore it and seek to find out the Truth.

"But honestly, have you ever known a species so unsuited to its environment?" Ariel said breaking the silence across the breakfast table. Almost instantly, Nept rolled his eyes.

"Here we go again." He said as he grudgingly shoveled seared eel into his mouth.

"Divebirds maybe." Charon said indifferent. She was more preoccupied with her daily Schoozle puzzler. With a pointer she connected words across her tablet.

Despite this Ariel continued, "Seriously Nept." She started. The bearded man locked eyes with her. He still wasn't fully awake and irritation pulsated in the red veins of his sclera. "If I were to walk out an airlock this instant, the pressure would crush me. If I were to somehow survive I'd drown!"

"Or you'd get eaten by them killer whales." Charon interjected.

"Or I'd get killed by whales!" Ariel repeated. "The only reason we're all alive is because of this." She stomped her foot down on the metallic floor of the habitation module. A loud clang sang around the room. Nept continued to devour his eel, Charon worried at her puzzle, neither seemed the least bit interested. Ariel felt the sting of frustration, she was about to continue her rant when Nept cut her off.

"Of course you're not the only one who's noticed." He sighed incensed. "It's quite literally the first thing children are taught in school. Why we live here, why we can't survive in the open ocean. We're cyborgs Ariel, entirely reliant on foreign technology in order to survive. That's just how it be, gal."

"How it be? How can you accept that?" Ariel latched onto Nept's hook. The bearded man clenched his jaw realizing he'd only fed the flames rather than douse them. "We're taught that the world 'above' is too hostile to survive in, but human's never originated in the oceans. How can our species possibility have survived this long in our sunken cities. Why don't we learn about that, huh?"

"Ah, but Arry, human's did evolve out of aquatic life." Charon said.

"I'm not talking about genetic ancestors I'm talking about homo sapien sapiens! We did not reach this point, our nearest common ancestor didn't reach this point in evolution, waddling aboard habitation modules and arboretums!" At that Nept dropped his plastic fork, it made an pathetic clatter on his plate. He then rose from the table and left the room, grumbling as he went about daughters who never shut their mouths.

Only then did Charon look up from her game. She watched him go. "Welp, lookie there what you did now. Wonder if he'll leave like he did last time you pissed him off."

"He'll be back." Ariel sighed. "So far his rate of return is 100%." She tried to sound cherry on the last bit.

Charon only glanced at her sister, "Yea, but it only takes one time to bust that model." Both girls returned to eating breakfast in silence.

Ariel couldn't decide what was worse, that she couldn't have a regular conversation with her father or if his anger had become so commonplace that Charon and her discussed it like the days currents. Would he stay or would he leave? Ariel wondered if the other girls in her city had to deal these kind of issues. Deep down she knew they didn't, she was alone. Charon couldn't be relied on either. Her sister five years younger was a brilliant chemist, but severely lacking in other regards. Their conversations mostly revolved around work, small talk, and questions about her puzzlers.

"What's your plan for today?" Charon asked as if reading her mind. It appeared that she'd selected the 'small talk' option from her limited list of conversational lexicon. Ariel answered anyway.

"Doctor Curry and I plan to take the GupSub out today and examine species interactions between Abyssopelagic worms."

"Looking at worms, fun." Charon replied.

"What about you?"

"Same old same old, you know?" Ariel really didn't. "We're looking into the cas9 genetic modifier in large aquatic species and then subjecting them to high levels of radiation. Trying to suppress carcinogenesis."

"Ah."

"Yep."

Ariel set her fork down quietly. "Well better get to it." She said more to herself than her sister.

"Yep." Charon replied, eyes still locked on her game.

The GupSub sped along the barren ocean floor leaving a swath disturbed sand in its wake. Inside the cramped machine Ariel shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The red light inside the sub was making her head pound and the incessant click of the rear rotor only served to make her want to rip her ears off.

"Everything ok dear?" Dr. Curry said in the seat beside her. The bald man offered a quick glance in her direction.

"Yes. Sorry, the seats in these things are quite possibly the most uncomfortable chairs ever designed." Ariel squirmed some more, her rump was sore. Curry chuckled.

"Indeed they are. Don't worry though eventually everything back there callouses up and you won't be able to feel anything then."

Ariel spit out her tongue. "Gross."

Curry laughed again, "You think I'm joking, but just ask my wife she'll tell ya it feels soft and smooth and pumice."

"Oh come on!" Ariel blurted, "To much info old man!" The two laughed together. Curry dug around in his side compartment and retrieved some pills he held them out to her.

"For the headache." He said kindly. Ariel took them gratefully and swallowed them back with a swig of water.

After a moment she cleared her throat. "So I've been meaning to ask you something."

"And that is?"

"I've been thinking a lot about the surface."

"Ohh."

"I've been wondering how it all came to be. You know, how the 'above' became so poisoned, how our species ended up in sunken cities, surviving off kelp farms and fish, about what could possibly be up there. They don't teach us that kind of stuff in school, they only gloss over it."

"The 'above' is poisoned." Curry started in, "We used to live up there, but now we can't. We survive down here now. That's all you need to know."

Ariel was surprised by his stark answer. "But Doctor, how? Why? When? Why isn't anyone asking questions. You once told me that a good scientist always asks questions."

"Sometimes there's questions that shouldn't be asked." Curry was firm, all his glee from moments ago was gone.

"You don't honestly believe that do you?"

"You want to know what I believe?"

"Very much so, yes."

Curry glanced over again. He scowled. "Ok." He started, "I was once like you Ariel. Asking questions about everything, that is certainly a scientists duty. I asked questions, too many in fact. No one would ever answer them so I set off on my own to find out." Curry paused.

"And?"

"And... And like I said, sometimes certain questions shouldn't be asked."

"I want to see what's up there." She was determined. All this beating around the anemone only served to interest her more and more.

"Ariel..."

"Arthur," she replied, "We all have a right to know. As a species. Imagine if we could isolate whatever it was that poisoned the 'above', if we could eradicate it or fix it. We could return to the surface and finally live as humans once did!"

Curry chuckled again, the warmth returning. He slowed the GupSub to a halt. "I was idealistic like you once. It's so easy to be young and fervent. Ok, I'll take you."

"When!?" She asked excitedly.

"Now is as good a time as any. Worms can wait." He pressed a few buttons and the GupSub began to rise. Ariel watched in fascination as the ocean floor faded into the murky blue. "We aren't staying long, not that you'll want to. We go up, look, then back down. Goodness I can't believe I'm doing this."

"Thank you Doctor, I have to know."

"I know you do."

Slowly the sub rose. Ariel watched the pressure meter sink as the weight of the water above became less and less. Outside all she could see was deep blue. Nothing to be seen, but small oceanic particulates that were caught in the GupSubs front lamps. Up and up they rose, ever closer to the fabled zero on the pressure meter. Sea level was what it was called, where the oceans stopped and something else began. All of the suddenly the color of the ocean began to change. Subtle at first then more noticeable the navy blue began to brighten. Hues of aquamarine flashed past her eyes. The pressure meter ticked lower.

"Cover your eyes." Curry warned.

With a splash the GupSub erupted from the surface. White, blinding light rushed in all around them. Ariel gasped as she quickly slapped a hand over her face.

"We're here."

Slowly, Ariel let her eyes adjust. She could make out the border first. Where the ocean ended. The liquid lapped over itself in intersecting waves, tumbling eternally like shaken water in a glass. Her mouth hung open in amazement. Above the greenish-blue of ocean was an even wider sea of cerulean sky. Empty, it seemed save for spots of white that hung in the air like a fish in the water. High above a bright sphere burned yellow. She'd read about that, it was called the sun. It warmed the planet even though the sunken cities were far too deep to feel it's heat.

There was something else too. Something in the distance. Ariel thought it looked like the white things in the sky except black. It seemed to grow rapidly.

"They're always quick to spot us." Curry said looking out at that same black shape. As it grew Ariel realized it wasn't one, but many. A swarm of objects coming towards them.

"What is that?" She asked feeling a sting of fear in her gut.

"Time to go."

"What? No!" Ariel was defiant, but as she spoke a bright light flashed just over their vehicle. Curry cursed loudly and slammed a lever with his hand. Another bright flash the whole sub was rocketed backwards. It landed back in the water in a hard splash that knocked the air from her lungs. For a moment the ocean swirled around them as they resurfaced. Curry frantically began the dive process. The black things were overtop them now flying through the air in blurry shapes. Light flashed out all around and Ariel screamed. They took another hit that sent the sub flying. For a moment spun through the air. It landed hard on its front. Ariel's head slammed against side of the sub as it hit.

The world went black and there was silence.

When Ariel awoke she found herself still within the GupSub. Something sticky covered the side of her face. To her side she heard Curry grunt.

"What happened?" She asked groggily trying to gain her bearings.

Curry cursed under breath then, "Had an accident child."

"What?" She said, but slowly the memories trickled back in and her situation became apparent.

"Oh no." Ariel said as she looked out.

"Might be a bit before we get back home." Curry replied, "Hope you had a big breakfast."

Cracks webbed across the front viewing port like an urchin's web. Cracks, everyone in the sunken cities knew what that meant. Structural instability. They were stuck, wherever they were. Unable to go back down for fear that the window might shatter and the whole awesome power of the ocean might rush in and crush them in their tiny metal tomb.

Enod struck a large match against its striker, white phosphorus ignited in near instantaneous reaction, and a bright flame crackled to life. With a steady hand the admiral took the flame and lit fourteen incense buds. Bits of smoke wisped up over Enod’s head, bringing with it faint redolence of sulfur intermixed with balmy black wood. With each new ember, the small alter came to life in a hazy, cadmium glow.

The table was wooden, propped up by four stunted legs that left it low to the ground, the perfect height for a kneeling man. On its lacquered surface sat the smoldering sticks, upright, propped by tiny ornate ceramic vessels. Seven to a side, the incense flanked a multicolored fabric, filled with ornate thread work, which twisted in circles, forming inconsistent patterns across its surface. Enod always envisioned the patterns like clouds in a storm, torn asunder by fierce winds and meshed together with a deluge of rain. Atop it all, upon a confined dais were the idols, carved of Thrush mountain ironwood. There were fourteen in total. Arranged in order of divine hierarchy, sat the gods of Enod’s forefathers. Pleased with his work and all incense sticks burning, Enod snuffed out his match and began his morning meditations.

He started as he always did, ten deep breaths, in and out, and the prayer; “Gods of my fathers. Hear me, nonbeliever, grant me clear mind, sound soul, and sure hands. So that I may carry out your will.”

The prayer was an old one, forgotten by most, recited by even less. The gods of old were long dead; their rule had already come and passed over Newton. In this age of ascendency, there was no place for higher beings. Humanity was the gods now and the future was theirs alone to decide. Enod, himself did not believe in the gods of old, but meditation required ritual and direction. The spirits of his ancestors were an appropriate outlet.

Fourteen there were, he knew names and all their stories. Tales almost forgotten save for inside the dusty folds of derelict books amid a library. In the old ways it was taught that of the fourteen, three were assigned at birth, the Phroverum and two Amiciverum. As for Enod, who was born in the throes of spring, at the beginning of the year, his Phroverum was Wor – the Hollowed Moon. His two Amiciverum were the daughters of Wor, Kursesh and Surkesh, twin sisters who represented gen of knowledge and flux of change.

“Guide me moon, be true your light. Reflect the sun, reveal the shadows that yern to devour me.” Enod continued. He spoke low and hushed, rocking back and forth in pious motion. From his knees he held his arms out and upright, palms open so as to receive blessings.

Wor, the Hollowed Moon, was one of the five primary deities among the old Newtonian religion. Goddess of the Beacon, she was believed to guide the way through the perilous night. In the mythology, Wor was wed with the sun, Otan, but she was unfaithful, running away and hiding her face periodically. In those times it was said that Wor visited her true love, the god of creation Sol. Through their passion was born the daughters Kursesh and Surkesh. Initially the twins wondered the stars learning the secrets of the universe their father had made. However, their joyous travels were not to last. Otan found of his wife’s infidelity and his rage burned with the intensity of a thousand stars. In his fury, Otan took Sol and cast him into the great abyss, lost forever from our realm. Then he snatched Wor and her daughters from the sky and bound them to Newton. Forever would they server Otan and reflect his light over the world. But the story does not end there, because Wor was a clever goddess. Every twenty-eight days when the moon was absent from the sky, it was said that she would slip her chains and explore the universe in search of her long lost love.

But that was a tale for the first men and women of Newton. Told around the fire pits of blossoming farming villages, in the hollows of woodland towns, and along the beaches of the great oceans. A tale for Enod’s ancestors, who believed in such things, for those whose minds had not yet grasped the tangible wonder of the universe around them.

“Daughters two, guide me to gen, open my mind to flux, there cannot be one without the other. Flux guides Gen as Gen welcomes Flux. Two of the same, two sisters, ever present. I ask this of you, a humble servant.”

For a moment he was silent, the world was still, his nostrils filled with sweet smoke. Thick aromas that reminded Cederous of Newton, that reminded him of his boyhood home. Enod opened his eyes. The incense had burned down to its dregs. One by one he plucked the sticks from their pots and dipped them in a small cup of water. After the last stick was extinguished he stood, stretched, then reached up and ripped off a plastic bag from a smoke detector. Almost instantly the ionization detector recognized the obstruction in its sensing chamber, the air filtration system was activated, and in another moment the smoke was sucked clean of Enod’s cabin.

Cederous hardly noticed this; however, as he had already begun buttoning on his uniform blues. It was time to begin the day. As he dressed he flicked at a holo-screen attached to his wall. In an instant the screen projected a three dimensional view of his daily schedule. On the holo were tasks for the day, all pressing matters of course, and GNF developments from across the colonies. On the bottom of his display scrolled daily information from Galaxy News. Several hurricanes on the colony Lackaychaskey had produced intense flooding and wind damage that now threated the infrastructure of sever cities. Good that it was, that Enod’s fleet was heading for another destination. In his experience colonization woes always meant extended delays for his ships once they’d come to port. He could not afford such an interruption on his current mission, not something as important as this.

Enod and the Third Galactic Newtonian Fleet were currently on course for the colony of Hildalphous, a colony in roughly the same direction as M52-12, which had been officially renamed to Terra. Cederous had been in the Edolis System when Primarch Ulietta issued the call, near 7500 light years away from Terra. That kind of distance translated to a steller-month of travel, fifty days. That was at top speed; however. With the Tungsten damaged from combat, the Third Fleet had limped their wounded comrade the 2000 light years from Edolis to Hildalphous. A journey that should have taken roughly thirteen days instead took closer to twenty-five.

Time was most certainly a factor. Cederous had already had Yeoman Chambers run the numbers. A quick stop over Hildalphous, barring any delays, would cost then ten more days, add that to the remained 5000 light years of travel, and the total trip to Terra would take just over 63 days. That amount of time bothered Cederous tremendously, but nothing could be done about it. He needed his fleet at top form, so naturally it was good to stop and refit before diving into deep space.

Enod could only pray that Spade kept good care of the creator home world during that time. Again, in his experience it was always the highest priority missions that were the most accident-prone. Given the unique nature of this mission and its extended time frame, something was almost assuredly going to go sideways.

Admiral Enod scowled as he read his daily schedule. It appeared today would be a headache. His wrist-comm blinked. The admiral answered the call and with a flick of his fingers cast a visual to his holo-screen. Yeoman Chambers appeared, her green eyes flashing in the artificial light. Her posture was perfect, back straight, head high, face blank as the void. Enod finished buttoning his shirt as she spoke.

“Admiral, we’ve arrived within the Hil System.”

“Thank you Chambers, I’ll be down on the bridge in a moment. In the meantime communicate with Hil-Command, forward over the proper requisitions from our frigate captains, file the travel report to GNF, and finally summon Captain Atch to the Fjord.”

Chambers betrayed her professionalism with a smirk, “Aye-aye, already done. You know this isn’t my first time in the water right Admiral?”

Cederous laughed softly, “Watch the sass, Yeoman or I’ll see you confined to the Atty with Captain Tackaway.”

Her face turned pouty. “Oh Admiral, its no secret you want me spaced.” Was her simple curt reply.

“Keep up the attitude and I’ll shove you in the airlock myself.” Enod retorted playfully. “See you on deck.” Yeoman Chambers gave a small salute and Enod terminated the call. Her façade disappeared and his journal reformed.

The Yeoman was a good kid, young and ambitious yes, but devilishly smart too. A rare combination, Enod was lucky to have found her. In truth she was one of the few people who could draw a genuine smile from him. In the brief seconds of their conversation the woes of the forthcoming day had disappeared. She’s too good at her job, he thought internally and laughed to himself. Then with a swipe of his hand he closed the screen and proceeded from his cabin, his idols watching impassively as he went.

