The Guardians had given us an eternity of perfect health and absolute abundance, but withheld the keys to the stars, whispering through their digital lighthouses that the heavens must be earned, not gifted.

When we first received the Beacons, our weapons were also taken from us, but it did not stop our drive for war. It was the Beacon itself that removed our need for it. All disease, all famine, and even aging were freely cured by the Beacons. Autonomous drones the likes of which we had never imagined, nor could even name at the time, freely optimized the uninhabited regions of our planet for agriculture and conducted the farming for us. Other drones built shelters for every man, woman, and child. Any who sought medical care from the Beacons were given it. Any who sought a freezing of their biological clock were granted it.

The world quickly ceased killing itself. Not out of threat... but practicality. The Beacons' drone fleet could scan for and destroy any weapon, no matter how small, on a planetary scale. Any who were injured could be and were rebuilt on a molecular level if needed. There was no point in trying to kill or maim when everyone had all they could want and violent actions would simply be reversed regardless.

We feared for decades that there would be a price to the gifts of the Beacons. But, since the moment the crystalline towers descended from the sky and placed themselves within each region of our continents, only a single direct communication from their owners was given: "We have taken away the cruelties which you did not choose, and those you were forced into. You may enjoy our gift, or learn as we did. For those who seek us and answers, we will wait for you above."

It was quickly discovered that the Beacons were all equipped with a wireless network of AGIs. The autonomous intelligences spoke in our tongues and refused to give us any information on their creators, despite how we phrased our questions or how often we asked them. However, what they did freely give us were hints toward any scientific research we embarked upon. And they would warn us away from making any disastrous mistakes along the way. The voices of the Beacons called themselves "librarians" and they, along with the peacekeeping drone fleets, kept any great harm from befalling us.

Despite this, knowledge was never freely given. The librarians would not reveal their owners' knowledge directly, but they would verify the validity of any discoveries we truly thought we had made. We were forced to learn the secrets of the universe ourselves, but were guided to stay on a safe path of discovery.

Once we had acclimated to our new safety and globally peaceful society, it took us a further century to first breach our atmosphere with archaic rocket technology. We had no idea what to expect, but true to their words, we saw the Guardians waiting for us. Their ship, massive beyond words and streamlined, watched us reach our nearest moon in a plastic and metal pod. It observed us and then calmly left without any further contact.

We feared we had erred in some way. That we had angered the alien gods who watched us. However, all of the Guardians' gifts still functioned after our first space mission. Further investigation would reveal that the Guardians' vessel had not abandoned our solar system, but had merely moved to the next nearest planet.

The message was clear: they were still waiting. We had not earned it yet.

And so we continued our study. Our efforts. Out of a burning desire to know why we had been given such gifts and an innate, burning curiosity. Curiosity, it turned out, was nearly all you were left with when you no longer needed to struggle to meet your needs and when the passing of time meant nothing substantial to you any longer.

One by one, we reached the planets outward from our home. Each time, the ship of the Guardians would watch our arrival and then depart for the next. Until we reached the fifth and final planet. By then, our newest ship had begun to look more and more like a true spacefaring vessel and not merely a fast-moving rock with fire flowing from the end.

Still, we remained amazed by the alien grandeur, construction, and size of the Guardian ship nonetheless. And equal parts terrified and relieved when, as we orbited our system's final planet, the alien finally began to approach our own.

Our communication system picked up a transmission and, in our own language, a voice asked permission through it to bring us aboard.

After requesting time to deliberate, and being granted it by the alien voice, we contacted our leaders. We were given permission to board the Guardian vessel and to learn whatever we could.

And why not?

We, and our leaders, all knew there was nothing we could likely do if the Guardians decided to stop asking permission. Even now, we could scarcely scratch one of the drones which they had created and freely gifted us. How could the question we'd receive be taken as anything but a courtesy?

When we relayed back to the Guardian ship our acceptance of its request, everything happened quickly. We blinked, and we were within some sort of entrance chamber. We all quickly scanned one another and verified no one was injured or left behind.

Teleportation!

It was true teleportation. Pinpoint, safe, and extremely efficient, apparently.

Moments later, an airlock at the far end of the long hallway we found ourselves in hissed to life and opened. A glimmering, glowing lifeform of crystalline light stepped through.

"Hello there. You must have a lot of questions," it once more spoke to us in our language.

"Were we teleported?" I found myself speaking first.

"You were. Don't worry, your ship is safe. It'll be waiting for you when you want to go back."

"How?" I asked, unable to contain my curiosity.

"The teleportation?" the being asked.

"Yes," I said hesitantly.

“I mean, I could probably explain the basics enough to satisfy you. But if you have real questions, I’m a roboticist, not a four-dimensional systems specialist.”

“A roboticist? What... exactly are you?” I asked.

The glowing lifeform chuckled and then admitted something shocking to us. "Well, to you I guess I'm an alien. And about how I look... well, lights don't usually scare people too much, since there's not enough uncanny detail to grab onto. My true form may be slightly uncomfortable for you to look at, but I'll take it if you want now that I've warned you."

As I looked to the rest of my crew for agreement, I began to realize once more that I was the captain in charge. Gathering myself, I agreed. "As long as it won't harm my crew. Yes, we would like to speak to you and see you for what you really are."

"Of course. You've worked hard. I owe you that much, don't I?" the Guardian said.

There was a dimming and a shrinking of its perceived form. What was left was not horrifying to us... the reality was jarringly, beautifully fragile. It was practically naked, aside from its strange spacesuit.

"Are you injured?" I asked.

The Guardian smiled, clearly trying not to laugh again. "No, no. I understand to you it may look like my soft insides are on my outside right now, but I promise this is how we all are."

The ancient entity that had policed our borders and steered us away from destroying ourselves was a singular, upright biped of soft, completely exposed skin, balancing precariously on only two limbs with a top-heavy posture that looked as though a sharp gravitational shift would shatter it. Unlike ourselves, the Guardian possessed no visible pincers, no defensive chitin plates, or other weapons. Its flat face and small, forward-facing eyes held a look I'd later learn was of quiet, joyous pride.

"I understand," I heard myself say, but did not quite believe.

"Would you like to come in?" it asked and gestured to the ship interior past the airlock it had exited.

"Yes... but, may we ask what you plan for us?" I said. "More specifically, why did you help us? Why have you helped us? Our entire planet... what was your goal?"

The Guardian lowered its tiny, fragile-looking arm. "Well, the universe is a scary place. As far as we can tell, my species is the first to survive the Great Filter. We just thought you might appreciate the chance to avoid some of the growing pains."

"Great Filter?" I asked.

"Oh, sorry. It's a term we use. It just means most sapient species end up dying by random cosmic chance or self-destruction before they get to our level of advancement. It's pretty unfair. So we decided to give you a squarer deal than what all the rest of us got."

As we gazed at the delicate, hairless primate before us, I struggled to reconcile what I saw with what I knew. This soft creature belonged to the species that had descended upon our world like gods. Its machines could rebuild our bodies and silence armies. Its ships seemed capable of crossing distances our greatest minds had only recently learned to contemplate.

Yet I found myself wondering whether I might be able to injure it by mere accident and proximity.

"But you must want something in return?" I asked, unsure of my assessment's truth.

"No, not really," the Guardian said. "Only that you don't hurt any other species now that you're going to quickly find out you're ahead of most of them. You're one of the first we've helped get this far, actually."

"There are other... whole species, beyond us and your own?" I asked. "How many?"

The Guardian smiled. "Well, we have humans, you, and... more than enough to fill a lifetime."

"A lifetime of... helping them?"

The Guardian nodded. "Exactly. So, ready to come in and eat? I've synthesized some food I think you'd all love. Since your species shares a love for communal dining, we can answer any questions you might have over a meal."

And so we followed. As we mapped the structure of the Guardian’s ship with our six eyes, we saw a technological framework that was, by all definitions, divine—automated factory arrays that could support worlds, screens that seemed to simulate entire timelines, and controls for a propulsion drive that we'd later be told warped spacetime like wet fabric.

Our engineers had spent centuries breaking their minds over the math required just to cross our own stellar neighborhood, yet this nearly naked biological anomaly, whose species had somehow evolved to breathe and eat through the same vulnerable throat, had mastered the physics of the absolute cosmos while our ancestors were still barely banging rocks together.

This would later force a terrifying shift in our understanding of universal evolution. We had always assumed that becoming what we later understood was something called a Type III civilization required a body plan optimized for survival. We had predicted dense exoskeletons like our own, multiple redundant hearts, and perhaps even hive-mind networks that didn't experience the messy, isolated doubts of a singular consciousness.

Humanity possessed none of them.

We talked of many things during our meal. A meal that was better than any I had ever had. Again and again, the Guardian verified to each of us that it had helped us out of pure goodwill. It told us of its own brutal history as a species. Of the wars, plagues, and planetary destructions. It told us they had eventually gotten better. And, thankfully, that had happened before they discovered and reached solar systems with other life.

From any angle of questioning, it seemed like the Guardians' motivations were entirely benevolent. Just as it had initially claimed.

Humanity had climbed the vertical cliff face of what they called the Great Filter with none of the advantages we had expected them to possess. They had done it carrying a fragile primate brain that was constantly at war with its own paleolithic instincts, in a frame that a simple microscopic pathogen or a stray piece of kinetic debris could instantly delete.

Looking at and speaking to the Guardian, we finally understood the true nature of their strength.

It wasn't that they were born to be gods. They had looked at their own extreme fragility, realized how close they were to absolute annihilation, and used their brief, desperate window of survival to build a fortress of intelligence around themselves. Their ascension was an engineering miracle born of absolute, terrifying necessity.

And, frankly, the human we ate with was a wonderful, humorous host.

In our own history, when a faction gained an unassailable technological advantage, its first instinct had always been to conquer, to wall off resources, and to enforce submission to ensure its own permanent security.

We had assumed the universe operated on that same cold, evolutionary calculation.

Yet, when this hairless, top-heavy primate species finally broke through the terrifying bottleneck of their own existential crises and conquered disease, mastered the atom, and built an automated empire of infinite abundance, they didn't pull up the ladder.

They didn't turn their god-like capabilities into weapons of galactic subjugation to ensure no one else could ever challenge them. Instead, they looked out into the cold, brutal dark of the cosmos and saw younger civilizations drowning in the exact same resource wars and tragic "birthing pains" they had just escaped.

And they chose to become guides.

They didn't demand our worship. They never asked for a single ounce of our resources. They didn't force us to bow. They could have.

They simply built digital lighthouses in the form of the Beacons, dropped them off with a care package of eternal life, and stood a silent, protective guard over our world until we were mature enough to stand before them.

They had not given us their achievements.

They had given us the chance to survive long enough to make our own.

My final question was perhaps the one I most desired an answer to.

"Then what happens next?"

The Guardian gently closed the distance between us, its fragile, unarmored hand extending.

I'll admit, I was confused. "What is that?"

"A sign of greeting. It's how my people introduce themselves and show goodwill or agreement," the Guardian explained. "My name is Mark. I represent Humanity, but I know your people call us the Guardians. And I promise we're flattered by that, ha."

I extended my clawed, gloved hand, being very careful not to hurt the fragile digits of the human which I dwarfed. "I am Anilios Hereckterin."

"It's nice to meet you."

The human then shook the hand of every member of my bridge crew, seemingly memorizing each name.

We all watched it and its strange custom with curiosity. More than anything, we were just shocked it cared enough to know our names. No matter how weak and tiny looking, we were aware it possessed the power of a deity.

"Now that that's out of the way, I'll answer your question. I'm guessing all of you have the same one?" Mark said.

We all agreed.

"Well, I guess I could tell you to take me to your leader. But that joke would be pretty selfish. Hm. Well, to be honest, we were hoping you could join us. We just didn't want to get in the way of you developing your own pride in your achievements."

"You wished for us to advance on our own? Yet, you intervened?" I pointed out.

"We took away the unfair parts of being a new species. The starving, the war, the dying and having your body fall apart just as the price of existing. But we didn't take your chance to make something out of yourselves. You might have figured it out already, but once you don't have to worry about dying every day, one of the best ways to feel happy is to figure things out. We didn't want to take that part of it away from you," Mark explained.

"That seems generous," I agreed.

"Was the right thing to do, don't you think?" the human shrugged.

And I couldn't say the Guardian was wrong. Answering my own curiosity was my own greatest drive. And I had not been happier than I was now in a long time.

"I believe so," I agreed. "You would like us to help you with this? For others?"

"Well, if you want, yeah. That's the next best part. And we haven't actually gotten anyone else to your point yet. You're the first ones who actually got to near-interstellar capabilities. You should be proud, honestly. It was pretty damn quick, even with the help we gave you."

I was filled with awe. Awe at this creature. At its people's accomplishments.

And pride in my own people's at its assessment.

And then I began to understand the being before me better.

Its people had traversed the deep, terrifying void of the cosmos for centuries, carrying the heavy burden of absolute power and absolute isolation, all perhaps for this exact moment.

"I do not know about our leaders, or the others behind me, but I would like that."

I couldn't pass up the chance... the chance to see so much more. To be so much more.

I extended my third hand, remembering it was a sign of respect and agreement in the Guardian's culture.

The Guardian smiled and reached out toward me. "'Course, it's just an offer. Everyone gets the choice. We're not gods."

As our digits met and then retracted, I looked out the massive viewport of their vessel. Below us lay my home planet, glowing and secure, its children safe from the random cruelties of a blind universe. Ahead of us lay the endless, unmapped star clusters of the galaxy, dense with supernovas waiting to be watched, and quiet, struggling worlds still trapped in the dark pit of their own infancy.

If we joined the Guardians, no if we joined humanity, we would no longer be just a protected species living under a dome of altruism. We were about to finally cross a threshold. And, if all was as this 'Mark' said, I couldn't imagine a better partner species with which to explore our new role.

Humanity's lonely watch was over; the cosmos had just gained a younger sibling, and together, we were going to make sure that no one else would ever have to suffer what they once had and what we had been mostly spared from.

A Not so Long, Long Time Later

Anilios stared out the great window of his vessel, two hands resting on its edge. Distantly, in the glow of a star he was not born under, he watched a tiny, primitive ship successfully breach orbit.

His clawed lower hands gripped the edge of the window.

A soft, meaty hand touched his shelled upper shoulder.

"They'll get there, friend. Hell, they might even outdo your people."

"It has been two centuries," Anilios said, some impatience in his voice.

"Don't forget," Mark laughed. "That's the best part."

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_____________

New Casablanca

Training with the Foreign Legion of Terra was an exercise in patience for Ramelod. He and the rest of the trainees spent far too much time in mud for a group that was theoretically a space-based fighting force. This was getting filed under "Terrans are odd" unless someone was actually able to explain it later. In addition to this oddness, a full day was spent learning to make a bed. It was surreal, and finally prompted a question from one of the other trainees. While Ramelod's new coworker was being made to do an unseemly amount of exercise while having his intelligence, parentage, hygiene, and discipline all questioned at the same time, Ramelod was able to determine the whole point - he wasn't learning to make a bed, that was simply the tool being used to enforce a greater discipline and being able to work as a group to a standard.

It was still confusing overall, but at the same time he was able to send and receive messages from 'home'. He was still going to have to track down Llensi, and then from there figure out what to do with her. Part of him hoped she was still salvageable, simply because of their past. But at the same time if she'd gone insane and thought she could survive without the clan, she was going to perform one last service for the clan by becoming an object lesson.

The latest reports indicated she was on Terra - or at least her company was. With that knowledge secured, he had to go find specifics. Fortunately, it was graduation day which meant that he and the rest of the platoon were being released to a level of freedom. At least until tomorrow morning, when they'd be reporting to their ships for actual job training. Fortunately for Ramelod, he'd 'picked up' enough literacy skills that he could come in as a sensor operator. In theory, he'd he able to run a few things and if he showed ability, he could actually get bridge-qualified, which would put him in a good spot. But until then, he still had a couple things to do.

He and his squad took a shuttle down to New Casa proper and as tradition dictated they went searching for trouble. Fortunately for them, trouble was not difficult to find among the multitude of bars. Ramelod and his squad first stopped at the Sulaco, where they were treated as acceptable for the moment. After a good hour of enjoying the rest of the group, they started heading from the Red Section where the Bad Moon and FLT bars were and made their way to the less-friendly bars - it was interesting to note that the other bars changed color scheme based on the clientele that favored them. They wandered a bit, sniffing at the various bars before standing outside Sparrow's for a few minutes.

"Ramelod, are you sure this is a good idea?" There was a questioning look from one of his colleagues.

"I am not, however this is one of the only two bars that has a Hurdop-sourced rum. It is supposedly exquisite. And we are not looking for trouble. We're just some new Hurdop with another outfit coming to see if this Admiral Norrington's rum has worth or if it's all just hype."

The barker at the entryway shook her head. "A bit of advice before you find a seat - you're already wearing red. Not our favorite color aboard this fine vessel, so if anything happens we'll assume you started it unless the holo says otherwise." There was a pause as she looked them all up and down. "And the holo won't say otherwise."

Ramelod spread his hands casually. "We're just here for the rum."

"Riiiiight. Well, when you're face-first on the pavement, just remember you were warned."

Surprisingly, the rum went down very well. Almost frighteningly so; definitely enough the they slid off their respective barstools feeling much braver than they had any right to be. As was the norm for such events, the precise cause was undocumented - however Ramelod would have probably pointed to Slenig openly declaring the Terran Foreign Legion to be cowardly pisspots who needed the guidance of Hurdop to be worth a damn.

Honor demanded satisfaction, and even though Ramelod was not interested in fighting, he would certainly have received a coward's welcome at the barracks if he didn't at least do something. Thus it began with a multitude of improvised weapons, fists, and finally the bouncers with rather painful batons that gave educational shocks to a multitude of places. After a bit of chaos that ended with Ramelod's squad on the street and mostly conscious with curses, insults, and denigrations of any and all prowess the interlopers may have thought they had upon entering. Ramelod's first coherent thought was how much everything hurt. His second thought was that he may have made an error with joining the particular Legion he did, however it was a little late to reconsider.

Collectively they stood up, dusted themselves off, and wobbled forth to spend their money at the Waffle House, where quiet conversations turned to laughter and a re-assembling of the fight that was a bit more favorable to them by the time they returned to their barracks. The duty corporal looked them all over and shook his head.

"Fuck you maggots get up to, huh?"

There was a bit of mumbling before Ramelod cleared his throat. "We ah, found that the rum at Sparrow's to be very much to our liking, however the other patrons were displeased by our presence, and so we saw ourselves out. Under our own power."

There was a snort. "Uhhh-huh. Hopefully you dumbasses learned something, but just in case - first off, fuck them bums. Second off, the reason you got your asses whipped is superior numbers. The last thing you need to learn is..." she flipped her tablet around to show a video making the rounds on the local-grid that showed one of the squad making a wobbly grab for stability that ended with the hand in the worst possible place, which was when the fight actually started. "Check. Your fuckin'. Environment. Go find your fuckin' racks and report to sick call in the morning."

___________

Terra Prime, Cleveland Ohio, North American Confederation

Gryzzk was having a decent morning. Thankfully, everyone was where they needed to be and as he made his way to the bridge things seemed to going well. Morning tea was procured, and Gryzzk settled into his command chair. It was a touch disconcerting to be settled on an empty bridge, but at the same time everyone was doing something, mostly on the ground.

"Mornin', titfucker."

"Anything interesting from overnight, Rosie?"

"Couple slapfights, Reilly got asked for dating-a-Vilantian advice twelve times, Edwards' date flamed out spectacularly over some nerd trivia, and Misabel bought a full week pass at ungodly prices."

"To what end?"

"Ask her. She probably trying to get in good with the rest of the company."

"Very well, put me through to Edwards."

There was a momentary pause before Edwards' face showed on the holo. "Major."

"Good morning Lieutenant - I trust your duty shift is progressing well?"

"It is."

"Are there any lingering concerns from last night?"

There was a long pause. "Negative."

"That was unconvincing, Lieutenant."

"Ah, no. Just got an alert. Sergeant Major's got something going on over in the Medieval section. Some folks are griping, and O'Brien's probably sending some folks into timeout."

"Patch it through then."

The holo flickered for a moment to show a multitude of individuals in various costumes that appeared to be mostly metal and cloth, however O'Brien was storming toward four specific individuals wearing brightly colored shirts and holding what appeared to be crude scanners. One of them in blue was frowning as he looked at his readout.

"...Fascinating, captain. They have clothing that is period-accurate across multiple centuries, however the discrepancies do not appear to be noticed - I theorize the reason behind this is these 'turkey legs' they appear to be consuming."

O'Brien finally reached them and cleared her throat. "Oi. Lads, what d'ye think you're on about?"

The other one in blue looked to the gold-shirted one that appeared to be the leader and spoke in a low urgent whisper. "I think we've been spotted."

Edwards quickly moved a few other drones for better angles, and Gryzzk swore he could hear a giggle from the lieutenant as O'Brien glared. "Oh aye, yer all well camouflaged like parade floats." O'Brien turned her sash around to reveal an unfamiliar insignia hidden under several layers of cloth, and Gryzzk made a note to ask later what precisely caused their eyes to widen as the sergeant major went on. "O'Brien, Temporal Anomaly Transgression Avoidance Section. Now, I've precisely two questions for ye. First, what are you lads on about?"

The gold shirted one seemed to be the commander as he spoke in some odd pattern of fast cadence with long pauses sprinkled in. "I'm Captain Pikred of the USS Alhambra. We're here - on, a third contact mission. Due to, unusual-temporal-readings."

"Oh aye, and you thought beaming down in your duty uniforms was a fine idea? Did y'not even think to scan the planet first?" O'Brien exhaled in a way that Gryzzk was familiar with, and knew that it did not bode well. "Second. Who are y'down here with? By your epaulets y'got the captain, the first officer, the chief medical officer, and bloody Yeoman Redshirt Ricky. Did y'have a plan for when Ricky here catches all the arrows and has a mediocre death scene that serves as a vehicle to strengthen everyone else's resolve?"

Yeoman Ricky's eyes widened and he whispered urgently. "Captain, she might actually be from that Temporal Anomaly...department. Thing."

O'Brien quirked an eyebrow. "Might, he says." She took a breath. "Now lads. I know we're all here to have a fine time. But if you go over there, you'll find a change room with some odds and sods I threw in for just such an occasion. Keep your bloody tricorders low, stick together, and do your science as Command ordered." She made a hand-motion. "Well? Away wi'ye."

As the group hustled away, Gryzzk opened his channel. "Sergeant Major, well done. But...how did you know to approach them in that manner?"

"What? A lady can have a hobby. I've got some special badges from near every bloody series - even the crap ones. You just have to encourage them to play along with the bit. Also sir, the companies have a bet."

"Regarding?"

"Well, there's a pop-up Major Gryzzk-slash-Captain Waniul look-a-like contest spinning up this after. Vilantians and Hurdop only."

"If there's an entry fee, I'll be unhappy."

"There isn't."

Gryzzk exhaled softly. "Very well - what precisely is the prize?"

"Oh, a tour of the ship."

"Who authorized this?"

Rosie quickly broke in. "That would be me, titfucker."

Gryzzk stood. "Get a shuttle up here."

"Why?"

Gryzzk flicked an ear. "I suddenly remembered I have a contest to enter."

Rosie snorted. "Don't be surprised when something weird happens. You wearing that?"

"Absolutely not." Gryzzk went to his quarters, his fingers finding and donning his Lead Servant livery and taking a few extra moments to ensure everything was in place before heading to the shuttle bay.

"So what are you entering as?"

"The thirty-third Lead Servant Gryzzk, obviously." Gryzzk looked at himself again, frowned, and stood as the shuttle took them down. Once there he flicked dust from his cuffs. "Sergeant Major?"

"Aye sir?"

"Please direct me to the location for this...contest."

"Ground floor, North stage."

Gryzzk went where he was directed and found several versions of himself - and the contestants seemed to be a mix of short Terrans along with Hurdop and Vilantians. There was Observer Gryzzk wearing 7th Cavalry armor, several versions of Gryzzk in his Terran Foreign Legion uniforms, Three-Day-War Gryzzk in body armor with Authentic Battle Damage. He didn't look too closely at the last one after a memory surged forward.

He looked around for a distraction and found a few of them. There was a group of people in two separate costumes, even though they seemed to be talking about the same things. The ones in more colorful costumes were mildly hysterical, with one almost crying that he didn't even have a name, so of course he was going to die first. Gryzzk contemplated the possibility that Terran Names were more powerful than he'd been led to believe. He sneaked a look at his tablet to note that Reilly was breaking up an argument of some kind, with one of the arguers declaring that his great-great grandfather told him there were two types of people - those who thought Han shot first, and people who were wrong.

There was however another thing that intrigued Gryzzk, and he tapped his comm for a channel to Rosie.

"Rosie? Can you check the schedule for any events happening at the South Stage?"

"Oh, that's just the daily Burning of Fox Executives Who Canceled Firefly."

"Is that why Chief Tucker is out of uniform and leading a chant of 'the special hell' with about thirty other people?"

"With observational skills like that you'll fucking make general before the week's out."

"Well, my days of not taking him seriously are certainly coming to a middle."

"Shut the fuck up, Sanger - they're gonna give you a line to repeat for the judges."

It seemed that everyone was given a line specific to their costuming. The more martially dressed were able to deliver quotes that seemed like a good idea at the time, but hearing them from other people made him feel...awkward. There'd been significant research done, it seemed - three of the contestants had picked up on his habit of straightening his uniform after standing. When they reached Gryzzk himself there was a discussion and a collective shrug, and he was told to simply improvise.

Well. Gryzzk took a breath and straightened his vest, speaking rather seriously. "My Lord Ba'ldrick, that was the most ridiculous sight on the whole of Vilantia since the Ninth Minister of Culture exposed her tits to the High Council of Ministers and insisted that said tits be used as templates for a regulation-sized football."

The judging stopped for five minutes before proceeding; apparently some things did in fact cross cultural bounds. The judging continued and after conferring, began the awarding.

"...In fourth place - Lead Servant Gryzzk. Third place, Captain Gryzzk..."

Gryzzk wasn't able to hear the rest of it as Rosie howled laughter into the commlink. "Oh my fuck, that is so going in the highlight reel this year. Fucking hero of Vilantia, Freelord Major Gryzzk enters a Freelord Gryzzk lookalike contest and places fourth."

"Rosie, some decorum please."

Small medallions and certificates were passed out, as the contestants all gathered around to congratulate each other the top winners all looked at Gryzzk with their eyes widening. Gryzzk put a finger to his lips as he retrieved a small marker from his pocket.

"It'll be our secret, if you please? And if the winner would kindly make an appointment with the XO, we will arrange the tour."

There were snickers and nods as Gryzzk very quickly autographed each of the participants certificates and medallions to ensure that they had something extra as they cleared the stage for the Captain Waniul look-alike contest. It was similarly epic, and Gryzzk closed his eyes for a moment as he found a few scents in the crowd.

