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Chapter 33: PSDM

"CP 1765, September 18. 67 days have passed since landing. Local time: AD 2016, October 23."

"If you ask me whether I support Min attending the private science discussion meeting? Of course I do."

"Though I've attended many academic conferences before, this is my first on an alien planet. Unfortunately, I can only imagine what the actual scene will be like. After all, I can't participate. In this regard, it's practically racial discrimination. Or to be more precise, species discrimination?"

"..."

"Politics, terrifying politics. The protector of rights, yet also the freedom-crushing machine. Ample evidence proves that wherever complex, class-based life forms exist, 'politics' inevitably emerges to some degree. Along with it come derivative phenomena: political regimes, power struggles, governmental systems... and ideologies."

"I'm no expert on the subject, but anyone without intellectual disabilities can see the ideological conflicts here are particularly severe. Perhaps what I described in the previous diaries seems exaggerated, but this is in fact an ameliorated outcome. If my understanding is correct, their situation fifty to seventy years ago was countless times more intense than it is today."

"I have no authority to judge political matters, including those here — that's for the people who study statecraft. But as an observer, one can't deny that some political artefacts are quite fascinating. Especially certain propaganda pieces..."

"What kind of ideology makes them believe they can grow a creature weighing a dozen kilograms into one weighing several tons without genetic engineering? Even with genetic engineering, it would be laughably impossible. Even if it did reach several tons, basic mathematics shows that it could not possibly feed dozens of people for over 100 days. Best not to elaborate further."

"Still, based on my expertise, I can somewhat understand their divisions. The ocean is a natural barrier between land-dwelling species and the ultimate tool for severing national borders. Unlike us, they scattered and settled across every continent of this planet back in the ancient time when they were still smashing animal skulls with rocks. In that sense, they possess a peculiar passion for migrating to new places. Judging by the time and scale of this behaviour, it doesn't seem to be rooted in culture or custom — more like an instinct deeply embedded in their genes. Perhaps this is another difference between us and them, though a more subtle one..."

"..."

After typing the final words, Xi P leaps from his chair and yawns deeply. Today is the day when Min goes to the PSDM. If he were not genuinely unable to attend, he would have attended too. Now, the only thing left to look forward to is the video recording. From Xi P's experience, secretly filming such a semi-formal gathering is not a big deal even when the host disapproves. The method is simple: just place a recording device, like a phone, in a corner of the room upon entering. Not even needing to hide it deliberately.

If the phone has a covert recording mode, that would be even better, making detection nearly impossible. Yes, Xi P has done this many times before, just for personal recollection or as a memo. This time, although it is not his own experience, it would still make for a decent keepsake.

He even lent Min his phone for this recording and showed him how to use it. This device incorporates decades of advanced imaging technology and far surpasses any competitor made on Earth in terms of performance. It excels at reducing ambient noise during recording and boasts imaging capabilities with a 170-degree ultra-wide-angle lens, as well as supporting holographic photography. In reality, however, the lens is so small that the holographic effect is practically negligible. Not to mention a whole host of other cutting-edge technologies whose names he couldn't even begin to recall.

He does recall the interesting finding that took place when he lent out his phone, though:

"Is it just me, or is the colour really feels off?" Min rubs his eyes.

"Probably. It is not made for human eyes."

It appears that even though the visible spectrum ranges roughly match, their equipment is not particularly compatible with each other's.

***

After nearly an hour of anxious waiting, Min finally returns from the PSDM.

He casually hands the phone back to Xi P, but doesn't speak to him right away. Instead, he walks into the kitchen and blends a glass of juice — all that talking has left him thirsty. Then, strolling back leisurely to the living room, he asks Xi P: "So?"

Xi P has drawn all the curtains and turned off the lights, making the room much darker. He is projecting images onto the wall using his phone's front-facing display, giving the room a slightly sci-fi vibe. Spotting Min return, he waves dismissively before refocusing on the wall.

They sit down together. Min has no interest in watching the footage — he experienced it firsthand. He cannot quite fathom why Xi P is so fascinated by it; after all, it's just an informal gathering of scientific enthusiasts. Hmm... Huh?

Suddenly, he turns to stare at Xi P, startling him so much that his neck recoils in a manner impossible for humans.

"Did you use the kitchen juicer to blend meat?"

Xi P nods and mumbles in confusion: "Tastes bad?"

"Worse than bad — utterly disgusting!" Min walks back to the kitchen and pours out the juice, looking revulsed, "Remember to clean the machine next time!"