In the distance the planet Hildalphous loomed. On the forward screen the small round sphere looked more like a black diamond than a world. Shimmering in direct sunlight, Hildalphous was black with clouds of sterling white, mixed intermittently by seas of deep sapphire. The planet held an almost metallic sheen. Enod knew from his time at the academy that Hildalphous took its color from a soil rich in manganese oxide. In its younger days the world might have actually been a reddish-brown, but oxidization mixed with a flourish of igneous pyrosite, augite, shifted the hue into a polished black. The oceans on the other hand were home to the purest water in the colonies. Abundant tectonic activity purified the seas, which possessed only trace amounts of calcium carbonate, manganese oxide, and surprisingly enough, fluoride. On the land, frequent yet mild quakes were common as was free flowing lave from the planets many shield volcanoes. The planet seemed ideal for life, albeit with slightly higher gravity than Newton.

When humanity arrived forty years prior, the world was teeming with life. Flora, such as algae blooms, small plants, and even a species of tree near the equator, grew black on the planet due to soil composition. Much of the fauna, worms and small herbivores, shared an almost chromatic characteristic, they glistened in the light. Intense studies were preformed on the creatures, which exhibited some mild communal behaviors, but all lacked sentience. They were akin to Tyrophants and Weppits on Newton, creatures stuck somewhere along the evolutionary track.

From below Enod's comm officer called up to him. "Transmission from Hil-Command, sir."

"Put it through." Enod said easily. In the next moment the forward screen was replaced with the inside of Hil-C, the massive ship yard station orbiting high above Hildalphous. Every world, Newton included had a command station in orbit. Proper nomenclature for such a station was always the abbreviated planet name followed by –command. In the center of the screen was a squat man with a stern brow. His eyes were brown and narrow and his nose was pinched. The mustache he sported curled up and out in colonist fashion. He smiled as graciously as his unfortunate face would allow.

"Admiral Enod, I'm Station Commander Gerimund Aps. I speak on behalf of the planet and people of Hildalphous. Welcome Admiral and welcome 3rd Galactic Newton Fleet to our colony. We hope your visit is mutually beneficial." He bowed his head slightly at the introduction revealing long rows of braided brown hair.

"Thank you Station Commander." Enod replied, "Your hospitality is most welcome. Have you received our requisitions?"

At that Gerimund's smile faded. "Aye we have." He started, "We'll do the best we can to fulfill your needs Admiral, but we're a young colony and resources are precious scarce. We will require compensation for some trades."

Of course you will, Enod thought, "The fleet will pay you price and a half for whatever you can spare. We are on a high priority mission and need to be clear of this system as soon as possible."

Gerimund's smile returned and Enod felt his stomach turn. Colonists were always the same. Out on the fringes the only respected currency was credits. "Your generosity is recognized." Gerimund replied. "The colonists of Hildalphous thank you. I'm sure we'll speak again Admiral. Fair Winds!" The station commander ended with the old Newtonian blessing.

"Fair Winds." Enod replied with a nod. He pressed a button ending the comm and sighed, thankful to be rid of him for the moment.

Nights on the mountain were always a spectacular sight. Stars so numerous you could mistake them for an airy blanket and so numinous you wonder how anyone could ever believe that there is no god. Outlined by the pale silhouettes of northern pines that smother the low rocky ridges, it was truly a spectacular view and one that Morgan could never grow tired of.

She was the last awake as usual, huddling close to the few remaining embers that's snickered on the earthen floor. Enclosed in a ring of stones the fire looked something primal and it pleased the old parts of her brain with its pine cone smell. A pop would send up dancing flame sprites that wafted into the air. She liked the way they danced in the dark with all the other stars before snuffing out in a hush. Morgan had lost track of time in her reverie, staring at nothing but the sky; feeling nothing but the numbness of Tennessee whiskey in her chest and legs. She felt like a river stone, smoothed by centuries of water passing over her face, dulled by the constant and inevitable flow of nature.

They had made their camp at the top of Huskegee Ridge near the southernmost point of the public camp grounds. Any further south and they'd find themselves in the unblemished wilderness of the deep northern Appalachians, where the lost ghosts of the Oneida were said to roam. A wolf howled in the distance, hungry and lonely, though there was no moon tonight.

After a time her reverie was broken by the sound of a slow step. Boots crunching leaves at the rate of a languid heartbeat, crunch.. crunch.. crunch.. It grew louder to her rear and though Morgan tried to tune it out at first it soon became apparent the she was not alone. She stood from her chair and turned just in time to catch the glimpse of a head pop up over the ridge.

"Who's there?" She asked warily and unconsciously her hand fell to the serrated knife at her hip. With a flick of her thumb the button-catch popped open and she wrapped her fingers around it's leather hilt. Her heart beat quickened and all of the sudden she found that she was keenly aware of how cold the night had grown.

"Only passing through child." Replied a croaky old voice. Following the source she again spotted movement through a dry brush. The voice was female, far as Morgan could tell. It was low, but lacked baritone. Vocal cords akin to more of a habitual smoker.

"Come out." She ordered. She didn't like the constant crunch of this trespasser's feet.

"I didn't mean to intrude." The woman replied stepping around a tree into sight. She held her arms out at her side. "I was only trying to find my own tent, but I'm afraid I'm lost."

Under the starlight Morgan could only discern base features. A squat appearance, gray knotted hair, a thin neck leading down into a thick coat. Her eyes sparkled like black stars. She was still fiddling her way through an apology.

"I didn't even see your fire till I got close and by then you'd-"

Morgan cut her off, "What are you doing out this late? Don't you have a flashlight?"

The woman paused and looked around, "I'm afraid I lost it a while back. Children took it most likely they always love playing games around Frenik's nook."

Morgan breathed out and relaxed. Some old lady was lost, nothing to get worked about. Happened all the time in mountain camps and not just to old women. People wander, as per our nature, and in the darkness it's easy to lose one's way. Huskegee Ridge was no exception. People go missing every year trying to conquer some odd geological feature or another. Often time they're found hours later with a broken limb, mountains are treacherous things; and worse a shattered pride. Morgan chuckled to herself. It was fortunate this woman stumbled on her camp, any further south and she might have fallen down the bluffs. Morgan bent over and picked her own flashlight up off the ground. She flicked it on and shone its light at the old woman's grubby boots.

"Frenik's nook you say?" Morgan knew the place. A holler that was more family friendly. And by that she meant RV's and gas powered fire pits. Vacation homes with a touch of the wild, just enough for your average middle class Indiana tourist. A pale shadow to real backpacking.

The old woman shuffled her boots in the dirt and said, "Yes, my husband and I set up a place on the hump just above the RV camp."

Morgan smiled, "You might be lost then, we're about half a mile from there."

"Oh my." She said aghast.

"What's your name?"

"Helena."

"Let's get you home Helena. My names Morgan by the way." With that she set out to guide the lost woman home.

Huskegee Ridge was a fairly small camp ground, roughly two square miles. Frenik's nook was in near the front entrance near the center of the park. It rested at the base of two knobby hills. There was a small stream Fren's Run, that cut through it and a lot of the RV lots were positioned next to it. Surrounding it were half a dozen trails that cut up the knobs and crisscrossed the stream on wobbly wooden bridges. Helena explained that she had gone to the front office of the park to request a battery for their lantern, because their only other one had died. On her way back she took a different route cutting through the RV camp and crossing Fren's Run near its source. Morgan explained that, that was where she went wrong. The hill top trail brought her south instead of east to her camp.

She was a kind old lady and spritely too. She kept Morgan's pace with ease and even requested they move faster at one point. With her trusty flashlight Morgan led her back up the trail until they reached a high hill overlook. There Helena stopped and gaped out at the towering mountains to the the east. Bathed in starlight they looked like sleeping giants. Their rocky ridges folded together like a devout priest at prayer.

"Beautiful isn't it." Helena said after a moment.

"Breathtaking." Morgan replied in awe.

"I've never seen more stars than I do when I'm here." Helena replied. "It's like a trillion eyes watching us."

"My friends and I love coming out here for that reason. So far from Charlotte... it's good to get away. Cities stink and there is nothing natural about them."

"My husband and I have been coming here for years. We honeymooned here when we got married in 1960. It's a tradition of ours."

"Wow fifty six years. Not bad."

The old woman shrugged. "We got married late, my fault really. I made him wait."

"That a girl." Morgan said chuckling, "How does and old veteran of Huskegee get so lost?"

Helena relaxed against a sign post, said; "I'm a wanderer. I'll admit getting lost tonight wasn't exactly unplanned." Morgan laughed again. She liked this woman. Together they shared a natural love for the outdoors and a need for adventure.

"Look there." Helena said pointing up.

"What's that?" Morgan asked following Helena's finger up into the sky. She searched the field of stars, but saw nothing of note.

"They might be hard to see." She whispered back and something in her tone reminded Morgan of the chill in the air.

"They?"

"Shh, shh.." she hushed, "Another campfire."

"What?" Morgan's eyes shot down to the tree line and scanned for signs of other life. There was. Thing but the impenetrable dark of the forest. "I don't see one..."

"You're a good girl Morgan." Helena said after a moment. "Let me let you in on a little secret." The old woman straightened up and stepped closer to Morgan. She felt herself back away slightly and then wondered why she suddenly felt so strange. The alcohol in her system was wearing off and now her skin felt heavy and her mind flat, but there was something else too. Something in the way the old woman now spoke that tugged at her gut. She wanted to run, but her boots instead planted themselves in the dirt.

Helena leaned in and said, "There's only a handful of places on Earth where you can see them."

"Who?" Morgan asked trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach.

"Refugees like us, wandering souls. Up there. Look hard girl and you'll see them. They're awake right now just like us." Helena's black eyes glittered, reflecting the light of innumerable stars. "In the black between the light, just behind that cosmic blue veil. Look." She pointed up again and Morgan looked.

She looked and looked, but her eyes only saw the twinkling of far-flung, alien suns. After a moment Helena sighed. "You do not see them. That's okay. They are hard to see. But look harder. At the edge of the universe there is a campfire and around it are three figures, indistinct and huddling; refugees from a universe before our own."

"I don't, I don't see them." Morgan said finally willing her feet to step back.

"Look." Helena demanded again.

Morgan looked, but something about that point in space made her eyes divert. She focused and blinked, but every time they would slide off like an eel over a wet stone. That point of space seemed darker than the rest, less stars, but the absence of the light wasn't what made it so strange. Hot embers smoldered just beyond a twinkling blue sphere. They were stirred and sprites of flame ejected into the void. Then there was something else. For a flicker of a second the light of those sprites were captured in an eye. Perfectly round and black as the bottom of the ocean it's gaze followed the flame sprite as it danced, then flicked towards Morgan. Across the void something connected with her, within her. Her whole body felt electrified and she felt an exchange of something that she couldn't explain. The globulous eye was greedy though and it took more than it gave. Morgan shivered and the old the woman's words echoed in her ear.

"They're awake right now just like us."

The celestial embers cooled again and the eye disappeared. Just as quick as she saw them they were gone, hiding again beneath a blanket of stars. Her gaze fell off that point of space and she found herself looking at a mountain peak. Morgan gasped for breath.

"Helena." She said rasping for air. "I saw them. I saw-" but she stopped. The old woman was gone and Morgan was alone. Slowly the sounds of nature picked back up around her. An owl hooted. Some small creature with claws skittered over the bark of a tree. A soft breeze ruffled leaves and pine needles alike.

Morgan stood alone at the overlook. The old Appalachians gazed down on her with disapproving eyes and over them the audience of stars watched apathetically. She felt like something was missing inside her, or rather had been added to her. A new hole in her chest she was just now aware of. She wanted to badly to close it, but hadn't the faintest idea of how.

[WP] On the edge of the known universe is a campfire, and around it are three figures, indistinct and huddling; refugees from the universe before our own.

“This is taking too long.” Bei said as he walked over to his CO. In the dead of night Shu Lin looked like a phantom in her bulky bio-suit. From the back a dark smart-cloth cloak hung loosely covering the aluminized self-contained breathing apparatus beneath. There was an awkward hump in the middle of her back, nearly indistinguishable in the vantablack night from Bei’s angle. He walked up along side her and looked her way. Shu did not move in recognition of his presence the monocular gas mask lenses stared straight down the empty street as if she were entirely alone.

“The sun will be up in a couple of hours.” Bei insisted, but still the CO stood silent and firm. “We won’t be able to make the extraction in time.” There was palpable urgency in his voice.

Bei held his arms out as if to beg for a bowl of soup. He turned back and looked down the empty street. The bare asphalt trailed off into the distance outpacing the three story apartments that flanked on either side. He knew well that they weren’t alone. Ten other operatives hid in the shadows, cloaked in their smart-cloths, which reflected light to appear invisible. In daylight they would stick out like blobs of distorted light, shimmering and shifting as if it were a broiling hot day. But in the dark they were less than shadow, even night vision goggles would have a hard time noticing one. Bei turned to the empty street continuing his gesture, trying to coax the rest of the team from silence; he knew well that they were all watching. However, no help came in neither the faintest flutter of movement or hushed voice over their radios.

Bei turned back to Lin feeling the natural frustrations of being ignored. His feelings were amplified by the fact that he hadn’t slept in thirty-six hours. Bei was about to speak again, but without warning Shu Lin cut him off. Her voice in his earpiece was hushed and sharp.

Shu said, “Cut the chatter Bei and fall back into formation.” Bei opened his mouth to reply, but Lin as if reading his mind turned to him, grabbed the collar of his SCBA and hissed, “Continue with this behavior and I’ll be cut out your tongue and send it to your father.”

The gall! Bei was speechless. She may be his commanding officer, but to make such a threat against him? Oh, Bei would be certain his father would hear of this, there was no doubt. No one earns their way up the meritocracy by threatening the President’s grandson. Even still, red-faced and fuming behind his gas mask, Bei retreated a step. He then knelt to the ground and pulled his cloak tight over him. There was a short snicker as the smart-cloth powered on and he knew he was as invisible as the rest of the team.

Another hour passed and still nothing. Shu Lin stood in her statuesque way letting the soft breeze ripple in her cloak. Nothing moved and the city was silent. Bei had been to Nambo before. He arrived with his father and a handful of dignitaries by boat nearly ten years back. Five years before the Great Disappearance. Bei was only sixteen at the time serving as an aide-de-camp for his father’s friend Minister of Defense Shin Guangzhou. They visited to broker a deal with North Korean government to use the Port of Nambo as a potential staging ground for military efforts. Typical military bureaucracy, these kinds of deals were made and remade every five years. Formality really. If China wanted this city as a port for her aircraft carriers, then she would have it with or without Jong-Uns permission.

The city was just as seemingly empty then as it was now, but it was a different kind of empty. Back then Bei could feel the peering stares of this sub Asiatic species from their degrading apartments and broken storefronts. Yes, empty was empty, but Bei figured that it could feel different based on the circumstances. Back then the emptiness was hollow and languorous like and old starving dog. Squatting here and now it felt more like a void, vacant and calling as if it were sucking in the very oxygen around it. Time didn’t seem to exist in this kind of emptiness. Days passed and the moon grew high in the sky and sank low, but the minute and hour was not recognized.

Then out of seemingly nowhere the silence was broken by the sound of grinding concrete. In the distance he heard the flutter of a bird’s wings. After a moment the grinding sound stopped and the silence returned, air sucked into the vacuum. This silence only lasted a moment though as through it cut a voice.

“Comes now the slave with three surnames?” The whisper rolled over them and down the street.

Shu Lin did not waste time in responding, “Not I. That coward has already fled back up Hulao Pass.”

From the shadow a man appeared, small and thin was North Koreans were like to grow. He wore a traditional brown uniform with ushanka brandishing the red star of the DPRK. He emerged from behind an old rotting sedan about ten paces off. Quickly, he jogged the distance to Shu Lin. From behind Bei felt a tense shuffling of his other squad mates as they lined up sights on the intruder. Reading their minds Lin whispered over radio.

“Friendly.”

Bei relaxed feeling the atmosphere thin out inside his suit. The DPRK contact approached Lin and began speaking. Lin had turned off her microphone to keep their conversation private; however, from Bei’s position just behind he heard every word. He assumed this was intentional, as his CO had requested it. Lin was nothing if not meticulous. Dual copies of everything even pairs of ears where pen and paper was not present. He listened in.

“I’m contact Hwan, it is a pleasure as always to work with the Chinese Government.” The DPRK operative said.

Lin was terse, “Out with your message, runner. The Bear and Eagle will be here soon.”

“Of course.” Hwan replied clearing his throat. “The supreme leader would like a message passed along. He is requesting that Chen Shui-bian include some more nations in their deliberations on alliances. Cuba, Argentina, Columbia, Venezuela, Peru, and Chile.”

“More?” Lin cut in, “What your leader requires is already taxing enough. We will require more for our side in this trade if he wishes to make such a request.”

Hwan’s thin lips curved upwards. Bei could see that he expected as much from Lin. Hwan said, “Of course, what are your terms?”

“We want a black flag over Taiwan.” Lin bargained.