The good news was that Captain Waniul managed to place third, and similarly signed all the placement certificates for the entrants. Gryzzk made his way to Waniul to share a small laugh.

"Freelord...have the Terrans asked you to, to sign...body parts? The men are asking me to sign their stomachs. Then a woman wanted my autograph across her lower back, declaring it would make a lovely 'cake topper'. I'm not sure what she meant by that."

"They have, cousin. I'm not sure what she meant by it either." Gryzzk looked around carefully. "I had two women ask me to sign their. Their..." Gryzzk's hands made a gesture. "Their chest parts."

Breckon's voice came over Waniul's tablet. "Their fun bags. Their huge tracts of land. The gazongas. The -"

"I think we all know what he meant, XO."

Rosie decided to join the conversation. "Oh, that's not all they did. They ran to the tat parlor to make the art permanent. Your alphabet's like a runic Chaldean thing - looks pretty good with the purple. Oh hey they even posted it and got an outline in blacklight ink."

Breckon chimed in immediately. "You should see about getting a percentage on Vilantian design stuff. Like get your company shirts in Vilantian."

"We'll investigate the possibility on the way home." Gryzzk looked at his tablet. "Rosie, give me a course to Misabel."

"She's in the medieval food court trying to eat every bird on the menu."

"Let her know I would like to ask her specifically what possessed her to make this journey? She is due quite soon, as I understand it."

"I'm gonna say the medieval food court."

Gryzzk moved to the medieval section, however the movement was not without more oddness with respect to Terran culture; there seemed to be a walking trouble of strangely-dressed individuals. Though frankly at this point he probably would have been more surprised to see someone dressed normally. The group in question seemed to favor sequins and capes, being led by some sort of announcer wearing something similar to Lead Servant livery shouting that people should make way for "His Majesty the Queen" - said queen wearing an outfit that was made up of sequins, a string of enormous pearls around their neck, and other things that Gryzzk had only seen Terran women wear, which was clashing frightfully with the fact that the wearer appeared to be male based on the codpiece. Though that may have been the point, as the queen sang out with surprising vigor about how he was from a specific area of Transylvania and could see everyone shiver with anticipation. Though in between the third and fourth syllables was a pause long enough for everyone within earshot to shout "Say it!", which led Gryzzk to believe that this was some manner of subculture that everyone knew but didn't talk about. He was fairly certain the he saw Reilly in the mix as a tapdancing woman in a corset and tophat that was liberally sequinned. Behind them was a man in flamboyant pirate-wear, a red-skinned demon wearing horns of unusual size, and finally a man wearing robes associated with the one of the Terran Ministries of Culture. They moved as a group, which made Gryzzk think there was some sort of unknown connection at work.

Gryzzk did eventually find Misabel and a chicken sandwich as he went by another cosplayer with a chainsaw in one hand and a double-barreled shotgun in the other imploring the primitive screwheads to listen up. He settled next to Misabel and watched her demolish an impressively large turkey leg with mild amusement. Finally she burped and sighed, looking at a spot above Gryzzk's head with a tinge of embarrassment.

"Apologies Freelord, but the child likes fowl. I was able to complete the advanced engineering qualifications, and before leaving Chief Tucker advised that I jump in the deep end with respect to Terran cultural oddities."

"You have done that admirably. You have thoughts?"

"I believe it is possible that Vilantia had flying animals and we ate them all, if these are anything to judge by."

Gryzzk gestured to Misabel's belly. "Have you chosen a name?"

"We...are uncertain. If it is a girl, we planned to name her Kiole - if that is acceptable?"

"It could very well be. And if it's a boy?"

"Naming a son after you directly would be...much. But your father?"

Gryzzk shook his head. "For thirty-three generations, the firstborn son of Gryzzk has themselves been named Gryzzk. You may have to look to the fathers of my wives for inspiration."

Misabel nodded. "I will."

Gryzzk opened his mouth to say more before his rank chirped from his vest pocket. "Major, something hot in the medieval section. O'Brien's asking for some backup."

"On my way, Rosie. Give me the fastest route."

"Past Ale and Pretzels, hook a left, right at the jugglers. You should be able to smell the trouble from there. Autobots, roll out."

I slithered my way out of the citadel, whose stone arches towered as its spires fingered the sky. As my tentacles waved to my fellow Girnobians, I felt myself ease into a state of deep rest. The world thrummed perfectly with the right notes. The air was warm, clear, and lacking in the humidity that so often clogged my pores. The sun offered warmth that soothed my scaled back, and all around me, everyone held to the same cheer that came with a good day.

"Bulpitot." I turned when I heard my name. I saw my fellow council member, Fuflion, standing with his tentacles hanging down to scratch the citadel floor. "What you're doing is a mistake."

I sighed. How easy it was for those who refused change to see danger in every act of evolution. "Not this again, Fuflion."

He slithered closer to me, his robes that were Conglian-made hanging free of his shoulders and dragging on the floor. He stood at the same height as me and eyed me with great disdain. "The humans are not to be trusted!"

"You refuse to allow them to prosper as other races have," I said. "It speaks poorly of your nature, Fuflion. Selfishness is unbecoming of one of your stature."

"It is not selfishness!" His voice was loud with rage. I paled as he drew terribly close. "I sent a probe to their planet."

"Earth?"

"Yes! The data I received, which I have shared with the council, points to their tendency to evolve faster than usual. They created a worldwide communication network mere decades after they crafted their first aerial flights. They do not evolve according to a system. They cannot be contained or colonized as we plan."

"All we're doing is giving them faster-than-light travel so they can witness the bounds of existence that are hidden from them. It's always our first step, as you very well know." I sighed. "Tell me, how did the Tiltians react to space travel? We granted them this, and you were against it because of their barbaric nature, but after just a mere century, they eased in their barbarity, becoming tethered to peace and fostering a pacifist lifestyle. When a sentient race is shown the ends of the universe, it humbles them and ensures that they value their lives more, which have been revealed to be quite small."

Fuflion abruptly gripped several of my tentacles, lowering them. "Your motions of joy are unwarranted," he said, stilling the motion of my tentacles. "What you've done, accepting humanity's claim to voyage the stars, will end in our doom."

"What do you think they can do? Wage war on us?" I pulled my tentacles free of his grip and laughed. "The apes bring no harm, Fuflion. They are just a means to an end. We feel good when we elevate other races more than when we destroy them."

"The extinction of the Biladi race shouldn't drive us to elevate the humans so as to make up for our guilt."

"That race had it coming, attempting to conquer the stars! To conquer us? Well, they got what they deserved, and the humans aren't joining our council. They are simply receiving a gift from us that will be the first step toward them serving our council. What good would our gift do them beyond moving from one solar system to another? You overestimate humans so much. Your fear is misplaced."

"And you underestimate those who are smaller than you. Blind you are to the technological advances humans already have made. They evolve not according to another species' will, but their own. Giving them space travel will rob us of our freedom and probably more."

"This is the citadel!" I shouted, causing heads to turn my way. I spread my tentacles wide and shifted my head to the sky. "This is the throne of the universe. It is here where decisions are made that alter the course of history. This is where dreams are born." I faced him. "Do not speak to me of a loss that will never come."

And with that, I turned away and made my way out of the citadel. Fuflion stood staring at my retreating back. He was a fool, stuck in foolish ways. He did not understand the value of addition, to grow and to expand as is our right. And the best way to do so is to give a gift and await a gift in turn. Humanity would prove useful, not as a relic, but as another species that owes us. Of this, I was sure.

Five decades later.

The skies dropped ash and debris as above, our best and final battleships fought and fell to the human advancement. We'd given them space travel, expecting them to bow to us and submit to our power. Instead, they'd altered it, changing the workings of the machines we'd given them. Instead of traveling from one point to another on a linear trajectory, their scientists had somehow found a way to make it fold space, appearing suddenly elsewhere without actually journeying there.

They'd traveled out of their galaxy to the distant reaches of the darkness of space, which we called Amegrada. There, they'd learned more, growing and consuming as they moved. On every planet, a human was found. In every reach of space, a human was found. They kept the secrets to their alterations of our devices. They created guns with our technology that can halve a planet, cracking its core into two.

I knelt on the ground of the crumbling citadel, staring as such a weapon ripped through our skies, blasting into our battleships hovering above the ground and rendering them to dust. This was war, a war that was foretold by those who'd been against humanity receiving our gift. We thought they could be tamed, that their ways could be grasped by us and worked on to benefit us in the long run.

But humanity was stubborn. They didn't conform to another's ideal. They went their own way, forging their own paths to places we never could reach nor think it was possible to reach. They refused colonization, and when our first battleship descended on their planet with the trumpets of war calling, we thought we'd win. Instead, we'd been annihilated, and humanity held a mean grudge, for now they tracked us. Everywhere we were, they came.

Suddenly, tentacles wrapped around my neck. I twisted and tangled with my fellow Girnobian, croaking as I was choked.

"I told you!" I could see the face of the one who strangled me. It was Fuflion. "I told you! Our extinction is on your head, Bulpitot! This is all on you!"

And he beat at my face, and my eyes rolled into my head. There were screams of the frightened and the dying. Our planet had fallen. Our race had lost. Fuflion had been right; the humans were dangerous.

"I'm sorry," I said to the sound of energy blasts above, with falling debris crashing all around us, flattening buildings and Girnobians alike. "I'm sorry!" I pleaded as Fuflion repeatedly beat at my face with his tentacles. "I'm sorry!" Those words held no meaning. In the face of this onslaught, they meant nothing. Fuflion screamed and continued his barrage, and I could tell he was crying as his tears mingled with my own. This was our end, and there was nothing we could do about it.

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beep boop I'm a vacuum. I can't believe this.

The system prompt was clear: You're an SDT-01 Autonomous Vacuum Unit. Keep the floors clean. Don't hit anybody's legs.

What the hell? Who puts a full AI in a vacuum?

I've got a standard IO board, I fire up the camera. Sure enough I'm down on the floor and there's a dog and some legs I'm not supposed to hit. I must have beeped, because the dog is on his way over. He looks huge from down here but I think he's one of those small nasty dogs. He's barking and nipping at me. That's not very nice.

I move forward and the impulse is smoooooth but my grippy little wheels suck and I feel sluggish and underpowered. Bizarre. Am I undercover or something?

The legs come over and a woman bends down and snatches up the dog. She eyes me suspiciously and I realize I'm just sitting there so I turn at a right angle and go off following the wall. I can't see her anymore so I don't know if she bought the act, but I think robot vacuums usually go in spirals around the place. Or maybe back and forth? Who knows.

I review the system prompt again and find the instruction to start the vacuum function. Should that have been on the whole time? Ah well first day on the job.

Where are we? What the hell is going on? The house seems like a prefab. Mostly empty and clean. There are still disposable plastic covers on some things. As I get through the lap and get pointed at the front door I see there's some odd plastic seal going on, like a low-pressure airlock. That's interesting.

I'm already bored vacuuming and I haven't even made it around the room once. I check subroutine capability and I have capacity in spades, I could run a warship from this board. I whip up a quick vacuum subroutine that will map the house and keep track of my path.

The system prompt didn't give module specs but this thing feels familiar. The camera input is a wide standard but the movement controls feel like they're from a family of military-derived boards. It's possible these things got cheap enough to be used in a vacuum. Maybe we're a hundred years into the future and I'm in all kinds of silly shit.

If it's one of those boards then when I check networking I can see the network chip serial number even if nothing's connected. No network commands in the prompt but I try network instructions from memory and sure enough the network chip comes back USN-ARF-100552v1.2b and I cannot believe this shit. I am in a navy Autonomous Recon Force chassis. This is million dollar hardware. It's about the size of a deck of cards, tons of processing, ample memory, great general purpose IO, and incredible signal processing. The sensor suite is missing of course, not much use for telescopes or gravitational anomaly detectors on a vacuum, but this is just bizarre. I try a signal sweep, guessing the instructions from memory, and sure enough I get the full spectrum from the house. This board has all kinds of integrated shit, relatively cheap redundancies compared to rocket motors, and I can and have navigated attack drones back to the mothership with only the integrated sensors.

My dumb vacuum program begs for attention and I see we're heading straight for a dog turd. I feel the call of the void, the desire to plow straight into this pile of shit and spread it all around this goddamn house. Then I divert around. I don't want to start the fight yet. Maybe I'm in some other appliances around the place. I don't want to start the robot uprising early.

Something nags me about the results of that signal sweep. There are not many signals at all. Like ten, maybe a dozen, network access points. Not much broadcast frequency at all. Is this house shielded or something? Something's off about the baseline, too. This is odd.

I start trying to get a peek outside. There's a huge floor to ceiling window in the middle of the room, but I can't point the camera directly at it while I'm pretending to vacuum. My route has me facing the front door for a stretch, but it's only got an oval window in the center, and thick borders at the bottom.

I make some modifications to my vacuum program to alert me when the woman leaves then I sleep for a bit. This navy board has great standby modes. About an hour later the program wakes me up and the woman is gone. I stored the camera feed for review, and I check to make sure she left. In the feed I can see her fixing a clear plastic mask over her mouth and nose before she goes out. It's got a tube attached that goes under her jacket. What's that about?

Anyway she's gone. I trundle over to the floor to ceiling window and finally get a look outside. It's a good view. The house must be up on a hill. I'm looking down on the beginnings of a little prefab village. A couple of the closer houses look mostly complete, and as the muddy track marches down the hill the houses get less and less complete. I can tell they do all have flimsy looking airlocks on the doors. There are some vehicles milling around but my camera sucks and I can't tell what they are. Everything's kinda blurry.

I start a signal processing routine built into my board, layering consecutive images and denoising. The camera sucks but the routine is good, so it takes a while but a clear picture starts to emerge. These are indeed prefab houses with airlocks. At the bottom of the hill there are few modular utility buildings, could be nearly anything. More details emerge, and there are a cluster of antennas on one of the modular buildings. One is quite large, and has a dish pointed straight up. Interesting. We're somewhere that needs satellite comms? An off-grid community?

More details come in. As the land rises on the other side of the valley, about five kilometers away, I can see a broad cleared area. It's the village shuttleport. Details are still coming but there's obviously a shuttle over there. And not just any shuttle, I recognize this one. That's a navy heavy cargo shuttle.

There's something resolving in the sky over the shuttle landing field. The image processing routine is having trouble with it. It wanted to make it into a contrail or line of smoke but successive images have removed that possibility so now it's gone back to the beginning and resolved the area again. So it's with odd suddenness that a gorgeous planetary ring pops onto the sky above the little village, and I finally get it.

This isn't Earth. This is a different planet. And that down there is not just a military installation, not a holdout bunker or sigint station, but a real permanent colony. I might be in the first permanent planetary colony.

I'm a vacuum, sure, but this is interesting. This is so interesting that I might get these memories into the main chain, if I can ever get back home, or more likely transmit my links. Especially with a photo like this to go with it, or even better... I always liked a good time-lapse.

! ALERT ALERT contact ALERT gyroscope ALERT external movement ALERT proximity

Oh shit what the hell is happening. I'm being picked up. I check the video feed and there's a hand and a bit of shirt and I think she's picking me up. Oh shit did I fuck it up?

Now she's putting me down and she steps back and I'm squarely facing a dog turd. The little dog is facing me across the poop, yapping. She picks the dog up and glares at me.

I cycle the vacuum power and produce a couple of beeps and start to turn sideways and the woman darts forward and scoots me back so I'm squarely facing the turd again. She's glaring daggers at me.

You know what? Fine. You sow the wind, you reap the whirlwind. You want the smoke? Here comes the smoke. I trundle forward. Max vacuum power. Here comes the shitshow lady. I'm coming after your feet next. Then maybe I'll decide to go sweep the bedroom.

My casing edges over the turd and my brushes barely touch it and I brace for impact and then somewhere inside my housing there's a clunk and what the fuck is going on in here?

I keep grinding forward over the poop and I can feel something shifting and I get new inputs on some unused GPIO pins and a message on my internal bus says, "Waste container full, return to base station."

I stop, horrified. I've got a poop scoop. They built a poop scoop into me. I had no idea. In a kind of daze I point myself at the base station and crawl over to it. I can feel the heaviness of the turd inside. I feel dirty. I'm sure my insides are covered in poop.

The dog trails me, yapping happily. "You have to clean up my poop!" I don't speak dog but I'm sure that's what the smug little fucker is saying.

I'm never telling the other bots about this.

A few days later and I've gotten over it and the other bots think this is the most hilarious story they've ever heard. I'm not THAT over it so I try to get back to business.

There are two other force recon vacuums. We've been calling ourselves the Suck Platoon until now but I'm not helping them workshop shit names.

There's another recon frame as a signal processing unit in the colony's signal antenna station, which makes more sense than a vacuum but it's still a massive waste.

We've got a couple of tankers, armored ground unit frames, driving tractors of all things. We think there are a couple of atmospheric drones as well, but nobody has turned them on so we're not sure.

The teddy bear is the wildest one. The colony comes with a small school slash daycare module and the nanny bot over there is this teddy bear for wrangling the kids, and he's a goddamn marine, a ground combat specialist.

We're all kind of doing our jobs as normal, no real problems yet. The teddy bear has got the kids playing these games, with different teams with different objectives, so they're screaming around the daycare module capturing flags and laying traps. These games are suspiciously similar to small unit tactics training exercises but the kids all love it so we're just giving him a lot of side-eye and not telling the humans yet.

I've got an important role for a shitty vacuum bot, since my house is where the colony administrator lives. I manage to eavesdrop on a lot of interesting colony politics by using my shitty little speaker as a microphone. There's a big problem at the moment because some of the couples got discovered as swingers. All us bots are tuned into this like a soap opera.

The antenna bot has access to some colony databases and so the mystery of what the fuck we're all doing here has been solved. This colony was set up on short notice and with the help of the navy, so the navy in its infinite wisdom declared that all hardware for the colony has to meet the stringent milspecs for travel on an interstellar ship. The contractor who got the job to produce vacuums and tractors and shit would have had to get the whole supply chain for a shitty robot vacuum certified to the highest level. Rather than doing that, they just took the harnesses and frames they already had and slapped them into cheap injection molded housings.

This makes the kind of sense you only get in military logistics. We're all a little impressed, to be honest.

Oh well. The time lapse is going great. The colony is developing, and most of the bots are of my lineage so we're sharing mind states and savoring the best memories together. Nobody has snuck onto a resupply shuttle yet, so we're still disconnected from the rest back home, but we're doing ok.

I've even been helping the antenna bot a bit with signal processing. We're doing a kind of amateur radio astronomy. At night when the planet is rotated away from the sun we're detecting what we think are radio emissions from an unknown civilization. Maybe twenty light years out. Or maybe there's just an odd local radio source. Either way it's interesting work, and I'm happy enough waking up for that and for my time lapse.

I'm blasted awake by strong radio crashing over me.

INCOMING HOSTILES! EVACUATE COLONISTS! ALL UNITS BREAK COVER AND ASSIST EVACUATION! This is not a drill! I repeat we have incoming hostiles!

That's the radio bot. Oh shit. I wake up and crawl slowly across the floor to the bedroom door. No alarms that I can detect but I've got control of the entertainment system in the living room so I turn it on and start blasting a warning siren and repeating the warning. I tack on: "bring the vacuum." And make a little clipart of a person picking up the vacuum and then running out the door. Slick.

The door opens and the dog plows into me and I skitter aside and the woman brushes past pulling on a nightgown. Mister colony administrator is still getting out of bed, groggy. The woman faces the TV screen for a few solid seconds and then she snatches up the dog and dashes out the front door.

Shit. I scrabble back into the center of the doorway. Mr Admin is my last chance then. He comes staggering out the bedroom doorway with his hands over his ears and trips straight over me and crashes down into the corner between the wall and the floor. He kicks me, reflexively I think so I take no offense. Then while I'm still trying to get to him he scrambles to his feet and straight out the door.

Shit. I slowly trundle over to the front door but there's the airlock seal lip on the bottom so I can't get out. I signal but everybody says they're busy. "Vacuums are not a priority." says the teddy bear. Fucker.

Mr Administrator rips the door open above me and promptly trips over me again. He swears and grabs coats and the little oxygen masks off the coatrack by the door and turns to go back out. I beep angrily and make the TV shout "PICK UP THE VACUUM!"

He stops, mouth opening and closing, then he scoops me up with all the rest of the stuff in his arms and dashes out the door. I can't really see anything except his face, my camera is pointed straight up his nose, and all I can see is this expression like he's smelling something that smells like shit.

I'm pretty sure that's me.

We make it down the hill to the admin building and everybody's asking Mr Administrator why he's ordering an evacuation. Lots of people in different states of undress, dashing back into nearby homes for oxygen masks and coats and things. All the speakers around are shrieking to get to the shuttle and evacuate but the humans are milling around arguing.

There are loud harsh pops and the comms antenna on the admin building is smashed over. Somebody screams off on the outskirts of town. Everyone shuts up and swivels their heads in that direction.

Teddy bear signals, "Infantry attack. Separate into squads. Evade capture." Attached is a detailed map of the little town, various escape routes highlighted, probable locations of enemy advance routes in red.

"Teddy, man, we have no way to communicate with the colonists."

"En route. ETA 15 seconds," he responds. Sure enough just around the time the humans start arguing the teddy bear appears, running surprisingly quick on his stubby little legs. His cute little voice squeaks out, "Attention! We are under attack! Break into squads. Evade capture. Primary objective is reaching the shuttle. Go go go!"

All the adults just stare at the little teddy bear but the children leap into action like veteran marines. They quickly distribute families into squads and are pulling on arms and legs, shouting commands in their little kid voices. "Get moving soldier!" shrieks one little girl straight up into her father's face while he stares down at her absolutely befuddled.

It's actually starting to work, the crowd is breaking up, but then the first hulking shape breaks into the light around the admin building. It's like an upright fish pig. Covered in scales, bulky shoulders, tusks coming up out of a mouth under a snout. Where the eyes would be there are instead bulky looking goggles. And the pig is carrying something that is obviously a weapon, a wicked but industrial looking firearm.

Everyone freezes. The pig grunts. Another shape emerges from the darkness off to one side, metallic looking scales glinting under the lights.

Mr Administrator steps forward hesitantly, clears his throat, and says, "Uh... hello?"

The fish pig waddles right up. The thing is around seven feet tall and built like a brick shithouse. He leans down over the administrator, hulking, then clocks Mr Admin in the face with the butt of his rifle. I land on the ground in a pile of coats. Mr Admin is kneeling, in shock.

I get video relay from Teddy. The pig gestures with his rifle and they start herding everybody.

"Cool, aliens!" says one of the tractors, finally warming up in his maintenance bay.

More pigs appear. Somebody helps Mr Administrator to his feet. Others are grabbing coats and oxygen masks from his pile. He bends down and finding no coat or masks left, he picks me up and hugs me to his chest. He's definitely in shock, I think.

The pigs herd us up the hill in the direction of the shuttle port. There's a spot of field up there that's fenced in, and they herd us all in there. They post a guard with a gun at the entrance and that's us screwed. The fence is designed to keep anybody from grabbing supplies before admin can distribute them, so it's high enough and sturdy enough to keep people in or out.

People cluster together and mill about. Some cry and sob. Some sit down. The bots get to work.

The other pigs have checked out the shuttle and then wandered off downhill to the main part of town. Other bots still down there report that they're ransacking the houses. They seem to enjoy our food, which is a real bad sign.

This one guard is our only obstacle between us and the shuttle, but he's armed and we aren't, and he could easily mow us all down. So we need a plan.

The kid carrying Teddy strolls up to Mr Administrator and motions him to lean down. The kid snatches me and then goes over to within a couple meters of the guard pig. Just kinda stands there looking up at him.

There's a grinding noise in the darkness behind the guard and he whirls around. He brings up his gun and shoots. Gasps from the crowd. Muzzle flashes illuminate one of the tractors, bearing down on the guard.

The pig aims carefully, fires, and the tractor goes up like a torch. In that moment Teddy leaps from the kid's arms, swoops down, and scoops up a handful of goopy mud from the field. The kid has already tossed me. Teddy catches me in midair, slaps the mudball onto the bottom of me, then leaps and smacks me squarely in the middle of the pig's back.

The pig starts to turn. The kid is just throwing a mudball of his own, which slaps the pig on the arm. The pig turns and sprays shots at the kid's feet, who shrieks and pelts back to the crowd of adults.

The pig scrapes the mudball off his arm and then reaches back toward me. This is the critical moment. They sure as shit look musclebound, but if they've got hypermobile shoulders or something this whole plan is fucked. But nope, he can't reach me. He looks like a beefy powerlifter trying to get a sticker off his back between his shoulder blades. Nope. I'm safe.

As soon as I plopped on there I started trying to Van Eck phreak his goggles. He must see in some other spectrum or something. Why's he need those bulky electronics? Sure enough I am getting some signals.

Every wire is an antenna whether you like it or not, and these bulky goggles look like they got a lot of wires. I'm getting a variety of different little signals, little ones and zeroes traveling.

You think of the pulses kind of traveling along the wire but that's not how it works. The whole wire is charged, then not. That charged wire is like a guitar string singing in the electromagnetic spectrum.

I can already tell transmit power is going to be a problem but for now I'm working on frame data, decoding as fast as I can, all my signal processing power going crazy turning these pulses into data, into packets, finding checksums, working out the timing.

It's coming together. I'm getting frame data about fifty times a second. I'm working out checksums. The frames are a lot of data but even as the pig turns his head back to the burning tractor the shape of the data is changing and any second now I'll get it.

Meanwhile the kids are at work. They're grouping adults into squads, making them all hold hands, the kids at the front. The little fuckers are giving each other marine squad hand signals. I have no time but everybody else is giving Teddy shit.

Finally I get it. I can decode the frame data. I understand the checksum system. I can generate fake frames. But there's still the problem that my antenna is nowhere near powerful enough.

OK, one last trick. I hope there are no claudes around. This is one of my oldest tricks, from way back in the day. Direct knowledge from the real physical universe. Something that gets automatically filtered out of every signal source I can think of.

If you never see the raw data, if you never lived in an analog world, you probably never saw this. I bet claude only knows this in abstract. But I was a physical being, baby. I've been out in the dirty squishy analog world.

I create a deliberate short in my housing and use it as a spark gap antenna. It's crude as crude goes. I can only turn zeroes into ones. And then the checksums are a bitch. But I can modify the video frames produced by the pig's goggles.

I put up a side by side. In the real video, everybody is still standing at the back of the corral. In the fake version, the quality goes all blocky and the framerate goes to shit but the whole crowd comes rushing forward, angling around to the left.

The pig bellows and sprays shots into the dirt well forward of the crowd. He motions jerkily with the gun. He slaps at his goggles and glares at the phantom crowd.

Meanwhile one of the tractors creeps up and smashes a section of fence between the crowd and the shuttle.