Xi P nods in agreement, but another question arises: Don't they always eat vegetarian and meat dishes together? Why does this one make him feel nauseous? Isn't this also a combination of the two?

Shaking his head, he decides not to dwell on it. In this regard, at least, the two species are completely incompatible, unable to communicate or understand each other. For now, he should focus on the scientific discussion meeting.

This video does hold some commemorative value. Just imagine: "Live footage of the first close encounter with alien scientific symposiums after arriving on another planet." It sounds incredibly high-stakes. He is genuinely curious about the academic world here — even the article he has been preparing is intended to familiarise him with how things operate locally. If only he could attend the symposium himself...

He restarts the video. The image flickers and shakes before settling into a steady perspective. As Xi P instructed, the camera is placed on a chair in the corner, offering a full view of the entire room and even the walls on both sides. However, the autofocus hasn't been calibrated properly, and the lens isn't wide enough to achieve a full focal range, making the entire image appear slightly blurry.

Despite the blur, Xi P can make out the layout of the room. It looks... far worse than he had imagined.

A scientific discussion meeting — while rarely featuring experimental equipment for on-the-spot research — should at least maintain a semblance of formality. Even a multidisciplinary one ought to project some professionalism. Yet this space resembles nothing more than an oversized living room, sparsely furnished with drinks and snacks. Had Min called it a party, Xi P might have believed him.

At the very least, they should have prepared projectors and tools for sketching diagrams. Even a stack of paper in the corner would have been better than nothing. But now?

However, Xi P soon realises he is overthinking it. Moments later, a figure appears at the edge of the video, carrying a large whiteboard into the room. Others have pulled down a projection screen and are adjusting the projector. Instantly, the living room takes on a more serious air. Honestly, this scene feels strangely familiar to Xi P; decades ago, many academic lectures in Lierus unfolded in much the same way. Even today, it's still similar except that the whiteboard and projector have merged into one and multiple projectors are used for 3D projection.

Nevertheless, when the supposed host starts speaking, Xi P feels as though he has been transported back half a century, even though he wasn't born then.

The speeches themselves aren't particularly noteworthy. Though he can't understand much, they essentially follow this formula: "welcome remarks — individual introductions of specially invited guests — thoughts on the symposium — closing remarks." It's so standard that it borders on cliché, prompting Xi P to think, with a touch of dark humour, that if he replaced the faces and handshakes in this video with those of his kind, and labelled it 'Opening Address at a Foreign Language University in 1715', no one would bat an eyelid.

Clearly, these invitations aren't handed out to just anyone. Those present all seem to possess a certain level of decorum. During speeches, they sit quietly in their seats, listening attentively. When applause is called for, they clap in perfect unison — most even timing their applause to exactly three seconds flat. The moment the opening speech ends, a wave of murmurs sweeps through the video feed. Many people immediately start chatting with those around them, six or seven groups spontaneously forming in minutes. Usually, these would be organised by academic field, but with only six groups formed so far, the categorisation is rather broad. Those discussion seminars with hundreds of participants often naturally split into dozens of distinct groups by field...

Xi P fast-forwards the video. The crowd surges and the atmosphere seems lively. Midway through, people take turns to climb onto the stage and project and draw diagrams. Xi P recognises some of the diagrams, such as a right triangle. It seems that two mathematicians are competing to recall more proofs of the Pythagorean theorem... Mathematicians are weird.

But then things start to take a strange turn. About ten minutes into the video, the noisy crowd gradually quietens down. Two voices in the centre grow clearer. Judging by their tone, it sounds like they are arguing.

"What were they arguing?" Xi P asks Min.

Comfortably reclining on the sofa with a glass of freshly squeezed juice, Min turns towards the wall at Xi P's question. His expression twists into something peculiar when he sees what Xi P is talking about: "They're arguing about... um, quantum theory."

Xi P, however, asks again in confusion: "What does 'quantum theory' mean?"

'How exactly am I supposed to explain this to you?' Min suddenly feels like crying. This really isn't the simplest concept to explain. Not even to another human.

With no other option, Min resorts to explaining with keywords: "Science theory about, eh, small things, atoms… waves… randomness...", bringing his hands together as he speaks.

Min has no hope that this vague explanation will work. Surprisingly, however, Xi P seems to grasp it, reacting in an unexpected way: first, he looks suddenly understanding, then he shudders sharply as if recalling something terrifying. He turns his head back to the wall stiffly and unpauses the video.