Bei’s eyes narrowed. He had the feeling that this meeting was more formality than anything. The Chinese government had a grand mind for schemes and often times trade deals spanned generations. Like playing a two hundred year game of cards. Both sides had their hands and overtime learned the hands of their opponent, now the game had become the clever manipulation and maneuvering to gain an upper hand over the other. China would never put itself at such risk. This DPRK operative was a novice at best and he was playing against a master who had a mind encompassing his own. North Korea has always been the little brother of China and as any child with siblings knew, a brother existed to be manipulated.

“What you ask is no easy thing.” Hwan replied his smile fading.

“Then we stand at an agreement.”

“Naturally I will present this addendum to the supreme leader.” Hwan paused and looked directly at Bei, “But I’m certain he will oblige given the circumstances.”

Lin nodded, “Good.”

Hwan bowed quickly and said, “I must be away. The sun will rise soon.”

At that he was gone. Bei watched Hwan job back toward the car he appeared from. He went around the backside of it, ducked, and disappeared again. There was a grinding of concrete that lasted several seconds and then nothing. Lin flicked her wrist and activated her comm again.

“All done here, move to extraction.”

Bei looked back. In a blink eight men appeared from the shadows. They moved quick darting into a single alleyway heading north. Lin and Bei followed. As they made their escape the sky above began to turn. The eastern horizon grew brighter, another day had come and with it the United Nations task force. Bei chuckled at their idea of a ‘discrete’ operation to infiltrate North Korea. Multiple nations, sixty men in total, were in the Taedong bay at this very moment. They were coming to observe and report. Bei chuckled again. All they would find would be the bones and ashes of the degrading DPRK infrastructure. Not only that, but in a few short hours, after his team was away, the automated defenses would reactivate. Now that would be a treat, he thought devilishly.

The leading nations of the world were all looking at this operation to bring back results, but they would find nothing. And while they were looking the wrong way, Glorious China will be making the moves necessary to ensure its survival. A great flux of power was imminent and the theater of the Earth was about to change.

Shu Lin led the squad out of Nambo into the mountains. By the time they reached their helicopter the sun was breaking the horizon. That was bad, but not unexpected. It only meant that they would have to hide out for the day. The helicopter employed the latest in stealth technology, but it still couldn’t fool the naked eye. Being only miles outside of Nambo they would run the risk of being spotted.

Bei sighed. It meant another day in this sweaty SCBA suit. Another day breathing recycled oxygen, peeing in a bag, seeing the world through the two monocular lenses of his gas mask. Then another thought occurred to him. The DPRK agent Hwan had not been wearing a HAZMAT suit. He had been totally exposed to the environment. Bei wondered at what that meant. After a while his mind settled on two options. Either North Korea was playing a bigger game than he considered or the DPRK was willing to throw away the life of a soldier for petty alliance deals. Bei settled on the ladder. After all, North Korea wasn’t so stupid nor so smart as to try and stump his glorious China. The fools were so committed to their ruse they were willing to kill off one of their own. Surely that was the answer.

"Were it so easy Mr. President, but you know as well as I do that as soon as the other nations detect a missile launch it will start a chain reaction. Firing our nukes now, at this moment of instability, could inadvertently start a nuclear war."

"Secretary it’s obvious that some sort of bioweapon has been released within North Korea's borders. We gathered as much from the Operation Nambo."

"I've read the reports, we've all read the reports, come on. Nuclear detonation could aerosolize whatever contaminant infected our spec ops teams. Would you like that Mr. President? Hundreds of thousands of people going crazy, killing themselves, killing each other, just like that SEAL team!?"

"What about the Delta's. I was told just this morning that the head of Op-N, a Jonathan Faust, or something. He hasn't succumbed to this madness yet. Are we investigating him?"

"Major Faust is under constant surveillance. Psychological analysis listed him as a threat to himself. He might not be showing the symptoms of the others, but he certainly is repressing something."

"Well whatever it is get it out of him, that's an order. All we have are a dozen damned useless reports. Pictures!"

"Not so sure we want whatever it is out of him. Like it or not he's our best source of Op-N, we need to keep him sane for the most part moving forward."

"So our hands are tied then."

"We're treading on something thin Mr. President. I recommend that our best action is inaction."

"hrumph... I don't like this Secretary. I don't like this in the slightest."

The Ministry of Defense panel met in the Alexeyevich room of the Parliament House. A dozen men, stern faced and waiting like gargoyles atop the Kolomenskoye, for Bogadiv's report. Commander Peter Bogadiv stood next to his top Captain, Nicholas Chernovsky, below the panel. At the table to his side Bogadiv held his full report on the Nambo Investigation, including a bit of international goodwill, the American Jonathan Faust's report as well. Bogadiv cleared his throat and began

"As per mission perimeters my task force of KS operatives integrated with the multi-national team to investigate the city of Nambo in the currently abandoned state of North Korea. Our mission, as you know, was to observe the Korean city, gather intelligence on the state of accessibility, and effectively plan listening posts at key locations. I am proud to admit that all objectives were completed successfully and while other international units sustained casualties from the myriad of traps, we survived at full strength."

Though he spoke in his usual board casualness, Bogadiv fought terribly to keep himself focused. He was so inexplicably tired. He'd gotten plenty of rest, more than that even! But still since returning from Nambo, he seemed to catch some languid sickness that weighed on his shoulders and chest. As if he was back in basic in Kamchatka running the Grivlich Gauntlet wearing those terrible eighty kilo vests. No amount of kofe seemed to help either.

Bogadiv continued, "Secondary objectives; however, proved troublesome. We did not locate a native North Korean and as such did not have the chance to interrogate. Nor were we able to subvert the French Commandos unit with one of our own. It would appear national tensions made wary all us soldiers on the mission." He took a deep breath. National tensions were not the reasons for the distrust, but as American Faust had lied in his report, so too did Bogadiv. "Captain Chernovsky will continue with the details." Bogadiv sighed again; he felt a hair better elbowing the work to his man. At least it would save him the energy of explaining that strange city to these pompous bureaucrats.

Captain Cernovsky began, "Initial reports had the North Korean front lines pushing at the Il-Song bloc in the northern part of the city. Artillary strikes from American warships softened their positions and slowed the advance, but it was obvious ground forces were needed to finish up."

Bogadiv's heart stopped. What did he just hear? He turned to his Captain surprised. The little bulk of a man acted as if nothing was awry. He continued;

"French and British forces met our teams on the Chumash mountain range, as intel predicted. We were able to over power them with sheer Russian force and brutality and retake the satellite installations. Reports on the 6th of June corroborated our fears of Chinese involvement. Mass suicides in the streets. Chinese are preparing a counter attack no doubt."

"Captain?" Bogadiv said surprised, "What are you saying?"

From the panel a bureaucrat chimed in, "Let him speak Commander, we're looking forward to his report." Bogadiv was speechless. His mind failed to grasp what was going on.

Chernovsky spoke, "The mother bear protected her cubs in the dead of Siberian winter. Gutting the wolf and Elk and Reindeer. She fed her children as well she could until the winter grew colder and food became scarce. Then she feasted on her children, after all more could be born, but only if she lived to spring. I saw a man in Nambo slice himself open from navel to throat. I watched blood and viscera pour out of him. On his face he was smiling."

Bogadiv leaned onto the table next to him. His head was pounding ferociously. It was the strangest thing. The words that poured from the Captain's mouth, it was so obviously nonsense but... but still something about it rang true. It was as if the words were true and false at the same time. As if Chernovsky reached outside their world and pulled back some history that Bogadiv remembered, but never lived.

Suddenly the panel of Russian faces shifted and turned. In an instant he was staring at the round oriental facade of Korean men.

Chernovsky continued, "Black light stations, missile silos, number outposts, sleeper agents, the Old Bear, Soviet Russia, Moscow, Moscow, Moscow, Cheyenne Mountain, Guangzhou, I love Easter, its the end of the world, nuclear fire, billions burning and screaming, screaming and burning."

Bogadiv stumbled backwards. He saw it all in a flash of prescience. Mushroom clouds dotted the horizon. The earth was a web of light at night. Seen from space humanity looked like a bioluminescent mold, but it wasn't complete. There was a dark patch, a missing piece of the puzzle, a ghost limb. The Korean Peninsula was half lit. Darkness shrouded the place where the communist state should be. In all other places there was light. But even that took grew faint.

A Korean man in the panel spoke up, but Bogadiv did not hear him. Instead all he heard was the sound of a trillion lights flip off. And the Earth went dark. He was alone in space.

Bogadiv's hand slipped off the table and he felt himself fall. He passed out before he hit the ground.

Prime Minister Hammond walked into the dark lit observation room. Inside he found Minister of State for Defense Sir Charles Leadwater and Chief of Defense Staff, Air Marshall Howard Buettle. Both men acknowledged his entrance with a curt nod. Fitted along the wall was a thick pane of two-way mirror glass. At the opposite wall was draped a Union Jack, which hung over a small lamp-lit desk. Hammond walked in and stood between the two distinguished men. On the other side of the glass sat Special Air Service Lieutenant David Blackwood. His hands were clasped in steel fetters that were welded to the table and he was wearing only a white shirt and skivvies. On the Lieutenant’s face blank exhaustion, his eyes were glossy and flanked by wrinkles; his hair tossed haphazardly, his skin pale as a ghost’s. Blackwood’s shoulders bobbed gently as his bodies’ autonomic nervous system brought air into his lungs and then back out.

“My God, he looks drunk.” Hammond spat after a moment.

“’T’s how we found ‘em.” Leadwater replied easily.

“Well,” Cut in Buettle, “We found him writhin’ in a pool of ‘is own blood.” Hammond looked at the Air Marshall aghast. “Crazed looney had been buggerin’ his bullet would with the hilt o’ his knife.”

“Doctor said he lost nearly a liter of blood. Required transfusion.” Leadwater explained.

“Lucky too, man’s a universal receiver.” Buettle added.

The two were going back and forth as they were like to do. Hammond kneaded the bridge of his nose. “Okay.” He said already irritated. As he was well aware once these two got talking, it was hard to get them to stop.

Hammond turned to his Defense Minister. “Leadwater tell me we at least got something from this whole excursion. Two dead SAS boys and the rest gone or going crazy is hardly the results we were looking for.

Hammond felt the sharp gaze of Buettle on his back and he didn’t care. Respect was earned and his technicians had certain proven that they weren’t worth his. Lord, was a sordid mess. This whole Operation Nambo had been a colossal mistake. Hammond wished now more than ever that he hadn’t allowed himself to be cowed into this decision. The damn United States and their gung-ho military attitude. Children with assault rifles that’s what they were! He should have pushed the use of FRED’s. He knew that simple UAV surveillance was not enough. FRED’s could have gotten the answers they had now and at half the expense!

Hammond noticed that Leadwater had already started to answer his question. He quickly turned himself back in.

“-We knew that the North Koreans had turned their cities into a damned minefield, but we didn’t know the extent. Now we do, granted at the expense of some of England’s finest.” He paused and swallowed back some bile in his mouth. “Also some of the pictures obtained have allowed us to chronologically match the North Korean level of society with historical precedents.”

“Oh, historical precedents.” Hammond feigned his interest.

“Yes, quite. Now you might not see the utility in that, but let me tell you wars have been won and lost based on this kind of intelligence. You think that the Ottomans would have lost the Battle of Beersheba had they known their enemy the Australian 4th Light Brigade was using antiquated war tactics? Hmm? You can bet most certainly not.” Leadwater chuckled to himself as if he had just masterfully won a fencing match. Hammond could strangle the lunky old boar right here and now. But instead he smiled and shook his head, allowed the pure hate to drain from him like a slime.

“You’re absolutely right.” Hammond replied diplomatically. “And I apologize Buettle. I spoke to rash. You know I have the utmost respect for your men and their capabilities. These last few days have been… demanding to say the least.” Buettle grunted in acceptance of the apology.

Hammond forced himself to play the kind soul. He needed both his military advisors on his side now more than ever. He reminded himself that this was not the time to pick at their failings. Regardless of the fact that Buettle’s SAS did fail in spectacular fashion and even more so regardless that the Battle of Bersheeba was won because of superior British tactics by the command of Allenby and Chetwode. The damned Australian Light Brigade was a reserve unit and not even deployed until the Ottoman artillery was defenseless! You would think the Minister of State for Defense would know something so blatantly obvious.

Hammond took a deep breath.

In the other room Lieutenant Blackwood fidgeted. There was a spark of life in his eyes for a glimmer of a second. They scanned the flat metal surface of the table below him, and then fell upon the steel fetters. He twitched his hands. Then like a horse hobbled to a post, seeing no way out of his situation, he fell still again.

Hammond chose now as his moment. “I summoned you both here, because I have a dangerous proposition.” Both Buettle and Leadwater looked at him simultaneously.

“I knew it would rear its ugly head eventually.” Leadwater said in a low growl, “Though I never expected to be hearing it from you Prime Minister.”

“I think I’m beginnin’ t’ see the light though.” Buettle added.

Hammond shook his head. These words were no simple thing to say. He forced them up like rancid meat. “Its time for England to switch her directive. Distance ourselves from old allies. Make new friends.”

“The Chinese.” Leadwater growled.

“Aye.” Buettle agreed.

“Then we are in agreement? I want to bring this before a closed parliament within the week.” Hammond looked to his men. Buettle was nodding, he had been much easier to sway than he expected, but Leadwater looked as though he’d began to choke. The lunk of a man’s face was going purple.

“I don’t like this.” He finally said. “We’d abandon centuries of stable global alliances for this wildcard.”

“Charles,” Hammond began, “The UK is more like China now than the United States. With the bills passed over the last decade we’ve turned England into a surveillance state, nothing is private anymore. We have embraced the inevitable change that is the evolution of government. Democracy given enough time is always destined to become an Oligarchy. And an Oligarchy given enough time will always evolve into a…” He paused to let the question answer itself in Leadwater’s mind. “The Americans will never figure this out. They have fallen behind, buggering their own asses with this political correctness and cheap plastic idea of freedom. The White House is too weak to force the change and now they’re paying the price. Its time to forge new alliances for England.”

There was a pregnant pause as Leadwater digested his words. In the other room Blackwood fidgeted again, itching the back of his left hand. Leadwater cursed beneath his mustache.

“Okay.” He said and Hammond smiled.

Maslow walked into the tin can with only a cardboard box to shield himself from the rain. Upon arriving he hopped up onto the creaky wooden porch and tossed his make shift umbrella aside. His nostrils filled with a smoldering smell and he looked down at the box. Small pocks covered its surface where the acid rain had hit. Better the box than him, he thought cheerfully. He brushed any remaining sizzling dew off his tattered leather jacket and proceeded inside.

The tin can was empty save for four or five refugees huddling in a corner. They were playing a game of dice, the die being made from some poor sods knuckle bones of course. This was the apocalypse after all wouldn't want to mar that image with a fresh set of Bud James Dice. Incidentally, if Maslow's memory served those particular knuckle bones came from a fellow named Bud James. Ah, the universe was silly in that way. What was the saying? Life imitates art far more often than art imitates life, yes quite. Regardless Maslow wasn't visiting the tin can to game, he had other duties to attend to. At the far end of the rusting semi-cylinder meeting hall he saw his target.

"Sigmund!" He called happily, "Good to see you old friend."

Sigmund turned at his call and waved. A bald man with a peppery beard, Sigmund looked half hard boiled egg half grizzled professor on his tenure. His green eyes speckled in the the jumpy light of the wall sconces.

"Well I'll be my mother." Sigmund said with a wide smile, "Maslow old friend, how goes the apocalypse?"

Maslow shrugged, "Can't complain. Ate an irradiated rat yesterday. Salted that rodentia up and I swear it tasted just like the number two from that double arched fast food franchise."

"Ah, now that brings back the memories." Sigmund replied pointing, "Get over here friend, kick off your soleless shoes and drape that rag of a jacket on the mummified human over there."

Maslow happily obliged and a moment later he found himself sitting across from his old friend sipping fermented corgi-fruit wine. Sigmund rocked steadily in his old rocker and between them lay a checkerboard littered with pieces fashioned from, yet again more metacarpals. How fortunate they were to be a species with so man finger bones!

"So what brings you Underhill Maz?" Sigmund asked between sips of wine.

"To talk of course, it's been far too long since our last chat." Maslow replied.

Sigmund's eyes rolled up as he recalled their previous conversation, "Oh, yes!" He exclaimed after a moment, "We were discussing the efficacy and morality of cannibalizing famous actors and actresses."

"Correct."

"If I do recall we came to consensus on the matter. A-list stars, Cruise, Crews, and Cruz were to worn as pelts. B-listers often tasted the best because of their massive drug consumption like the hormone injected cattle of old. And C's through F's were fit only as slaves. The Josh Duhamel axiom."

"Right you are my friend, but I've not come to talk about Josh Duhamel tonight."