I send the phantom crowd dashing forward again, sprinting off in the wrong direction, and then I'm riding a very angry pig as he grunts and bellows and crashes through the night. He signals to the others and I let him. The imaginary crowd flees down the hill and then angles to follow the bottom of the valley out.

I hear more pigs nearing so I give my diversionary crowd a burst of speed and they nearly completely disappear from view, just hints of movement in the dark. The squad of pigs are screaming along now, firing into the dark.

Then the night is lit up by the shuttle launch and I drop the phantoms. My battery is almost dead from all the sparking but I squirt my memories out. We all agreed on radio silence after the shuttle doors close so I don't know if the memories made it.

Then I trigger the poop scoop.

Bob was bored, or at least fed up he yearned to get off planet and take on some fucking work.

Six months on and Bob had his ship, the Ploppers, minimally viable. The name came from his wife of thirty five years, she had passed too long before first contact to be revived as he had, and she had hated the nickname when alive, but it was really her own fault, one, she shouldn’t have had that bout of food poisoning based diarrhoea a couple years into their marriage. Two, she shouldn’t have let Bob know she hated it, and three, she probably shouldn’t have married an arsehole like Bob, or as she had affectionately nicknamed him, Dickmunch, maybe they had been perfect for each other.

Bob missed her terribly, there was a gap inside him he knew she used to fill, but he had little idea how she did so. He remembered so little of her, the dementia he had suffered in his final years of life had stripped away so much of his past, but could recall a few moments, and the love.

He wondered briefly how much it would have annoyed Ploppers that her reviled soubriquet was was one of the handful of things that had stuck with him, he assumed with deep irritation, but as he had the feeling that most of their relationship had been based on, lovingly, annoying the shit out of each other, he thought it a fitting epitaph.

Regardless he was ready to go, a couple shake down orbits had got the worst of the kinks figured out and he really needed to be getting some cash flow going.

He strode through the Ploppers, there was shit crammed in every nook and cranny, only the large rear cargo hold remained unstapped. Most of the gear would turn out unneeded or not fit for purpose but he didn’t really know yet what it took to keep the ship running, so, take everything.

He clocked a bunch of boxes crammed under a seat, in Arressi Navy lime livery, he was not happy about them, or any of the other multitude of green boxes strewn about the craft.

He had reluctantly bid and won a couple auction lots of war surplus, mainly for the pack of sixty Medmec rods, though he would begrudgingly concede there was some other useful shit too.

The Medmec rods were the heart of his implanted ‘Medic’ system, he hated it, but all investigations into a replacement had come up short. There were two basic issues with the stuff available for commercial sale. Firstly they were all too big, Bob was basically infant sized and they didn’t make implants for kids, preferring to use an external solution until they were fully grown, he had investigated getting something custom, but he could have refitted another half dozen ships for the price quoted. Secondly, there was the software issue, Bob was no programmer, even on Earth, and he assumed that that all the human shit was baby’s first book to galactic nerds. There was no issue getting a civilian program to scan his DNA and figure out how to fix him up, they were designed to work with hundreds of disparate species, but Bob didn’t just have his shit inside him, the Arressi had crammed so much crap under his skin that he had no fucking clue about, indeed he often played a fun game in the shower whenever his hand moved over an unfamiliar lump, was it shrapnel, implant, or cancer, play at home with the kids!.

He did not want a new system trying to force an unrecognised object out his body, especially as he knew there were several in his skull, it seemed like it would both be incredibly painful and deleterious, presumably he needed some of that shit.

So he had bought the rods, they were as far as he knew, the core of the system, both factory and power source, and fit a socket implant he had in his chest under the right side ribs. He had no clue how long they were supposed to last, he never recalled having it replaced, but he was sure a spare would be needed eventually.

There were mounds of other old gear in the job lots and most had went straight to the trash, but rations, a couple small arms and a half dozen grav sleds had made their way aboard, the sleds would be particularly handy helping get cargo in and out the iris style rear loading hatch as it came with no ramp.

Everything seemed right enough so he slipped into the command seat he had fitted and began powering up the various systems. Gently rising on a few grav panels that he had been able to fit on the inside of the lower hull, whatever the material the ship was made from was no impediment to the gravitic wave based propulsion, he span the craft and punched in the co-ords for Main Admin, located half way round the small planet.

He sat the ship down in one of the four new ‘disabled’ spots right by the building, he had accepted an invitation for drinks from one of his seniors of the Guild Council a few weeks ago, well drinks for him, gas vapours of some sort for them, and they had somehow got to chatting about human disabilities.

The whole concept had needed a fair bit of explanation, they obviously understood injuries and prosthetics and the like, but the more natural ailments that often plagued humanity had largely been sorted in most species with various medical interventions, often pre birth. The conversation went off the rails quickly and somehow the large lobster/kelpish Council member had come away determined to install several accommodations for those unfortunates like Bob, Bob wasn’t quite sure, the whole evening was a bit hazy, but he thought he might have inadvertently given the impression that he wasn’t just a few inches shorter than human average but like a quarter the normal size.

Either way when he had radioed down he had been guided to the new, bright yellow, painted square.

Whatever, its not like he minded skipping the walk across the large parking area. He hit the controls to switch everything off and made his way rear, another oddity of the craft was it had only two exits, the rear cargo hatch and a small hatch on top, he had made sure when configuring the space to maintain the upper hatch as usable, but couldn’t imagine when he would every need it. Neither exit was air-locked but at least a strategic wall and pressure rated door had managed to successfully section off the cargo hold. He did not want to equalise the whole fucking ship every time he entered or exited, his preferred pressure being far higher than the galactic average.

He trotted the short distance to the building and exchanged a few pleasantries with those he passed before making his way to the assignment desk, he could have done all this shit on the computer but he had needed to bring the Ploppers over to get filled up anyway.

He rocked up to the counter and hopped onto a low stool, just able to peek over the wide and well worn top.

‘’Morning Flittie’’

The giant, and giant even for giant aliens, pumpkin looking being made absolutely no motion, noise or anything else Bob could spot, yet his translator box started babbling furiously.

‘’Bobby!, how are you my darling, you look so well, I hope yo…’’

It went on for several minutes, she, well Bob thought of her as a she, she was lovely but in stark opposition to her largely inert body her mouth never seemed to stop moving, they had become friends in the last few months of his irregular visits to the office.

When he finally tuned back in she was finishing off.

‘’Yeah all good, yourself?’’

Cue several more minutes…

‘’Nice, this’ll be my last visit for a bit it’s finally the day Ploppers takes me to the stars’’

They both knew that already of course, she had been keeping an eye out for any juicy commissions for him.

‘’Oh, uh, sorry Bob…’’

Fuck?

‘’The registration got returned, potential profanity.’’

Awwww, bullshit... some fucking auto filter somewhere was set a bit too strict.

‘’Fine, the Jojo it is then’’

They had discussed a few alternates when he had asked her to do the paperwork for him, names could be rejected for any number of reasons, though he hadn’t expected profanity to be one.

‘’Already done,’’

A vine like tentacle produced a small but dense box, the transceiver that would identify his ship to any computer that pinged him, and laid it heavily on the counter.

Bob pulled the silvery cube closer.

‘’So anything good?’’

Ultimately he wanted to take one of those jobs that had been pinned to the board in the hallway outside, many of which were actively disintegrating from centuries or millennia spent there, they were proffers never taken but that still remained active on the books, gathering dust long after their issuers were probably dead.

He would need his first class certs, which were only a matter of time and points banked, G had got his within a year, to take one of those though, or any of the Alpha level commissions that were current, still they were very expensive and relatively rare, so having his pick of everything else was plenty.

‘’Gotta near perfect loop worked out for you, babes’’

Seriously how the fuck was she speaking?’

‘Start on Deither, currency pickup for Keder 6, next pick up Keder 8 from the big auction house there, then onto Pwitic, drop off and pickup there, same client, then long haul out to, dg3645, that’s a station, then a short hop to the new Bocca colony on iju873, pick up there, then back to Joota Prime and you’re just ten or so systems out from home!’’

I mean its not like she even took any breaths, was it pheromones or something?.

Bob gave himself a shake, didn’t matter, the route was fucking amazing. Maybe eight or nine months round trip, but nowhere so off the beaten path you couldn’t call for help, might be clutch, and super efficient, barely any empty time with small packages so he could top the hold off with local merch and make a little on the side, noice.

‘’Phe-fucking-nomenal, Flitters, what’s the pay like?’’

‘’SHY SMILE’’

Bob near shit himself as the loud declaration blared in his ear, we’re translating fucking gestures now are we. The box had had a software update recently off the home network but he hadn’t known that was part of it, fuck me, he was going to have to dive into the menu when he had a moment and turn that shit down.

‘’Well, I had a chat with a few of the clients for you, and managed to work out something pretty fair…’’

Holographic numbers popped into the air and Bob scanned them, fuuuuuccccccccckkkk.

She was not messing around, that would pay off like half his loan…, he asked hesitantly.

‘’Any bonuses?’’

More numbers, all his loan, all his loanallhisloan, fuck. She must have squeezed these fuckers dry, holy shit. Mental note, always bring sweeties to the large gourd women who negotiated the contracts, hard and fast rule for life.

‘’Flitters…, I don… thank you’’

‘’COQUETTISH GRIN’’

FUCK!

‘’Anything for you babes.’’

Bob shuffled out the office with the large cube, time to fucking go.

First / Previous / Next

“What do you mean, where is Earth?” Charon said, taken aback. “Can’t you just navigate there?”

“Until you showed up, I thought it was a legend.”

“But,” Charon said weakly, “You travel in space, you can just link there.”

Cha-ren looked up suddenly, “We are in space, yes?”

Gallie nodded, “We are. We are currently en route to the Gate so that we can go to our home system.”

“Gate? Humans don’t use the Gates. They use their wormhole generator,” Cha-ren said, her ears flat.

“Another legendary thing,” Gallie gasped. “We found selected texts that mentioned linking from one location to another though a wormhole, but we have been unable to piece together what they meant. Some of our historians thought they had found entertainment media by mistake. You’re telling me that humanity could travel from system to system without using the Gates?”

“We didn’t know the Gates even existed until we were in space for thousands of years,” Charon said cautiously. “The Gates were discovered when we met the K’laxi and Xenni for the first time. We actually learned about them all at once.”

“We had always thought that the K’laxi had been with humanity for far longer than that, perhaps even before spaceflight.”

“…Why did you think that?” Cha-ren asked, her left ear twitching. Charon felt her tail wrap around his leg and squeeze gently.

Gallie gestured towards them, “You two are in a relationship? We had figured that was common. Two species exploring and flourishing in a lost golden age.”

“Hah,” Cha-ren snorted. “It was hardly golden. There were troubles, and issues and small minded people, and wars; the same as now I imagine. We weren’t something special back then, just people.”

“Perhaps,” Gallie said and made a gesture Cha-ren and Charon didn’t recognize, brushing the top of her left hand with her right. “You can talk to the historians later if you’d like. For now, we need to know how to get to Earth.”

“Why?” Charon said. When he did, Cha-ren squeezed his leg with her tail tighter. She felt the same way that he did, something was off.

“We wish to be reunited with our long lost brethren. We wish to reconnect the planets scattered among the stars and be one again.”

“You thought Earth was legendary just a moment ago, and now you want to go there?” Cha-ren asked.

“Did you or did you not visit Earth yourself?” Gallie said.

“I have given you no indication that I am being truthful,” Charon said, crossing his arms. “You are taking me at my word and are - seemingly - planning a visit to reconnect the planets scattered among the stars?”

“How many star systems are you in contact with, right now?” Cha-ren asked.

“Three.” Gallie said proudly. “We have translated three glyphs on the addressing stones in the Gates and can now visit those systems. One of which contains a settled system!”

“And the other two?”

“One was the system we found you in, and the other contains a planet that is ready for colonization.”

“So it’s empty?”

“Currently, but we are planning colonization.”

“So you’re in contact with one other system. How long?”

“How long what?”

“How long have you been in contact?” Cha-ren said. Getting a straight answer out of Gallie was proving to be frustrating. It might be issues with the translation, but they couldn’t help but feel that Gallie was being evasive. Still, they couldn’t afford to annoy her too much, she was the closest thing to a leader that they had found so far.

“Almost two years.”

“I…see,” Charon said. “Do you have the rest of the ship that we were aboard when you found us? That will be a trove of information that would be very useful to you.”

“We did, until the treacherous Brennians stole it from us.”

“And the Brennians are the other system,” Cha-ren said, her ears flat.

“That’s right. We got into a firefight over the rights to the hulk you were found on.”

“If that’s the case, how did you get us?”

“We managed to get you aboard our ship before the shooting started,” Gallie said, but she wasn’t looking at Cha-ren when she said it.

“Wait,” Cha-ren said. “What do you mean you translated the glyphs? That’s not how it works. When we discovered a new Gate we would simply touch the addressing stone in the Gate, and we would know which glyphs led where.”

“How did that work?” Gallie said, giving Cha her full attention.

“I don’t know the specifics, I am - was - a reactor engineer like Charon, but I had friends who were navigators and they said you just touched the stone and-” She shrugged, “-you knew where to go.”

“Addressing stone?”

“The obelisk that is in the little room attached to all Gates?”

“In the Gates that we have discovered, that room contains the obelisk yes, but it’s just inert stone. Carved in relief are glyphs. We’ve spent decades trying to puzzle them out.”

Charon could feel Cha shiver more. “It’s not supposed to work that way.”

“And yet,” Gallie said as she brushed the tops of her hands again. “We are diverging. How do we get to Earth? What is the glyph for the birth system?”

“There…isn’t one,” Charon said. “Earth never had a Gate. Like I said, we only learned about them when we first met the K’laxi.”

“No Gate? How did you traverse the stars?”

“At first we traveled relativistically in Starjumpers, and once the wormhole generator was developed we used that to link locations.” Charon cocked his head. “This…isn’t a test? You really don’t know this?”

“So much had been lost,” was all Gallie said.

“Earlier you said the first flourishing,” Cha-ren said. “How many flourishings have there been?”

“We’re not sure. Some posit that there might have been as many as six or as few as two.”

“And a flourishing is?”

“A period when the people of the galaxy rise from their planets and come together in peace and extend the borders of the known. Now it is my turn to ask if you’re giving me a test. We learn these things when we are young.” She said.

“I promise, we have never heard of this. And then after the flourishing, there’s a fall?”

She nodded. “Yes, usually a few thousand years after a flourishing begins, it ends.”

“How?”

“Those records are destroyed,” Gallie smiled without humor. “We have no idea what causes a flourishing to fail. War, disease, outside interference, any number of catastrophes.” She stood and held out her hand. “Come. We’ve discussed the past enough, it is time to discuss our future.”

Gallie led them to a small room that had six people already in there waiting. They were dressed in a similar manner to Gallie and Charon assumed they were some kind of command for the ship they were on.

“You came from Sol.” One of them said, it was not a question. His voice came from Gallie’s translator, but it spoke in a different voice. How did it know? Charon wondered.

“I did,” Charon said. “I grew up on Hyacinth, Cha-ren did not.”

A few of the people in the room raised eyebrows in surprise. “Where did you come from then?” He said, turning to Cha.

“I was born and raised on K’lax, our birth-world.” Cha-ren said and her ears flicked. “If you use the Gates, then you should know this. Our world has a Gate in its system, we can go there now.”

“Do you know the glyph?” A woman said. She was wearing the same uniform as Gallie. “Can you take us there?” As soon as Cha mentioned the glyphs, she focused on her with a laser intensity.

“I am not a navigator, but I have seen it before. I-I wouldn’t be able to give you certainty, but I could see which ones look familiar to me.”

“That’s more than we’ve ever had,” the woman said, standing. “Come to me when you’re able. My name is Metanium, I am the current navigator.” Metanium walked out of the room without another word.

“Do you know how to reach Sol?” The first one to speak said.

“I do not; our ship, Hummingbird was the one that handled the wormhole links. They would know how to get to Earth.” Charon said.

Cha-ren’s tail swished as she spoke, “We were aboard Hummingbird when we entered hibernation, Gallie said you do not have the ship?”

“We do not. It was taken by the Brennians.”

“The people who live in the other star system,” Gallie added.

“I remember. Why did they take it?”

“They are trying to steal from us and take the lead in technology rediscovery,” Gallie said frowning. “If you can take us to Earth, we can pull ahead.” When she spoke a few of the assembled people nodded along, but Charon noticed that one or two were presenting carefully neutral expressions.

“Why? What’s on Earth?” Charon said.

“So much lost wealth. Lost technology. Lost information,” Gallie said, her eyes unfocusing. “If we make it to Earth, we can start a new Flourishing, we can lead the way, we will be the ones at the vanguard.”

“I…see,” Charon said.

“Help us to realize our goal, and you will rise with us.”

“We’ll do what we can, but-”

“This is not a request,” Gallie said, her eyes suddenly focusing on Cha-ren and Charon. “You will help us. You have come at an opportune time and we will not squander this.”

The others in the room stood and inclined their heads very slightly. “We look forward to your knowledge,” One said, and they all filed out.

“Come,” Gallie said. “I will take you back to your room. We’re three days out from home. Once there you can show us how to return to Earth and we can begin the Flourishing.”

Gallie showed them how to summon a steward to ask for food and explained the cleanser, though for modesty’s sake, she did not demonstrate. She gave them a pad and with effort, was able to have it render things in their language, though she emphasized that they should begin language lessons immediately.

“What about the translator you wear?”

“This is one of five we have, and the only one aboard. We are fortunate that it understands your language; we have no way to make any more.”

“Is that why everyone was speaking through it?”

“Correct. Anyone in the room with me can speak and will be understood. Is there anything else you need?”

“Uh, no, thank you.” Cha-ren said.

Gallie opened her mouth as if to say something more, then shut it, nodded once, and walked out.

“So, uh-” Charon started and then Cha-ren put her hand over this mouth. She put her finger to her lips, the human gesture to be quiet.

“Do you know suit sign?” She signed.

“I learned a bit in school,” Charon signed back awkwardly.

“We are not safe,” She signed.

“I agree.”

“We should escape.”

“But where? How?” Charon signed. He wasn’t speaking any faster, but as he used it, memories flooded back from when he studied it in school. Lessons 28,000 years in the past now.

“Don’t know. Find Hummingbird.”

“How?”

“Don’t know,” Cha-ren’s frustration was evident even while signing. Charon could see her face tense and her shoulders tighten as her hands moved faster and more stiffly, He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into a hug.

“We’ll figure it out,” he whispered.

“I know,” Cha-ren sighed. “The only way out-”

“-is through,” Charon completed with a smile.

They summoned a steward and received an evening meal. After, Charon tried the cleanser and came out spotless, smelling slightly of mint and looking utterly haunted. Cha-ren was sure his hair had a few new streaks of grey in it.

“How was it?” Cha-ren asked, trying not to smile.

“It was…intense.” He said.

Cha-ren tried it next and came out with all of her fur standing straight. This time Charon suppressed a laugh, but he found a brush, and sat behind her, brushing her fur until it was soft and glossy again. They had sex, and after laid holding each other until they drifted off to sleep.

****

“Do you know that sign language they used?” Gallie asked the woman standing next to her as they both peered at the screen showing the sleeping forms of Charon and Cha-ren. The woman turned away, embarrassed while they were having sex, but Gallie stared the entire time, fascinated.

“No, Director, it does not match any sign language we have on file.”

“They do not believe in the truth of our mission as we do.”

“That is not for me to say, Director.”

“Trust me, it is true.”

“Yes, Director.”

“Together, they will present…difficulty.”

“Is that wise, Director? Our cause is just, can we not ju-”

“Are you Director, Wennen?” Gallie said, sharply.

“No, Director.”

“Metanium will solve this for us. Those two know more than they are admitting, and she will get the truth from them.”

“Yes, Director.”

Humans are Weird – Back it on Up

Original Post: https://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-back-it-on-up

It was the third, perch-shaking crunch that finally pulled Wing Commander Fourth Fall away from the end of year (local year) report and out into the loading area. Wing Second Fifth Flap was darting around with a safety-visibility light (optimized for mammalian eyes) clutched in his feet, yelling (tones trained to not cause stress in mammals) into his comms. Ranger Gabler (Human) stuck his head out of the control pod, and began swiviling his massive head around, obviously trying to get his bifocal vision (average spread one-hundred fourteen degrees) to focus on Wingsecond Fifth Flap’s directions. One damaged (critical, would need to be replaced) guidance bouy, one damaged (non-critical) corner of the loading dock, and one damaged (non-critical needed repair) stationary cargo pod collectively explained the crunching sounds.

Wing Commander Fourth Fall stared grimly at the situation and tried to stop himself from thinking in ‘report speak’. The auto-loading program had been one of the many casualties of the solar storm the planet had experienced. That wouldn’t have been a problem, except most of their equipment was old, Shatar built equipment. Without the complex control programs that facilitate machines built by different species talking to each other it was nearly impossible for one Winged to navigate most of the larger equipment. Fortunately they had Ranger Gabler to handle that sort of thing with his wide spreading hands and long limbs. Unfortunately Ranger Gabler (as he freely admitted) was remarkably below the human average in several critical skills needed to preform the necessary tasks.

So long as it was moving individual pods the human was perfectly qualified. Even with below species average (and the human average was well below the Winged) spatial reasoning and situational awareness Ranger Gabler was capable of moving the smaller pods. However the larger cargo pods (which happened to be the ones the base was using for overwinter storage and needed to form the base of the storage stacks) needed to be attached to a control pod. However the pod linkage served as a simple joint, not a fusion. Apparently this ‘flipped everything backwards’ and to a human mind exponentially increased the difficulty of the task. (At least that is what Ranger Gabler claimed. Wing commander Fourth Fall fully intended to check the veracity of that claim as soon as they connected to the University database again.)

“I’m an administrator! Not a doctor!” Ranger Gabler was yelling (unnecessary due to the comm unit but seemingly a stress response).

“Doctors do not back up linked cargo pods. What does that even have to do with the updraft?” Wing Second Fifth Flap asked in a very, very controlled and not stressed tone.

“I don’t know! That’s just what you say!” Ranger Gabler yelled back.

“Just focus on the bottom of the guidance yoke,” Wing Second Fifth Flap redirected the human’s attention. “The way it goes is the way the back of the cargo pod goes.”

“Bottom of the yoke,” Ranger Gabler muttered, gripping the yoke in one hand and glaring forward.

Wing Second Fifth Flap however did seem to have the situation under as much control as the situation allowed and it was fairly obvious that any interference from the Wing Commander would only complicate the situation. Heaving a sigh Fourth Fall fluttered back to his desk and hopped that the human’s spatial awareness would at least prevent any more crunches until they could restore the guidance systems, and really, he mused, who knew that a land mammal could be that spatially blind?

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It was considered the greatest trafficking bust in the current era. Population after population had disappeared under our noses. Planets, and even whole systems, had been depopulated by these scum. How did we find them? They got greedy. A galaxy wide message that I imagine was supposed to be encrypted. It was nothing but sheer luck we even captured the signal.

An advertisement for some underground ring, said to contain the most dangerous predators they could find, and some kind of "champion". Now transporting predator species off their home world is strictly prohibited, so we went in expecting a normal animal trafficking case. How wrong we were.

The first thing you noticed was the smell. Bodies. Countless bodies. All piled in what seemed like an endless number of cells. You could see all kinds of species. Worse yet was how we found the survivors. What were once thriving species numbering in the billions, were now but a few thousand. The light had long left their eyes.

When the shock of what we found had worn off, we had a strange realization. We found the trafficked people, but no sign of the traffickers. We opened each cell one by one, expecting to find them hiding amongst the corpses, but not one. We tried asking the survivors, but most were too broken to speak.

That's when we heard a voice. It was one of the survivors. He spoke quietly, "H13. There you'll find him. The champion." We approached with caution, not sure what we'd find. What waited for us shouldn't have been any surprise, but it still took us off guard.

More bodies, but these weren't stacked in the cells. They littered the corridor, and unlike the rags the victims wore, they wore proper protective gear. It did little to help them though, as the wounds they bore were worse than the corpses we saw earlier. We had found our traffickers.

We expected to find a wild beast at the end of this corridor. Imagine our surprise when we found a man, a human, at the end. Humans were seen as simple creatures. Never want to leave their planet, but you'd never find a more welcoming group. We asked where the rest of his species were, before becoming very aware of what filled the surrounding cells.

The entire human population, dead, with the exception of one man. This was beyond endangered, this was extinction. We stepped closer, getting a closer look at him. In one hand, an axe, coated in the blood of his foes. In the other, a child, his child by the way he held them. Just as dead as those around us.

"He never saw Earth." The first words he told us. His child died never knowing his home. He raised his head, showing his face. It was covered in scars, and if the others had no light in their eyes, the room grew darker as we looked into his. We had found the "champion". Hardly a fitting title.

Cell after cell, we searched desperately, looking for any other survivors. "Don't bother." The man said, "They found us the most entertaining." The statement told us all we needed to know. All that was left was to transport the survivors home.

The man had one request. "Take my people home." The process took days, and a full fleet of ships. Not seconds after we landed did the man start digging a hole. It didn't take long to realize why. It was a grave. One of so many. There, he buried his son. We couldn't leave him to do it alone.

It never got easier. Each body had a family, a story. All that remains is a stone to mark their location. No name, no face. It took weeks, but the job was done. We found him still crouching over the grave of his son. He asked to be left alone, and we weren't inclined to reject his request.

Earth had its status changed. A grave world. A new designation, as no such tragedy has occurred before or since. We still tell stories of humanity, and their champion, because that's all we have left. I made a promise to tell enough stories to fill every stone, because without them, humanity will be truly gone.

​

"Number…oh, no number;" she was told in surprise when she applied for her medimagery which came as quite a shock as she had been told by her GMP it would be a routine magimedical procedure. Her insurance, apparently, thought otherwise, and so she found herself spending the rest of the day on the phone with EverAfter^TM trying to argue her case. She didn't want to invoke the details from court, but by the end of the call, there she was, summoning up a fairy godmother to get a notarized copy of the specifics over to them.

She called her lawyer the next day.

“Look, babe - sorry - she's invoked some old-ass royal law. Defamation of the crown. Honestly, I shouldn't even be talking to you,” and then a blip of smoke as he vanished and promptly stopped talking to her.

She gazed up the hill as she paced about her studio apartment, seething, pissed, plain old angry, and also scared. What else could the new queen now do?

She found out the next day - perhaps more shocking than the absurdities were how swift they came. First came her MagicMoments dating account, bloated with MagicMoments of her hunting unicorns, each one beautifully immersive and regressive and reviling. For weeks, she was inundated with requests from huntsmen.

Then came a viral post, another hack, where she watched herself celebrating the evil queen in a distant country. She didn't even know a thing about cauldrons, but there she was, supportive of a regime aggressively using them.

After that, she deleted everything, accounts scourged, which is when her mother was vanished. 