Min does recall a bit of what those two at the PSDM were arguing about. They were debating quantum media for quantum computers — one insisted on ions or something, while the other something something. This disagreement sparked a heated debate, and they soon launched into relentless attacks on each other.

Although he knows nothing about quantum theory, Min recognised that these two men are from competing companies researching quantum computing. Perhaps personal conflicts were involved, too. People really can start arguing in the strangest places...

Min can't help but press his hand to his forehead and sigh as he watches Xi P slowly open his mouth, stick out his tongue and gaze expectantly at the wall. Honestly, he still can't fathom why Xi P is so eager for this kind of scene. Is this a cultural difference?

***

Fast-forwarding, the video finishes playing in just a few minutes. Xi P turns off the phone projection and collapses onto the sofa. He doesn't move, but instead closes his eyes as if savouring the previous scene.

Having finished his juice, Min sits down beside Xi P and, seeing him lost in thought, ruffles his fur and asks softly: "What are you thinking about?"

Xi P swats Min's hand away hurriedly, glaring at him fiercely first. Then he sighs, gathers his thoughts and replies: "I was thinking, how much better if, no, would have been, if I'd been part of the things, you were at back then."

"Huh?"

Chapter 34: The First Article

"CP 1765, September 20. 69 days have passed since landing. Local time: AD 2016, October 25."

"After rigorous time unit measurements, I can finally correct the date discrepancy. This place called 'Earth' has day lengths approximately 1.143 times those of Lierus. A bit more than I anticipated, but not a major issue — I've even grown accustomed to it."

"Collected data confirms that no lifeforms on this planet have evolved air sacs for flight. Birds clearly exist and thrive here, suggesting other organisms have replaced air-sac-dependent species as their primary food source."

"The absence of air-sac creatures stems from a simple reason: the lack of high-altitude plankton. Perhaps this branch simply never emerged during evolution. Beyond trace amounts of pollen and bacteria, the upper atmosphere here is nearly void of all manner of beings. I suspect it relates to the climate. Air-sac creatures, hindered by difficulty in vertical movement and lacking the stealth to ambush ground targets, naturally lost their necessity for existence. While birds lost air-sac creatures as a food source, their ability to fly alone was enough to secure their place in the ecosystem."

"Non-flying birds are the exception. Though they do exist here in small numbers. We can all just blame the niche gaps."

"Frankly, the sky without high-altitude phytoplankton actually looks more beautiful. It's almost pure blue and white, far superior to the muddled greenish hues. Their high-altitude fighters implicitly gain significant advantages from this, though they likely remain blissfully unaware."

"On the other hand, progress on the article has been painfully slow. Eight full days, yet barely any real advancement. Language barriers are always such a struggle... Regardless, the translation is finally complete. Thoroughly checked for absolute lexical accuracy. As for the citations, it seems we'll just have to take it one step at a time and await the journal's revision requests. Min's knowledge of this discipline is frankly inadequate, but luckily he has a friend who knows a bit about astronomy."

"Worth mentioning: the natural meat here has excellent texture. The muscle fibres offer a much more satisfying bite than factory-farmed alternatives, and it's relatively affordable. The taste, however, remains the same. Until someone figures out how to eliminate that odd flavour, I wouldn't recommend any tuefue to try it…"

***

Min is researching potential journals. Which immediately plunges him into decision paralysis.

By their standards, the journal has to possess a certain level of reputation without being overly prominent. It needs to align with the article's subject matter and fit the criteria of being relatively unknown locally but highly regarded overseas. While these conditions might sound demanding, the reality is that the sheer number of journals available — dozens to choose from — left Min dizzy with indecision.

Xi P is keeping his cool as he considers the many possible publishing options. In truth, he has encountered such situations countless times before. The situation with the journals on Lierus is even more overwhelming, with similar criteria potentially yielding over a hundred options. The competition within this industry and the sheer number of opportunists operating within it is a classic counterintuitive phenomenon. After all, most people are only familiar with one or two well-known publications...

With no better option available, Min closes his eyes and starts scrolling up and down the scroll wheel, attempting to select a journal at random.

Luck is on his side — the first random pick yields a viable option. After briefly reviewing the details, he wastes no time. He quickly reformats his draft email, selects the journal's address as the recipient, and after double-checking the content, clicks “Send”.