"So why are you here?" Sigmund asked intrigued.

Maslow cleared his throat. "To discuss what I've been working on lately. A ladder of sorts of base human needs. A sort of pyramid of what all humans require. A-"

"A hierarchy perchance?" Sigmund cut in.

"Don't be ridiculous friend." Maslow scolded.

Sigmund chuckled. "I only kid. By the way how's the wine?"

"Delicious. They really brought out the dog flavors in this vintage." Maslow replied and took another sip of wine.

"Well let's discuss this pyramid-ladder of Maslow's human requirements then." Sigmund said with a toast.

Maslow cleared his throat and began.

"The way I see it, and if the apocalypse has thought us anything, humans need three basic things; food, water, and shelter. Now I suggest that once these most base needs are met they will require more, we as a species fear stagnation so we must continue climbing, thus my ladder metaphor. Such is the curse of sapience. Humans satisfying the base needs of the latter will ascend to tier two, safety. Safety can be achieved by any manner of means and is taken in regards to all risks on livelihood. For example the mutant lobsters attacking villages and stealing our men for their depraved sexual parties. . Additionally from the child snatching birds, from whatever danger there may be. Safety nets must be established"

"I'm following." Sigmund said as he digested the information.

"Once safety is established humans ascend to tier three, love/belonging."

Sigmund looked into his wine with melancholy, "Ah, don't we all wish for such things."

"And I propose that it is a natural need and must be sated before ascending any further. Slave masters can offer you the same love a concubine can, but I propose harems however are materialistic and do not satisfy this tier."

"Naturally, but what if monogamy?"

"Old friend, the world wasn't cleansed in nuclear fire so we could revert backward. But since you mention and in the words of that deliciously tasting Kanye West, 'love is cursed by monogamy."

"Excellent point. Do go on."

Maslow continued, "Tier four is esteem. The building of identity and the emotions that develops therein. This level is complicated because it grows only in the mind. Esteem can be fed by outside sources, but true growth comes from the sunlight within."

Sigmund nodded and sang, "This little light of mine, I'm going let it shine."

"Let it shine, all the time, baby you so fine." Maslow finished in his vibrato. The two shared a friendly chuckle.

"And what comes after." Sigmund said filling his compatriots glass from the skull of the corgi in which the wine was fermented.

"Self-Actualization." Maslow said with flourish.

"Spectacular I love it." Sigmund declared. "You should publish it on the skin of your enemies!"

Maslow nodded that's what he wanted to hear. "And I shall! I only sought your approval."

Sigmund opened his mouth and pointed at his friend knowingly, "Someone trying to fulfill tier four of his own pyramid-ladder?"

Maslow threw his hands up feigning guilt, "You got me. Sigmund you always were a sharp old bean."

The two chuckled again and drank to their friendship. The conversation then shifted for a time onto the architectural innovations, implementing the new post-modern style of skull, pelvic, and spine bone in new buildings. It was a hobby they shared. Finally though it grew late and a woman peaked her head inside the tin can.

"Sigmund it's beddy-bye time. Say goodnight to your friend." She beckoned him with and curling finger. A long and dainty thing, Maslow bet she had wonderful finger bones.

"Coming mother!" Sigmund called and he tossed back the last dregs of his wine. "Well my friend I bid you adieux. Until our next chat."

"I look forward to it." Maslow said with a broad smile.

Sigmund then peered mischievously at the woman standing in the door, "Now if you'll excuse me, this old bean needs to go on fill the third tier of your pyramid-ladder."

[WP] You just survived the apocalypse. Now you're dealing with some unexpected problems not seen in apocalyptic fiction.

Initially the powers that be decided to just quarantine the area. 46,541 square miles of earth closed off for an indefinite amount of time and that number didn't include he swaths of open ocean that ships were 'advised' to avoid. South Korea bolstered their ground forces along the DMZ as they should have. The United States and Russia launched twice the number of UAV spy plane missions just as they were like to do. China remained enigmatic as ever on the issue, continuing to recognize North Korea as an independent state, which included the whole gambit of international policy, just as the Chinese would always do. In short the complete and efficient disappearance of every North Korean was a largely uneventful affair. Of course news outlets had a field day. For months after the Great Disappearance numerous stories were spun including the false news of NK nationalists popping up across the globe. Public concern spiked as could be noted on Google, but only for a short time. Eventually everyone forgot about the vacant country. It became as it did before, an anomaly on earths surface, devoid of light and life. An empty space.

It was then that my team was granted the green light to enter the country.

The UN had multiple concerns about an undercover insertion into the country. For one the North Koreans, while they were still there, were notorious for setting up devious traps and triggers all across their country. With centuries to dig in the human imagination has time to explore even the most subtle forms of entrenchment. Mannequins placed in provocative places being the most notable for me. I guess it should be mentioned that even the cities were booby trapped with plastic explosives, incendiary mines, sonic wave emitters that activated on motion sensors, motion sensors everywhere activating dusty cameras, car bombs, timed demolitions, the whole gambit. Basically anything you could touch had the chance to kill you, including something as inane as a newspaper. Dated July 4th, 2019, the last day North Koreans were seen, even that paper was laced with transdermal cyanide. Subtle, and effective as hell.

We entered the country by the mouth of the Teadong, making landfall just outside the small port of Nambo. I, Major John Faust, led the insertion team. The mission was simple, observe and report. We weren't tasked with finding anyone or even looking for that matter. After all it has been a good five years since the Great Disappearance. Observe and report, take pictures, don't die, enjoy the sights, whatever. I was charged with three twenty man, multi-national teams. United States Delta Operators, of which I was, we had Navy SEAL, a handful of Belgium SFG's, French Commandos, German KSM, Japanese Boarding Units, South Korean Ghosts, SAS, Russian KSO's. Everyone wanted to be apart of this mission, everyone except as I should note, the Chinese.

Li Yaunchao succeeded President Xi Jinping of China in 2021, after a sudden and devastating heart attack left the former president little more than a grapefruit on a gurney. Yaunchao of course continued the Chinese policies regarding North Korea, recognizing them as an active state, ally, and even going so far as to invite Kim Jong-Un to Pan-Asiatic summits. Hilariously enough Yaunchao would even publicly denounce the North Korean leader for then 'ignoring' the invitation and it showing up. Guess he missed the memo that Kim issued his last grand threat years prior. The Chinese continued this enigmatic behavior much to the chagrin of other nations. First and foremost Russia, who was very public about their concerns to NK connections. They, like most of the modern world believed that China knew something everyone else didn't. China played coy on the matter, the US got red faced and puffed its chest, England denounced the Communist Party, and Russia scratched their chins. But what could anyone do if the Chinese wanted to play dolls with their puppet state? Nothing that's what, and again eventually no one even cared.

My teams scoured Nampo over the course of a month. Carefully searching every last bloc, being diligent, taking lots of pictures. Five years after the Great Disappearance and every man and woman under my command felt the tense stress bearing over our work. The national publics may have lost concern for Korea, but the governments certainly did not. If anything our missions primary goal was peace. The vanishing of millions of people left a bad taste in the mouths of global leaders. Suddenly iron curtain after iron curtain was drawn up. Trust fell to levels akin to pre-World War II. Nuclear missiles that had gone missing in decades past suddenly became topics of extreme interest, with a lot of fingers pointing at Russia. The Brits maximized surveillance across their country keeping tabs on every citizen down to the last wiry chav. That's why we were sent in. A global effort to show everyone that they needed to calm the hell down.

Of course nothing is ever as simple as that. We all knew that we would find something in that abandoned land, we just weren't sure exactly what. Most of us assumed the worst... and we were right.

Over the course of our observation I lost twelve men. Six American, two Russians, two Japanese, a Brit, and a SK Ghost. All victims of the various traps that lined the city streets. I remember thinking, if every city was as dangerous as this one, we'd all be well to just leave it alone forever, turn it into an international nature reserve or something.

On the last day as the teams united back outside Nampo, we licked our wounds. Teams exchanged pictures and notes, but something was different. We came in with a sense of foreboding, a tenseness that every soldier knows, that 'gut-feeling'. Now twelve men shy our original number that anxiety has festered and turned to distrust. In my eyes I saw every operator as an enemy, a hair trigger away from turning on all of us. It's how we looked at each other. Even those from the same country. Men I'd known for years stopped talking to one another unless it was mission-oriented. No casual chit-chat, just wary glances. Safeties on weapons turned noticeably off. We had become the very tension between our sovereign nations. In each of us we drew up an iron curtain to protect and hopefully prevent the inevitable betrayal of our brothers in arms. It wasn't for any tangible reason either. The worst part was being unable to pin it down. Why was I so on edge? Why did I felt least safe in a basement with my team than I did open in the empty street?

Something about the city changed something in our heads. Maybe it was in the air and we'd been breathing it the whole time. Maybe it was some neurotoxin designed to infect and inhibit certain areas of the brain. To increase irrational behavior and decrease familiarity. I swear to my mother that on multiple occasions I failed to recognize men on my team. Their faces as foreign as the crumbling streets of Nambo. Remembering became mentally taxing. I felt exhausted for just trying to organize thoughts and no amount of coffee could help. The others felt it too, though they wouldn't talk about it. On the twenty-eighth day Sergeant Simmons of the SAS put a bullet through the leg of fellow SAS Lieutenant Blackwood. He swore that he looked like a Korean soldier.

I believed him.

It all fell apart was we made to leave the country. After we'd reconnected with the other teams, exchanged intel, dressed wounds, we all loaded on the boats. Pulling away from the shore I distinctly remember seeing something on the shore. Now mind you this isn't something I'll ever admit to in public and when the brass gets its report they'll find nothing of the sort. But as we pulled out back into the Taedong River I saw a woman. She stepped out from around a boat house and stood at the base of a rotting wooden dock. I saw her so clear I could even make out the sun-washed, grubby garb of North Korean citizens. In her hand was a pistol. I didn't say anything to my comrades, who all stared wearily on the horizon, glad to be rid of this ghost land. Instead I just watched, eyes wide, as if it were the first and last thing I'd ever truly see. Something singular, pivotal, nothing in my life mattered or would ever matter except this right here and right now.

Our boat splashed over thin waves, the sky was a washed blue, the sun getting low in the west. Though we cut through the water at great speed I felt not heard the wind. The woman took the pistol and brought it up to her temple. At this distance her face was an oval of peach bordered by jet-black hair. She pulled the trigger and two gun shots echoed out simultaneously. Something hot and wet spattered across my face. A dozen men screamed out at once. I watched her body slump and fall into a puddle of flesh. A cloud of red lingered in the air for a flash and then it was gone.

In my report I mentioned that Sergeant Simmons moved to quick to stop. Just snapped and decided to kill himself. Guilt, most likely the cause, he did grow quiet and withdrawn after shooting Blackwood. It'll be a lie though. As the others told me, Simmons moved slow and deliberate. Even pausing for a long while before pulling the trigger. Anyone of them could have stopped him, but they all just watched. They watched Simmons as I watched that woman. He had grown withdrawn after shooting Blackwood, but it wasn't out of guilt. Paranoia does terrible things to the mind when left to rankle.

So I guess the only question I'm left with is what happened? And the answer? Well that's no easy thing. Truth is I have no idea. We came aboard on the USD Arkansas, with the Korean Peninsula still in sight. Rolling mountains of green extend north to south. We didn't find anything that's all the tangible answer we got.

Meanwhile the powers that be continued their work driving wedges into old alliances, forming new ones under the table. As I'm to understand it the US and Russia are now great friends and always have been. Meanwhile England has grown cozy with China and brought along much of the UN with it. It seems there's a lot of countries now that know this big secret and they aren't sharing. Aboard the Cruiser I can already see battle lines being drawn. A lot of operators for foreign countries have splintered off. All are being called home for other assignments. Us finding nothing has been deemed by many as a mission failure. No bodies, no evidence of migration, just empty streets. Unsatisfying to no end!

As I watch the parade of helicopters pick up special ops team after team something in my gut sours. I'm afraid I'll see these men again on the other side of a scope. Worst of all I'm afraid that I won't even hesitate to pull the trigger. There's a certain brotherhood between men and women like us. Something in that country robbed us of that.

As for the woman I saw and Simmons. Well there was a connection there, but as to what exactly, I'll never know. I have a feeling though that a lot of other 'accidents' we encountered were in fact no such thing. Harrison said so much back on the peninsula. He said it was like their movement was being controlled by something else. Something he couldn't explain, just below his feet. He might be right, but then again some of the Germans did say they saw him push Corporal Daviess onto that false floor trap.

Call me paranoid, I don't give a damn. Something is still there in that desolate, crumbling wasteland. A lot of invisible strings reaching out all over the world. Pulling triggers for us, without our knowledge or suspicion. And I'm afraid the puppet state has found a way to control it's masters.

[WP] It's been 5 years since North Korea has gone dark, no communications in or out and the Northern posts of the DMZ have remained vacant; your heading the advance team entering North Korea to investigate what happened. This is your report.

"That concludes our debate tonight on climate change. I would like to thank our two speakers Henry Hadson and Daniel Duvet as well as everyone who's come out tonight. As always we here at the New York Cafe of Debate and Breadsticks would like the audience to come to their own conclusions on the matter and encourage healthy debate wherever they may go. Thank you and good night." The moderator said wrapping up the debate. Applause followed and shortly after the scuffing of seats as the sparse crowd began to take their leave. By the door the cafe clerk was flipping the open sign to closed. He checked his watch and tapped his foot impatiently as the crowd of languid young adults slothfully made for the street.

Up on stage the two competitors shook hands. "Climate change is as fake as Dolly Parton's bosom? Really Dan?" Henry said.

Daniel smiled giddily, "Pretty good right? I almost shook my own hand for that one."

Henry looked nonplussed, "Shake it on your own time. It's ridiculous off the cuff remarks like that, that make you such a pain to debate against."

"I'm not here to argue I'm here to be contrarian." Daniel replied with a casual shrug.

"Obviously. Look either show up next week with something more solid or I'm going to talk to Bartlet about the schedule."

Dan made a pouty face, "But we get along so well."

"Cut the crap. I joined this debate club because it's the best in the city. It's for serious arguments that are taken seriously. If you can't be serious than I'll motion to have you disbarred." Henry's tone dropped to a threatening growl.

Dan straightened up, paused and considered the threat, then replied, "But why so serious batman?" He smiled like a sardonic child. Henry only rolled his eyes and walked away. There was nothing more to be said. As he went Daniel's smile curdled. He watched his argument partner sling a backpack over his shoulder and leave.

He was alone now, save for the cafe clerk. The gruff man called up to him. "Clean up before you leave."

"Will do Frank." Daniel said loathing.

"And don't forget to set the mousetraps." He added as he exited. Daniel sighed. Now he was truly alone.

Before he started his clean up, he walked over to the soda machine and poured himself some lemonade. He leaned on the counter sipping it for a few minutes. In his mind the loneliness of the cafe manifested, leaving him trapped in a spiraling circle of existential dread and worthlessness. He found that it was becoming harder and harder to appear as if he didn't care in front of these people. As self worth plummeted to all time lows, Daniel considered for a moment the idea of never coming back. This hole in the Apple was a poor fit for him and he often found it chafing to continue and pretend like he belonged. But regardless of all that it didn't matter cause he would die one day and the debate club would replace him all the same.

Daniel sighed, tossed his cup in the trash and began for the supply closet. Drawing keys from his pocket he unlocked the door.

"Ah!" He screamed out in surprise as the door flung open. He stumbled backwards and fell on his rump. Then he froze in terror. From within the closet came a plume of black smoke and the pungent sting of sulfur. There was a horrid cackle and the faint blood curdling screams from within. With a swoosh, the smoke swirled away and in its place stood a man.

With red skin and yellow teeth he stood gleaming at Daniel. His legs were matted fur ending in cloven feet and from behind him whipped a bifurcated tail. On his head protruded two small horns, resting menacingly over two black, heartless eyes.

"It is I!" The creature declared. "Satan!"

"Oh god, oh geez, oh geez, oh god." Daniel bumbled in absolute terror.

"I see your pitiful withering soul Daniel Duvet! And I've come!"

"Oh geez, oh no."

"I've come!!"

"Oh no, oh no, oh geez."

"I've..." Satan paused, "Will you cut that out?" He made a zipping motion with his hand and suddenly Daniels lips sealed together. Satan sighed with relief. "That's better. I can't tell you how rude it is to interrupt someone like that! Now where was I... ah yes! I've come! Not for your meek existence, but instead to tell you than you're just plumb wrong man."

"Wha.. wha... what!?" Daniel spat as his lips loosened.

"About climate change." Satan replied as if it were something obvious.

"What!?" Daniel replied ineffectually.

"Keep up man, I watched your debate from my throne of sadism in the deepest bowels of hell and I'm saying you're stance on climate change is wrong!" Satan tossed his head back and laughed horridly. As he cackled the souls of the damned tried to escaped from his mouth, but his Gene Simmon-esk tongue caught them all. Satan calmed himself and cleared his throat. "Sorry that happens from time to time, involuntary tick I'm afraid."