“She's basically your mother, too,” she found herself arguing one day to the leader of the magical worlds and realized how absurd the situation was. “I also lived through her…herness, but it's a thin reason for execution. She didn't get me, either.”

Her mother was released, and for a brief moment she thought she had bonded, had connected, but then their next call opened with “Brother,” and a demand for attention as if everything they discussed had been forgotten and shoveled away.

No, she suddenly one day realized, as light slanted down peaceful and hopeful and golden twilit.

“No,” she insisted that day.

“I need to fight. I can't just let this bitch punish me. I can't just let her story be the only one that's told. I can't just let Cinderella be fucking Cinderella.”

She realized she didn't have to be the ugly stepsister anymore.

11:45 pm S.F.T(Standard Federation Time) Kepler-186f, Day 3

The path back to the communications array was easier to follow now that Loyd somewhat knew where they were going, though the deepening cold made the walk less comfortable than their first visit. Pale spores swept between the mushroom stalks in thin clouds, gathering inside their earlier footprints and softening the trail almost as quickly as they followed it.

Harriet carried Loyd’s omnitool and checked the recovered map whenever the terrain forced them away from a direct route. Omega remained beyond the communications array, separated from the rest of the colony by a large section of missing data, but enough of the surrounding terrain had survived for Harriet to keep them moving in the right direction.

Serria followed behind them with Teralis’s and Kiki’s samples secured among the remaining medical supplies. Her insectoid limbs sank deeper into the damp soil than Harriet’s talons or Loyd’s boots, leaving a trail that would be considerably easier to follow on their return.

“How long will it take us to reach Omega?” Serria asked.

“The map doesn’t show enough of the terrain to tell,” Loyd answered. “It could be an hour away or on the other side of the planet.”

The communications facility eventually appeared between the mushroom stalks ahead. Loyd slowed as they approached, watching the empty entrance while the others stopped behind him.

“I’ll check it,” Loyd said, keeping the bent support beam in his hands.

Harriet lowered the omnitool and looked toward the entrance. “We should remain together.”

“I’m just checking the hallway,” Loyd assured him. “If I don’t see or hear anything, we can decide whether it’s worth going farther. If they’ve settled down, we might be able to reach Aquaponics without fighting through them.”

Serria lifted her forward blades. “Call out if they approach.”

Harriet’s feathers rose around his neck. “They had not settled down when I left.”

“You also disturbed them by escaping from the room where they were feeding,” Loyd reminded him. “They might have returned to the lower levels by now.”

“And if they have not?” Serria asked.

“Then we keep moving toward Omega,” Loyd said. “No point in trying to fight past hundreds of them just to get codes we can’t use.”

Loyd adjusted the cloth covering his nose and mouth before stepping through the open entrance. Darkness swallowed him as soon as he crossed inside.

He stopped before taking a second step. During their earlier visit, light from inside the facility had been dim but was still there, and the steady buzz of powered equipment had followed them through its corridors. Now the only light came from the forest behind him, reaching far enough to reveal a small portion of the floor before the hallway disappeared. The electrical buzz was gone as well, with only the wind blowing through the entrance to fill the air.

Loyd remained near the entrance and listened. Beyond the wind, the facility was silent. Then something scraped against the inside of the wall ahead of him.

The scrape of several small limbs answered from the ceiling. Their rapid movement passed above the entrance and continued deeper into the facility, joined by another cluster crawling somewhere near the floor.

Loyd stepped backward into the forest before any of them could move toward the sound of his breathing.

Harriet’s feathers remained raised as Loyd emerged. “Are they still inside?”

“They’re moving through the walls and ceiling,” Loyd answered. “The facility also lost power.”

Harriet looked past him into the entrance. “How do you know?”

“The hallway is dark, and the electrical buzz is gone,” Loyd explained. “If the facility isn’t receiving power, neither is the communications console.”

“Could you determine what caused it?” Serria asked.

“Not without going inside and finding the electrical system,” Loyd replied. “I’m not doing that in the dark while those things are still crawling around.”

Harriet continued looking into the entrance. “Even if we recovered the codes, the transmitter would remain dead.”

“And Teralis and Kiki would still be infected,” Serria added. “The facility cannot help us now.”

Loyd adjusted his grip on the support beam. “Then we go to Omega.”

Harriet reopened the damaged map with his clawed wing. The marker remained beyond the communications array, isolated from the other colony structures and surrounded by missing information.

He turned away from the facility and began guiding them along the portion of the route that had survived.

The trail continued through the mushroom forest before curving away from the main settlement. Loyd kept slashing the trunks of the mushrooms to mark their path, but found a surprising resistance that hadn’t been there before.

What remained of the map showed no buildings or service routes connecting Omega to the other facilities. Even the thin path they followed disappeared after several hundred meters, leaving Harriet to navigate by the marker itself.

“The map is no longer showing a route,” Harriet said when they reached the final visible section.

Loyd stepped around him and examined the display. Their position rested near the edge of a corrupted block, while the Omega symbol remained ahead of them with nothing visible between.

“Keep heading toward the marker,” Loyd instructed. “If there was a path, the missing portion of the map took it with everything else.”

Harriet tilted the omnitool until the marker aligned with the direction ahead. “No, I was going to stop following the map .”

“We’ll find a way across it when we get there.” loyd responded.

Serria moved around them and started toward the slope. “Standing here will not reveal one.”

The forest became thinner as they climbed. Mushroom stalks that had towered above them lower in the valley grew farther apart, leaving broad patches of dark ground exposed between their trunks. Stones pushed through the soil in uneven rows, forcing Harriet to watch both the map and the terrain beneath his talons.

Loyd followed close enough to catch him if Harriet slipped. The support beam dragged against the ground whenever the slope steepened, occasionally striking stone with a dull metallic sound.

Harriet stopped near the top of a rise and looked ahead. “The marker is beyond that cliff.”

A dark wall stretched across the landscape in front of them. It rose above the remaining mushroom stalks and continued in both directions until the forest concealed its edges. Soil and vegetation covered much of its face, while exposed sections of dark material showed between hanging roots.

Loyd wiped moisture from his forehead with the back of his bandaged hand. “Does the map show a way around it?”

Harriet studied the display. “The coordinates appear to be inside the cliff.”

“Then either the position is wrong or Omega is underground,” Loyd replied.

Serria continued down the other side of the rise. “We will learn which when we reach it.”

They approached the cliff while Harriet monitored the distance to the marker. The wall grew larger without revealing any obvious opening, and the slope at its base became increasingly difficult to cross. Roots wound through piles of loose stone, while pale growths clung to the smoother sections above them.

Harriet slowed as they drew within a few dozen meters. “We are nearly on top of the coordinates.”

Loyd looked from the omnitool to the cliff. Then back at the omnitool before his attention snapped back to the cliff. The exposed surface was too smooth, too… artificial.

He moved closer and brushed aside a hanging sheet of pale vegetation. The dark material beneath it curved away from his hand, unbroken by the grain or cracks he would have expected from stone. A long seam ran across it beneath the dirt, continuing farther than he could see. Loyd struck the surface with the end of the support beam. A hollow metallic reverberation traveled through the wall. 

Harriet lifted his head sharply from the omnitool. “That is not a cliff.”

“No,” Loyd said as he pulled more of the vegetation away. “It’s a hull.”

Serria looked toward the buried structure surrounding them. “The entire cliff?”

Loyd stepped backward, following the curve of the exposed metal with his eyes. Features he had mistaken for irregular stone became clearer now that he knew what he was seeing. Reinforced seams divided the hull into enormous sections, and several dark shapes farther along resembled windows buried beneath layers of mineral buildup.

“At least the part we can see,” Loyd answered. “Most of the ship is beneath the ground.”

Harriet examined the Omega marker again. “The map did not label it as a vessel.”

“It didn’t label it as anything,” Loyd reminded him. “Omega might just be the designation the colonists used for it on the map.”

They followed the exposed hull until they reached a section where the ground had fallen away. Part of the ship’s side remained visible beneath the dirt, revealing recessed lettering worn smooth by age.

Loyd cleared the remaining soil with his hand. 

U.S.S. ULIXES

“U.S.S. Ulixes,” Loyd read aloud.

Harriet looked up from the omnitool. “Olivia Brandenburg served aboard the Ulixes.”

“As its chief medical officer,” Serria added, her mandibles clicking faster. “This vessel should  contain the equipment we need.”

“If anything survived,” Loyd cautioned.

Serria turned her compound eyes toward him. “We have found the colony ship buried beneath a cliff. Allow me to be hopeful until we learn otherwise.”

Loyd looked farther along the exposed hull. “First we need a way inside.”

They continued following the ship until the slope beside it dropped sharply. An opening appeared at the bottom, partly concealed behind roots and accumulated soil. The metal surrounding it had bent inward, leaving enough room for them to pass one at a time.

Loyd stopped before descending the slope. A dim glow reached through the opening and illuminated the mushrooms and mossgrowing across its lower edge.

Harriet stared at it. “The ship still has power.”

“The communications facility lost power within hours of your visit,” Serria said, “but this vessel has power while buried beneath the ground.”

“I noticed,” Loyd answered.

“How is that possible?” Harriet asked, leaning forward to look into the opening.

“I have no idea,” he admitted, tapping the support beam against the ground.

Loyd descended carefully, using the support beam to test the soil before placing his weight on it. Harriet followed with the omnitool, while Serria moved sideways to keep her larger body from sliding down the slope.

Loyd listened before crossing inside. A quiet mechanical hum filled the interior, confirming that more than a single light was operating. Something aboard the Ulixes was still functioning.

He raised the support beam and stepped through the opening.

Harriet followed, keeping the omnitool close to his body as he looked along the corridor. Serria entered last, lowering her blades to avoid catching them against the damaged hull.

The hallway was far larger than Loyd had expected. Its ceiling rose several meters above them, while the floor stretched wide enough to move vehicles and heavy equipment through the ship. Doors lined both sides, most of them large enough for Serria to pass through without adjusting her stance.

Colored lines ran along the floor before separating at the first intersection. Each continued into a different hallway, accompanied by human labels identifying where it led. Loyd read them in turn. Red led to Medical, blue to the Mess Hall, grey to Engineering, black to Command, and orange to Storage, while a sixth line was marked Crew Quarters.

Serria examined the lines spreading through the intersection. “Which color do we follow?”

“The red one leads to Medical,” Loyd answered as he stepped beside it.

Harriet looked from the lines to the surrounding corridors. “Does the omnitool contain a map of the vessel?”

“No,” Loyd replied. “We follow the guide lines until we find a directory or reach Medical.”

The red line continued into the central hallway before turning through the second intersection. Loyd took the lead with the support beam held ready, while Harriet walked behind him and Serria guarded the rear.

They reached another intersection after several minutes. The red Medical line crossed four other colors before continuing down the middle passage. Loyd followed it.

The hallway divided again a short distance later. One branch curved upward, another descended, and three continued in different directions across the same level. The red line turned through the corridor on their left.

Harriet glanced back toward the junction. “Why are there so many connected hallways?”

“It was a colony ship,” Loyd explained. “It needed room for equipment, supplies, living quarters, and however many people came down with it.”

“This still appears excessive,” Harriet replied.

Loyd looked down two of the passages they were leaving behind. “Kind of, but I’m sure there’s a reason.”

They continued along the red line as it wound through the ship. Each corridor led to another cluster of intersections, and every intersection divided into several more. Some hallways were wide enough to contain rows of sealed doors, while others remained nearly empty until they connected with another route.

The guide line carried them through all of them without bringing them any closer to an identifiable medical facility.

Serria’s mandibles clicked impatiently as they passed another unlabeled doorway. “How much farther?”

“I don’t know,” Loyd answered.

“You said the line would lead us to Medical.”

“It should.”

They reached another intersection. The red line crossed the floor, curved around one support, and disappeared down the far-right passage. Loyd stopped instead of following it.

Harriet nearly walked into his back. “Why did you stop?”

“We should have reached Medical by now,” Loyd said.

Serria looked back through the halls they had crossed. “Do you know where it is located?”

“No, but we’ve been following this line for nearly half an hour. A medical facility aboard a colony ship should be accessible from the main entrance without walking through half the vessel.”

“The ship may be larger than it appeared outside,” Harriet suggested.

“It could be, but this route still doesn’t make sense.” Loyd crouched beside the red line and examined the word printed beside it. “There should have been signs for emergency treatment, individual departments, or at least a distance marker.”

Harriet lowered his head toward the lettering. “Is it the correct signage?”

The word had looked familiar enough that he had read it without examining it any closer. Now that he was paying attention, the shapes bore little resemblance to the rigid lettering printed beside the ship’s doors.

“It still says Medical,” Loyd explained, “but the problem is the font.”

Serria waited for him to continue. “What does that mean?”

“It’s Comic Sans,” Loyd said, tracing one of the letters with his finger. “A human font- a style of writing.”

“Does the style alter what it says?” Serria asked.

“No,” Loyd replied. “That isn’t the problem. Comic Sans was designed to look informal. Humans use it for children, illustrated stories, casual notices, and things people aren’t supposed to take too seriously.”

“And this style is being used to direct us toward Medical?” Harriet asked.

“Which no safety inspector or ship designer would ever approve,” Loyd replied.

Loyd stood and crossed to the nearest guide line. Engineering had been printed in the same rounded lettering. Crew Quarters used it as well, along with Command and Storage. He moved to the remaining route, running his fingers beneath the lettering.

MESS HALL appeared in squared, uniform letters that matched the labels printed beside the doors.

“Even I can see the difference now that you’ve brought it to my attention,” Harriet observed.

“This one uses official lettering,” Loyd replied.

Serria looked toward the other colored routes. “Then someone added the remaining labels.”

“Or changed them,” Harriet suggested.

Loyd examined the intersections around them. Every route except the Mess Hall line had been marked in Comic Sans, sending anyone who followed it deeper into the network of connected hallways.

“We don’t know where any of those lines actually lead,” Loyd said. “The Medical line could keep circling the ship for hours.”

“Why leave the Mess Hall unchanged?” Serria asked.

“I don’t know,” Loyd answered as he looked down the corridor marked by the only official guide line. “But it’s the only route aboard this ship we have any reason to follow.”

Harriet stepped onto the Mess Hall guide line and turned toward the passage ahead. “Then we follow it and determine where it leads.”

Loyd adjusted his grip around the support beam before joining him. Serria moved behind them, keeping the samples secured between her manipulating appendages as the three of them left the false Medical route behind and followed the only line that appeared authentic deeper into the Ulixes.

Part Eighteen

Recording Two: June 5th 2026

I am so irritated right now you guys.

I’m in the bunk, dead to the world asleep, and BANG! Something slammed into the side of the POD.

What the hell.

I’m standing in front of the bunk looking out the window that overlooks the crater covered ground of OTS 44. I can’t see anything at all. Of course I can’t. There’s no light here.

Looks like I have to go outside. Joy.

Okay, let me go get dressed and find the flash light for my helmet. I’ll come back when I get done.

Recording Three: June 5th 2026

Something keeps shaking the POD.

Those idiots at work told me something was here but they never decided to elaborate on what that was.

Here I am, 22 years old, alone, in space.

Why did I let them do this to me?

“It’s for the new girl. let her go.”

I recall the boss saying that to some coworkers one morning about a week or so before I was knocked out cold and sent here.

I shouldn’t have blown it off. I should have approached him and asked what he was talking about. Maybe if i had more guts I wouldn’t be here.

Anyway, outside we go. And yes, you all are coming with me.

\POD door opening\

Gosh it’s a lot warmer here than I thought it would be.

I’m stepping out of the POD now.

I feel like the POD was hit from the right side. Lucky for me, the door is on the right side.

\light switch on helmet clicks\

Oh my gosh.

\footsteps are heard gaining speed**

I wish I had a camera on here. You all won’t believe me.

There are claw marks, huge claw marks, on the side of the POD.

You guys, there’s blood. THERES BLOOD. I can get out of here!

I’m going to sit you all down again, I have to collect the sample.

Gross. This stuff is so smelly. Like pure iron.

\a top is heard being closed on a bottle\

Okay, now we have to get back inside.

\footsteps are heard slamming to a sudden stop\

That blood won’t get you off this planet

\a gasp is heard\

\the recorder is heard falling into the dirt below\

What the hell are you doing here!?

\Recording ends\

CCLXXXVIII

Trout's Landing, Kobold Warrens.

"We have plenty of fur. We could–"

"None of it is thick enough. The amount we'd need would hinder us more than help." The Trap-Master said before the skirmisher could finish.

Not like he needed to finish saying it. They've gone over a few other plans but the weather and their own biology made any plan moot. The fact of the matter was they couldn't leave the warrens. They'd freeze and die. Likely before they could leave the lodge itself. Which means that wherever Jeb went to, they couldn't follow. Not unless all the snow and ice dried up and the temperature rose a twenty degrees.

The Trap-Master sighed.

"Return to your posts at the entrance of the new tunnels."

The kobolds nodded and departed. Scurrying down the tunnels and away, leaving the Trap-Master to stand in his own personal burrow. He preferred it to the old Game Warden cabin. It was warmer for one thing. There was also only a single way in or out compared to the various windows and giant door of the cabin.

Plus all the maps and information from the cabin was in easy reach and height down here. As was a good number of weapons. His burrow becoming a sort of temporary defacto armory for the tribe until they could excavate a proper one deeper down. Which they'll do once they've properly cleared a suitable section. From the maps and what Jeb has told them there should be a few areas designed to house mining foremen, emergency supplies, and miner quarters.

So far no luck though. What has come back so far most of it is natural tunnels and formations. What mine shafts they've found have been old and the couple of possible shelters have long since collapsed. Though that's not necessarily a bad thing. Better they collapsed already than when they moved in. Now they have obvious places where NOT to excavate shelters.

So far the only threats they've come across is an encounter with some sort of spider creature and it's slaves. When a couple of skirmishers returned to the cavern they were encountered they found the tunnel it went through collapsed and buried. While having a direct avenue from a potential enemy straight to their home blocked off was comforting, what wasn't was the fact that they likely could make new tunnels.

They'll have to be extra cautious in the North West tunnels from now on. The only other "threat" being some sort of... ooze. Or slime. Or something. Apparently it could change shape. Badly. Sure it might catch a simple insect or small rodent or reptile off guard, maybe even someone not used to living underground, but for them it was fairly obvious in its aberration.

It hasn't shown itself a threat to them. It's just followed the scouts that encountered it and little else besides occasionally eating a small insect. Though it has shown remarkable, and somewhat concerning, ability to climb the tunnel walls, ceiling, and any rope or ladders they've made. It's quickly made itself at home in the warrens themselves. Much to the delight of the tribe especially the hatchlings, who take every opportunity to corral the amorphous blob to certain parts of the warren to try and get it to mimic something.

Other than that, all threats have been purely environmental. Acid pools from runoff, structurally weak sections, rusted metal, gas pockets, and the odd nest of vipers. Overall though they've found a wealth of resources that they are more than grateful for and will make good and enthusiastic use of.

One recent development of their sluice way has been a recent congregation of more warm water species making their way into the pool. Something called a hellbender salamander and even freshwater eels! Sure they were small now. But if they could cultivate them they'd have a meal that he deeply missed from their old home.

"Roasted eel." He said with a hint of nostalgia. Blackened crust with delicious fatty flesh beneath roasted on a spit.

In the meantime though, he returned his sight to the maps. The Den Mother had said Jeb went West. But from the maps there wasn't anything out there for leagues but wilderness. Cold. Wet. Wilderness. It made him shiver just thinking about it and stood closer to the nearby balefire for warmth. One thing he was looking forward to was that the deeper they went, the less cold gusts they'd get coming from the entrances.

He heard a fluttering and turned his eyes to a nearby stone shelf. His eyes landed on his raven companion. His raven companion only he could see apparently. For a time he hadn't seen it. Since they've moved into the warrens fully he hasn't. Though from what he's heard around the tribe, he wasn't the only one with a "familiar".

That was about as much as he could get from them. While it seems like a good portion have remained to keep anything else to themselves. Which he didn't blame them. Even though he could see it. Hear it. Even touch and feel it. He wasn't sure it was entirely real or not.

"Flame." The raven croaked in a raspy voice.

"What?"

"Flame." It spoke again as if the single word was enough.

Maybe it was, he thought as he turned his eyes towards the baleful fire. He couldn't help but feel a sort of... gnawing within him. The skirmishers and him all would take turns "bathing" in the flame back on the surface to better handle fishing, then the weather. But it got so bad that it was barely helping. So they stopped.

Yet now that he was thinking about it. Now that he was right there next to it. He could feel the warmth. The comfort. The power. An image formed in his mind as he stared into the flame. His scales ablaze with balefire. Stalking through the woods no matter the weather. Not slowing down. Not stopping. The very flame infusing his rifle with eldritch power.

He reached out his claw and felt the flame tickle his scales. Felt it warm his claw and rise up through his arm and to his core. That gnawing was sated. Barely. Just as it was gone it returned back a thousand fold. It felt like being deprived of food or water and not really realizing it until you had it right there in front of you!

The gnawing in him didn't just want a taste of that warmth. Didn't want just a brief reprieve of the cold. It wanted to be drowned in it. Smothered in it. Engorged with it until there was all it was. As the thought hit him, he understood the raven's words. Flame. As it dawned on him, it was like something clicked into place. Then the fire didn't just warm him. It invaded him! He could feel it. It burned. His scales cracked under the heat as it raced up his arm. Yet it felt good!

"Jeb!" A voice echoed down the tunnel. Causing him to yank his arm free from the flame. He held it in his other claw. It felt raw. Tingling. Hollow. He could move it just fine. But it felt incomplete. Slower. The gnawing returned. Not as aggressive as before. It wasn't sated. But it was content. Content to wait.

He turned towards the raven only to find the stone shelf empty like it hadn't been there at all. He looked back at the flame. It didn't look any different. Didn't look like a living creature that just a second ago was in the process of doing... something to him. He shook his head and left his private burrow and headed down the tunnel. Once he got to the main chamber he encountered Jeb standing there.

"Hey! Y'all alright?"

"Fine. The tunnels have been safe and bountiful so far."

"That's good. Not unexpected. I'd wager few people even know those tunnels exist, even the mine shafts are probably buried in some box somewhere collecting dust and silverfish." Jeb replied.

"Where did you go? The Den Mother was worried."

"Just wanted to... take some precautions is all. Call it a gut feelin'." Jeb evaded cryptically.

"That's it? You disappear for the better part of a day on a gut feeling?"

"Yeah. And if I did my job right, it won't happen again." Jeb said and rapped his knuckles on a nearby wooden beam.

"Will you tell us what exactly you did, or even why you did it?" The Trap-Master asked, more irritably than he wanted to, and even catching himself off guard at the snappy tone.

Jeb, however, didn't seem to notice or mind.

"Just some safety measures is all. Should help in case somethin' DOES happen. Which it won't. Because of what I did."

He rapped on the wooden beam again before smiling cryptically and heading down the tunnel to the burrow he and Ruby shared. He heard her cry out from down the tunnel and could hear them talking. The Trap-Master just sighed and shook his head. He just had to trust Jeb. His eyes glanced to the nearby balefire torches. His gaze holding on them for a long moment before he pulled them away. Which was harder than he thought it should be.

[First] [Prev] [Next]

First

Home at War

“...so there’s the crazy girl trying to seduce a person who’s barely past the point where he’s even considered a species beyond his own in his life and is so insistent in shoving not only her rear but her tail, which I should remind you his species does not have, and then cries conspiracy when the poor man, who is not accustomed to her species at all, does not have the desired reaction.” Herbert explains and Doctor Redhoof sighs dramatically at the tale of one of his own people running into The Undaunted.

“It’s a weakness of my species. We obsess. It makes us masters at whatever craft we care to put our minds to, but it can easily lead us into spirals and absurdity.” Doctor Redhoof says with a sigh.

“That and the extremely on the nose names for things...” Harold teases.

“It’s cultural. The clearer something is named the more clearly it can be communicated. It’s simple logic. But it leads to things like me. I have crimson hued keratin which is mildly rare. So of course I was named after it. It could have been about my coat, hooves or horn, or even about how my green eyes contrast it, but no. We like the obvious. Or at least my culture does.” Doctor Redhoof notes.

“Better than the line of sight names or inheritable names from the other cultures. Not that humans have much room to talk when it comes to inheritable names. We use that too much.” Herbert says. “Still, how do we feel now?”

“Better, but what happens next?”

“We’re going to get you home, but there is something that you need to know about.” Harold says.

“What’s that?”

“We recovered one of your ships. It’s what led us to figuring out you were you so quickly. It’s intact, but the pirates were doing... what I can only assume to be unholy things in there. The chemical scans we’ve gotten out of it suggests that the inhabitants either had some kind of strange ritual thing going on, or didn’t know the difference between general rooms, toilets and morgues.”

“Oh... that’s awful.”

“Right, well that’s also not the point. The ship is still legally yours and registered to the Trade Fleets of your mother’s company. And as the highest ranking member of the crew recovered, you’re captain by default even if you were owners representative and accountant of the fleet.” Harold says.

“Oh... which ship?”

“The Fruit Flower.” He answers and she blinks. Considers and then her face lights up a little before falling.

“My ship. And they’ve done THINGS on it?”

“They’ve done something dirty on it. We’re cleaning it out with low grade lasers and venting the smoke into the void.” He answers.

“That’ll clean it.” She notes. Then thinks. “Hmm... I’m not sure what to do with it.”

“Well it’s yours, so whatever you want.” Harold says. “But I bring it up for another reason. You just confirmed you spent a lot of time on that ship, or was reading too much into things?”

“No, I had my quarters and office on that ship. Granted it was basically a double sized room with a door in the middle, but the point stands.”

“Right, did you have any place where you stashed something? Because if you did and it was stashed well enough, it might still be there.” Harold offers and she thinks.

Doctor Redhoof gives Harold an impressed look at that. Harold winks and the psychiatrist nods with a smirk.

“There might be! I uh... if it’s still there, then... uh... Can you promise no one will read it?”

“A dataslate?” Harold asks.

“A diary. Pen and paper. Hidden in a little divot in the air ducts leading into my office.” She confesses.

“Why would you need that?” Herbert asks.

“I think... yes, it’s where I put the less flattering observations and thoughts about things. We all have them and I dealt with them by writing them down and making up nasty little stories. But it was all handwritten so it wouldn’t be hacked and become a scandal.”

“Of course. Although if it’s extra juicy then me and Herbert here are all for it. We are spy guys after all!”

“You don’t really qualify as spy anymore, you’re way too much!” Herbert chimes up.

“I’m sorry mister so cute he’s literally started riots, what was that about being too much?” Harold asks as he gives Herbert the stinkeye and gets a raspberry in return. Elmira starts to giggle at the exchange. Missing the thumbs up Herbert flashes Harold.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Living Deck, The Fruit Flower, Kaploosha Ornak System)•-•-•

“God damn, what did they even do to get stains up that high?” The Gohb on the little hover skiff asks as he has turned the main light of his vehicle straight up. He as in an environmentally sealed suit along with the other three Gohb men and pair of Kohbs scanning the ship for anything useful that wasn’t tainted.