This doesn't calm him. In fact, quite the opposite happens: Min begins to tremble with a mix of nervousness and eager anticipation. He has submitted articles before, but today marks his first submission of genuinely groundbreaking work. What's more, he has written it with the help of an alien! The very thought is thrilling!

"You look very nervous." Xi P remarks.

"Of course I am! Don't you feel excited and nervous too? I bet you're even more excited than I am — you are an alien, after all!"

Seeing Min trembling all over, Xi P beside him can't help but sigh. Then —

He reaches out and places a hand on Min's head, patting it gently. A signal for him to calm down.

In terms of making Min stop trembling, the action achieves its goal perfectly. Min jumps back as if he has been electrocuted and quickly brushes off Xi P's hand. He turns to stare at Xi P, looking shocked and disbelieving. He wants to say something, but he's not sure what.

Maintaining an emotionless expression, Xi P meets Min's gaze and asks: "Do you know what the scientific explanation is for the act of petting someone's head?"

"Um, no, I'd like to hear it?"

"...Based on difference in reactions between the experiment and control groups, it proves that stroking another creature's head carries a meaning of show. It's a act of, unawaredly showing superiority, a way of looking down on their intelligence and brain size. That's where the satisfaction comes from."

"I know I look a lot like a fox, and I get why you want to pet a fox's head. But please, don't do it again. I genuinely dislike having my head petted. In many ways, it's an insult to my dignity, both as to my brain size!"

After staring at Min for an extended period — long enough to make him feel slightly uneasy — Xi P suddenly unleashes this torrent of words, bitterly denouncing Min's past head-petting habits.

The grammar is a bit off, and there are a few parts he can't quite make out. But he gets the gist. Min is speechless. Could petting someone's head really carry such connotations there? Well, aliens are aliens...

Min sighs softly and decides that an explanation is in order: "Xi P, it's not as complicated as you think."

"We're both aliens to each other. Some of our thoughts are completely different to what you imagine."

"The reason I touched your head — the examples you gave are probably part of it. But the main reason is simply that it feels incredibly good."

"You might not notice it yourself, but your fur, especially the soft down on your head, is the most comfortable I've ever touched. I find it genuinely hard to resist the urge to stroke your head. I'll try to cut back on it in future."

To Min's slight surprise, after hearing his explanation, Xi P seems... shy? Despite not having a human face and having sunglasses lenses over his eyes, Min can still sense it.

After a few more seconds of staring at each other, Xi P moves. Completely unexpectedly, he suddenly thrusts his hand down hard onto Min's head and begins kneading it vigorously. The force is so strong it nearly knocks Min to the ground. Before Min can react, Xi P turns and starts furiously cursing at the air in his alien language, which Min cannot understand at all.

Min instantly realises that he should have phrased his earlier words more delicately. Putting himself in Xi P's shoes, he is overwhelmed by revulsion. It's no wonder Xi P reacted so violently. From a human perspective, at least, saying that someone feels pleasant to the touch — especially when that someone is male — is utterly disgusting...

First

Lisa stared at her male coworker for a moment. “This could turn out to be a kidnapping situation.”

“I know.”

“Are you sure?” She lowered her voice as if the rest of the office didn’t already know. “It could be another 4/11 case.”

Kai met her eyes with a rare display of intensity.

“That is exactly why I want to talk to him.”

It was no use arguing, once he got serious nothing short of the Station Master could stop him. Out of options, Lisa relented with a sigh.

“Alright. You’re in. I’ll talk to Vitalis, she’s dealing with the boy first, something about a translator. Happy?”

“Very.” now back to his default state Kai sipped his steaming mug. “Call me when I can see him.”

Without waiting for a response, he slithered off to some other part of the office.

“That man is going to kill me some day.” she muttered.

Kai was a good officer and coworker, but at times he could really get under her skin. She didn’t… Dislike him, he was a man after all. She just couldn’t stand him, and the way he made her feel. Like she was about to fall a long ways, or that feeling when you see the thing you had been searching for the last hour, only to be disappointed. And that was just his direct impact on her. She also had to deal with the way her other coworkers talked about him when he wasn’t present, or the way they flirted with him when he was. that really ticked her off.

Shaking the negative thoughts out of her head she turned to her computer station and began creating a summons for Amina and Elisya Sersher. Any units that passed near enough to either of them would be pinged by the vehicle’s onboard AI notifying the driver that they were wanted for questioning. With a little luck they would be brought in by the end of the day.