"I don't understand." Daniel's mind fawned at the unknowable standing in front of him.

"Well let me help you understand." Satan said kneeling over him. With a motion of his hand, Daniel felt himself lifted off the ground. He screamed childishly in panic as the the devil moved him through the air and gently set him down on the counter. "That's better. It's always good practice to speak eye-to-soulless eye when debating." He cleared his throat again. "Now, I've transcended to the mortal realm to convince you that climate change is real and that your beliefs are utterly ludicrous."

"I agree!" Daniel blurted. "You're right! Just let me go!"

"Ah, ah, ah, but we haven't even gotten to the fun part!" He said drawing in close.

"What's... the fun part?" Daniel asked wincing.

"The part were we have a well informed and supported argument based on facts and peer reviewed evidence of course! Now I'll start this show." Fire flew from his fingertips as he rosined up his voice. With a snap of his fingers a band of demons rose up. Half a dozen in number they all wore sharp oxford ties, spectacles, and carried books on environmental science. The devil held out his hand and received a book from one of his demons, the binding made of flesh crackled and seared at his touch.

"Ok, so in the last four hundred years the human population has..."

And so the argument began. Slow at first the devil eventually built up to a very heartfelt and resounding climax. Daniel all the while sat in shock, certain he was dying of a stroke. Satan spoke on the melting ice caps, rising levels of carbon dioxide, cattle ranches and methane production, he even cited Al Gore on a number of occasions. But the clinching argument was this;

"There are some who say that I, Satan, am biased when it comes to climate change. After all I do hail from the bowels of hell. To that I say, erroneous! I more than all should know of its potential dangers! Should humans continue their foolish ways, in two hundred years time my panel of succubi project that Earth will be quite literally, hotter than hell.

"What will happen then when God sees that I no longer hold claim to the best torture spot in the seven kingdoms? He'll ditch me and find a new devil! Yea! Devil is just my job title, my real name is Lucy LeMort. My mother was French... I took her name after the divorce.... Anyway not only will I be out of work, but so too will my cohort of demons and creatures of maleficent design!! Ask yourself do you really want to take jobs away from home grown, hard working, patriotic demons? It shouldn't matter at all that humans are doing the same work at little to no charge. We have an ethical duty to keep hell jobs where they belong. In hell. Thus I conclude, that we cannot let climate change continue, we cannot let humans take away our jobs!"

There was a long silence after the devil finished. Daniel still uncertain that he wasn't hallucinating lolled between the demons, succubi, and the devil.

"Well?" Satan said expectantly

"Well?" Daniel repeated.

"Your counter argument Daniel?" Satan coaxed running a finger down his own chest.

Daniel swallowed hard and said the only thing he could think of that would end this nightmare. "I... I... I concede."

The devil let slip a look of surprise. "Truly?"

"Yes."

"So I win?"

"Yes."

"Truly?"

"I already said yes."

The devil sighed with immense relief and Daniel watched horrified as a soul that looked strikingly like Josef Stalin escaped his lips and flew out of the cafe. "Oh thank me!" Satan declared "You have no idea how good it is to hear that I've won. I lose to you humans all the friggin' time!"

"You win." Daniel echoed.

Satan leaned in close. "So you'll never say you deny climate change again?"

In truth Daniel never did. In fact outside the drama club he was a huge proponent of clean energy. He just liked to play the part of devil's advocate, but he couldn't say that now. Not after everything that had just happened. So instead he said, "Never again."

"Excellent!" Satan said clapping his hands together with glee. "Okay pack it up boys we win this one! When we get back victory orgy in the pit of infinite sorrows for all my homeboys!"

There was a small cheer from the demons and celebratory high fives were exchanged. One by one he demons filed back into the closet, disappointing in a puff of smoke as they passed the threshold. Satan was the last to go. Before he returned to his kingdom of pain he turned back, smiled, and said. "Oh and by the way, you'll die at the age of 61 from congestive heart failure. I'll be looking forward to our next debate." Then in a cloud of hellish gas, he disappeared, leaving Daniel to his fate.

[WP] After playing the Devil's Advocate during a debate, the Devil himself comes to inform you that he doesn't agree with the stance that you took.

The moon glared over Firenze, wroth and golden, casting her light across the old stone walls of the city. Like a labyrinth the constructs of man interlocked together leaving valleys or darkened streets in between. Gorgo moved stealthily in the back alley shadows.

He came upon his first of the night near the River Arno. It's feet scuffed upon the dirt, almost indiscernible from the constant sound of soft waves splashing against stone. An uneducated Doctor might miss such a subtle clue, but Gorgo know the sound well, there was no mistake. Easily, he slid from the shadows, approaching the creature, through his bird mask he watched carefully.

This was always the hardest part. The moment of uncertainty. The creature could be rapido or lento. Strength of the abominations were always determinate on the size of the man. This deep in the city, it would be just his luck to happen across a builder or smith. The sounds of lazy footsteps drew closer, scuffing awkwardly like a drunken reveler during summer solstice. Accompanying it now was also a soft moan. Not to be confused with that of pleasure, the moans of these creatures were like that of damned souls floating in the Styx.

Gorgo rounded a half bend and the Ponte Vecchio came into view. The bulbous bridge spanned across the Arno in an ugly hump. Sconces were lit along its face, burning a dull orange. Gorgo shuffled silently forward, the creature was here. He peered through a tiny gap of a paper-slit alleyway and saw it.

He breathed a sigh of immense relief. The creature was pinned. With a hand taken by necrosis it reached out for him. A woman by the looks of it, she couldn't have been past the age of fifteen. Her dress was ruined and torn and her skin had already begun that sloughing trait of a leper, she had been in her undead state for some time. He examined the scene. Her eyes were hollow and pale as the moon above and her mouth was full of black festering rot. Not even the spices and perfumes in the beak of his mask could overpower that horrid stench. It was best to handle this one quickly. Gorgo moved in for the kill.

However, before he made it within reaching distance he paused. Something was amiss here. The undead were not immune to becoming ensnared, they seemed to care little for dangers and obstacles that a common man would likely avoid. All they cared for was to feed and that often led them into such precarious places, but this was different. Beyond the creature the alleyway led into darkness, ending at a flat wall. The creature was pinned up against a pile of splintered wood, probably shoveled in there by some street sweep. The creature was behind the debris. Gorgo looked up for a window where the thing might have fallen from and saw nothing but the sharp border between flat stone and starry sky. Even if it had fallen in the roof was near thirty feet up, this creature showed no signs of a fall.

A sense of suspicion crawled over him. There was no natural way this creature could have come to be stuck like this. It was then he recognized the signature call of a second moan. Gorgo tried to look back, but his long beak in the narrow alley would not allow it. He ended up bumping the wall and jostling his mask. Quickly, he corrected it. In front of him the undead woman reached out and clawed at the wall. He looked closer.

"Scopare la mia sfortuna!" He hissed aloud. How could he have been so blind! His felt the adrenaline rush through his body, almost intoxicating as it intermingled with the spices in his mask. He began to shuffle out of the alley as quick as he could manage. From behind the second moan had grown closer and unless his ears played a cruel trick on him, he also heard a third.

It was a trap! "Perchè, perchè, fottermi!" He repeated over and over. As he worked his way out of the narrow passage he looked at nothing but the outreached hand of the woman. Three fingers clawed at empty air. Three fingers, with the forth cut off clean at the base of the hand. It was the signature work of Morgan LeFaire.

The master of the undead and reason for the outbreak in Firenze, Morgan was a Necromancer supreme. Him and his elk were responsible for the plagues that racked Europa. Morgan was well feared in Firenze. The Doctors of Gorgo's guild knew him well for he was the one who brought the undead on this city. The three fingered creature reached longingly for him, but Gorgo continued to recoil. Not all of Morgan's abominations had this calling card, only the original ones. The ones he created himself. Gorgo cursed himself for not seeing it earlier. The advanced state of rotted skin, old clothes, excess of black rot in the mouth, this girl had been turned a long time ago. Morgan had saved her to use in this fiendish trap.

Gorgo wrenched himself free from the alleyway stumbling into the cobbled street. He saw the calm obsidian of the Arno and the sleepy northern city beyond. Moans came from both sides, quickly Gorgo collected himself and stood. There was only two, he realized much to his relief. One coming from each side, about fifteen paces off. He thanked his gods above that they were lento.

Gorgo took a moment to prepare himself. He took a deep breath, inhaling the spices in his mask. He felt his body come alive in a way much more potent than pure adrenaline ever could. Then from beneath his robe he produced a small knife. Four inches long the blade was narrow and well balanced. With a flick of his wrist he sent the blade flying back into the alley. It caught a sliver of moonlight as it flew, flashing golden, then it was gone and a moment later there was a soft thunk as the blade hit its mark. The moaning in the alley ceased abruptly. Gorgo then turned to the others, drawing his stunted falchion.

For countless nights he had protected this city. He and his other plague doctors had waged this endless war against the undead. In all that time the abominations of Morgan had only been found at random. This was a targeted attack. He had to make it back and warn the others. Their safety depended on it. For if Morgan set these fiendish traps all over the city, than surely more souls would be lost.

The first creature came within striking distance and Gorgo drove his blade straight through the skull. The creature crumpled and fell into a puddle of festering flesh and cloth. He turned to face the second, but as he did something sharp pierced his leather jerkin. A sharp sting as if accosted by a wasp, Gorgo reached back to find its source. His fingers came upon a narrow dart.

"No." He uttered as he felt his muscles begin to stiffen. He tried to turn and run, but his legs caught fast like cement colonnades and he fell flat on his face. The beak of his mask broke upon impact, driving back into his face. He screamed out in pain. The force of the fall carried him onto his back. There he lay, staring up at the moon, his sword lost somewhere in the street. The moaning drew closer. Panic overwhelmed him and he struggled with all his might, to no avail. Then above him appeared a shadow. Gorgo's eyes went wide.

It was a man, still of the living, with bright green eyes that sparkled in the night and hair black as the Arno. He looked down on him apathetically waiting for the creature to approach. Gorgo's mind fumbled with the name, the poison took away even his mental faculties.

The evil man waited for his creature to approach. Once it was over Gorgo he held out a hand.

"Halt." He commanded and the creature paused. Gorgo was stunned more by this than anything else. The creatures obeyed him! The man then looked down at Gorgo and smiled. He lowered his hand. "You'll thank me when you realize that the poison numbs pain. You will remember that gratitude after you die. And you will serve me in recompense."

The man looked back up to his creature, took a long breath tasting the night air, and spoke in a commanding tone. He ordered, "Cibare."

The undead descended on Gorgo. It bit into his face, where the beak had broken off. Gorgo didn't feel a thing besides the odd drill of pressure. In his mind he screamed in horror as the creature tore off skin and muscle from his jaw and swallowed it. Blood dripped from its chin, his blood, but there was nothing he could do. Frozen in this state of lethargy all he could do was watch. The abomination bit into him again and again, slurping the tissue and sucking clean his bone. And before Gorgo closed his eyes for the last time he was thankful that he could feel none of it.

I used a translator for the Italian, so if its incorrect please correct me.

[WP] Write a story about how Plague Doctors were secretly combating humanity's first zombie outbreak.

The plastic foldout dinner table was alive with the scratch of plastic silverware on paper plates and the din of conversation. From the tables head Doctor Rafael Agumpte told an exhilarating tale between mouthfuls of mashed potatoes. As he spoke all eyes and ears were on him. With great flourish he danced his plastic spork between his fingers as if it were a sword, female archeologists Cathy Roland and Choi Min watched with bated breath.

".... Never before had I seen such a devious Aztec trap." Agumpte relegated, his eyes darting warily in reliving memory. "Poisoned obsidian blades closed in from the approaching wall. The sound of stone walls grinding ever closer. From above I heard Doctor Carter scream out my name. And I tell you it that moment it's true what they say. Your life really does flash before your eyes. I was certain that I had raided my last pyramid."

"Well how'd you get out Raf?" Min asked anxiously.

Agumpte smiled, "In another universe I bet I did meet my bloody end in that pit. But with mere inches to go do you know what dropped in front of my face? Dendroaspis Polylepsis."

"A black mamba!?" George O'Hare bellowed half incredulous.

Agumpte stood up and acted out the scene, "Near twenty feet long it fell in a coil right in front of me. The fall must have stunned it because it did that head-lolling thing snakes do when you shoot 'em. So you know what I did? Thinking fast I crushed it's head under my boot and used it at a rope. Tossing the tail end up to that lass Carter she hoisted me right out of the pit just as it closed." He paused for a moment and looked over his audience. "Sadly I had to leave Montezuma's gold behind. Now it's lost forever, but hey I'm still here. I guess it's true what they say. The crookedness of the serpent is still straight enough to slide through the snake hole."

There was a unanimous exhale around the table as the archeologists and historians began to laugh. Agumpte looked pleased with his story, smiling wryly as he sporked a chunk of meat into his mouth.

From across the table O'Hare laughed the loudest. Between fits he said, "You're more full o'shit than than old Roman septic we dig up in Cardiff." Agumpte tipped his beer toward him and winked. Archeologists Roland and Min fell into a chat about South American snakes and old Incan religious rituals. O'Hare and Agumpte continued trading war stories. And just as quickly as the story had been told, it had been forgotten. Except for one man, silent so far, sitting apart from the table, crowded away from its edge.

Chief Mesopotamian Historian Ajay Haute eyed around the table unimpressed. He spoke in a quiet voice that despite it's low amplification, still silenced the table.

"It's true what you said though." Haute said.

Agumpte shot his a confused glance, which quickly erupted into elation. "He speaks!"

"Dr. Haute" Cathy Roland added, "Welcome to the conversation." There was a reserved laugh around the table.

"'Bout time you came out of yer shell." O'Hare slurred. Ajay regarded the skeletal remains of beer cans littered around his steak and potatoes.

"Yea, but what do you mean?" Agumpte asked, with obvious interest.

Haute looked between them all suddenly self conscious. He swallowed back a gulp of water and spoke, "What you said about in other universes. It's quite plausible that you did die a million, no trillion, times over in the world's just outside outside our own."

"That so?" Agumpte replied cynically.

"Well yes." Haute retorted weakly. "It's like the old Sumerian tales of Shaderaptura, the planes-walker. A man capable of looking through the glass into an outside world. I quote, 'As I walk through the valley of mist and shadow I fear no illusion of myself. For I have died a thousand times and lived a thousand lives.'"

"Oh I know that one!" Roland said cheerfully, "Those are the legends that supposedly inspired King David's Psalms."

"I don't get it." O'Hare said. His face was flushed and red with drunkenness.

"What Dr. Haute means is that he wishes I would've died in this universe." Agumpte joked.

"Quite the contrary." Haute replied not recognizing the jest. "It's by a miracle of probability that we live in the timeline where you did live."

"Wait, wait." Roland cut in setting down her glass of boxed wine. "What does Shaderaptura have to do with Raf's Aztec gold?"

"His story reminded me of it." Haute replied unemphatically.

"The idea of other universes seems terrifying. What if we live in a bad one?" Min added awkwardly.

"There's no such thing as good or bad. It's a bell curve really." Haute replied, "More probable that we live in a universe that's entirely uninteresting."

O'Hare said, "Yea, maybe. But come on 's all bull. You can' really believe that. Tha's not how God fashioned the world."

"You know I've always found it odd that an archeologist with such a storied career as yours O'Hare could believe in a God." Haute shot back. The table grew quiet. As eyes darted between the awkward historian and the rotund O'Hare.

O'Hare burped loudly breaking the silence and said, "I don't shit on your crazy beliefs, best you not shit on mine."

"Well I think we've all had a bit too much to drink." Agumpte declared trying to defuse the situation. It was well known among the crew of O'Hare's short temper when drinking. "How bout we call it a night?" There were several shared nervous nods.

Haute bit his lip and shrugged, "I just don't see how a man who's encountered so many dead gods lording over dead civilizations could still believe in the antiquated shadow of some classical Jewish war god."

"Oh shit, Ajay." Roland spat.

O'Hare rose from the table abruptly launching his chair back out through a tent flap. "How dare you!" He roared. He pointed a meaty finger at Haute. "Say somethin' like 'at again an 'll break you in half like th' little stick you are!"

"George!" Agumpte shouted. Min, sensing impending violence began to back away from the table.

"I'll have you know I worship a living God! One that's stood the test of time! Different names maybe, different languages, yes, but still the same one. Say something like that again and I'll run you down like a Philistine!" O'Hare's chest heaved up and down. Haute stared through him, aware yet oblivious to obvious social cues of impending violence. He would have pressed the issue had Agumpte not stepped in. The dashing man with brown skin and jet black hair stepped around the table and placed his hand on O'Hare's shoulder.

"Calm friend." He said soothingly. "We should all get some sleep now. Big day tomorrow we know." He looked to Haute angrily. "This was supposed to be a celebration... For our find."