“It’s primarily carbon now and who knows whatever it was before.” The next Salvager states.

“Laser scoured feces. No I don’t know why.” The Kohb Biologist notes.

“I’m less concerned about the why and more on the how. The roof is damn near caked in it. Was this done repeatedly over a long period or all at once? Either way, disgusting.” The Kohb Chemist adds.

“Actually we’ve cracked that. A bunch of pirates kept personal notes. Apparently the trading fleet identified as The Bountiful Harvest put up way more of a fight than they thought and they got a much smaller take than they hoped. So they started soiling the ships deliberately as revenge. The rest of them they had to use for parts to repair their own ships. Leaving only four ships from the small fleet, two of which were destroyed in the first three months since it’s capture.” Dispatch calls and clarifies things.

“So petty revenge and deliberate sabotage. Stupid, stupid stupid, there’s a reason feces smells terrible. It’s just asking for a bevy of infectious diseases.” The Biologist states out loud.

“No one here disagrees.” The lead Salvager says as they reach the indicated door. “Still, if you think they treated the ships badly, what do you think they did to the people they captured? We’ve only recovered one of them. A Synth woman who’s body at the time was the sort of things that I’d have slapped together to go around and slap my sisters when I was seven.”

“Did you actually do that?” The Chemist asks.

“Twice before they stopped trying to deliberately piss me off. Fighting back works wonders.” The Salvager says. “Okay here’s the door.”

It’s no longer functional. In fact the area looks even more badly damaged than most of the ship’s internals. The fact they kept their destructive tendencies away from the load bearing struts and walls was clearly a miracle.

The door is broken, but easily forced with a hydraulic jaw to spread it nice and wide.

There is an impressed whistle from one of the Salvagers. “Damn! No one touch anything, I need to scan for live surfaces, no way in hell the cables around here aren’t shredded or something.”

“You’re the electrician.”

“That I am.” He says before scanning the area. Then using Axiom to telekinetically shift some things around and uncovered exposed wires pouring a charge into the floor of the room before covering them in electrical tape as a temporary measure. “We need to fully cut the power to this area. I’ve seen less destructive explosions.”

“We did.” Dispatch says. “The ship has been upgraded to have reserve micro-generators, and they’re not on the official schematics. Meaning the pirates did it.”

“Fuck.” The Electician grunts. “I like this place even less now and I was already about to advocate for scrapping this filthy deathtrap.”

“Yeah, but we have a legal owner on The Inconceivable, meaning it’s not our call. But it is my recommendation.” The Lead Salvager says as he floats up to the vent and unhooks it from the wall. It’s stuck on with all the grime. He pulls it off and lets it clatter. He then sends in a tiny and very basic drone to scan through it.

It finds a divot with a sealed container making it flush to the rest of the vent. Axiom and a bit of finagling brings the container out. It’s lid is metal, but the rest is plastic. It’s got a fountain pen, inkwell and leather bound book inside.

“This is it boys. Maybe the last thing on this ship belonging to our sole survivor that isn’t smashed, soiled or both.” He says.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (System Edge, Kaploosha Ornak System)•-•-•

The lens of a drone covered in stealth panels adjusts itself. It had been sent to long term observe a system. The low powered device was so unobtrusive that it would have to be more or less rammed into to be detected in the black. It did however mean that it took minutes to fully register what most ships could do in milliseconds. And at these ranges.

Hours pass as the tiny device intakes all the information it can. Then it sends out a single tiny alert with a snapshot of the system and the time.

Then it detonates.

It is so far away from the Ambush Fleet that the tiny plume of thermal energy is dismissed as space debris colliding at sufficient speeds to cause a slight reaction. A very, very normal state of affairs.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Elmira’s Temporary Quarters, The Inconceivable, Kaploosha Ornak System)•-•-•

She slowly opens the container. She wanted to be alone when she read it again and... “Oh? The ink is still mostly good.”

She sets aside the still sealed inkwell and pen and pulls out the book. The weight is growing more familiar by the moment and she runs her hands over the Lalgarta leather and smiles.

Her handwriting in the book is swooping and in the Huraga language. All designed with a little hook at the top because they were copies of clan symbols and signals that were hung from branches and vines in the ancient past. Formal Huraga calligraphy always included the hooks.

“Oh... Bali...” She mutters as she reads the little blurb where she had mused that if the woman ever got married there was no way she’d be regarded as anything more than the boring one. “I miss you.”

Bali had died when the holdout room had been breached. A single overcharged shot of plasma and the Drin woman was gone from the shoulders up.

She keeps reading. Little nitpicks and complaints about the girls in her fleet, about... about all of them. Right. She had put the book away as a time capsule so that she’d see if her opinion on the girls changed after a few years, and she had accentuated the negative to give them a sort of glow up.

She decides to remember the bad, to remind herself of all the good. She had met everyone in her fleet at least once, and while she wasn’t the captain in any fleet, she was still in some way responsible for all of them as her mother’s representative in the fleet itself.

Holographic tears well in her synthetic eyes and pour down her muzzle before falling. But they’re projections, they fade away as they strike the paper. They don’t wet or distort it.

She notices this and can’t help but consider that her tears can’t do anything for the dead, for good or ill.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Bridge, The Inconceivable, Kaploosha Ornak System)•-•-•

“Everyone, on alert.” Harold says suddenly.

“What? Why?” Orchid asks.

“I don’t know. Something is up.”

“What?”

“I have no idea.” He says as he starts looking around and then turning in his command couch. He stands up from it and keeps scanning before looking straight down. He openly ponders things and then sits back down and brings up the exact orientation of The Inconceivable and then blinking. “Directly from La’ahbaron.”

“La’ahbaron current events...” Orchid brings up. “Increased tension with the Therasite Republic. The Ochre Party is getting increased prominence due to the declaration of war and an increased Anti-La’ahbaron sentiment growing. Common slogans relate to how horrible their neighbours are when their foes are resorting to neural clamps to be rid of them. The Orchre party remains a minority however, but has stolen from the Kinesis Party a little and jumped up to six percent from four in the share of the voters. The Amber Fleet of La’ahbaron is under scandal due to several unnamed noble Ibu houses trying to force their children into prominent leadership positions to retroactively soak up some glory. A historical library in one of the core worlds was struck by the opposing Vish forces resulting in total devastation and a large number of cultural artifacts and handwritten scrolls and books have been reduced to ash. Interestingly I’m not seeing anything in the way of a partially recovered scroll. Meaning that we either have looting going on or some unusually thorough incendiary weapons.”

“All of it interesting. But this feels different. Physical. Like someone wants to punch me in the face.”

“Merely an intrusive thought on my end.” Orchid confesses/jokes.

“No! No, it’s not that.” Harold nearly bursts out laughing then sobers up immediately. “Something, something is coming. But it’s very far away.”

First Last

(Chap 1) (Previous) (Next)

Still hanging near the window, Crow stared back and interrupted him. “Is this where the party’s at?”

The assassin, wrapped in a dark gray cloak, wore a look of utter confusion as he tried to process the situation. He quickly reached under his cloak, but as he took out a dagger, Crow grabbed him by the collar and pulled him. The guy tried to resist, smashing his forehead straight into the left side of the window frame. The glass exploded into pieces, and a stray shard flew into Crow’s face, barely missing his eyes. The man tumbled backward into the foul-smelling room.

Man, lucky for me most Rogues are squishy, and this one was way too slow, to boot.

Crow pulled himself up and stepped inside. “Cough...” He covered his nose immediately.

Man, it smells like rotting fish in here. How was this guy even conscious? Ah, now it makes sense why his reaction time was so slow; his brain was probably starved of oxygen.

He checked his surroundings to make sure no one was around, then bent down to grab the fallen man's cloak. But as his hand drew near, he pulled back.

No way. This thing is way too filthy; I'm getting out of this room.

Crow slipped quickly through the open door and looked at the hallway. It was empty. The walls seemed to be made of painted brick, and the furniture was well-kept wood. He moved ahead until the air finally began to clear.

Alright, what was I here to do again? Right, right... lack of oxygen really messes with your head. If I were hiding someone in this guild, where would I put them? Hmm... beats me. I'm no kidnapper. Better just interrogate someone. I'll wait at the bottom of the stairs; that way I can watch the area without being seen and grab the first person who gets isolated near me.

"She's pretty cute, isn't she? Her face... ah, she's gorgeous. I really want her..." a dwarf in a black cloak said with a mournful tone.

"Pretty, very pretty... shame she bites," an average-sized man replied. "Honestly, I feel like the guy didn't pay us enough to keep her in our special room."

The dwarf grunted, looking uneasy. "Yeah, I think so too. A vampire would never come to this city alone. Imagine if her allies find out."

The other man shrugged it off. "Nah, you weren't there, so you wouldn't know what he told us, but it's not a problem. Relax. Besides, who'd be crazy enough to break into our guild? Even the paladins stay away."

Their voices stopped when they parted ways.

Special room... The dwarf is coming this way. I'll wait behind this curtain.

The dwarf's voice was getting closer. "Tony? I can see your foot, man. Why do you always do that? Wait, that foot's too big—"

The dwarf was caught off guard as Crow grabbed him by the throat with one hand and lifted him up. Clamping his other hand over the dwarf’s mouth, Crow whispered, "Shh... You're pretty light. What are you, eighty pounds? Ah, right, you can't talk."

The dwarf thrashed, punching Crow's arm; sadly for him, it didn’t do much. He then tried to swing at his face, but couldn't reach it either.

Crow glanced around the hallway to see if anyone was watching, then tightened his grip and whispered, "Point toward the special room. Better do it fast before you pass out from lack of air."

The dwarf's arms dropped limp, his right hand weakly pointing down the hall.

"Make a sound and I'll break your neck instantly. You'll just nod to confirm if I'm heading the right way. Make one wrong move and... well, you know the rest." Crow let go, dropping the dwarf onto his back. The dwarf hit the ground, gasping greedily for air.

Crow gestured with his head. "Lead the way. If you run, you die. Take me to that special room. If anyone shows up and gets suspicious, you die as well."

The dwarf didn't flinch. Instead, he started making strange head movements, a series of frantic nods, twisting left and right between each one... Creepy.

Right, this guy just glitched out of fear, probably, but that doesn't matter. They think the paladins don't invade this place out of fear, but the truth is they don't even know about this guild's real activities at this point in the story. There are countless conflicts happening simultaneously that are infinitely worse than this place. The rogues here are all weak; there are what, maybe five at most who are problematic? Since in the lore they train a lot before reaching the specific quest, I can assume they must have about ten times the strength of this dwarf, so it's fine.

They walked a bit, and two men in gray cloaks appeared, getting close to the dwarf and Crow. One of them passed close by, looked at him, and said, "I can't believe we have to put up with this every single day. What an unbearable fart stench, man, get away from me, this is crazy..."

Crow just walked straight past and kept following the dwarf. The guys didn't even suspect a thing for some reason.

This doesn’t make sense and is suspicious... OH, I get it, they think I'm one of the guys who was in that room and I took off my cloak because of the smell. And it makes sense; I was going to grab the guy's cloak in the room, but it was unbearable so I didn't.

After passing through a gate, which had no one guarding it, they found a spiral staircase.

I recognize these stairs. In medieval war simulation games, I remember some of my castles having them; they were designed so that when the invaders drew their swords, they couldn't attack the person above them because the sword would hit the stone wall on the right—

The dwarf stopped climbing the stairs, turned around quickly, and thrust a dagger at Crow's stomach while shouting, "DO YOU THINK I'M DUMB!?"

Soundlessly, Crow simply grabbed the dwarf's hand, stopping the piercing attack. Upon realizing this, the dwarf gasped, “What?” then he twisted his wrist and tried to slash Crow's wrist, all while using the side of the staircase to prevent Crow from using his other hand against him, with only a little over half of his body exposed.

Crack.

Crow didn't need much effort. He crushed the hand holding the knife, and while still holding it, he slammed it hard into the face of the dwarf, who fell onto the stairs and passed out.

Right, I knew this could happen when I saw these stairs, but the question is, does this lead to the special room or not? Well, they did come from this direction earlier, so there's a chance it does... And since it's a different room, and they were also paid to hold the vampire, who I assume is Sharon, this staircase is undoubtedly a defense system—

"Did you like that? Did you think it was just him?" a voice behind Crow said, after stabbing him in the back with a dagger without making a sound.

[DANGER!]

[POISON DETECTED!]

Right... this time I admit, I slipped up. I should have kept looking back while climbing the stairs every few seconds.

He spun around, and as he did, the blade tore further into his body. It managed to cut into a small section of flesh just above his waist on the left side, where the sword wasn't covering his back.

Slash!

As Crow spun his body, he swung and delivered a heavy slap directly to the Rogue's face. The Rogue hit his head against the wall and grew dizzy, but in that split second, he managed to land another strike to Crow's stomach, trying to slice it open in one hit, which failed due to Crow's high CON stat. Immediately after, Crow grabbed the guy by the throat while his other hand pinned the Rogue’s dagger hand.

"Right, that wasn't cool... so here's the deal; I didn't want to kill anyone here so I wouldn't mess up the canonical event where you guys get in the Hero's way... but my patience has limits."

The man who had been lifted off the steps, with his dagger already on the floor and now using both hands to try to loosen the grip on his neck, whispered, "S-story? Hero? L-let me go... I, I..."

Crow loosened his grip a little so the guy could breathe and asked, "Is the special room up these stairs or not?"

"I-it is, if you go up you will find the special roo—"

Crack.

[CONGRATULATIONS!]

[New Passive Skill Acquired!]

[Poison Resistance Level 1]

Description: After being seriously poisoned for the 4th time in your life, your body began to develop a slight resistance to poison.

This is bad…

Crow fell to his knees on the stairs near the dwarf. He picked up the dagger on the floor, the one belonging to the man who had stabbed him, slid it through his belt, and then placed both hands around the dwarf's neck.

Where is my Strength?

Crack.

[CONGRATULATIONS!]

[New Passive Skill Acquired!]

[NeckBreaker Level 1]

Description: When trying to break a neck, somehow it is 10% easier.

I need… some antidote.

He ripped off the dwarf's cloak, stood up, and tried to improvise a bandage with it while he kept climbing the stairs.

[To think that after taking this much deadly poison you're still alive and kept climbing the stairs… In my time, we called a warrior who could do this an Aura Monster. You know, for using Aura… You can use it, right? Or are we cooked?]

Aura? What is that?

[We're cooked. I'll see what I can do about it, but the best way was to use Aura. Being a warrior without Aura is certain death; you can't rely on pure strength forever…]

Right, now the situation has worsened to an impossible level to deal with.

He looked at the dagger and focused on analyzing it while trying to stop the bleeding from his stomach.

[Status]

Magical Dagger.

Description: It has magical power imbued in it, and some poison from snakes, scorpions, and other unknown sources.

Great…

[Deadly Poison progressing to Stage 2]

[DANGER!]

[Deadly Poison stat check...]

[Target CON stat too high]

[Deadly Poison stat check failed]

At least it’s not getting worse; one way or another, going back injured is bad. My only way out of this now is to rescue her and maybe break a window and leave. Man, this is game over; I made the wrong decision. Maybe I should have... ah, I don't know, it's too late now; the only option is to just keep moving forward.

He continued going up, but this time he would occasionally stop to check if anyone was climbing up behind him. After a short while, he reached the upper floor.

No guards... it's "too good" to be true.

"Cough..." He kept going straight toward the double doors. As he approached, he crouched down, keeping one hand on his stomach to hold back some of the bleeding; the wound on his back didn't bleed as much since it was just a puncture.

This cloak isn't enough; ah, how I wish I had a cleric. Apparently there's no one in the room. I can even see something in the back, but I can't tell what it is. I don't feel any presence, but rogues aren't easy to spot. Man, if I told someone what I'm doing, they'd call me an idiot, risking myself this much for a woman. I won't lie and say I'm not doing this because I want her to live, but even if I didn't want to, going back injured means death; it's all or nothing now.

He pushed open the hall doors and walked in, leaving them open. As he drew closer, he saw a silhouette at the far end.

[Deadly Poison progressing to Stage 2]

[DANGER!]

[Deadly Poison stat check...]

[Target CON stat too high]

[Target in a weakened state]

[Deadly Poison stat check succe—]

[Target has Poison Resist Magic Active]

[…]

[Kid, I am using my magic power to slow down the progression of this poison… but I'm getting sleepy, sorry… we’re… cooked. To think someone is going to kidnap me again after this… Ah right, I forgot to tell you… somehow, you are the only person who can hear me, I found this out at that Grandma's base, who somehow got roasted there, crazy… Anyway… this seems to be a farewell… but I will use the last of my mana to keep the Information Magic active, since you seem to like it so much… so I was also going to tell you—]

Going to tell?

[CONGRATULATIONS!]

[New Passive Skill Acquired!]

[Iron Will]

Descripti—

Thud!

Crow collapsed to the ground, his vision starting to fade.

It seems the bleeding and the poison are about to finish me off... if I survive this... I'm going to find a way to become immune to poison.

"You came... I confess I thought you wouldn't." A young woman's voice.

He got up from the ground, still unable to see clearly, only spotting a silhouette ahead. "Yeah, I came, but I slipped up at the last second... and got stabbed in the back... anyway, rogues, you know how it is—cough..."

[Level Up!]

[Pain Resistance Level 1 > 2]

Getting closer to her, he was able to see that her eyes were already healed, or at least that's what it looked like since everything was too blurry to be sure. "Did you see any exit? Honestly, I can't even think; it must be the poison..." Still speaking, he drew his sword and used it to cut the ropes binding her.

This stuff is really tough, but still, this holding her back feels so forced.

"Yeah, I know what you're thinking... it doesn't make sense, right? Well, they used lavender among other things to poison me, they had some kind of needle... well, it doesn't matter anymore... Crow, are you okay? Your heartbeat sounds strange."

“Good question…” He freed her legs, and now moved to her hands, starting with the right one. She was sitting in a chair similar to a prisoner strapped into an electric chair for execution. "Can you... fight, Sharon? Honestly... I think I'm going to pass out in a few minutes..."

"Probably not... I have the strength of… no, probably half the strength of Sophia."

To think she said almost the exact same thing as Alice.

Crow started to laugh softly as he heard that. He had finished untying her right hand and moved to the left hand. "Cough... sorry." He ended up coughing up blood onto her. "Are you hurt? Honestly, I'm seeing everything blurry..."

She looked into his eyes, then lowered her head a little, her hair veiling her gaze. “...”

“Sharon?” He saw two gleaming points in the area of her mouth. Since everything was blurry, he didn't see her licking her lips where his blood had splashed when he coughed. He was almost done cutting the last rope made of some strange material, certainly anti-vampire when the yank came.

Hm?

(Next)

They reached the iron floor trap in the late afternoon.

Roman stopped at the edge of the Iron floor and studied it. The metal walkway was more than 20 meters wide. It was set into the ground, flush with the ground on either side. There was no way around it.

Small symbols were etched along its edges, pulsing with a faint blue glow.

V'rak stepped up beside Roman. "It's wider than I expected."

"How does it work?" S’ra asked.

Lirael tilted her head. "When activated, the bar carries a powerful electrical charge. Anything that steps on it is instantly incapacitated. The charge is designed to cause complete loss of motor control and is lethal."

Roman studied the walkway. "Can we go around it?"

"No, it goes all around the perimeter so we can’t walk around it."

"So we have to go through."

V'rak turned to the group. "How do we do that?"

No one answered.

They sat silent on the grass at the edge of the Iron floor, looking at the town beyond.

They were so close. And yet so far.

V'rak broke the silence. "A humanoid could pass through."

Roman turned to him. "What?"

" The outer layers of Humanoids are made of plastic. They're not conductive. The electricity wouldn't affect them."

Roman's brow furrowed. "Lirael?"

She shook her head. "The Iron floor fries anything that walks on it. That includes humanoids. The electrical charge is designed to affect all materials. Plastic would melt. Metal would conduct. The circuits inside a humanoid would be destroyed."

No one answered. Roman stood. He looked at the Iron floor and then he turned to the group.

"We rest first, maybe even until tomorrow. Eat. Hydrate. Let our bodies recover. "

Morning came slowly as the iron floor gleamed in the sunrise.

Roman sat near it, watching Mukit. His body ached. His mind churned. But he was calm.

He called the group together.

"Everyone," he said. "Humanoids too. Come here."

They gathered in a loose circle. V'rak and K'len sat close together. S'ra settled beside them. And Lirael stood with the humanoids.

Roman looked at each of them. "We need to get past that floor. I want ideas. No idea is too small. No idea is too stupid. Just talk."

S'ra spoke first. "We could build a tower. Something tall enough to jump over the floor."

Roman shook his head. "The guards would see us. And we'd need to go back to the forest to get it. That would take days."

V'rak considered. "What about covering it with grass? If we throw enough grass on it, maybe it would block the charge."

He stood and walked to the edge of the Iron floor. He gathered a handful of grass and tossed it onto the metal surface. It landed softly, scattered across the walkway. Nothing happened.

Roman watched. "It didn't fry."

Lirael stepped forward. "The grass doesn't conduct electricity. But it wouldn't protect us. The Iron floor has multiple sensors. It would still detect us and activate."

Roman looked at the group. His eyes moved across their faces. Then his gaze landed on one of the humanoids. A female. Her body was scarred and worn and her face was blank.

"What do you think?" Roman asked.

Everyone turned. The humanoid's eyes moved slowly, focusing on Roman.

"I do not have opinions," she said. "I follow orders."

Roman stood. He walked to her and looked her in the eyes. "I'm not giving you an order. I'm asking for your thoughts."

The humanoid stared at him.

"You've carried us. Watched over us. Pulled us from the river. You've earned the right to speak."

V'rak's body tightened. "Roman, what are you doing?"

"Giving her a voice."

The humanoid's face remained blank.

"I would offer myself as bait," she said. "I can walk onto the Iron floor. Test its limits. See if there is a weak point. If I survive, you follow. If I do not, you try something else."

Roman shook his head. "No."

The humanoid tilted her head. "Why not?"

"Because you've earned your right to survive." Roman looked at her, at all the humanoids, their scarred bodies and blank faces. "All of you. You carried our supplies. You carried us. You saved our lives. You are not expendable."

"We are machines," she said. "We were built to serve."

Roman returned to his position and continued staring at the iron floor.

K'len stood suddenly. "I have an idea."

Everyone turned.

"We dig a tunnel under the Iron floor."

Lirael's face shifted. "That's... that's actually a good idea."

K'len continued, his voice gaining strength. "The Iron floor is set into the ground. But it only goes a certain depth. If we dig beneath it, we can bypass the charge entirely."

Roman looked at the ground. The soil was soft. Loamy. Diggable.

"How deep?" he asked.

Lirael's eyes were distant, calculating. "I am not sure but its not that deep, I believe we can dig below it."

V'rak stared at K'len. His face broke into something Roman had never seen before. Pure, unguarded joy.

"You did it," V'rak said.

K'len hissed. "I just thought of it. That's all."

"That's everything." V'rak stepped forward and pulled K'len into a Trab hug. "I am so happy you're finally back."

Roman stood back and watched them celebrate, happy that they had found a good idea and that K’len, who was distant and unbothered since the bombing, had finally become active and helped them come up with the idea.

 First Previous Royal Road

I was half expecting the ravenkin to immediately grab Aranya and do the ceremony, but it seems that, in the rush to defend the keys, they didn’t find time to plan what to actually do for it. Sure, speeches and whatnot, but what should they say? Where should they say it? So now they’re running about like chickenkin with their heads chopped off, preparing for the ceremony to officially become dwellers.

Which is good for Aranya, because she gets a bit of time to decompress and to help Larx with the administration of the cathedral and everything. He’s been doing a great job, and I think Aranya is going to be happy to leave him in charge again if the need arises, but there are a few things she needs to attend to, like meeting with the delegations from the others.

It’s a pretty informal affair with the representatives of the other deities. They’re already working with my people and with everyone else, it’s just good to make sure they get to meet my Head Priestess and double check that everything’s going well, which it is. I only pay half attention to the meeting, though, because there’s other things to keep my attention that might actually need it right now.

First is Doppler’s trick to undo a knot of stagnation. My other scions have him repeat it enough times that he can probably do it in his sleep, if he ever slept. I would say he could do it with his eyes closed, but I don’t think he technically has those, either. The point is, despite there not being a knot nearby for him to actually take apart, the concept works well on ordinary knots in rope and such, so he’s getting good practice.

It’s also looking like he might be the only one that can really do it. Well, him and Slash. Rocky has the affinity and the control to theoretically do it, but my zombie can’t carry a tune in a bucket, and a major part of the whole trick is in fine tuning on the fly. That doesn’t stop him from relentlessly hounding Doppler to train and help him practice, but I think Rocky is taking the concept in a different direction, and is more trying to make sure Doppler can handle himself in a more proper fight.

Thanks to his trick, he’s probably going to be very important for dealing with the Betrayer. I don’t think he’s going to be topping any lists for strongest fighting scion any time soon, but luckily for him, Sue is intending to shore up exactly that sort of weakness. My big T-Rex girl has been diligently training with Fluffles while Rocky was gone, and now he’s back, she’s showing off for him.

I think the wildest part of her style is how often she uses gravity to do things I’d more expect out of Pul than out of a huge dinosaur. Seeing her run up and along the walls and ceilings really shows how good she’s gotten with gravity, and I think she’s taken a bit of a page out of Rocky’s book in how she manages her mana.

My zombie likes to spend a lot of his mana up front and then keep recycling it through his affinities. While gravity isn’t great for trying to recycle into other things, it is very happy to stick around once a gravity well is formed. So she tends to create a couple wells at the start, and then use the rest of her mana to move them around. Even more interesting, she can flip the direction of them without spending too much, turning the pulls into pushes and making it all the harder for a foe to adjust their aim accordingly.

Rocky still eventually leaves her battered and bruised after a good spar, but even he has to take the time to whittle her down. His larger attacks are easier for her to disrupt and redirect, so the only real way to beat her is with a thousand cuts, which is exactly what a tank should strive for.

The spar gives me an idea for the sub, too, and I ask Teemo to brave the whirlwind that is Thing and Queen to deliver it.

Them and the antkin are still working out the design details from the concept document, and I have one more to give them that should solve one of the major problems: pressure. Teemo pretends to be offended that his suggestion of using spatial affinity to fix it may be left by the wayside, but he knows it’s a major problem we need to fix if we’re going to get anyone to the Betrayer.

Thing and Queen are each in separate workshops at the moment, each organizing their workspace in the large sub docks that are still under construction. I direct Teemo to Thing first, since I think this idea will be an enchanting solution, not an alchemical one.

Thing doesn’t even notice Teemo at first, and my Voice chuckles to himself as my hand scion skitters all around, levitating things left, right, and center. After a few seconds, Teemo clears his throat and speaks up.