---

August had calmed down since the odd woman had left him to stew in his new unpleasant reality. Now that he wasn’t about to cry, he was ready to ‘get on with it.’ Sure, he was in a time and place he didn’t recognize, but he could make this work. Yes, he was extremely ‘useful’ as one man out of a hundred people, but all that didn’t mean his life was over. His loss aside, he was actually growing a little excited to see what the future held. Heck, he was on a positively GIGANTIC SPACE STATON for crying out loud. Not to mention space flight and aliens. There was without exaggeration an entire galaxy for him to explore, and that was worth hanging in there. But first things first. He needed to get the attention of his, translator? mass of energy in the shape of a woman? her, whatever she was. More questions for later.

grabbing the phone-thing she left on the table, he fiddled with it for a bit. Eventually he must have turned it on, since the ‘screen’ lit up displaying a large red button labeled: “Call”

shrugging he firmly planted his finger on the button and waited. he didn’t have to wait long before the door reopened, the fractal woman entering followed by the spider-centaur and a new face.

walking in behind the two women he was familiar with was a short reptilian woman, the figure left no doubt about that. Standing about 3-4 feet tall she resembled a miniature bluish grey dragon minus the wings, her skin a smooth scaly texture. She stood on two feet with a pair of arms connecting where you would expect, her fingers and clawlike feet tapering into obsidian nails. Behind her a short somewhat fat tail swayed slightly. On top of her head sat two squat horns with a matching pair of metallic rings on each. probably jewelry of some sort. Her clothing consisted of a sleeveless turtleneck, knee-length skirt and some sort of sandals, all topped by her white lab coat and an expression of near manic curiosity, as she vibrated in place. 

“Are you feeling better now August?” Called his translator.

He nodded in reply. “Yes, thank you for giving me some time to sort myself out.”

“That is good.” she gestured to the spider-centaur “This is the station chief Vitalis, she is the top security officer on the fourth level of Nest.” She turned to the mini dragon next. “And this is Yuzu, she is the resident doctor and will be conducting your medical exam. If you have any problems with a female doctor conducting your exam we can arrange for a male to perform the exam instead.

well then. If he had any doubts about how much value he held in the current society this would be the moment they vanished. He was basically a VIP in a large police headquarters hogging the attention of the sheriff and getting preferential treatment from the med staff.

Oof. He was not ready to be treated like this.

“Uh. No, I am fine with the doctor doing the exam stuff.”

Vitalis and Yuzu both looked at Lillis who translated for them.

Nodding, Vitalis stepped forward. “We will be conducting the medical exam before the lingual transfer; we want to be sure that everything will go smoothly.” Lillis translated.

August nodded. “Sounds good. Uh, Ma’am. Just tell me what to do.”

Vitalis nodded. “Very good. Follow me.”

shuffling out the door he passed the doctor who excitedly waved a tablet in his general direction. Whatever the screen displayed must have been interesting, he could see her pupils dilating to saucers as she read the display. She didn’t look up until they reached the medical ward.

Walking beside Vitalis’s considerable bulk He didn’t see a whole lot on the way, but what he did see, would not be out of place in 90s earth. Indeed, he was starting to get a nagging feeling that he was in the middle of a futuristic society that was paradoxically stuck in the 90s. his thoughts continued until they met a large pair of sliding doors with text and pictures he didn’t understand, though once they opened, he had a good guess what they said.

entering the medical wing, everything he saw was mostly familiar. Sterile white walls and floors, the smell of chemicals/ozone and many branching halls lined with rooms, some occupied and others locked behind formidable looking doors. Passing several rooms and halls he was led into what would be his exam room. The room was fairly normal, if a little large, some cabinets on one end topped by a counter and shelving above and a sterile looking bed/exam table on the other.

Yuzu entered first and immediately went about prepping in an almost frantic manner. Leaving her tablet on the counter she started pulling out a plethora of odd medical devices and equipment from various drawers and shelves. She looked kind of cute the way she had to stretch for items on the shelves or stand on her miniature sized office chair to reach the items higher up. As she went about her gathering of supplies Vitalis stood next to him while Lilian made herself comfortable on one of the extra seats.

“Here is where you will be given your exam and lingual package if all goes well.” Vitalis said, her words being relayed by Lilian. “Some of the testing requires you to be mostly undressed for it. For those I will be just outside the door, you may call for me at any time and for any reason. We are here to keep you safe and to take you to your next of kin unharmed.”

“Thanks.”

Next of kin, huh. He wondered if he even had any.