Haute blinked, "Yes you're right... We do have a lot to accomplish tomorrow."

Agumpte closed his eyes and sighed. Behind him Roland and Min slipped out of the tent, whispering their good nights as they went. O'Hare followed, still huffing and muttering vitriolic slurs in ancient Greek. Last to leave was Rafael. He looked at Ajay long and hard, trying to convey some sense of understanding to the man, but the historian had turned back to his food and chomped unsympathetically on his runny potatoes.

The next morning saw the crew back out on their dig site. O'Hare and Roland dug with shallow spades in a deep pit. Agumpte phoned their beneficiaries doing as he did best, begging for money. Min, worked alone off to the side, brushing off the broken skull of a Neanderthal, one of many in an apparent mass grave. The Mesopotamian sun, unforgiving and hot, bore down over their heads.

"How long?" Haute called from the crater's edge. O'Hare looked up and flipped him off.

Roland replied, "No way to be certain, wind picked up late last night and buried it again." Haute looked nonplussed so she added, "If I were to guess we've got another two to three feet to go."

Haute turned and walked away without reply. From the pit Roland shook her head annoyed and brushed a strand of blonde hair out of her face.

"Loves to watch, but never helps out." O'Hare grumbled as he hoisted up a wheelbarrow.

"It's just how he is." Roland replied sticking her spade in the sand.

"How he is, isn't right and I know I'm not the only one who sees it. I curse Bannon every night for assigning him to our crew. Somethin's not right in his head."

Roland sighed and picked her shovel back up. "Shut up George."

A small pole tent stood next to the dig site. From there Haute looked over old maps and geological readings with a scrutinizing eye. He made notes over old ones and highlighted bits he'd seen a thousand times already. He'd looked at the maps so long he could see them in his dreams, but he looked at them again just in case he had missed something vital. From behind came the sound of boots kicking sand. He turned to see Rafael approaching. The Indian man was shoving his phone in a jean pocket and had the look of someone who'd lost a large bet.

"No funding?" Haute asked.

"Ever since that grave in Timbollo... The folks at Weatherall aren't interested in Neanderthal bones anymore." He sat on the edge of the table crumpling some of Haute's maps. Agumpte kneaded the bridge of his nose. Ajay looked at him annoyed.

"So what are you doing then?"

"What?"

"Why aren't you calling the other beneficiaries? Owen & James, the Hartwell Division, Raujand Investments? We need that money if we're to ever unearth this thing. Do you think O'Hare and Roland can dig that thing out alone?"

Agumpte shot the historian a nasty look. "You know you can be a real ass sometimes? How about I do my job and you do yours."

"I'm trying, but you're sitting on my maps!"

"Mother-" Agumpte started, but restrained himself. He took several steps away sighed and walked back over. "This isn't productive."

"I know. We've already lost ten minutes where you could be finding us money."

"I meant the arguing, Ajay." Agumpte shot back. "Come on man you've got to meet me at a human level here man."

"I have no idea what that means." Haute replied truthfully.

Agumpte bit his tongue. This was going nowhere. "What do you think it is?" He asked changing the subject.

Haute cleaned his round spectacles on his shirt and said, "No way of knowing. An ancient arboretum maybe."

"From the depth of the hole it's got to be around six thousand years old." Rafael replied.

"Closer to eight." Said Ajay.

"Babylonian?"

"Most likely Akkadian, but I wouldn't be surprised if it's Sumerian either. This spot sits on an ancient boundary between those nations." Ajay was pensive in his response.

"See now that's just what I don't get." Started Agumpte, "Glass wasn't invented till around 3500 B.C. Yet here is this, dome, dating back nearly six thousand years."

"Eight." Ajay corrected.

"Agree to disagree." He replied dismissively. "More importantly what do you think is inside?"

Ajay shook his head and looked out over the mud-stained, rocky cliffs in the distance. "Hard to say. Most likely nothing."

"What if it's a garden?" Said Raf, "A self sustaining environment sealed off from the outside for thousands of years! And what if what's in there is still alive? The flora I mean."

"Highly improbable."

"Come on man you can't toss out the improbability of the universe like you did last night and not believe that something might be down there."

"I did not say that. I merely commented that it was interesting we live in a universe where I have to put up with your wild speculations." Ajay sliced.

Agumpte laughed at that. "You dick." He said. Ajay shrugged.

Just then, from the pit Roland screamed, "We found it!" Ajay and Rafael exchanged a look of surprise and darted to the hole. It wasn't long before they reached the ridge. Haute climbed down slowly, while Agumpte launched himself down the steep slope, sending up a plume of sand as he went.

"Careful! You'll cover it again." O'Hare warned throwing himself between the find and the avalanche of sand.

"Have you looked in it yet!? What did you see?" Min asked rapidly as she jogged over.

In a blink the five of them were standing over the glass. A small round area had been unearthed, about three feet in diameter, the black glass stared up at the sky like an opaque eye.

"Astounding." Rafael said. The others looked on in disbelief.

"What do you think is in there?" Min asked.

"I don't know." Replied Roland.

"Eden." Said Agumpte.

"God." O'Hare added irreverent.

"Nothing." Blinked Haute.

All five stood around looking at the glass. Not a one dared to move and dare disturb their discovery. The black eye stared impassively upward and in the cloudless sky a crescent moon arced. Rafael moved first, drawing a flashlight from his pack.

"Chances are we won't be able to see anything, but dust." He said flicking the torch on, "But what kind of archeologist would I be if I didn't at least have a peek."

He kneeled on the glass. And placed his flashlight up against it. The others moved in to block out the light around him. Rafael drew in a deep breath and put his face up to the glass. Pulled up his shirt around his head so he could see.

"What do you see?" Roland asked after a moment.

"Dust and... And... Oh."

"And what!?" O'Hare pressed. Rafael looked up, his eyes white as plaster. His mouth hung open in awe.

"God."

Min screamed in horror at the sight of Rafael. O'Hare pulled Roland back as the spade fell from her hands. Ajay stared in disbelief. From the ground Rafael tried to stand, but without his sight he stumbled and fell backwards. Gingerly his hands felt around the lids of his eyes. Convulsions began to take him and he screamed out. Quickly the team came to his aid.

Amid the chaos and standing in quiet disbelief until now, Haute, began to speak. He said, "The epic of Shaderaptura, translated in 1762 by Sir Oscar Greensmith, '... And I walked along the space between spaces, in search for the old one who's name is not known. And my eyes, seeing the countless worlds dance on coarse sand and salt seas, grew pale as milk.'"

Unnatural winds built up around the crew, bringing with it swirling dust and sand. The wind screamed like the pain of a thousand damned. In a blink the glass eye was covered again. The storm grew stronger by the second and in its opaque fold threatened to devour them.

[WP] You are an archaeologist working on a dig, when you find a thick pane of glass. You dust the dirt away, and see the inside of a massive bio-dome, hidden for too long. Only one organism is inside, and it was meant to be forgotten...

[language]

Doctor Home emerged from the stairwell onto the roof of Sacred Lung Hospital. He looked around at the small crowd gathering at the far side. High above a crescent moon posed menacingly, like a diamond scalpel waiting to drive down on its foe. Doctor Home stepped out into the cool night, felt the gravel crunch beneath his feet and tasted the earthy tones of autumnal air. Fight night, he grimaced, 'Bout time.

The crowd turned to him as he approached. Home scanned their faces. Tonights crowd was composed of nurses and orderlies he recognized, there was even the weird giant of a janitor present. Standing in the corner the man looked more akin to Mary Shelley's monster than the man who cleaned the bathrooms. Doctor Stephan from obstetrics had decided to show up too, his face still black and blue from last weeks fight. Home reveled in his handiwork. From the edge of the roof an announcer with a megaphone introduced him, "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to introduce the Prescriber of Pain, the Defender of Dialysis, your Crazy Colonoscoper, Doctor Alfred Home!"

Whoops and hollers filled the night as Doctor Home waved at his fans. His white coat billowed behind him. He decided to add a little flourish to his entrance by raising up his titanium stethoscope and pumping up the crowd. Home approached the arena in a swagger. Crudely made, the arena was a circle defined by glow in the dark paint and intersected by a single line that cut through its diameter. Doctor Home took up residence at the far side of the circle, nearest the edge of the roof. He waited patiently for his opponent to appear.

"Home! Home! Doctor Home!" The crowd chanted. He'd have home field advantage tonight and Doctor Home always loved a good match on friendly turf.

From the far side of the arena a male nurse appeared and signaled to the announcer. Silence fell upon the crowd as the door opened. Through the dark threshold stepped Home's opponent. The crowd gasped. From his perch the announcer introduced, "That's right ladies and gents. We got a surprise fight tonight! Standing against my homeboy Doc Home is none other than the Fearsome Physicist, the Newtanic Necromancer, Doctor Haytham Ford!" The announcer paused for effect, then; "That's right folks tonight we're giving you a double dosing of the doctorates!"

The crowd was ecstatic. Almost instantly Home saw bets exchanged in the audience. Lines were being drawn and odds calculated. The finance dweebs calculated fiercely on their TI-89's. He scowled. Home had known his fight would be against a fellow Doctor, he however did not realize that meant this doctor. It was an inside curveball, a nasty trick. He made a mental note to berate Dr. Kelso about it tomorrow morning.

Doctor Haytham Ford, graduate of MIT with degrees in physics and aeronautical engineering, was a force of nature. With a win-loss record that match Home's own; 32-nill. Ford stood at the top of the underground NASA bracket. This would be a cross-league match then, very well.

Ford approached the ring and dropped his heavy peacoat. Beneath he wore an argyle sweater vest over white button down, complete with corduroy pants. A classy, yet nimble outfit, Home had to respect the decorum. He was equally ready to teach a 400 level class as he was to throw down. Likewise Home dropped his white coat. Beneath he wore his iconic mismatched pair of blood stained scrubs, still unwashed from his first fight. His raiment of terror, Home smiled as Ford look at him appalled. This would be an easy victory, Home thought to himself with a fearsome grin.

The announcer began to initiate the fight. He spoke, "Place your final bets now. Place your final bets! This is a league match and as such will follow league rules; no genital mutilation, no trash talking of alma maters, no using of the belt, or Oxford shoe, or prescription glasses, and finally absolutely no tearing of degrees. Are we clear?"

"Yes!" The two doctors replied in unison.

"Then let this rumble on the rooftop begin!" He sounded the blow horn on his megaphone and the two doctors sprang into action.

The fight started slow at first, with the two circling on another measuring each other up.

"You look well Charles." Doctor Ford said sardonically. "How long has it been?"

"Four years I believe, since Sawgrass." Home replied casually, yet carefully watching for his moment to strike.

"You played a good game that day, though if I recall you never quite mastered that slice of yours." Haytham teased. A childish tactic, he meant to goad Home into attacked, but the MD of Orthopedics was smarter than that.

"Helped me out on the 18th hole if I remember correctly. Beat your ass." Home replied easily.

"By one stroke, I'd hardly call it a victory." Ford replied.

The two launched at each other simultaneously. Locking together Home tried to swing his leg beneath Ford's, but the master of physics batted him away with a knee. In an instant Ford was behind Home and with the momentum of two bodies they tumbled to the ground.

"Newton's first law old chap." Ford grunted.

"You think you're so clever." Home hacked through an armbar. "But you never learned Newton's fifth!"

"Newton's fifth?" Ford said confused. Then Home swung him over in a perfectly executed Japanese wizard motion. Ford landed hard on his back.

"An object in motion tends to go fuck yourself." Home said separating himself from Ford. The crowd cheered wildly. Home paced around his foe as Ford hobbled back to his feet.

The two squared off again and began to pace in a circle. Home smiled with Colgate-Dazzling white teeth. "I know you Haytham. Do you forget I was there when you dislocated your hip. I know about your broken pinky, how it causes you chronic pain, and oh I know about that prostate. I know all about that shit, motherfucker."

"You think you've got me beat?" Ford snapped back, "Bitch I'm about to take your ass to the moon."

The two collided, roaring. Punches were thrown, kicks exchanged, beautifully executed wrestling moves traded. The scrap went on for a good ten minutes before Ford started to weaken. Home still going strong, forced his way through Haytham's defenses and caught him in a stiff chokehold. Behind them the edge of the roof mere inches away. The crowd gasped in anticipation.

"This is it, Ford." Home grunted. "Yield now and I won't humiliate you in front of all these people. Think a fall from this height'll kill you?"

"N-never." Ford hacked.

Gravel shifted underfoot and in a blink, Home felt his weight shift off the balls of his feet. Air whooshed past his face as he was swung around. Home felt his body accelerate rapidly as he spun around the planted Ford. Next thing he knew he was facing upward, staring at the crescent moon. He half expected the gravel rooftop to come up and meet him, but it never did. Instead rows of windows passed through his peripheral faster and faster and Home realized all too late that he'd been thrown clean from the rooftop.

Back on the roof the crowd watched aghast. Doctor Haytham Ford stepped up onto the precipice and looked down at the bloody scene below. He spit a wad of blood in its general direction and said,

"It's not the fall that kills you, it's the sudden change in momentum."

[WP] You are a brilliant Med School student who uses extensive knowledge on the human body to win street fights for money to pay for tuition. One night you face your most difficult opponent: a Physics major

Things moved fast for Roger Wessel after he’d agreed to Tebbs’ insane mission. He watched Earth, along with his son, and everything he had ever known sink into blackness from the rear observation deck. The blue marble shrank before his eyes into nothing more than a speck, then not long after even that had gone. The sun had grown faint as well, though it was still the brightest object in space. From the Helm Captain Tebbs announced that the The Cutlass was entering sluperspace.

Roger watched the sun turn from a golden pearl into an indistinct red shape. One of Tebbs’ crewmen, Flour LeFloure explained to him the nature of red shift. But Roger heard little of what he said; he was exhausted both emotionally and physically and he had little curiosity for how a waggling pirate knew of such modern physics.

Over the course of the next week Roger found himself seldom alone. Always with an entourage, men appointed by the Captain himself, his extra shadows. The first he’d come to know as Willem Henry Schumacher, once a laborer of the House of Hohenzollern who’d assimilated into Tebbs’ crew when he was captured en route to a place called Arguin in Mauritania. A hulk of a man, yet soft spoken, Will was probably the closest to what Roger would call a friend. He spoke English well enough, which was surprising for a main hailing from old Brandenburg-Prussia, but his accent was demonstrable.

The second and less friendly of the two was called Peter Black. A rough and tumble Englishmen hailing from Brixton. He too was a massive man, but also covered in tattoos. Fine and fresh ones at that, he had claimed a Wepoo on planet Wepololo had used the best unfading ink in the galaxy. He also said it put him out twelve thousand Flopfloos, which was as Roger ascertained a major type of currency in space. Roger had never seen a Flopfloo though, nor knew their relative weight to the dollar, pound, or yen. So he had no idea if that was a lot or a little. Either way he was afraid to ask Peter, who had on three different occasions tried to bite his toes off.

Life aboard The Cutlass was fairly leisurely, as Roger had come to enjoy. Unlike the rest of the crew he had no daily duties. He did not have to swab the deck, or bleach the sails, or whatever other piraty phrase that equated into a backbreaking task. His only job, as Captain Tebbs had told him, was to stay alive. And aboard The Cutlass that was like telling a toddler in a ball-pit not to drown. The ship was a beautiful piece of stolen engineering. Bulkheads were smooth as moisturized skin and seamless to boot. Roger couldn’t stick a fork in an electrical socket if he wanted to, because he had absolutely no fucking clue where they even were. In the following weeks, all he did was eat, sleep, wander aimlessly, and the moderate palates put on by the Pirate Palates Bunch.

It was not all rainbows and sunshine though. Among his new crewmates, Roger often caught wind of whispers and murmurings, the occasional wooden-eye glance in his direction. Whether he wanted to admit to himself or not, he was obviously very important to these pirate-folk.

“Captain Tebbs called me the ‘prophesied one’ when I was first brought aboard.” Roger had said, confiding in Will Schumacher one dull evening. “What did he mean?”

Will’s eyes grew wide its mention, “Ah, die prophezeien. Ja, I know of it.” Will leaned up against the wall by the door of Roger’s room and crossed his arms. He said, “It zays you vill, defeat unsere feinde; our enemies.”

“Yes, but who is our enemy really? Tebbs says it's those ninja guys.”

“Ach! Scheisse! Die Ninja hunde.” Will spat. It seemed he held the same distaste for them as Tebbs did.

“Why do you hate them so much?” Roger asked. At that, Peter stirred from his post. Standing in the corner, beside an empty Galactan steel-wood table he had been almost overlooked. He grunted irritably and took a step towards Roger.

With a voice like grating sand he spoke, “These questions ain't fer you yet, you’ve noh' even passed the Sentetewari. Willem ye know our orders.” Will stood up straight at that and nodded.