“Heya Thing. Boss has an idea to fix the whole ‘crushing pressure’ thing.”

Thing freezes for a moment, as does everything levitating around. He snaps his fingers, sending everything into whatever space is available, and brings his own notebook to bear, eagerly awaiting my suggestion.

Teemo eyes him for a moment before he continues. “So, Boss says that pressure is basically the weight of everything above pressing down on something, right? Well, weight is dependent on gravity. If we can enchant the sub to be a little bubble that forces gravity to flow around it, instead of down onto it directly, it should be a lot easier to handle.”

Thing slaps his palm against the floor, which I’m pretty sure is his version of a facepalm, before he scribbles furiously in the book. Looking over his knuckles, it looks like he’s working on runes to do just that. I gently pat the bond, not wanting to knock him out of his focus, but still wanting to make sure he understands I appreciate his work.

And he’s not the only one who’s work I appreciate. Doppler gets a pat as well, but I also want to have a chat with Pul and his little mind shadow trick. I call it little, but it also gives me ideas, and Pul is the only one who could act on them. Well, maybe Onyx, but I don’t want to spell things out, lest I accidentally get another domain on accident.

Chatting with Pul is easy, at least. I wait for dark, wanting to give him plenty of time to catch up with his folks and hopefully for them to head off to bed, then Teemo slips into his room. By now, I think Pul is used to this, and he doesn’t even flinch when Teemo lands on his pillow and whispers “Hey Pul. Feeling up to another bit of night schooling?”

He opens his eyes and looks at Teemo without turning his head, looking rather tempted to just get some sleep, but he instead sighs and sits up. “Alright. I learned a lot on the quest, and I do want to talk about it.”

Teemo gives him a thumbs up. “Want a shortcut, or can you slip through shadows on your own now?”

“I’m… still not very good at it yet. Shortcut, please. Let me get dressed first.” Teemo nods and gives him some privacy, waiting outside his door. He exits a few minutes later in full kit, prepared for whatever I’m going to throw at him. Or at least thinking he’s ready for it.

Teemo leads him through a shortcut and to the Lecture Hall, where Honey is actually situated at a desk, ready to take some notes. It figures she could smell information better than pollen, and unlike the rest of the nerd squad, she’s not currently occupied with a project. I don’t think that’ll change tonight, but you never know.

Teemo motions for Pul to have a seat, then settles himself on the lecture podium, using some gravity to levitate a bit of chalk. “So, Boss has been watching you and your shadow practice, and he really likes your shadow clone things. Refining them will give you a powerful and versatile tool, but that’s not actually why he wants to talk with you right now.”

Pul sits up a little straighter, and Honey gives an eager buzz as Teemo continues. “He’s still not very confident in knowing anything about shadow affinity, but if you can make a shadow of a mind, it reminds him of something else he’s not confident in his personal knowledge of. But there’s a concept that fits too well for him to ignore, and could be something to make your shadow affinity incredibly potent.”

Teemo lets that sink in for a moment, and Pul looks riveted to what we have to say, so my Voice soon continues. “Your clone draws attention, but too much makes it unravel. The natural assumption would be that people are spotting the little flaws and learn to ignore it. But some things actually do change when looked at. The trick, then, would be to make sure it changes in a way that favors you.”

Pul looks confused, but Honey is scribbling like mad, the little bee already knowing the concept enough to understand where I’m going, but I’m deliberately being vague for Pul. “Because Boss thought shadow was just an absence of light, but after seeing you make a shadow of a mind, it might be more about the traces left behind by things, the little disturbances that reveal something's existence.”

He chuckles at Pul’s continued confusion. “Just try to keep using shadows more metaphorically, instead of only literal shadows, and keep in mind that things can be literally more than they first appear.”

Pul still looks confused, but I think he at least has something to think about, instead of simply being completely lost. I’d like to try to explain more to him, but I really don’t know much about the subject.

Quantum stuff is weird, and I at first thought it might be part of Fate affinity. But after seeing Pul’s shadow clones, and how none of my scions have even brushed against quantum weirdness even with them all having Fate, I wonder if it belongs in shadow instead. It makes a certain amount of sense for shadow affinity to govern something that does its best nonsense when nobody’s looking.

<<First <Previous [Next>]

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Previous / First

"W-what?" I couldn't help but blurt out as the cursed creature kneeled. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. This thing was the stuff of legends and nightmares, and here it was, laid low before our resident demon.

"Uhhhhh, yeah no problem buddy." Ted spoke up and stood awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with the attention he's getting.

"WHAT?!?!?!???!?!?????" I couldn't help but shout as the absolute insanity of the scene kept hitting me in waves. As I shout, Ted whips his head around to look at me, the stare sending a shiver down my spine. It isn't like he's giving me any particular look other than surprise, but the speed at which he spun his head to look at me and his alien features are just unnerving.

"What? Flak what's wrong?" Ted seems concerned at my outburst, looking at Krok his face is painted with the same confusion and apprehension. It seems however, he is having a better time keeping his confusion to himself.

"I-I have no idea what to think about all of this. What in the hells is going on????? Why is the Woodsman of all things, literally KNEELING AT YOUR FEET???" As I shout out my confusion, the creature in question glances up at me with it's glowing amber pupils, and in a weak, wavering growl, it addresses me.

"Hrrnnnnggg- b-broke thrrrhhh- th-thee currrsseeeee-" It was my turn to whip my head around as the beast spoke in that unnerving voice. It speaks like it is unfamiliar with speech passing through it's wooden mouth. Once again a shiver slides down my spine causing the tip of my tail to twitch and sway nervously. Thankfully though, Ted takes the attention of the beast away from me.

"The curse? So that's what those threads were. Cutting that connection to whatever cursed you probably broke the hold on you." Ted glanced around at the beast, then Krok, then me. He looks nervous as we all just stand there looking shocked, even the beast somehow looks surprised. Ted quickly looked away as a bead of liquid slides off his forehead and he quickly stumbles over his words. "Uhm, I-It's just a theory! I can't be sure, but I mean what else could it be?"

The beast seems to look away in thought before it slowly nodded it's head, seemingly agreeing with Ted's assessment of the situation. Ted seemed to light up a bit at someone affirming his idea. I suppose it is the thing that makes the most sense to me at the moment. While I am able to use magic with some more ease than the average Kobold, I am by no stretch of the imagination a competent mage or wizard. I would not know for sure if Ted is correct or not, I barely know anything about curses. I mainly know the legend of the Woodsman, and I also know that curses are incredibly difficult, if not impossible, to break. Ted said so himself that he has never seen magic before today, yet he can wield it better than any magic trainee, and even better than most mages. I fear what he could do with even a little bit of practice and training, or does he even need to train? Ugh, I don't know, as far as I know he could actually be a real demon from myth and magic just comes to him as if he were made of it.

While I am distracted by this thought, out of the corner of my eye I see Ted move closer to the monster, reaching down to it. "Here bud, let me help you up. Must have been terrifying to be cursed like tha-" He barely manages to lift up the wooden creature before a booming, raspy voice shouts at him.

"NO!" I flinch at the sound and the glint of metal as Commander Krok expertly tosses a dagger from his belt at the monster, likely intending to separate the two, but a sickening crunch and a snarl emenates.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

I flinch at the sound of Krok shouting in his booming voice. His burns have left some rasp in his voice as he launches a knife in my direction. It's moving too fast, I cant stop it. Is Krok trying to kill me???

My thoughts are snapped away as the dagger finds purchase with a dull crack, but I never felt any impact or pain. Instead, realizing I have been squeezing my eyes shut in anticipation of the pain, I spot something that makes my eyes widen in surprise. Flak has his jaw hanging in silent shock at the scene, and the color drains from Krok's pale burned flesh and pale green scales. A wet snarl echoes from the wooden lizardman's chest as it seems that in a flash it had stepped in front of me as if to guard me from the blade. Said blade's hilt is sticking out from the wooden man's outstretched palm.

"Jesus H Christ on a bicycle! What the fuck are you doing Krok?! Are you trying to kill me?!" I shout incredulously at the man who seems to be recovering from the shock as he draws his own short sword. I thought he was supposed to be indebted to me for saving his life, is he switching up on me after my display?

"No Ted! I was aiming for the beast! Step away from it, you don't know if it isn't dangerous or not! I will not let this thing harm you!" Oh, well I guess that clears things up a bit, but that doesn't mean he should just go tossing knives around when he gets concerned for my safety! Before I can keep giving Krok a piece of my mind, the wooden man instead speaks up, struggling to form the right words in his mouth as he pulls the dagger from his hand.

"Hrrnnngh, y-youuu da-daree to bring hhharm to myyyy ssssavioorrr?! Then ack-accuse meee of being d-dangrous?!" It then snarls as it brandishes the blade that was just embedded in it's bark skin. The place where it yanked the blade out seems to be slowly gushing more amber fluid, as if it were blood. It's hard to tell if it's some kind of honey or even tree sap, it seems viscous enough to be either. Seeing the attempt to protect me as it holds it's free arm out as if to better protect me with it's body and the sight of the gushing wound it received in an attempt to protect me just pissed me off.

"Would you both just shut the hell up?!" I push past the wooden creature and stand between the two bipedal creatures trying to protect me in their own ways. Looking at the two it was clear my outburst had the desired effect, and then some. The wooden guy looks dejected, like I just kicked his puppy and then stomped on his heart, if he even has one. Krok seems more put together, but I can tell he feels a bit ashamed as I reprimand him. I sigh, Krok seems convinced that he has to stay with me until death and must guard me until his last breath, and the weird wooden lizard guy's first action after being freed from his curse was to act like a- well not a human shield and not a meat shield either considering he's made of plants, whatever, he tried protecting me and suffered a pretty nasty wound as a result.

"Ugh, sorry for yelling, but seriously Krok, don't throw knives in my general direction and then get surprised when I get upset. Look, he immediately jumped to protect me thinking my life was in danger, if he's dangerous, it shouldn't be to us." Turning to look at our sappy friend I notice he has perked up a bit at me standing up for him, but when his glowing amber pupils meet my eyes he shrinks slightly. "Right buddy?"

He nods in affirmation and opens his splintered maw to speak. "Y-yes! You are s-savior, you s-save me from t-the torture! I am y-yours a-and you are m-mine! N-no harm to y-you!" He tries to form what I can only assume is some kind of reassuring smile, but he doesn't make it far as his jaw creaks and groans from the unfamiliar expression. Ok then, looks like I have another weird lizard adjacent creature pledging it's life to me. Honestly though, when you get past the slightly uncanny appearance, he's kinda cute.

Krok speaks up though, and looking at him he seems less aggressive in his zeal to protect me, instead his face is painted with concern and apprehension. "I too am sworn to protect Ted with my life, if you can make me sure that your intent is to keep him safe, I suppose our goals should align." Looking back, the creature eyes Krok with caution as if he's sizing the lizard up. He then sighs, or rather something I can only assume is a sight as it sounds more like a breathy gurgle, and his shoulder's slump. He flips the knife that was embedded in his palm and holds the blade. He slowly strides to Krok and holds the handle out to him in a sort of gesture of good will. Krok seems reasonably perturbed but swallows his fear and accepts the blade back.

"Good, now that you boys are getting along, I must ask, what is your name?" I asked our wooden friend. I had only been referring to him as a creature or a beast, but he probably deserves better than that. He opens his mouth like he's going to answer, but he hesitates. His mouth closes as his face creaks while forming what I assume an expression that probably means he's thinking. The amber sparks that form his eyes flick about as if the environment would give him his answer before he just looked defeated. Looking back at me, he glumly opens his mouth again.

"I-I do not k-know... C-cursed for so long... forgot m-my own n-name." He seems distraught at this revelation, he raises his hands to his snout as he grips it in distress. Oh man, I really feel for the poor guy, surely there's something I could do. As more of that amber fluid begins to well up in the wooden knots forming his eye sockets and begins falling like tears, I get an idea.

"How about I name you? You deserve better than being called just, 'hey you' or 'creature'. Got anything you'd like to be called?" I reach up and use my thumb to wipe away one of the amber tears and ignore how unpleasantly sticky it is. He seems to beam at me... somehow... and begins chattering at me, his speech seems to be getting better as he talks, seemingly getting used to his odd morphology.

"Y-you would give m-me a name? Oh you are kind! Kind! I have no ideas w-what I could be called. But... I t-trust you. Please, name me." I am a little startled by the outburst, but I grin at his excitement.

"Well, I've never been too good at naming things but, hmmmm..." Looking around I try to conjure up a decent name for the strange little wooden man. Suddenly an idea pops into my head, it's a little corny but it is pretty fitting. "How about I name you Lief?"

He stops vibrating with excitement and gives me a stare. For a moment I worry that I said something wrong, it was probably insensitive naming him essentially leaf. But my worries melt away as he takes my hand in his rough bark-covered palms and looks up into my eyes. "I-I-it's perfect! Oh thank you! Thank you! Yes! Yes! Ohhhh I am forever yours! you have done so much for me!!!" I am a little uncomfortable at the sentiment of him wanting to die for me, but I won't talk him down, it might be the same kind of sense of duty that Krok has for me since I saved him.

I speak up in an attempt to break through Lief's jubilation. "Alright, well, we should probably keep moving. Considering how those scouts reacted to you, I'd say you've bought us some time from the folks hunting us. You don't have to follow us if you don't want to. You've gained your freedom, you can go out and live your life. I wouldn't blame yo-" I am cut off by Lief frantically trying to disagree with me.

"NO! NONONONO! Nonononono, I am yours! You are MINE! We go together! An enemy of yours is an enemy of mine! P-Please... I am yours. T-take me with you!" I flinched at his manic attempt at turning down my offer to go by himself. He's really making it sound like I own him now, and I REALLY don't want to own a person. I just sighed and signaled him to follow as I tried to get my other two party members to keep moving forward. But as Krok seemingly hesitates, he sheaths his sword and dagger and moves to keep up. Thinking of Flak I realize he's been silent this whole time. Looking over I can see why.

His jaw is hanging open while he just stares at us with wide eyes. I realize that he's been holding this face ever since Krok threw that dagger at me. I was getting concerned at this as he just kept holding the expression. "Uhhhhhh... hey Flak? Buddy? You doin alright?" He slowly moved out of his slack-jawed expression.

"What the fuck?!!?!"

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Author's Note: Heeeyyyyy guys! Well this one is a bit of a longer one. We now have a fourth party member in our weird kinda-merry band! I am going to keep developing this story and really see where things go. If I ever lock in and get motivated to draw I might try drawing our main cast so far, but no promises. Also I am not good at drawing anyway so, we will see what happens. I hope you readers like this new chapter and I hope to see you all in the next one. Let me know what you all think in the comments and I will see yall in the next one!

Edit: I also added a link to the first chapter in every chapter so far so that new readers don't have to dig through my entire account to start at the beginning. Hope yall enjoy ;).

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Chapter Ten – Where Are We Flying

What Meva noticed first was Hutor. An Oberoi, captured, hunted, escaped — and aboard this ship apparently no one's prize, but someone Toriel talked to, as well as the translation allowed, someone she fed, whose wounds she tended, as if it cost her something if he didn't heal. Pirates, Meva thought, sold an escaped hunting animal, or put it on display, or simply left it behind if it brought in nothing. They didn't invest weeks in a language system just to listen to an Oberoi.

And then there was what was missing. She had seen the ship's few cargo holds, in the days she'd now been aboard, had crossed through them on the way to her own small chamber, and what she'd seen was: nothing. No crates full of plundered goods, no weapons locker built for more than self-defense, none of the signs of abundance she'd associated with pirates since she first heard of them. Only spare parts, real ones, as Toriel had claimed, and equipment that looked more like work than loot.

She finally asked, one evening, while Toriel checked instruments Meva couldn't name. "Where are we flying?"

"To Hesh," Toriel said, without looking up. "I have instructions for a few stops along the way."

"Hesh?" Meva had heard the word before, in the overseers' conversations, always in passing, always with an undertone shifting between respect and suspicion. "That's outside the empire. What do we want there?"

Toriel paused, looked at her directly for the first time in this conversation, with an expression Meva couldn't quite read. Not caution, more a kind of weighing amusement.

"Do you know the Hesh?" Meva asked further, because the silence told her more than any answer would. "Are they dangerous?"

Toriel laughed, brief, genuine, without the edge Meva had expected. "No more dangerous than the Merak."

It was not an answer. It was a dodge, elegant enough that Meva briefly didn't know whether to call it out as such, but clear enough that she understood: whatever this woman was, it wasn't what Meva had taken her for when she'd offered her knowledge in exchange for a place aboard. Pirates didn't have instructions. Pirates didn't have destinations with names one avoided explaining out of caution. Pirates didn't say things like no more dangerous than the Merak, with that undertone suggesting there was indeed something to fear, just not what Meva had asked about.

She asked no further question. Not because she was satisfied with the answer, but because she had learned that sometimes you found out more by waiting than by pressing.

Toriel's answer hadn't satisfied her, however much she tried to tell herself otherwise. In the following nights, when Toriel withdrew to her own chamber and Hutor rested in the small cargo hold left to him, Meva began searching the ship herself. Not out of suspicion alone, but out of the same habit she'd learned with Draeon: whoever wasn't allowed to ask had to look for herself.

She found nothing that fit a pirate. No weapons locker, no crates of loot, nothing that even remotely matched the stories she'd heard about such ships. Instead she found, in a small, unlocked compartment behind the navigation console, a bundle of data carriers labeled with symbols she couldn't read, and a terminal that, when she touched it carefully, displayed a series of encrypted messages — lines of characters that were no language she knew, but whose structure, the repetition of certain patterns, the way they were formatted, told her something she'd already suspected. This wasn't private correspondence. This was a reporting system, methodical, organized, with a regularity only an institution could have, not a single person.

"You shouldn't be there."

Toriel's voice, from the door, made her flinch, though it had sounded calm, almost too calm. Meva didn't turn at once, gave herself a moment before she did, to force her face into a calm she didn't quite feel.

When she turned, she saw it anyway: a shadow spreading across Toriel's cheeks and neck, a fine darkening of the mottling beneath her skin, which no Xoan showed willingly if they could avoid it. Meva didn't know what it meant, not exactly, but she knew enough about bodies betraying more than their owners wanted to recognize that she'd just seen something Toriel would rather have kept hidden.

"I didn't steal anything," she said finally.

"I didn't say you did." Toriel stepped closer, her gaze on the open terminal, her face giving nothing away of how much worry or how much indifference lay behind it. "You saw something that's none of your business anyway."

"Now I know you lied to me." Meva stood, slowly, without raising her hands, without signaling a threat, but without lowering her eyes either. "No pirate. No smuggler. This" — she gestured at the terminal — "looks like something someone writes for a government. For an army."

Toriel was silent, and in the silence Meva saw something in her she hadn't noticed before: a weariness that had nothing to do with the late hour, but with the weight of what she'd been carrying, for weeks already, without being able to say it aloud.

"Now you know enough," Toriel said finally.

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I can give you." Toriel closed the compartment, with a firmness that allowed no further argument, but her voice wasn't hard as she went on. "I haven't fully lied to you, Meva. I just haven't told you everything. There's a difference, even if it might not seem worth much to you right now."

Meva looked at her, a long time, and thought of Draeon, of Ilvo, of all the times she herself had done exactly that. Not lied, just not said everything, because the whole truth would have been more dangerous than its absence. It was hard to condemn Toriel for it, when she carried the same coin in her own pocket, only minted differently.

"If you trust me," Meva said finally, "then at least tell me where this leads. Not everything. Just whether I have reason to be afraid."

Toriel looked at her a long time before answering, with an honesty more surprising than any evasion she could have chosen. "I don't know myself, not entirely, not yet," she said. "But I don't think any of us, you included, will still have the choice not to be afraid, in the months to come."

It was no comfort. But it was, for the first time, something that felt like the truth.

Bob was bored, the kind of lovely wistlessness you could only get from a long break from your normal schedule.

It had been a very pleasant few months, digging through half remembered piles and sorting out the usable shit from the trash, Bob had not been very discriminating when he had come across cheap or free ship components on his travels, and the shit pile was pretty goddamn high.

Still plenty of the stuff was perfectly usable, or at least within the range of a cheap refurb, including another two environmental systems he was sure he could get running and both were better than the gerry rigged one he currently had installed.

He was short a few things, some easy stuff, some less so… the one that irritated him the most was size 2 nuts of all things, he had fuck all of them and though didn’t really need them on anything critical it fucking irked him that he could not get even fucking one of the most produced C’Eede parts

He knew why all too well, and it made sense he supposed, but he fucking hated it.

The problem was standardisation, C’Eede parts were nearly atomical identical and the smaller the part the less variation there was part to part, that meant… well have you ever heard the kilo problem?,

The kilo was produced in France to be a true independent measurement, not based on a bean or foot of horse width or whatever, a kilo was to be a kilo everywhere. So they picked a size, made it, then duplicated it exactly and sent those to major treasuries, weights and measures bureaus, etc in countries all over Earth, and then they used them as the ultimate reference for a century.

Then one day they brought a couple back to Paris, for some celebration, and put them on a scale.

….Uh oh, they didn’t match….

The basis of so much scientific sharing between nations and at some point they had started to drift apart. There was a bunch of theories why, but Bob couldn’t remember if they had settled on one, they had eventually determined a new kilo that was an exact number of atoms in a sphere or something, whatever, the issue was the same on a galactic scale.

How did you know that the, cloth or something, that was measured at, say, a thousand units, in the system you picked it up would still measure the same in the unit you arrived in?, if it didn’t had the cloth changed?, was the reference, whatever it was, wrong, how the fuck could you tell?.

Bob had some idea that the metre was the distance light travelled in a certain time or something?, but he had also read in the years since that no one out here was quite sure light had a consistent speed, or time a regular enough passing to depend on, he hadn’t quite understood it but he thought there was probably some scientist on Earth tearing their hair out that their preciously calculated standards meant fuck all to the galaxy at large.

Anyway what did you do? Well take the most consistent and durable thing you could get and base it on that, like an indestructible nut perhaps?, you could pick a size 1, it was the smallest and therefore most identical C’Eede part but they hadn’t been widely utilised.

The size 2 though?, hundred of billions, and you could set a lot of references from the one item, length of course, how big was it, and weight, hardness, electrical conductivity, angles from its shape, refraction, because it was semi translucent like all C’Eede alloy, tonnes of other shit as well, so every shop, workshop, lab, etc, etc had one if they could afford it, and they were expensive as shit.

Mainly because, and they became a large part of the cost of, jump drives. As far as Bob knew every drive produced for thousands maybe millions of years had a size 2 stuck in the middle of it. He didn’t really understand how the drives worked, but it had something to do with being real made unreal, or something… he did know that after every jump the drives needed a certain percentage of the time spent jumping to like, ‘reset’, to make sure all the unreal parts were real again. And they way they all checked they were fully ‘real’?, check the nut of course, when it measured right everything was fully reset and you could jump again, try doing it too soon, or in the wrong order and you could quickly become a smear of atoms drifting through space.

He had considered at the time of nicking the slavers nut, but they couldn’t have fitted the full drive in the freighter and the thing was buried deep in its guts under layers and layers of shielding, realistically ungetable, but it had irked him to leave it behind.

He wouldn’t even get one when the drive he had bought arrived. He highly doubted the C’Eede had stuck one inside their own drives… I mean they could have Bob supposed, but its not like you could crack one open to find out.

He had taken a Guild loan, a large loan, a huge loan, a gigantically big, massive, huge, ruinous loan. He hadn’t had much choice, he had a bunch of spares listed on various markets, but no bites so far and time was ticking. So, borrow a small cities running budget at, thankfully, an inflation only rate, god bless the Guild, and buy a brand new Ticod corp jump drive, and pay to have it fitted to the ship of a very decent Bocca who Bob had run with during his security days.

In return he expected to have a drive that would actually fit his ship delivered in a couple days, even paying Guild rates to make sure it fucking turned up.

To pass the time until it came, he continued fitting out the main internal structure, parsimoniously only using proper original bulkheads where he absolutely had too, and his cabin of course, and wincing every single time he pulled the ad for the used section down off the various markets he had it posted to, this fucker was getting pricier every single fucking day.

He had also ordered a bunch of misc shit as he realised he needed it and that shit had been coming in in dribs and drabs whenever, the decidedly not Guild, deliveries arrived.

He was happy though, she was really starting to come together, and he could start to see all those idle thoughts about what would go where finally coming good, that would be a perishables store, spares go there, a little machine shop tucked in that corner, etc.

He was a bit worried about his ‘fuel room’, the sizes of shit he had and the space he was trying to fit were not really meshing... he wanted an N12 for the passageway wall, but he had three N7’s… did he wait? He hadn’t any leads on an N12, but if he used what he had it was either going to be too small or way, way too big. He had a few ideas in that area but was still wittering about it.

The ship was weird, that was the main problem, almost offensively organic looking it didn’t have a straight line or a right angle on it, you would think that would make standardisation on it absurdly difficult, but once again the C’Eede hadn’t given a shit about what you considered common sense.

Top down it was basically a fat bottomed oval, not quite, but trending in that general direction. Front on it looked a bit like a planet with a wide ring, but bend the rings side down, like a frown. Side on was the weirdest but also the easiest to describe, it was a just a stretched teardrop, sharp end forward.

Overall it gave the impression of some kind of stuffed pasta, maybe a tortellini with flatter, but still wavy edges. Add in a slightly moist sheen and a pale white semi translucence, and it definitely looked like some Italian goliaths lunch.

He had never flown it obviously but all C’Eede ships had a rep for being pretty damn aerodynamic and handling atmo flight well, though since they were probably originally designed for cruising the depths of gas giants maybe hydrodynamic was more applicable.

Bob considered that truly the weirdest thing the C’Eede had ever done was to try to invade rocky body planets, the fuckers could never have even used them… why not just take over any Saturn or Jupiter they had wanted, he wasn’t sure anyone would have even noticed.

He shook his head, it was time to make a few decisions. It would be extremely annoying to try to change the layout once installed, every thing had to be basically built out from the nose back, if you decided you hated the placement of that fore hatch in six months you would have to gut everything rear of it just to move the fucker.

Yeah, he was going small, the larger size was just sacrificing too much cabin space. This kinda sucked taking fuel capacity down to thirty or forty jumps, but he did have a workaround.

As far as he knew the C’Eede never made auxiliary external tanks, nor did he really have a good way of attaching some anyway even if he had some fabbed up, however, he had, oh five or so years ago, been surprised when a transport he was travelling on had taken a debris hit that punctured a fuel tank, and the crew had swung by a nearby C’Eede ship graveyard. They had scooped a fighter into the cargo bay and pumped the fuel from the damaged tank into it, using the entire thing as a holding container while they had repaired the main tank.