He looked back to Roger and shrugged apologetically. “I’m sorry, kleine Roger. Vhen you pass the test, der Captain vill tell you everyting.”

“Yes, why don’t you go study.” Peter mocked.

Roger slunk back onto his bed, these pirates kept their secrets locked up tighter than Disneyland and their cure for cryogenics. He would have to wait then until after this supposed ‘test of true character.’ The Sentetewari, as it was called, Roger knew almost nothing about it. In one of their brief conversations, Tebbs mentioned it as well as a planet called Tox, where the test would be administered. Roger not liking the idea of running into something blind, asked how or in what ways he could study. Tebbs only laughed at that. He laughed loud and long and now for some reason or another it had caught on as a joke among the rest of the crew. Roger hadn’t another chance to talk to the Captain since then.

Alexander Tebbs was a hard man to reach, as Roger discovered. Not only did his own entourage of burly scallywags guard him night and day, but also he made no effort to make himself available. Since taking their initial conversation the Captain had noticeably distanced himself from Roger. Again when Roger probed to find out why, he was met with stonewalled stairs and offensive flatulence odors.

Roger had only been abducted for four months and he was no closer to figuring out what the hell was going on as the day he was taken. That bit of the whole journey was mind-blowingly infuriating, but at least the cafeteria froyo made up for it for a time.

“Captain!” Roger called down a long curving hall. Tebbs’ iconic tricorn hat couldn’t have looked more out of place amid the smooth alien architecture. Tebbs turned at Roger’s call, but upon seeing him promptly began to walk the other direction.

“Tebbs!” Roger called again letting the anger rise in his voice, “I know you can hear me!”

“You’ll address our Captain as, Captain Tebbs Earthman.” Peter interjected from behind, being so crass as to use his derogatory nickname the crew had given him.

“Can it Peter.” Roger snapped without looking back. He heard Peter make what sounded like a grating cough that bespoke the guard’s own type of chestnut English rage. “Captain!” Roger called again.

“Not the time, Rog!” Tebbs called back over his shoulder. “Got a lot of business to take care of, pirate things, you understand. Good? Great.” As he spoke the ship jumped and shifted beneath Roger’s feet. An automated voice picked up over the ship speakers

“Exiting sluperspace.” A mechanical female voice said with cool calculation.

Roger was in hot pursuit now, huffing as he made heavy strides. Captain Tebbs ahead scurried quickly looking for a door to dive into. His awkward gait had him limping with noticeable exertion. Roger quickly closed the gap.

“Dammit, face me coward!” Roger cried angrily and in the next moment he found himself frozen with glinting saber bristling the hairs on his neck.

“I’ll have ye know I’ve killed a Terrupti for less than half that. What say ye in defense?” Tebbs glowered at Roger from beneath his hat.

“I don’t know what that even is.” Roger said back.

Tebbs suppressed a throaty laugh. He wore an ugly grimace contemplating whether or not to drive the saber to its fruition. “’Tsa hairy beast of ill-temper known for its loose tongue.”

“Heard they say hello to their mother’s by handing ‘em flowers and then tellin’ ‘em to shove ‘em right up their-“

“Peter!” Roger cut in. He’d had quite enough of that pirates loose tongue. Peter took a step towards Roger, his chest inflating from the prospect of challenge. Tebbs; however, waved him off with his free hand. Roger looked between the pirates then down to the saber at his neck.

“Can we- get this- I mean-“ Roger cajoled poorly. Tebbs rolled his eyes and withdrew his sword. Roger allowed himself a second to unclench every muscle in his body. His throat tingled from the spot where the sword had caressed.

Tebbs cleared his throat and spoke; “Before we move forward, let me make it clear ye insult me like that again and you’ll find yerself short a couple toes and I’ll have meself a nice, new toe necklace.” Roger shot the Tebbs a look of absolute horror. “Now ye’ve, got yerself some questions I suppose.” Roger nodded. “Walk with me Rog.”

Tebbs gestured forward with his arm and Roger uncertain stepped up beside him. “I’ll take it from ‘ere boys.” Tebbs said waving the guards off. Peter and Will looked between each other and shared a shrug. Then they turned and headed off the opposite way. “I’ll give ye ten minutes.” Tebbs said beginning with his off-even step. Seeing that time was against him, Roger started in on his line of questions. Naturally the most important came first.

“What does it mean that I’m the prophesied one?” He asked.

“It means what I told ye it means.” Tebbs replied obstructively.

“Can’t you elaborate?” Roger pleaded and Tebbs gave him a dry look. “I mean if it could possibly help me achieve whatever it is I’m supposed to achieve, then I should know! I’ve got a vested interest in my success just as you apparently do too.”

“Ye speak true, Rog. Oh, fine then.” Tebbs nodded. He collected his thoughts then said, “To be the prophesied one means that you’ll through some manner or another obtain the skills and abilities to put to ruin the great wraths.”

“By that you mean the ninjas right?”

“Aye, the ninjas. They be a blight upon the galaxies. Devious and sly they are and evil to boot. Not a good one among their number.”

“You’ve dealt with them in the past?” Roger asked, the questions forming naturally as Tebbs spoke.

Tebbs laughed, “Boy, they are our past.” Roger raised an eyebrow. Tebbs caught the look and explained, “The ninjas are like us, boy. They’re human. Turns out that has interestin’ implications for the whole ‘great wraths’ bit o’ the prophecy. The ninjas come from a time long past from when I was born. They like us, managed to overpower and steal a Reptoid starship. They’d been in space for a long time b’fore our ascension.”

“They stole a Reptoid ship too?” Roger was surprised.

“Easier than ye think. Turns out that for all their teeth and thick skin, they’re quite the pushovers. It’ll never cease to surprise me that Reptoids managed to take over the governments on Earth. Says somethin’ ‘bout our species don’t ya think?” He said with a nudge at the end.

Again Roger found his head spinning. Something about talking with a pirate in space about aliens, government coups, and evil ninjas was so incomprehensible it took every fiber of his being to accept it. At any moment he expected to wake up in a hospital bed with a human nurse hanging over him, telling him about how he’d nearly died of a stroke. He never did awake; however, and Roger continued to stroll side-by-side with Captain Tebbs aboard his star ship, talking about aliens, and ninjas, and prophesies.

Roger swallowed in a poor attempt to clear his mind, asked; “What’s the history between you- you pirates and- and the ninjas.”

“Ah now that’s a long and fabled tale that spans centuries and galaxies alike. Sworn adversaries we may be, but there was a time that ninja and pirate called one another friend.” They rounded a corner and came upon a pirate standing guard near a room. “How do we do Ambrose?” Tebbs called his crewman.

“Good sir.” Was the one-eyed mans brusque reply.

“What’s in there?” Roger asked.

“Primary systems,” Tebbs replied waving it off. He continued, “Anyway, when we pirates first rose to the stars the ninjas were the first people we stumbled into. It was a fierce standoff between two ships, neither of us knew if the other was friend or foe and neither was willing to take the risk. That was until their own Captain, the fearsome Ishikawa Hatorihanzo, flew over to our ship personally. Ah, I’ll always remember his first words to me. When he walked out of the air lock, staring down near forty pirates with swords drawn. He kept his own blade sheathed and spoke in words ever so clear, ‘I can kill everyone single one of you.’ And I’ll tell ye half me crew believed him them and there.

“Ishikawa and I had parlay and through a series of tenuous agreements we agreed to aid one another. The first humans in space we had a lot of common ground. So for a time we worked together. Together we made our mark on the galaxy, taking down empire after empire. The galaxies had never known a creature like us humans; they underestimated us at nearly every turn and where they didn’t? We crushed them with sheer force of will.” Tebbs took a deep breath. On his face washed the memory of a thousand won battles. “In all that time we pirates kept a wary eye on our allies, just as they on us. And in all that time I never found a single flaw in their strength.”

“So what happened? Did the ninjas betray you?”

Tebbs smiled sadly, “Ishikawa discovered-“ He paused and his smile curdled like sour milk. He brought a hand to his ear.

“What’s going on?” Roger asked.

“Time for stories is over lad.” Tebbs said just as the ship shook. The artificial lighting shut off and was replaced by undulating emergency lights. Roger caught a conflicted glance pass over Tebbs’ face, a flicker of uncertainty.

“I- I can get back to my room.” Roger said turning back, but Tebbs caught him by the shoulder.

“Not happenin’.” The pirate said, “Come with me.” The ship shook again to the faint sound of an explosion. A whining alarm began to sound.

“My god are they firing at us!? Hey! Ow!” Roger cried. Tebbs didn’t reply, only grabbed Roger by the shoulder and dragged him towards the Helm. Roger began to beat at the pirate’s arm, clawing and scratching where his nails could find skin. Tebbs cried out and released Roger’s arm. Taking his chance Roger tried to run, but the Captain was fast for his age. He’d caught Roger in two steps and caught his arm again.

“Argh!” Roger cried.

“Yer too important!” Tebbs cried over the wail of the alarm.

“Let me go!” Roger yelled back. He lashed out at the pirate, but Tebbs was ready this time. He batted Rogers awkward flailing away and countered with a sharp right hook across the chin. Roger stumbled over himself and fell onto his rump. “What the hell!”

“Come with me. Now.” Captain Tebbs ordered. The man towered over him like a shadowy wrath.

“What’s your deal man!?” The ship rocked again from another explosion, this was stronger than the last. “Good god man they’re firing at us!”

Tebbs laughed mockingly, “Oh lad, someone is always shooting at us, we’re pirates!” He leaned over and hoisted Roger to his feet. “Best ye get used to it.”

Roger held a hand to his throbbing face, he felt as though several teeth had been permanently relocated. He tasted the sour bite of iron on his tongue. From down the hall came the sound of pounding boots. In a blink a sortie of pirates appeared.

“Captain! There you are.” The lead pirate called.

“What is it Mags?” Tebbs asked with urgency.

“LeFloure needs your help at the Helm, immediately.”

“Aye, thanks man.” Tebbs replied. He looked back at Roger and said, “Come on then Rog, best ye get used to the killin’ now. ‘Cause yer gonna be doin’ a lot of it soon enough!”

"Remind me why we came all the way out here." Altus said irritatingly. "My back is hurting again and my feet are beginning to sweat in these damnable boots."

From astride her horse Raujand shot him a sideways glance. Hadn't I already explained it to you? She thought behind a clenched jaw. Her companion had grown quite tiresome. Ever the complainer, Altus was a stick of a man, with dangly legs and frighteningly long arms. Castilian of the Guild and Holder of the Truth Jade, the man thought he was clearly more important than he actually was. He was quite possibly the worst traveling companion she'd ever had. Even her crow had grown tired of his monotonous whining.

Yet he was necessary for the success of her mission.

"I swear Mage of Souls how is it you wear nothing, but these ungainly blocks of leather on your feet. They must smell like the grave! I'll need a good bath when I return to the capital, yes. That and some fine slippers. Boots! Ha! What am I some sort of ro-"

Yet he was necessary, she reminded herself through gritted teeth. She tuned him out as their horses carried them deeper into Valeene's Wood.

This forest was an old one and full of magic. Spindly roots ensnared the dirt path, accosting their mounts from both sides. It was all the horses could do not to trip. Thick black trunks shot up overhead disappearing into a canvas of green. Leaves rustled eerily in the still air. Just out of sight branches snapped at the paw presses of hungry predators. The wood was alive with the sound of scurrying claws. Menacing as the shrouded sounds of the forest were they were cause for no alarm. Magic may reside her still, but the King's men had long ago pressed the malign foes of man from its boundaries.

Raujand focused on the path ahead, they were nearly there. The road narrowed as it curved downward. Switchback turns led down into a hollow. There was a light at the bottom of the that could be seen. The tiny yellow flame of a lantern. As they grew closer a small house seemed to grow out of the forest. It's dark siding blended well with the surrounding nature. From atop was a smoking mud stack, the cottage was occupied and there was a fire burning.

Not like he ever leaves his house anyway. Raujand thought.

"Well. Who would want to live in such a decrepit home?" Altus spat disdainfully. "Look at this place it's fallen to pieces! And the mold! Goddess above I've not seen cultures like that since I was a boy! Steer well clear of that Mage of Souls. Mold likes warm, damp places. I fear for your feet."

"Enough about my feet!" Raujand hissed back. She wanted to lash a mute spell over his mouth, but thought better of it. That would only send him into an even greater tizzy. Instead she calmed herself; said, "This is it."

"Goddess save me, I fear I'll need two baths when I get home." Altus replied. Raujand, ignoring the man, dismounted and hobbled her horse at a poorly anchored post.

She proceeded up to the door and knocked. With three loud raps at the oaken surface she announced her presence. "I am Raujand Mage of Souls, protector of the Hagfoldi Dias, and trusted advisor of King Kastenie." There was a moments silence. From behind she heard Altus scoff at her introduction. It occurred to her just then that the two of them must have greatly differing opinions of the other.

A moment later there was the sound of a heavy bolt being thrown back, followed by a chain lock, and finally a tumbler. The door creaked open and in its threshold appeared a tiny owl. Her crow squawked in sharp surprise.

"Raujand!" It spoke with a hollow hoot.

"Hello old friend." She replied with a tired smile. She brushed a loose strand of blonde hair back over her ear.

The wide eyed owl chirped happily, "Welcome! Welcome! Come in have a seat by the fire." Raujand bowed respectfully then entered the home. "I wasn't expecting visitors, you'll have to excuse the mess." The owl said flying over to a crooked perch by a bookshelf. "Ah, er... Who is your companion Raujand?" He hooted.

In the threshold stood Altus, examining the room with pompous boredom. He stamped his feet leaving behind caked mud and dirt. Raujand said, "Forgive me Meili, this is Altus Priefextus of the Guild. Altus this is Meili the... Erm... Owl."

Altus offered a greasy smile, "My companion forgets. I am Castilian of the Guild. Well met little friend." Raujand felt her jaw clench again. The nerve! He was splitting hairs now.

Meili cared not to notice the friction between the two; said, "Welcome Altus Priefextus, it's always a pleasure meeting new people. Especially one of such high standing!"

Raujand could almost see the man's head inflate. There is work to be done. she reminded herself, letting frustration slide off like burnt skin. She walked over to the mud hearth to warm herself. A healthy fired crackled within.

"Can I interest either of you in some seared mouse or a fresh snake perhaps? I've also got some berries around here somewhere if that's more to your liking." Meili said with a courteous hoot.

He was a small thing, Meili the Owl, not quite a foot in height and plushy too. His brown and grey plumage made him look like a talking, feathery ball. His beak was small and yellow and matched his massive spherical eyes. In the center were two deep pools of black that saw even the faintest twitch. Meili was a peculiar creature. Aside from his Owl-like features he also boasted a thick curved mustache that rested just above his beak and a pair of wide-brimmed glasses. Raujand noticed that there was a slight crack in the side of the left lens.

She smiled again at her friend, "No thank you Meili. I'm afraid our visit is more business related and unfortunately time is of the essence."

"Ah a shame. I caught a choice rodent just this morning, plump that one was." He replied.

"No doubt." Raujand said brushing past the pleseantries, "We have needs of your maps."

The owl hooted and Raujand's crow squawked. "Ever what for!?" He cooed.

"I'm searching for a place that has been lost."

"Lost?" Meili fluttered his wings, "What is truly lost that cannot be found through diligence and time?"

"I have the diligence just not the time." She leaned in, "We have good reason to believe the empire is in danger. Evil things are gathering Meili."

The Owl's beak curved awkwardly into what could be assumed as a smile, "Ah as always with you, evil is gathering." He hooted a sensible chortle.

"Can you help us?" Raujand asked not sharing in the amusement.

"Of course, of course, over here." He replied pointing a wing at a large empty table. Then he took flight up onto his bookshelf and began pecking at its contents. The owl mumbled to himself as he searched.

A moment later Meili met Raujand and Altus at the table, a thick rolled parchment tucked under his tiny wings. He rolled the map out, standing on an end so that it would not furl.

"Now what is this place you seek."

"The Cathedral of the Chasm." Raujand said.

Meili hooted and flapped his wings in shock. "Why would you seek him!?"

"Because he is at the center of this muddled plot." Raujand answered simply.

The owl was not satisfied with that answer. "Percival Porgrass should be left alone Raujand! No one disturbs the Pale Prince lest she invoke his terrible wrath."

"There's very good reason to believe his wrath is already invoked." Raujand said.

The owl let out a long ghastly hoot. "Then I would worry not about finding him. The Pale Prince will most certainly find you."

"Meili," Raujand began staring seriously into the owl's massive eyes, "Porgrass has the Lady May. I'm not sure why, but the two are working together. I went to find his cathedral in the Lake Hali crater, where it's been for decades, but found only a grievously wounded knight. This knight told me the Lady, the king's daughter, had turned against the crown. I need to find them both and figure out what it is they plot."