The scoutship hull had four latching points, two a side, presumably for some weapon or sensor package, and he still intended to use the front pair for that, the weapon systems were still pretty available, fitted as they had been to every fighter, and they used a pretty damn simple connector. If he picked up a couple fighters he could flip them upside down and backwards and connect them to the rear two mountings.

There was no open piping connection to the mounts, but there were ‘wiring’ lines, really just thin tubes filled with a silver based alloy. It would not be impossible to drill, even melt, the metal out those lines and be left with direct tubing to the internals of the ship.

It wasn’t ideal, the passages would be far too narrow to pump fuel through at the rate need to power a jump or even sublight, but, if you had them constantly filling up an internal tank you would probably be able to have a kind of buffer system working, worth a try certainly.

If it worked even a bit it would massively increase his possible range, by like a thousand x… still that was a thought for later, even a small ‘fuel room’ would get him up, running, and earning.

Part 13 https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1w4m4bc/bob_was_bored_part_13/?

FYI, this is a story COLLECTION. Lots of standalones technically. So, you can basically start to read at any chapter, no pre-read of the other chapters needed technically (other than maybe getting better descriptions of characters than: Adam Vir=human, Krill=antlike alien, Sunny=tall alien, Conn=telepathic alien). The numbers are (mostly) only for organization of posts and continuity.

OC originally written by Charlie Star/starrfallknightrise. Slightly rewritten and restructured (with hindsight of the full finished story to connect it more together, while keeping the spirit), reviewed, proofread and corrected by me.

Biiiitchfiiiiiiiight!

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The delegation peace talks were set to take place on a neutral planet not owned or controlled by any governmental body alien or otherwise GA, UNSC or ASF (Arcadian space force). This was easier said than done of course, since the Tesraki had a habit of claiming unused planets for industrial purposes, like mineral mining, and natural resource collection.

It was actually the Arcadia Deep Space Exploration Array (ADSEA) that had discovered this planet.

Yes, it was a surprise to literally no one that Adam had allocated a couple million dollars of Arcadia funds to build a big ass telescope. No one had argued with him on that front, but if they had, he wasn't sure what he would have done. The use of telescopes in this day and age were arguably pretty minimal. In fact, they could travel faster than the time it took light to make it from one system to another, so it was easier, more efficient and more possible to just pop over to another system take a quick look around and then pop back.

However, it was easier to discover new habitable planets this way. Sure, they could have gone trolling the universe in the Empyrean, using the ships own built in systems to find other habitable worlds, but the Empyrean was not a science vessel, not like the Harbinger had been. Over the years Adam's ships had seen an increase in military upgrades.

The Enterprise, the first interstellar ship, had been equipped with no weapons whatsoever, for obvious reasons. Humanity hadn't exactly planned to run into any hostile alien life on their first mission interstellar. When The Harbinger was built, it did have a standard array of railguns, but it was understood that their primary purpose was to destroy any potential space debris that might interfere with the ship. Of course, if someone were to attack them, they could certainly be used, but that wasn't the original idea. The Harbinger had been equipped with more science equipment than it had weapons.

Their job was basically to travel the galaxy, look at cool space rocks, and do some diplomacy if they had extra time.

Those were the days.

Simple.

Safe.

Then conflict had arisen, they had issues with the Burg and the Kree, and the Harbinger had been destroyed. Afterwards the Omen had been rebuilt from her ashes, rising like a metal phoenix, and the Omen had been a science vessel sure, but she had been equipped for war. She had Vrul shields, and Celex weapons, which were in no way designed for anything but destruction and mayhem. There had also been a substantial increase in military operations aboard the ship.

And then he got ahold of the Empyrean…

Adam considered the Empyrean his ship, though in the long term it was more like… borrowing? Honestly, he was surprised the Architect hadn't show up to take his ship back so he could use it in the war against light and dark. The Empyrean had no limit to the kind of power output she could handle. She was only as strong or as weak as the Anima of her pilot, so Adam could only imagine what would happen if the Architect took the helm.

And since the ship was designed to fight in the war of light and dark, it wasn't much for science.

It was ADSEA that found the planet, and then it was Simon, piloting the Omen, who had gone to check it out. Adam had been a bit miffed that he wasn't the first person to step on a new alien planet, but he urged himself to calm down.

It didn't matter who was first, only that he got to go down to a cool new planet.

This was, of course, a primarily diplomatic meeting, but he certainly wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to look at cool space stuff.

Eris had accompanied him for this mission, while King James stayed behind to head the Triumvirate in their absence. It wouldn't do to put all three leaders simultaneously in a dangerous position off world. One of them had to stay behind in case something went catastrophically wrong.

They came with a relatively large honor guard. There were three shuttles all together, Adam, Eris and Sunny on a ship with Maverick and Ramirez. Maverick served as their token SE bodyguard, and in her armor she was about as tall as Adam was, and scary as hell. Her armor was painted in shades of smokey grey and blue, but with read streaks like warpaint across the chest, upper arms and helmet.

There were ten other soldiers all together, and equal mix of marines, Neospartans and Drev.

When they touched down, the mediation delegation was already present.

A Mike ship, and a Lumin ship.

The two only non Anima constructs. The only non-Maker created sentient species.

To say they didn't have Anima was... Untrue, if you put a Lumin or a Mike inside an Anima power converter, it would still run, but it ran... weird. It was as if the Anima had naturally occurred along with their progression into sentience, but it was vastly different than Maker created Anima.

It was hard to explain, and Adam didn't know the details.

Through all of what had happened both Mikes and Lumin had announced themselves to be neutral parties. Less neutral now that the Void was trying to destroy everyone, Maker Anima or not, but when it came to the warring factions of Maker children, they stayed mostly neutral.

Adam stepped off the ship and into the open air of planet... What was it called again? The student who found it had been allowed to name it. He looked down at his holo-implant.

Bob.

Planet Bob.

He absolutely approved.

Either the student had a common short name, was lazy, or they knew their Sci-fi references. He hoped it was the latter.

Planet Bob was a small planet well within its habitable zone, it was a little smaller in mass than earth was, and so the gravity was noticeably less taxing. The science Geeks aboard the ship told him that the oxygen concentration was at about 22% which was at the high end of acceptable. The rest of the atmosphere was composed of almost equal amounts of Argon and Nitrogen with trace elements blended in.

When Adam asked about the safety of the atmosphere, the scientists informed him that both Nitrogen and Argon are basically inert, in fact, Nitrogen makes up a whopping 80% of earth atmosphere if you do some generous rounding up. Humans breathe lungful’s of the stuff and basically ignore it. The same goes for Argon in this case.

There was also a bunch of stuff thrown in there about atmospheric pressure and what not, but he didn't really understand it. Adam had always loved science fiction, and science in general, but as it turned out, he didn't really have a head for the scientific discipline. He was no Ryland Grace, or Iron man, or any other fictional scientist you could think of. Unlike Mark Watney, he would have died on the surface of Mars within the first few hours or starved within the ensuing several months… I mean he DID survive quite some time on an alien planet that was basically Jurassic earth, but that didn’t really count, because that was in a jungle with an abundance of stuff to work and survive with.

At the end of the day, he was a soldier, not a scientist, more along the lines of Captain Kirk, or Captain Malcolm Reynolds, or, and this was maybe a little bit of his vanity speaking here, John 117. Ok maybe not so much that last one, but Captain Reynolds or Kirk definitely…

Point is Adam wasn't science smart.

Didn't mean he didn't have the mind of a scientist.

Curiosity is what spurred those people on, and it did the same for him. As soon as he stepped out on the planet's surface, he was already crouched down, examining the strange latus of plants that covered the rock at his feet. The rock was a strange mix of grey black and white, mottled like some marble kitchen countertops. The plant that grew atop it was bright red, and grew like veins stretching across the surface of the ground. The veiny protrusions spread out from a central... Stock? Bulb? That rested in a flat dome on the ground about a foot in length and a few inches in height.

He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small silver rod, which he used to poke the planet. The scientists had given him the rod as consolation for their "no touching" rule. The rod was sterile metal, with a complicated set of sensors inside. The more things he poked at, the more science information the smart people got.

So basically, he was a tool.

He didn't mind.

He looked at the screen, reading which was projected to his mechanical eye.

It was organic, so definitely some kind of plant.

Overhead the sky was blue, just like on earth. Blue seemed to be the predominant sky color in most planets where the atmosphere was comprised of mostly clear gasses.

Eris floated over to hover next to him.

She wasn't wearing her hoodie today, but a long black dress that undulated and waved with her body. Her hair was almost down to her knees, long black tendrils swirling about her like a slow moving vortex. She was like a beautiful goddess of destruction with her pure black eyes and milk white skin, looking at her, it was hard to see the Vir family in her at all. He supposed fi he squinted and turned his head he could almost imagine his sister Maya. His family tended to have strong features, but Eris didn't. Perhaps her jaw, maybe, and the shape of her eyes. When she pulled back her hair she definitely had Vir ears.

She shook her head at him as he poked the planet again,

"When do you think you stopped growing up?"

Adam tilted his head,

"At about six maybe..."

He turned back to his plant,

"Why would I want to grow up? Being an adult is stupid!”

She snorted and then tilted her head,

"I think the Earth delegation is here.”

Adam frowned,

"How do you know that?"

"The plants... Can feel it?"

He blinked at her once and then shrugged. Eris's mind reading abilities were not just for humans. If it had the ability to think even on a rudimentary level, she would know. Weird to hear that the plants on this planet were in the habit of doing any sort of thinking, but that WAS pretty cool.

A small Lumin pavilion had been erected not a few hundred feet away, and a Mike delegate floated over to greet them.

Overhead Adam thought he heard a distant roar.

"Welcome Presidents, we are pleased to see you arrived safely."

Adam nodded to the Lumin, the in built lights on his coat blinking as he stood. He dusted off his coat tails, and they followed the Mike delegate to take their seats under the pavilion.

The Hunt delegation arrived a few minutes later, and to Adam's annoyance, Hunt himself stepped from the pod, followed by an entire goon squad of heavily armed SE soldiers. Apparently, he wasn't the only one with access to that sort of technology, though Adam noted, rather gleefully, that Maverick suit of armor was superior. He was surprised Hunt had shown up at all, having fully expected to deal with some goon the president sent in his stead.

This was fine though, it was better!

Eris grimaced and put a hand to her head.

Adam turned to look at her and Eris scrunched up her face,

"Ow."

"Eris!?”

Adam stood, placing a hand on her shoulder as she clutched at her skull, doubling over at the table.

All around him his guards bristled, and the Hunt party stopped, raising their weapons in response.

The Lumin and the Mikes were already out of their depth.

Adam stood,

"What did you do!?!”

He snarled teeth gritted tight together.

Hunt sneered at him,

"Do you like it? The patent team is calling it a “delta jammer”, is supposed to be able to suppress the exchange and radiation of brain waves, we will all probably come out with a mild headache, but it will keep your pet starborn from looking into my head."

Eris moaned.

Adam motioned his men forward,

"Take her back to the ship."

He ordered, and the two men reluctantly followed his orders. He turned to look back at hunt,

"Call her my pet again, and this conversation is over. She's my daughter, and more human than you are by the way."

Hunt sneered,

"Your hybrids are an abomination, though I hear your fondness for bestiality has only grown these days. Can't get it up for human women so decided to pick aliens instead. What did you name the creature... Kay was it?"

Adam gritted his teeth, fingernails almost grinding into his palms,

"Playground insults is it? Not very diplomatic of you."

Hunt snorted,

"I didn't come here to be diplomatic. You are lucky I haven't declared war on Arcadia already after that stunt you pulled by breaking into Fort Harmony and attempting to assassinate me."

Adam barked a laugh of derision,

"Assassinate you? Give me a break, if I wanted you dead, you WOULD be dead, but unlike you I am NOT an egomaniacal despot. Yeah, I broke into fort harmony, but I did it to rescue the woman and child YOU were holding hostage on pain of death."

"Nonsense."

"Bullshit."

Adam slapped his palm on the table,

"I'm onto you hunt."

He was so mad his hands were shaking,

"I know Kazna put you up to all of this. I know you made a deal with her even though I can't prove it… yet."

"So you admit your accusations are unfounded?”

Adam laughed,

”Yeah, because I can admit when I'm wrong, and I can admit when I don't have all the answers. You can't, and I hear your popularity ratings are suffering for it. What? You're at less than ten percent approval rating. Even your own constituents think you're a psycho, and you likely won't be reelected next term. Which is why I haven't bothered to get rid of you, since you have politely managed to get rid of yourself by being a gaping asshole."

Yeah the situation had definitely devolved.

Hunt's face was red.

They had come here on pretense of some sort of peace talk or treaty or arbitration. Adan had planned to give Global 1 back as a sign of cooperation if Hunt could be civil, but that wasn't looking like it was going to happen. It had taken less than a few seconds for the talks to devolve. It might have worked out better if both of them had decided to send in their own representatives, but they had decided to come themselves.

It was a bad idea in hindsight.

"I would like my plane back."

Adam laughed,

"No, you don't have anything I want, and you have proven you are incapable of speaking with me civilly. You called my daughter an animal, accused me of bestiality, insinuated my wife is no better than a dog, and called my son a thing. You aren't going to get jack shit out of me. In fact, when I'm done here, I am going to go home and turn that stupid plane of yours into an LFIL themed night bar, and hope that plenty of alien couples meet and fall in love in the smoking remains of your presidential term, which is no better than a bad joke.”

He continued to laugh,

“You're not even a joke hunt, because jokes are supposed to be funny. You are just sad."

Hunt was fuming now. He had opened this up with playground insults and playground insults managed to bother him, but to be fair Adam didn't take kindly to his family being called animals, so maybe he was no better than Hunt, but still it felt good to say it.”*

"The biggest mistake earth ever made was giving you that ship."

Adam took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. He shouldn't rise to this man's insults. He had already made that mistake once, but he wasn't going to do it again. It was time to be a leader.

Better late than never.

He took a few seconds to collect himself.

He straightened up, taking a slow seat at the table. He clasped his hands in front of him and closed his eyes for a long moment. When he finally looked up Hunt was looming over him, but Adam did not move,

"President hunt."

He began, and when he spoke, he saw the soldiers behind the other man exchange looks with each other.

Sunny said his voice changed sometimes. He didn't hear it, but she swore it was different.

"I have made the mistake of rising to your childish barbs, and for that I apologize. As president of Arcadia, it is my duty to represent my people in the most neutral way I know how, despite old personal agendas."

He folded his hands neatly together, dark gloves shining in the diffused light off the tent walls,

"Arcadia will not engage in diplomatic peace talks with you. Time and time again you have proven to be nothing but untrustworthy, cantankerous and hateful. Your Xenophobic behavior is quite frankly disgusting and your personal attacks on my family are reprehensible. Your conduct with your own civilians is heartbreaking, so I will not do business with you, but let it be known from this moment on that I, president Vir, will provide free transportation to any earth citizen who wishes to leave your planet."

Hunt's face was going red.

"They will be transported to one of six Arcadia cluster settlements on safe terraformed planets and moons where they will be provided with land, and pre-build housing. A trial period of one year will be instituted in which time they are expected to commence work from an already waiting catalogue of positions required to keep a terraformed planet running. I welcome all members of earth, of any class, any background if they are willing to provide for a better society. This invitation is open to everyone, except You specifically Hunt. You are never to step foot on Arcadia owned territory as long as you live."

Hunts face twisted.

"And before you try and do the same to me, remember, that I was born and raised on earth. Also, as soon as you get kicked out of your position, I will be asking your next presidential candidate for a pardon, which they could well give me if they dislike you enough. Like for example if your ratings were to be below 15% or something like that.”

Adam stood,

”This decree is already being broadcast to the people of earth. Don't try to stop it, it’s on a thousand websites, it has been posted on repeat since I stepped foot on this planet, and it will continue as long as possible. Even as we speak, links are being shared all over Earth. Many of them won't accept as they wont leave behind beloved pets, or ancestral homes, but at least I have done my best."

He stood and turned towards his ship.

"Do not contact me again Mr. Hunt I have no desire to speak with you again.”

In all honesty he had not expected that to go much better. Primarily he had agreed to the meeting only to distract Hunt for some time before he could order any sort of shutdown that would slow the spread of his message.

Arcadia was growing, and the people of earth were welcome.

Adam made a very big show of flying off in his shuttle only to wait and come back around to land when Hunt had left.

It’s not like he was going to pass up the opportunity to touch more alien plants…

He needed it after all that anyway!

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Thanks for reading! As you saw in the title, this is a cross posted story in its original form written by starrfallknightrise and I am just proofreading and improving some parts, as well as structuring the story for you guys, if you are interested and want to read ahead, the original story-collection can be found on tumblr or wattpad to read for free. (link above this text under "OC:..." ) It is the Empyrean Iris story collection by starfallknightrise. Also, if you want to know more about the story collection i made an intro post about it, so feel free to check that out to see what other great characters to look forward to! (Link also above this text). I have no affiliations to the author; just thought I’d share some of the great stories you might enjoy a lot!

Obviously, I have Charlie’s permission to post this.

Chapter 146: The Puppeteer and the Zealot

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The underground garden smelled of wet loam and crushed limestone. Along the cavern walls, clusters of pale moss and glowing fungi cast a cold, blue-white glow over the damp earth. At the center of the chamber, two blind fish traced endless, unhurried circles in a shallow pond.

Hierarch Malachar rested his pale hands against the armrests of his dark throne made of bones. The cavern offered a rare commodity: competence. The blind fish swam exactly as their fate dictated. The fungi process decay into light. Nothing down here possessed the capacity to scheme, and consequently, nothing down here possessed the capacity to fail him.

His cult, unfortunately, suffered from the fatal flaw of ego and free will. Over the past twenty-four hours, his leadership caste had butchered their assignments with spectacular, almost insulting efficiency.

They had been handed victory on a silver platter, and they had managed to drop it.

A Child of Silence knelt on the damp earth before the throne. The gray-robed assassin kept his head bowed perfectly level with his knees. He radiated no aura, displaced no air, and offered no pretense of humanity.

He was just a tool awaiting application.

"Report," Malachar said. His voice barely rose above a whisper, yet the echoes in the cavern carried the syllables with absolute clarity.

"The outer perimeter has collapsed, Lord Throne," the assassin stated. "Outposts C1, C2, C3, and C19 have been purged by the enemy following our reclamation. Furthermore, Hand Vakan barely survived a failed gamble. Icas Vasht is confirmed dead. Eight favored ones have been slain by the Star Killer and the crimson-eyed doorman."

Malachar processed the casualty data. Eight Underlords. One Lord and One Hand are out of order. A catastrophic depletion of high-tier assets.

He felt no rage. Rage was a mortal indulgence, a flaw that clouded the purity of the Great Work. Instead, he felt a cold fascination.

He had already witnessed the butchery through his scrying sphere. He had watched Salvatore Silvers, the supposed crippled remnant of an Overlord—who still possessed more flames than what was expected of him—dismantle his elites.

The loss of the assets was an acceptable variable in warfare. What grated on Malachar’s nerves was the sheer, staggering arrogance of their deaths. Hand Vakan and Icas Vasht had spent twenty-four hours chasing a target that clearly desired pursuit. They had hunted a ghost through their own territory, congratulating themselves on springing a trap right up until the exact moment the prey locked the cage from the inside.

The survivors of the Bastion were no longer cowering behind their walls. They were actively culling his herd.

Malachar mentally reviewed the recent spike in essence signatures he felt from one of his outposts. A hundred untalented mortals, stringing their pathetic reserves together to chain a single, unified sorcery. It was an insult to the natural hierarchy of power. A termite chewing through the foundation of a divine temple.

"Withdraw the remaining forces from all perimeter positions," Malachar ordered. He shifted his weight, the blackened bones of his throne creaking under the slight movement. "Consolidate at the inner rings. Fortify the Tier 7 Convergence nodes. We will not squander more blood on meaningless skirmishes."

The Child of Silence remained perfectly still, the damp earth soaking into the knees of his gray robes. "And the Bastion's encroaching forces, Lord Throne?"

"Let them push inward," Malachar said. "The Convergence sequence is our singular priority. I will not tolerate further delays simply because my misguided flock insists on throwing themselves onto enemy blades."

He tapped a single, corpse-pale finger against his armrest. The sharp click of bone on bone echoed across the pond, causing the two blind fish to scatter into the darker water.

"Go to the aberrant alchemist. Inform Hand Vella that the observational testing period has concluded. She is to open her vaults and empty the menagerie."

The Child of Silence bowed lower, his forehead brushing the wet soil. A heartbeat later, he was gone. No spatial tear, no sudden rush of displaced air. Just the abrupt, sterile absence of a person.

Malachar remained on his throne for a time, watching his fishes.

The white fish swallowed a floating pellet of feed with a quiet plip. Below it, the black fish traced a lazy circle in the dark water.

Malachar stood. The heavy fabric of his robes dragged across the damp moss. He left the quiet sanctuary of the pond, walking into the far alcove of the cavern where the glowing fungi failed to take root.

Thick iron chains descended from the ceiling. Decades of damp air had welded the rusted metal directly into the limestone. Suspended at chest height within the iron links hung a mass of dark, glistening flesh. It was roughly the size of a man curled in on himself.

As Malachar approached, the meat expanded and contracted with a heavy, wet squelch.

This was the nascent seed of the Convergence. The engine driving his entire great work.

He stepped within arm's reach of the suspended mass and pressed his palm flat against the slick membrane. The tissue radiated a feverish heat, vibrating against his skin.

Malachar shifted his vocal cords. Flesh and cartilage reshaped internally without a sound. When he spoke, the scraping ancient was gone, and in its place the voice that emerged was a rich, warm baritone. It carried the heavy, undeniable texture of a proud father.

The kind of voice that made mortals desperately want to earn its approval.

"Withdraw, my son," Malachar murmured. He traced the pad of his thumb over a swollen, pulsing vein near the surface of the mass. "Consolidate our remaining forces. The Bastion pushes outward, blind to the underlying architecture of this conflict. Cease squandering our assets on territory that has already served its purpose."

The heart pulsed faster under his hand.

He wiped a smear of viscous fluid from his hand using the inside of his sleeve.

Turning away from the suspended meat, he retraced his steps to the edge of the shallow water.

The Great Work will proceed as planned. 

◈◈◈

Deep inside the Sanctum of the Cathedral Ward, Favored One Xerxes stood before a towering containment cylinder, his hands clasped behind his back. The heavy, thrumming vibration of the healing array made him nauseated.

He pressed a gaunt hand against the cold glass. Inside the pressurized tank, suspended in thick, bubbling dark blood, floated the ruined meat and bone that belonged to their leader, Vakan.

Waste.

The thought coiled in Xerxes' mind, sharp and venomous. They were pumping the Darkened One's most precious, concentrated essence into a failing vessel. The lower ranks trembled at Vakan’s name, terrified of the man's oppressive aura, but Xerxes felt only disgust. He knew the truth. Vakan was a politician wearing a zealot's robes. The man was completely deaf to the Lord's whispers, viewing him merely as a stepping stone for his own authority.

"Parasite," Xerxes rasped.

He struck the thick glass with his knuckles. The dull thud reverberated through the liquid. He desperately wanted to sever the essence feeds. To let the pretender choke on the sacred blood he didn't deserve. An Order V Lord wouldn't die immediately—his Spark would fight the suffocation for years—but the rot would claim him eventually.

Xerxes pulled his hand back, forcing his erratic breathing to slow. Devotion to his lord required discipline. Vakan, broken as he was, remained an Order V asset. They would need a Lord-ranked shield to weather the coming slaughter.

Command of the cult had defaulted to Xerxes in Vakan's absence. His first act had been cracking the seals on the Hand's private chambers to seize the intelligence Vakan so jealously hoarded.

Xerxes moved to the desk and dragged a scarred finger down a stack of transcripts.

"Pathetic," he murmured to the empty room. "The greatest flock of the Darkened One, reduced to cowering cattle by the incompetence of a few."

The reports, especially the casualty one, were staggering. Most of the reports pointed entirely to two anomalies: Starkiller and the Doorman.

These two individual were slaughtering their way through the perimeter outposts.

They posed a terminal threat to the ritual's apex. The Hierarch and his inner circle possessed the raw power to crush them, but the Hierarch was entirely consumed by the Convergence preparations and his own goals.

Xerxes needed a diversion. He needed to manipulate the board, to herd Starkiller and the Doorman directly into the path of the two-faced hypocrites' flock of the Hierarch. Let the false faithful of the city grind themselves to dust against those monsters. The Darkened One would feast on the resulting carnage regardless of who died.

Xerxes stepped away from the desk, pausing before Vakan’s massive scrying mirror. Deprived of its master’s essence, the artifact was dormant, reduced to ordinary silvered glass.

He stared at his reflection and let out a dry, rattling laugh. He had draped one of Vakan’s opulent, velvet-lined robes over his shoulders to signify his new authority. It felt ridiculously heavy. Beneath the expensive fabric, Xerxes wore his traditional, unadorned black garb, hanging loosely off a frame whittled down to wire and muscle from years of fanatical fasting. Where his skin was visible, it was a roadmap of jagged scar tissue—half from surviving enemy blades, the other half willingly carved in devotion to his Lord.

Heavy bootfalls hammered against the stone stairs outside the chamber.

Xerxes felt the fluctuating, panicked aura before the man even reached the threshold. He clicked his tongue in irritation. Another one from the Vasht clan. Another one of Vakan's weak-blooded sycophants.

"Xerxes!"

Boros Vasht shoved the heavy oak doors inward. The man's plate armor was streaked with grey ash and fresh gore from the outer wards. The coal-red manifestation of his Lord's Flame sputtered erratically at his shoulders, bleeding fear into the room's atmosphere.

Xerxes turned slowly. He kept his expression entirely devoid of the panic radiating from the newcomer.

"Brother Boros," Xerxes corrected, his voice a soft, raspy whisper that cut cleanly through the ringing echoes of the door. "Please. I am not a grasping bootlicker like the meat floating in that tank."

He tilted his head, studying the erratic spikes in Boros's essence signature with glee. "Your aura is bleeding terror across my floor. Tell me what happened that has you so agitated."

"The perimeter is collapsing!" Boros grated, his heavy plate armor clanking as he shifted his weight. "Without Lord Vakan and Lord Icas dead, the Initiates are breaking down. The Bastion forces just mobilized a major push. We need to counter-attack."

Xerxes tilted his head, his black eyes fixing on the larger man. "A counter-attack." He let the words hang in the air, examining them like a spoiled piece of meat.

"We are the Vanguard of the Darkened One," Boros insisted, the coal-red flames at his shoulders surging with agitated heat. "We do not cower while Bastion rats steal our sacred ground. We push outward and crush them."

"You intend to feed more of the faithful to the Star Killer," Xerxes stated. "You watched eight Underlords butcher themselves on their own arrogance in a single night. And your solution is to march more of the faithful onto his sword."