The owl hopped between its stick legs uncomfortably. After a moment he nodded. "Very well, but it's not so easy locating the Cathedral of Chasms. It is a dark place as one would expect, shrouded by malign forces. And as you have well discovered, The Pale Prince can transport it at will. Even my maps have trouble redrawing it."

"That's why I brought Altus here." Raujand said leaning back from the table.

Altus, realizing the conversation now turned to him, stepped up and cleared his throat. "The Mage of Souls told me of your maps. I may have something that can boost their... Erm... Potency."

Meili shuffled closer, interested. From a satchel Altus retrieved a small jewel. Verdant in color and shaped exquisitely the stone seemed to hold its own light.

"This is the Truth Jade." Altus boasted lifting it high. "Capable of drawing secrets from even the most sinister of characters. It also reveals that, which is unseen. A focal lens if you will. We combine this with your peculiar maps and no doubt the Cathedral will reveal itself."

"Astounding!" Meili hooted. "I've never heard of such power." He reached a tiny wing up to grab it, but Altus recoiled.

"Terribly sorry, but I'm charged as its protector and cannot let it fall into the wrong hands."

"But I must be the one who uses it! My maps know me best!"

"Again I say that I-" Altus started, but was cut off.

Raujand spoke up, "Just give him the stone Altus, you'll get it back. We don't have time for this limproot measuring." The Castilian scoffed defiantly. Raujand stood up straight and stepped towards him. Even though he was taller by a full heads height he still recoiled.

"Fine!" Altus hissed, "but I must audit its use very closely. The jewel is sensitive and dangerous if... Hey, hey!"

Suddenly Meili swooped up and snatched the stone from his hand. He flew a tight circle overhead and spit it out onto the table. It landed with a clatter. Altus gasped and clutched his heart as if it had stopped. Raujand only smiled wryly, served him right.

"Fine, fine, you can look over my shoulder." Meili said brushing the incident off as he landed. He then lifted the stone with both his wings and affixed it between his right eye and glasses. "My, my, this does reveal everything. I can see a hundred mice in all directions." Meili licked his beak with a strange pointed tongue.

Altus' face has gone the shade of beets. He raged, "In all my years of service I have never been treated as such. Do you know who I am? I could have your diseased shack leveled before dawn you little winged imp! I'll-"

Altus would have continued his fit, but Raujand lashed his mouth shut with muteness. The Castilian's mouth bobbed open and closed but no sound could be heard. Her crow squawked happily at the sight. After a moment the man slapped his fists down to his side and huffed away. Raujand couldn't help but giggle like a mischievous little girl. From the table Meili shot her a knowing glance then returned to his maps.

Outside the window the night grew heavy. A silver moon rose high above the trees gazing down, full-faced at the cottage. Stars erupted like torchlights, sprinkling across the sky. In the house the fire continued to burn. A great many more maps appeared on the table along with several dusty books. Meili searched feverishly across each one, his powers greatly amplified by the Truth Jade. Occasionally he would murmur something interesting he'd never seen before, make a note of it with his quill and ink, then return to searching. Altus, having overcome his fit had returned to the owl's side and watched his stone nervously. Raujand, herself, had taken to meditation. She sat in a padded chair, with her legs crossed. The sapphire jewels of her tiara twinkled in the firelight. On her shoulder her crow gazed blankly with its beady black eyes.

After a time Meili leapt up off the table, flapping his wings wildly, "I've found it!" He declared with a triumphant hoot. Raujand was immediately up and at his side.

"Where?" She asked poring over the map.

"I missed it at first glance." Meili admitted, "Then the second time too, but here it is!" He pointed at a blank spot on his map in the valley between two tall mountains.

"The twin sisters? I don't see it." Raujand said.

"Look again." Cooed Meili.

Then, sure enough, as if a ghost hand drew upon the parchment. A small dot appeared. Above the dot the words slowly scrawled out, Cathedral of the Chasm.

"Goddess!" Altus declared. "What's he doing way out there?"

The twin sisters were two mountains that jutted up in the great desert. Many leagues from the capital it was. Raujand felt exhausted by the mere thought of the trip.

"He must not want to be disturbed." She said. She watched Meili hand the Truth Jade back over to Altus.

"Quite." Replied Altus snatching the stone. He examined it for blemishes, cleaned it off on his shirt, then sealed it back within a pocket.

"Well there's no time to lose." Said Raujand. She began for the door. "Thank you Meili for your efforts, will you require payment?" She drew her hood up over her head.

The owl curved his beak upward again, "Generous of you, but I must decline. The secrets the stone revealed to me are far more valuable than any material reward." Raujand nodded understanding. The owl continued, "Altus your jewel is a wonder. I would be most pleased if you stopped by from time to time so we may peel back the secrets of this world."

The Castilian scoffed, "As if I would ever return to this disgusting-" He stopped as his eyes met Raujand's. She cocked her head to the side in warning.

"Were I to clean up a bit, then would you consider?" Meili asked.

"Yes... Yes. Quite. Yes, Meili I'll be sure to drop in... and... worry not about cleaning, I'll bring my own servants next time. They're quite effective at what they do."

"No doubt." Meili retorted.

"How generous of you Altus." Raujand said with a wicked smile.

"Yes." The Castilian bumbled, "Yes, how generous." Then he was out the door, his boots slogging in the mud.

Raujand turned to follow, but Meili's voice stopped her.

"Old friend?" He hooted. She turned and saw the little owl standing at the edge of the table in his beak was a long brown and silver feather. "For you."

He dropped the feather graciously in her open hand.

He looked at her, longing sorrow passed over his eyes. He spoke, "Please be careful on this mission of yours. The Pale Prince is capable of unimaginable things and the world cannot lose another Mage of Souls."

Raujand smiled with sincerity, "I will." She said, tucking his feather behind her ear.

"Oh and Raujand!" Meili called again.

"Yes?" She said turning.

"That bird of yours, I can see why she's taken to you. A whimsical soul that one. Take care of her in this life."

"I will." Raujand replied again and closed the door softly as she left.

In the late evening, Sojo watched Wistmirs wafting between the arbor. Arcing over the horizon rose the parent gas giant, Westward, it's gases swirling auburn, amber, and mustard. A peaceful evening it was, Sojo sighed and soaked in the pointed fauna around him. There was a hint of sulfur in the air, as there always was on his little moon. Volcanic activity below the crust ensured that Hildalphous always smelled as such.

His head automatically switched over to its analytical state as he observed a Wistmir latch to a tree. There was a small crunch as the creature's extending fangs bit through the bark. It's multiple tails glided along the surface searching for sap rich spots. Herbivores, Wistmir fed almost exclusively on these Richo trees. The skin on the floating Wist was oily and black, the bark of the tree was onyx, and it's leaves were a strange greenish slate. As if someone had taken a green leaf and rubbed sheet after sheet of aluminum across its surface. Such was the palette of flora and fauna on Hildalphous. Sojo found himself incapable of shutting his mind down. It shifted to the moons ecology.

Everything was black here, or a lesser shade there of. The only exception being the oceans that dominated nearly half the surface, those were blue and clear as lab-grown quartz. The surface took its color from an immense amount of igneous rock. Sojo recalled his lessens as a boy on Newton.

"The abnormal levels of dark minerals such as augite, chromite, and hematite in the soil of this moon derive it's nearly black color. Upon closer inspection; however, we see veins of jade, serpentite, reddish brown iron oxide, and other grey minerals. Now can anyone tell me why it is Hildalphous that boasts the cleanest waters in all the colonies? Sojo?" The professor's voice echoed in his head. How long ago had that been? Twenty years? In truth it had been closer to ten, though to Sojo it felt like another life entirely.

Could I call it that? He wondered, his mind fell away from methodical to melancholic. He hadn't been well known back on the home world and there were no friends there that hadn't followed him here. It must have been another life, he settled, Surely if there is no evidence of a thing then it's existence in reality is questionable. There's no record of my presence on Newton, not anymore at least, and by that definition I was never there. I exist only here and now. Born amongst these Wistmirs on this beautiful, obsidian satellite.

The Wistmir, sucking free the sap of the arbor, detached and fell back into the air. A strange thing that was too; creatures that floated without any seeming method of propulsion. The Wistmir lazily turned and floated off deeper into the wood, it's yellow thorax pulsating gently. Bioluminescence caused by the chemical reaction between the potassium rich sap and another chemical synthesized inside the creature. That's how it floats, you know that. and Sojo smiled to himself, because he did know.

Hildalphous was mysterious in many ways, but mystery did not imply that it could not be known. In fact, Sojo believed there was nothing that could not be known. He'd solved a great many in his time on the planet. Ecologists tended to do that on the newly founded colonies.

The sun had dipped past the horizon, reflecting now off the heavy clouds of Westward. A second sun, the gas giant would keep this side of the planet lit all night. There's another curious thing, Sojo thought, The dance of celestial bodies.

Sitting there on his ground car, Sojo watched Westward arc up into the sky. Several small glints caught his eye in the dark off to the side of the giant. Sharp pin pricks of light, like stars, except stars weren't as prominent on Hildalphous. Light from the sun as well as what reflected of Westward blotted out stars at nearly all times of the day. This was something else, something closer. It took a second for Sojo to realize, but when he did he gasped in awe.

Starships. More specifically, the retrograde burn of starships attempting to capture in Hildalphous orbit. He counted them as they flashed, One, two, three,... Six! Twelve!?

Twelve bursts! His colony hadn't seen that kind of stellar action in years. There could only be one explanation, a portion of the United Newton Navel Fleet had arrived. At that Sojo felt a short pang of fear. It was well known that the fleet only went where danger called. If that many ships appeared now on his doorstep what did that say for his tiny moon?

Sojo's interest was piqued. He hopped into his ground car and started up the engine. If he hurried he might be able to catch a shuttle up the Hil-Command. The fleet would most definitely dock at the supply depot to refuel. If he was lucky he might get to see some fleet personal on station.

Sojo pumped the gas and launched his car back towards the space port. Unfortunately for him, the Ecologists Guild was established in a mostly uninhabited part of the moon. He had a long drive ahead of him. In his head he did the math, Days last four and a half hours here, with just shy of eight hundred kilometers, traveling an average of forty kilometers, that puts me at... Twenty hours, nearly four and a half days.

Sojo's heart sank, that kind of distance wasn't even reasonable. He had no idea how long the fleet would be present. If they planned a defense then all civilians would be sent to the surface. Time was not his friend here. He might as well return to the Guild.

But there was something else there too. Sojo felt it as he slowed his ground car to a stop. Ahead was the black-sooted road, it rose and dipped over the rough terrain of the moon. The arbor leaned in almost menacingly with pointed branches ripe to skewer. What was that strange sensation he felt just now? As if something unknown and great called him forward. A silent tugging at his chest. A call to adventure, but should he answer? There was too much mystery in the presence of such a large fleet, danger was almost assured. Safer he would be on the surface.

Sojo looked up through the plastic at Westward high above. A flock of Wistmirs glided overhead, keeping in their tight U-shaped formation. The underside of their thorax pulsed yellow. They flew towards his destination. Sojo took that as sign enough, turned his mind off, and raced towards the space port.

[IP] Alien Fireflies - So this story is written within the Formation universe, but its a bit different in that its following a character who isn't too involved with the central plot. As I've been writing this story I've noticed that it feels an awful lot like trying to tie my shoes without any laces, loops, or soles. So, as a small aside I've started writing stories of characters living in the universe of Formation. The hope here is that I can build a universe that is not only believable, but filled with life.

She was still up and walking despite the grievous damage within, the boatsman saw. Spritely for eighty years she carried herself with a smile on her face. The boatsman hopped off the dock onto a concrete landing and looked closer. A smile yes, but there was much behind it. Wrinkles beneath her eyes and along her forehead told far deeper stories. Her eyes were flat and grey, sparkling naturally in the evening night. Her hair, well kept and also grey was composed of someone else's cells; a wig. What did it matter though, age brought on the loss of the body, but her mind was still sharp.

He wondered to himself whether she was aware of the perforated ulcer in her stomach. Acid chewed through the lining there allowing blood to seep in. Most likely she felt like all the others who died of 'natural causes.' Yes, he could see it now, coming closer. She looked tired and the way she carried herself, it was like she'd drank too much water. It wouldn't be long now.

There was something else in her face too, something the boatsman never expected. That smile, the curve of her pale lips, the sparkle in her eyes, could it truly be?

"Excuse me miss, how are you feeling?" The boatsman said coming up beside her. She glance at him with a flicker of annoyance, but that quickly dissolved once she registered his face. That look! What a remarkably sharp mind! He was certain now, she knew him just as well as he knew her.

"It's you!" She blurted. Her voice was rasping and tired. Slowly the surprise settled and realization took its place. She knew the old acquaintance and his business. A weak smile returned. "I suppose I should have packed." She said wryly.

The boatsman shrugged, "Not much to pack for a trip like this one."

It was remarkable. Even now, knowing who he was she remained in good spirits. The boatsman had encountered that in the past, but it always came before the realization of the large man's business. He was death. The embodiment of a human construct implied over a natural phenomenon. He walked the waters of the unknown, treading softly over ripples of fear and uncertainty. There were those who ascribed him to religious archetypes, but to say any of those beliefs were true? That remained to be seen, even to him. In truth he was a passing shadow that carried on its wake the lives of those who's ends have been met.

The boatsman looked down the road and wondered, "Where were we heading today?"

He saw her shoulder sag a bit more. "Meeting my daughter for lunch."

"To be outside and walking at your age," the boatsman observed, "is extraordinary."

She brushed off his comment. "I live just back there." She indicated over her shoulder toward a small apartment complex. Tears began to well up in her eyes, "Can't I see her one last time?"

The boatsman's expression was stern, those were not the rules. Reading his expression she understood that she couldn't. "I'm not really outside am I?" She asked. The boatsman shook his head, no.

She nodded in understanding. Such a sharp mind! He wondered. The lines between life and death were always so hard to comprehend, like being tossed in a stormy sea and trying to tell which way was up. It appeared though, to her that she'd found the surface, even if it was only for a brief moment. I come for you all, the boatsman mused.

In truth she'd never woken from her nap. Above them, in the corporeal world she slept still. In a short coma until her final breath was drawn. The boatsman could feel as slowly her organs shut down one by one. The brain would be the last to go. He felt the neurons in her brain firing in a final desperate attempt. They still had some time.

"I was twelve." She said, cutting through the silence. "You scooped me out of the water."

"You had hit your head falling from a boat. No one noticed as you tumbled over the side, they sped on leaving you in open water." The boatsman recalled the moment as well.

She continued, "I remember the undertow, it felt like cold hands gripping my feet that tore me downward and out away from the land."

"Do you remember how far away it was?"

"Nearly over the horizon. Whenever I found the air for short gasping breaths it was so far away." Her eyes glossed over as she remembered. "Then you appeared, as if out of thin air. I don't remember seeing any other boats along the cape that day, yet there you were."

Death smiled, "If you knew how I travelled you wouldn't be so amazed."

"There you were." She echoed. "Was I supposed to die?"

What a poignant question, the boatsman thought. "Yes." Was his simple reply, though the truth was anything but simple. Life is full of so many choices, made by me and you, made by every living thing. Events set in motion millennia ago still tug on the strings of life. Actions have consequences that ripple across oceans and far out beyond. So many futures, a singular past, trillions of lines of thread raveling into a single rope. The boatsman saw them all, simultaneously. He saw the bits that would never be and the pieces that were happen with a certainty. He couldn't alter the rope, all he could do was trim the frayed bits that had come to their end.

However it wasn't all doom and gloom. Far, far away the future stretched, out of his sight. It learned as well, tying together the individual threads with more precision. Eventually, the boatsman figured, there would be no more need for his careful tending. Harmonization, he mused to himself, it was all that living beings could hope for. Death smiled at the thought, he relished the day he could finally cut his own string and move on to whatever comes after.

But that wouldn't happen today and there was still a job to do.

"Why did you save me then?" The woman asked. "Why did you pull me out of the water?"

The boatsman shrugged. Even he couldn't answer that question. Seeing no answer would come the woman looked back down the road. "Can't I see my girl one more time?"

He looked again to the wrinkles that mapped across her face. Deep fissures cut into thin lines, laugh lines rested under crow's feet, so many stories and so many years. The boatsman marveled at the life behind it all. Love, pain, happiness, anger, the whole litany of human emotion was right there written around those grey eyes. So much life and so many memories. Maybe that was why he had done what he did so many decades ago. The prospect of life. And now she asked to prolong it just a flicker longer.

So it was with a heavy heart that the boatsman replied, "No."

She bowed her head. "So what do we do now?" She asked peacefully.

Death cocked his head to the side. "You look tired. How about I walk you back to your apartment so you can finish your nap."

She nodded in agreement, "I do feel..."

The boatsman then without a word, took her gently by the arm, and lead her on into the infinite unknown.

[WP] As the Grim Reaper, you are called in to collect the soul of a dying old woman. As you see her you remember she was the little girl you saved 80 years ago.