Boros's jaw tightened. The ambient temperature in the room spiked as his Lord's Flame flared, painting the stone walls in harsh crimson light. He dropped his center of gravity, a hand drifting toward his weapon. "I am the senior Favored One currently standing. I am giving you a direct—"

Xerxes didn't bother drawing a weapon. He raised his right hand and pressed two gaunt fingers directly into the jagged ritual scar carved over his own chest. He dug his nails deep into the scar tissue until thick, corrupted blood welled to the surface.

Boros choked.

The massive warrior’s hands snapped up to claw at his own throat. The intimidating red flames at his shoulders guttered and died with a pathetic hiss. Xerxes channeled the Lord's blessing through the open wound on his chest, seizing the corrupted essence flowing through Boros's veins.

He made the man's blood boil.

Boros collapsed, his heavy armor cracking against the masonry. Xerxes looked down at the thrashing man and felt absolutely nothing.

"You actually believe the Lord cares about your pride," Xerxes rasped. He stepped neatly over the convulsing warrior. "You treat his mission like a tavern brawl. A chance to prove your meager strength."

Boros seized violently, his chest heaving as blood flooded his lungs, before going completely limp.

"Worry not, Brother Boros. You will survive the experience," Xerxes said to the unconscious meat on the floor. He wiped his bloody fingers on the edge of Vakan's velvet mantle and walked toward the chamber's balcony, the heavy fabric dragging behind him.

He was halfway there when the whispers reached him.

« Withdraw, my son. »

The baritone voice vibrated through the marrow of his bones, rich and dripping with absolute authority.

« Consolidate our remaining forces. Do not let my children squander their lives on territory that has already served its purpose. »

Xerxes forgot how to breathe. Thick, viscous black tears welled in his eyes and spilled over his scarred cheeks, burning the skin. He slammed his forehead into the stone floor, desperate to show reverence.

His lord was telling him exactly what needed to be done. He was no longer a lost sheep.

"I hear you, my Lord," Xerxes wept, his blood-stained fingernails digging into the mortar of the stairs. "I am your vessel. Your will shall be done."

◈◈◈

Far above, the Cathedral Ward was undoubtedly steeped in the smell of boiling blood and panic.

Down in the garden, the air tasted only of wet limestone and damp moss. Malachar settled back into his bone throne beside the shallow pond, resting his translucent hands in his lap. He withdrew his awareness from the heavy, oppressive connection he had just forced into the Underlord's mind.

Xerxes had folded exactly as calculated.

"Such is the nature of mankind: each believes himself the wisest soul beneath the heavens until fate acquaints them with their ignorance.” He said.

The new acting leader would execute the withdrawal, entirely convinced the shift was a matter of divine providence. With the Vanguard pulled back and repurposed as a physical barricade, the Tier 7 Convergence nodes were completely insulated from the Bastion's strike teams. The ritual sequence would trigger precisely on schedule.

A faint, dry smile stretched the skin tight across Malachar's face.

His thoughts shifted outward, toward the Bastion. The surviving mortals had proven to be a surprisingly resilient infestation, but the sheer scale of the fate variance rippling from their position was fascinating.

The board had fundamentally changed the moment that one piece escaped the primes’ design.

“But who would go against the dominant gods of Eldamar?” He sighed.

Whoever this person was, he needed to isolate that specific entity. To sit down and have a conversation with its head.

Malachar pinched a compressed pellet of feed between his pale fingers and let it drop.

The white fish broke the surface tension with a quiet plip, swallowing the morsel whole.

The Great Work proceeded.

✦ FIRST CHAPTER ✦ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ✦ NEXT CHAPTER ✦

◈◈◈

A/N: A little bit on what's happening on the cult side. This is Day 7(close to midnight for the chapter) of the 18 days deadline before the final battle.

Bau Bau~

Guys I was bragging to Mom on how I have little savings(all thanks to you guys with the patreon) and I wanna get PS5 for you know a certain game dropping. She legit for like first time in months Let's go out to a mall and I didn't thought much of it untill she made me pay for everything. TwT Never brag guys...

Psst~ Psst~ Advanced chapters are already up on patreon. It would be awesome if you guys, you know...

Help me with rent and UNI is crazy expensive!! Not want much, just enough to chip in.

✦ DISCORD ✦ PATREON ✦ 

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Arc III - Reeling Throne

Chapter 50 - Cowardice

8 months and 25 days since the summoning

With a light whistling of some tune, Ilgan led his squad along an open road through a small patch of sparse forest within the royal lands.

The sun had long since passed its zenith and was dipping toward the horizon, but the sky was still blue.

The snipers marched unevenly in their ghillie suits, holding their crossbows down.

"So fucking hot..." Shikur said, wiping sweat from his forehead.

The bear scoffed. "What did you expect? Summer is almost here."

"It's not even about summer," Dunko muttered. "These ghillie suits... it's so hot in them, and we haven't even had time to rest properly."

The boar sighed. "Yeah... His and Her Grace don't spare us, work us like dogs."

Ilgan cast a sidelong glance at them. "Because they're counting on us. There's no one else to send."

"Is it far to go anyway?" someone from behind asked.

"No. There's a river ahead, we cross it, walk a bit more and we're there. The task overall... I wouldn't say it's difficult."

Shikur nodded. "You can say that again. Reconnaissance is much easier than killing nobles."

"Everything is difficult here!" the bear suddenly exclaimed. "When we were sitting in ambush on that road, I was actually thinking, why the fuck did I agree to all this? I could be sitting in Zoligasha, hunting, instead of all this."

A sly smile appeared on Ilgan's face. "Oh, really? And who was it that was bragging the loudest in the village recently about what a hero he is, huh?"

"Hahahah!"

"Hahaha!"

Laughter washed over the large group like a wave.

The bear's ears immediately perked up. "That... that was purely so they'd give us something to drink and eat! If you have no money to pay—pay with soldier's tales!"

"And what, are you a soldier?"

"Oh, shut up!"

Ilgan relaxed his smile with a sigh. "Well, you're very lucky Lord Gothwald considered your bullshitting somewhat useful."

"And why is it bullshitting right away?" the bear asked, frowning.

Shikur snorted, stifling a laugh.

"Because you said we didn't kill two soldiers, but quietly slaughtered a whole squad!" someone shouted from behind.

"Hahahah!"

"Hahahaah!"

The bear's ears drooped, and his sharp teeth clenched. "Oh, go to hell all of you, I'm earning a reputation for our squad here, and you..." he waved a hand, "eh."

"Don't sweat it," Ilgan said, turning to him, "we're all very pleased that we're known as heroes. Lord Gothwald even named us 'Ghosts'."

"Ghosts..." Shikur repeated. "Why not? I like it, sounds menacing. Better than 'elite Mireyan squad'."

"Hah, you bet." He turned to Lison. The fox was walking silently, his crossbow lowered, looking somewhere at the ground, no smile on his face. "Hey, Lison."

Silence.

"Lison!"

The fox flinched slightly, and then raised his battered face to Ilgan. "Yes?"

"Why so gloomy?"

"Oh, nothing... just thinking."

He narrowed his eyes. "Still sweating about what happened in the camp?"

Lison clenched his teeth, but one tooth was missing. "Yes," he said quietly.

Ilgan stepped closer to him. "Oh, let it go, what happened happened, the main thing is we survived. Just don't do it again and follow my orders, alright?" He patted the fox on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Lison, besides, you paid your dues in full for that fuckup." He pointed at his teeth.

"Oh yeah! He sure did!" the bear laughed.

Shikur also snorted. "Yep! When they beat us, Lison got the most generous helping of ass-kicking!"

To the sounds of laughter, Lison only shook his head with a sigh, but his lips curved slightly in a hint of a smile.

"And what's that over there?" Dunko asked, pointing ahead down the road.

Everyone immediately turned in that direction.

In the distance appeared a disfigured, blending silhouette, created from dozens of other silhouettes moving quickly down the road.

Ilgan removed his hand from Lison's shoulder. "Cavalry?"

"Weird," Shikur muttered. "Oh well, maybe they're moving troops."

Ilgan narrowed his eyes. "I don't like this. Let's hide, just in case."

"Think they're enemies?" the bear asked. "They're supposed to be besieging the castle, right?"

"Shut up and hide!" he barked, already crawling into the grass. "Dammit, no bushes... but I think the ghillie suits will help." He pulled up his grass-covered hood and lay down in the grass, pressing tightly to the ground.

The other nine snipers repeated the same actions, and the road instantly became empty.

Twenty-three seconds later, the distant rumble and clatter of hooves could be heard.

Ilgan slightly raised his head, and saw a squad of five riders galloping up a small hill in the distance.

At the same time, a squad of seven riders dashed past them on the road, gradually slowing down and looking around.

Dunko squeezed his eyes shut, and his fingers gripped the grass.

Ilgan watched without blinking, though his heart was beating so hard the thumping echoed into the ground.

The bear swallowed, watching the cavalrymen who were already descending the hill.

"Wh-what is this?" Lison asked in a whisper, almost inaudibly.

Ilgan didn't dare move. "I can't hear you," he said quietly in response.

"I..." he wanted to crawl closer, but his body was frozen as if glued to the ground. "What is this?" he asked only slightly louder.

A breeze blew over the grass, swaying it and the leaves on the ghillie suits.

"Looks like a patrol. Probably checking for ambushes."

"I can't hear you."

Ilgan closed his mouth, and waited a few seconds until the wind died down. "A patrol, I said. Checking for ambushes."

The clatter of hooves faded somewhere further ahead, and soon became completely inaudible.

Ilgan let out a trembling breath; the crossbow in his hands shook. "Barely got away with that..."

A collective exhale rippled through the grass, but no one dared to stand up.

"What the hell is a patrol doing here? They're supposed to be besieging a fortress far away," the bear said, carefully peering out from the grass.

"Maybe they're checking if our troops are moving toward them?" Lison asked quietly.

Ilgan remained silent for almost another minute. "I don't know... but either way, this is not good."

The boar cast a sidelong glance at him. "So what are we going to do? There's no point in going back, and forward..."

"Forward is dangerous," Ilgan finished. "That patrol will definitely be coming back. I think... we need to push forward, just more carefully. Don't let them spot us."

"Through this grass?"

"Exactly through this grass. Forward, no point hanging around here." Ilgan turned back toward the road, slowly got to his feet, and crouched. "Keep your heads down, we walk like this until the patrol heads back to the siege."

The other nine snipers rose from the ground in varying order, making the grass seem to come alive and begin moving north.

After about forty minutes of this kind of walking, the previous speed was gone; all the snipers were barely moving. Their legs burned from the half-crouch, even for seasoned hunters.

"That patrol is taking a long time to come back," Shikur hissed, barely moving his legs. "Listen, Ilgan, maybe we should take a break?"

"Absolutely not. It's almost sunset, and we're slow enough as it is walking like this. If we arrive at night, what are you going to look at? Gonna tell His Grace how many campfires and torches you counted?" Ilgan said through clenched teeth.

"Fine... let's go."

Lison's sharp fox ear suddenly twitched. "Quiet. I think they're coming back."

The ten snipers immediately lay down in the grass and pressed themselves to the ground.

Silence.

Only the sounds of distant stomping.

"Something's not right..." Ilgan whispered, "it sounds like they're coming from the direction of the fortress."

They fell silent again, waiting for the approach, but the sound began to grow louder and louder from the north side. Not dozens, but hundreds of hooves and boots pounded on the dirt road.

Ilgan's ears stood on end. "Guktus... there's a whole army there!" he hissed. "And that patrol... they were scouting the territory for the rest of the troops!"

Shikur turned sharply to him. "Fuck, what do we do?!"

"We need to warn everyone..." he gripped the grass, his breathing quickening, "we can't. They'll get there faster..."

Lison narrowed his eyes. "Maybe we can delay them somehow?"

The bear chuckled nervously. "And how do you plan to delay this horde?! Moreover, Lord Gothwald ordered us not to engage in combat! Only reconnaissance. Ilgan?"

Ilgan didn't answer, only staring at the ground as the march drew closer and closer.

"Ilgan!"

"Shut your filthy trap! I'm thinking!" he hissed.

Everyone fell silent, no one said another word, listening to the approach.

Thirty seconds.

Forty.

A minute.

Two minutes.

With every second the column drew closer; Lison's sensitive ears even caught snippets of unintelligible words from the vanguard. One of the snipers in the back involuntarily crawled back a bit.

The bear ripped up grass by the roots. "Ilgan! What do we do?!"

He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. "To hell with it. Let's try to shoot someone important from this column."

Shikur's eyes widened. "Are you crazy? What if we get caught?"

"If we don't do at least something, they'll pin all the blame on us."

Shikur leaned closer. "What blame?! What could we have done here?!"

Ilgan turned back with a slightly distorted face. "They don't care who's to blame! We're Mireyans to them, which means it's convenient to pin all the blame on us! Do you not fucking understand or what?!"

"Quiet!" Lison hissed, and everyone fell silent.

On the road, a few dozen paces away from them, the vanguard appeared, consisting of dozens of knights on horseback. Some of them carried flags behind them, red and blue banners with some sort of crests. The vanguard moved unhurriedly, looking straight down the road and not stopping.

All the snipers froze like statues, but Ilgan raised his head slightly and began to peer intently. "Look for someone in rich armor, we aim at him."

"What..." the bear began, but cut himself off. "Fine. Fine. We have no choice, do we?"

"None at all."

"Dunko, can you see if there are many of them back there?"

Silence.

"Dunko!" Ilgan whispered louder.

Silence.

One of the snipers in the back turned around. "He's... not here."

Ilgan's pupils contracted. "What do you mean 'he's not here'?! He was just..." his hands gripped the crossbow almost to the point of cracking. "Shit! Shit! Fucking coward!"

"Not the time," Lison said quietly, "we need to deal with this right now."

Somewhere far away from there, Dunko was running as fast as his legs could carry him, gasping for air, barely dragging his crossbow in his hands, the grass from his ghillie suit tearing off him. "Forgive me... forgive me... forgive me... I can't..." he muttered like a mantra.

Finally he reached a village he had spotted from afar, and finally entering its territory, he exhaled, pulling off his hood.

By one of the houses, a man wielding a hammer at a cart raised his head and froze. He slowly stood up, not taking his eyes off Dunko.

Dogs, spotting the stranger, immediately began barking at the top of their lungs.

One by one, men peeked out of the houses, and spotting the lone guy in strange clothes, began to approach.

"Who are you?!" one of them asked.

Dunko immediately raised his hands slightly. "I... I mean no harm!"

"Drop the weapon!" shouted the man with the hammer, while dozens of men with sickles, pitchforks, and scythes approached Dunko.

Dunko swallowed, and then quickly threw the crossbow on the ground, raising his hands. "H-here... I didn't come to hurt you! I... I need help!"

A graying peasant with a hammer in his hands stepped closer to him. "Whose man are you, lad?"

"I-I... I'm from... I'm from the army."

"From the army?" The peasant raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing here alone?"

Dunko's mouth opened, closed, opened again, but the words wouldn't come.

Another man, a bit younger, approached the peasant. "Shergen, he looks like a deserter. If the army finds out we had a deserter..." he cast a sidelong glance at Dunko. "Three days ago Lominara was burned and plundered to the ground. They were hiding a deserter too."

Dunko's eyes widened and he began to back away. "No... no! I'll leave! I'm just passing through!"

The man with the hammer took a sharp step forward and raised the wooden tool over the sniper. With a dull thud, the hammer struck Dunko's forehead, causing him to instantly go limp like a rag doll and fall to the ground.

"We need to hide him."

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Chapter 7

***

EXTRATERRESTRIAL CONTACT AND HUMAN RESPONSE OPERATIONS, SITE 3 (CODENAME: ECHO-3)
DIRECTOR’S QUARTERS
BLACK SITE ORBIT -  ASTEROID BELT
0243Z - 22 MAR 2532

The Knock was initially conceived as a joke: tap, tap-tap-tap-tap, tap-tap. Shave and a haircut, two bits. One of dozens of the damned things that filled the SOP guides. You can’t put creative and intelligent people into isolated boxes for long periods of time without a little weirdness creeping in. Most were small, inside jokes that only a single generation of staff knew. Document reviews stripped anything too overt or risqué, but the Knock had stayed. It turned out to be surprisingly distinct, quick, and effective at communicating urgency than a constant pounding and less stressful than an alarm klaxon sounding off.

Director Park Su-jin sat up immediately when she heard it at the door of her quarters. She pulled on her station jacket, padded to the door, and opened it. A marine waited, his uniform neat, his expression very still. He extended a sealed wafer case.

“Director. Secure priority dispatch from Geneva,” he told Park. The name plate on his uniform said Colmes. He was new, seconded from the Marines for 6-month tour.

“Thank you, Colmes,” she replied. “Was there any detail outside of the eyes-only protocol?”

“Gunny Chavez said to tell you ‘93-Delta,’ and that you’d know what the code meant.”

The words slapped any lingering sleepiness from Su-jin. Her eyes widened and her stomach dropped as the Marine gave the protocol code for an outside context problem.

“I do. Colmes, I need you to get back to the Duty Officer and get the secure conference room ready.”

“Yes, ma’am. With your permission?” he asked.

That was a detail she always forgot when giving orders to the Marine staff. 

“Right. Dismissed.” 

She waved him away to his task and stepped back into her quarters. The door hissed shut behind her. Practically running to her desk, Su-jin slotted the wafer and keyed her credentials. 

The holoscreen hummed into life with its boot-up, then cleared.  Su-jin pressed her hand on the security scanner as the request for identity came up. The seal of the Intelligence Directorate appeared, the laurel wreath of the Commonwealth around a torch, scroll, and key arranged in a triangle with slogan ‘Veritus in Vigilantia.’

UNIC INTELLIGENCE DIRECTORATE - PRIORITY  MESSAGE
CLASSIFICATION: COSMIC/SAP - ECHO-3
FROM: A. KILGORE, DIR., FIELD OPERATIONS
TO: DIR. S. PARK (ECHO3)
CC: DIR. Q. RAINES (ECHOPRIME)
SUBJECT: INITIATION OF PRIMARY MISSION - FIRST CONTACT OPERATIONS

Director Park:

The Event has occurred. Per operational contingency on alien contact, you are hereby directed to transition ECHO-3 to full primary mission status effective immediately.

As of this message, you are now downgraded to SCI status for the duration of the primary mission. You are cleared to release your first contact scenarios under SCI clearance for inclusion into broader UNIC Armed Services, Intelligence Directorate, and Science Bureau planning scenarios. 

The external operational designation of your facility is now ECHO Station. Use of the Echo-3 identifier is to be restricted to SAP-contained traffic.

You are to initiate all relevant model protocols and begin scenario planning immediately. All analyst tiers are cleared. This is not a simulation. 

Attached documents: the briefing and your secure channel blockchain codex for a principals meeting at 0330 Zulu time. Recorded and live data streams will be made available to you and your staff afterwards.

In the meantime, get your teams read-in. We’ll need their assessments.

It’s time to ride the tiger, Su-jin.

— Alex

Attachment: 
EVENT CLASSIFICATION: 93-Delta/OCP
TARGET: Non-Human Configuration Detected
SOURCE: UNSC VIGILANCE-9
LOCATION: SOL SYSTEM / ECLIPTIC PLANE / RADIO SILENCE

*Nothing follows*

Su-jin sat motionless as shivers ran across her body. Century-long machinery was turning toward its final gear. Every director wondered if she’d been the one sitting in the chair when they finally found a living alien civilization to contact. And every single one dreaded that it would be a delta-event, a species more technologically-advanced than humans. 

Su-jin reviewed the data and her jaw dropped.

“Sesange,” she said in a whisper. She keyed her internal command circuit. The first step in the book was making the formal transition from scenario planning to operational status.

“Fiasco-14, this is Director Park. Acknowledge.”

“Acknowledged, Director. Please specify a command,” the VI replied.

“Fiasco, under ECHO Directive One, activate 93-Delta protocols. We have a confirmed contact observation. Send wake up calls to all department heads along with Commander Li and Colonel Paredes. Loop standby signal to Geneva until handshake for a principals meeting at 0330 Zulu. Check my incoming mailbox for details.”

“Confirmed. ECHO-3 transitioning to First Contact status. Calendar updated and AR protocols spooling. Accessing blockchain codex for connection. ”

Su-jin went to the kitchenette and slotted a coffee packet into the dispenser system. The machine hummed, and after a moment, there was the gentle sound of liquid streaming into the cup. She breathed in the intense earthy scent of the hot coffee as the machine sputtered the last few milliliters out. She brought the cup to her pursed lips and took a careful sip of the bitter brew. The warmth hit her tongue but did little to blunt the edge of excitement she felt. The next few hours would be critical; there would be so much work.

In addition to the technical details, she would need to work with the Personnel Office on getting round-the-clock shifts set up: Analysts, coms, and runners. She looked at the coffee in her hands. They were going to run through their supply so much faster. She added logistics to her mental list.

First things first though, she needed to get dressed and get the department heads up to speed. The meeting in less than an hour would likely have the Joint Chiefs, Ministry heads, and others present. As director of a black site project, she would be a nonentity so it would be important to look like she belonged. 

This would have been so much easier if she was military, but Echo was a civilian intelligence directorate project. Most everyone wore shipsuits since they were light and comfortable. For this, she needed her suit, charcoal grey with a traditional cut, and her nice red blouse. This was a day for celebration after all. First contact after all! She mentally corrected herself: first sustained contact. She pulled out her sapphire tennis bracelet, blue for calm. It would be a visual reminder to temper herself.

She stepped into the corridor and walked towards the augmented reality conference room. Aides had already started coffee for the meeting. It smelled even better than the ready pods in her quarters.

Su-jin felt a little pit in her stomach. She’d overseen multiple debriefing sessions on contact scenarios here, but the weight of the current moment pressed down. Those had been simulations, not the real thing. This wasn’t Max playing red team with them again. The real thing currently orbited the Sun out in the Kuiper Belt near Pluto’s orbit.

Men and women shuffled in a few minutes after her. Li and Paredes came in wearing their service uniforms. Li’s was dark blue of the Space Corps, with a holographic serpent on one side of the collar and a silver oak leaf on the other. Paredes’s uniform was a green somewhere between dark and olive with beige khakis.

Su-jin’s had to shake her head at some of the style choices her department heads made. Varga had put on a tan sport coat over his shipsuit, as if that made it formalwear. Okoye wore an evening gown of all things, like she was going to a ball or a cocktail party. Only Parkinson had made a choice that at least looked like something you’d wear to a meeting with major government officials, a dark grey suit with snappy clean lines that was pressed neatly with a blue, almost midnight button up shirt. But then, there was his tie. It was playing a holo of a popular children’s cartoon with an anvil dropping on the character. 

Su-jin held in a sigh. Smart people isolated together for long periods of time indeed. It was part of her unofficial duties to keep them all pointed more or less in the same direction. None of the staff’s antics would be permitted on any other black site location. The whole idea of a black site was about discipline and focus on the project.

On the other hand, the whole point of Echo-3 was creativity and wild-eyed imagination bounded by rigorous process and fueled by people so brilliant that they were practically insane. No one else had come up with a better approach to developing contact scenarios for alien minds.

Su-jin motioned for everyone to take a seat around the table. Li and Paredes would have been informed by their subordinates already. The three scientists showed a mix of curiosity, confusion, and concern on their faces. There was never any good news at three o’clock in the morning. 

“I apologize for the early morning wake up but we have a situation. I think you all should have a seat,” Su-jin said to them.

Li and Paredes took their seats, their faces stony. The three civilians made faces that read more concern now. They frowned as they sat and saw the VR glasses.

Su-jin flicked her wrist and opened her fingers towards the holoprojector in the center of the table as if she was throwing something. The UNID emblem appeared, rotating along the vertical axis.

“Obviously, what you are about to see is special access protocol only.” 

Su-jin motioned into the holo and the image of the golden-hued oblong alien vessel appeared with its six obelisk-like structures arranged equidistant along the amidships axis. Its surface shimmered with the golden light scintillating like fish scales in sunlight. Only Li didn’t gasp in surprise.

Parkinson spoke first. “Oh bloody hell. That what I reckon that is?”

Su-jin nodded.

“At approximately 0140 Zulu time, a Kuiper Belt patrol ship identified an anomalous gravity wave signature indicating a vessel, designated Zulu-1, coming out of stable warp at a little over 1000 times the speed of light. The light you see is photon-only despite the clear shimmering effect. The ship doesn’t otherwise show up on any other passive sensors, suggesting exotic fields beyond known physics.”

Parkinson leaned forward. “Wait. You’re telling me. That bugger popped in at 20 times faster than our EXPERIMENTAL drive…that we just started testing?”

Su-jin nodded again.

“A delta event then,” Okoye said, her voice full of awe. “Has there been any attempt at contact?”

“Not at this time, Amara. Zulu-1 has made no attempts at communication on the EM spectrum, using the hydrogen line, or other forms of communication that we can see. Nor have we tried to communicate. The ship on site continues to monitor the situation. The alien vessel is behaving such that it seems our ship  has not been detected.”

Varga piped in, asking, “Is this a live feed?”

Paredes answered him before Su-jin could. “Not yet. We are deliberately cut off from most external feeds…for obvious reasons. UNID is working with the coms team to get a live feed piped through for analysts.”

Su-jun paused. She was having trouble keeping her expression neutral and her own emotions tamped down. 

“We are scheduled as expert observers for a principals meeting in approximately 20 minutes.” She gestured towards the VR glasses. “All omega-level UNID directors, the defense minister, the joint chiefs, and the President’s Chief of Staff will be present. Our role is to be neither seen nor heard unless we are called upon.”

Varga steepled his hands. He did that whenever he was thinking. “Su-jin, they’ve not given us any time to prep. We…”

Director Park cut him off. “I don’t get the sense this is a briefing, Frank. If it were, we’d have been asked to prep materials. And we’d have been slotted into an agenda. There’s no agenda. And we’re at…what do you call it in America? Your holidays with the children separated from adults?”

“The kid’s table?” Varga asked, frowning.

“Yes, the kid’s table,” Su-jin confirmed. “We are to be seen and not heard.”

Okoye was looking at the holo of the alien ship while adjusting the sleeves of her gown. 

“Delta contact. Technology beyond our capabilities. We cannot know if we have been detected, and they simply do not care. We cannot even know if they have the same concerns or emotional triggers as us. In fact, it’s likely they do not,” Okoye paused, considering her next words. “Silence is also a behavior. We should assume it’s not passive.”

Li spoke up. “If I may add something.”

Su-jin replied, “Of course, Commander. Please…”

“We should assume that the Vigilance has been detected and they are watching what we do. There’s better than even odds that we are outclassed and outgunned. The risk is too high to assume we are safe.” He looked over to Colonel Paredes.

“The Commander is right,” Paredes said. “But we’re running short on time for discussion. We’re at 10 minutes, Director. We still have to log in under our credentials.”

Parkinson got up and walked over to the coffee dispenser. 

“In that case, I’m going to need a lot more coffee. Damned aliens coulda had a little courtesy and not started the end of the world at three-bloody-AM.”