Turning to the doctor Vitalis said something before leaving. “He is all yours doctor, notify me when the exam is completed.”

“Heard.” Yuzu replied without looking over.

Setting the last of her tools on a side table Yuzu finally turned her attention to August.

“Hello, as the Station Chief told you I am Yuzu. I will be conducting a full physical, psychological and Axomatic series of tests on you. This will serve to give you a clean bill of health, but-“ she took a gulp of air. “Before I can conduct any of these, I will require your consent to proceed.”

Lillian served as translator to the seeming annoyance of the little dragon. Which was slightly amusing to watch. August wasn’t sure how far or behind medical technology had come in the time he was gone, but it seemed Yuzu needed his consent before she could begin. Perhaps rashly he agreed immediately.

“Yes. All good on my end.”

“Excellent!” Yuzu shoved her tablet in his lap. “Just place any finger on the screen.”

Taking the tablet back when he had finished, she faced him fully.

“Alright. Which test would you like to complete first?”

He didn’t think long. “lets start with the physical.”

Should he be worried about the look in her eyes?

---

“But.” Tisa held up a finger. “Consider this.” Waiting a moment for suspense she continued “Post sex cuddle session.” A choir of ‘ooh’ and ‘Ah’s told her that her point had gone over well with her crowd.

The eight girls from the Rapacity were making their way from Reactor Four to the Thunder Dome arena, where all the mech fights were held. The journey wasn’t far, but it still took them from the twilight section where the light was comparable to a sunset, into one of the ‘night’ sections where neon ruled.

In spite of it being local ‘night’ in a night section, the group was happily (mostly) walking along, still chatting about the best way to get laid, and best way to get laid.

“Okay. You got me there.” Elisya said, “But I still think the best part is making out before and during.” This point wasn’t received as enthusiastically as the first but still went over well.

“I’ll tell you what the best thing is.” Vexa called from the back, her drunk sister hanging off her shoulder.

“Not again.” someone said facepalming.

“Having a sober sister.” Vexa finished with a snidely. “And unlike your fantasies this one is easy to come by.” This point didn’t land. Instead, it elicited a bunch of groans.

Elisya, the de-facto group leader, rolled her eyes. “Oh, come off it already. You have been bitching about her for the last half hour.”

“Yeah, you were the one who gave her the idea to shoot her shot.” Kiki shot back.

“Uh, huh. She’s your sister after all. You should be the one to carry her.” Tisa said in solidarity.

“Easy for you to say, it’s not your intoxicated sister threatening to hurl all over your best clothes.” The Feli shot back entirely unfazed. “Now can we please get her detoxed? There has to be a Center around here somewhere. And besides, she won’t remember anything if she’s wasted the whole time.”

They would never admit it, especially to each other, but the two Feli sisters were close, and always looked out for each other.

“Aww. You really do care about her, don’t you” teased Sisu the youngest of the Khob triplets.

“Can it, moss head.” Vexa spat. Some chuckling was had at the obvious denial.

“Alright.” Elisya relented with a snicker. “Everyone vote. Raised hands are for a detour to get Nixis back. All in favor?”  

Vexa, the three Khobs, Amina and Rena raised their hands.

“Alright then.” Elisya pointed to Sisu “Find a local map and tell us where the nearest Med Center is.”

“Ugh, why me?” Sisu complained, pulling out her communicator.

She fiddled with it for a moment before perking up. “Oh. Cool, there is one just around the corner. Just that way about 2 streets down.” She said pointing.

“Alright, let’s go.” Elisya said, leading the group forward.

Vexa let out a little ‘Yuss’ under her breath. Shouldering her snoring sister again, she made to follow the group with a renewed pep in her step.

Walking the predicted two streets they found the Med Center on the first floor of a business center/apartment complex. These mini hospitals were basically an emergency room where patients would be stabilized before being moved to a larger facility. But they were more often used for treating minor things that weren’t worth the trip to a larger facility. Typically, they were family owned and operated. Like this one probably was, if the name on the sign was to be believed:

Stitcher Family Med Center.

Just inside the waiting area a synth sat at the check-in counter.  Noticing the group coming in she perked up, putting down her communicator.

“Welcome to Stitcher Med Center. What can I do for you?”

Elisya gestured to Vexa with her head.

“Go ahead” She said stepping aside as the Feli came up to the counter, cargo still snoring on her back.

“I need a detox treatment. She had a little too much to drink earlier.”

“Absolutely. Her let me just-“ The synth pulled out a medical scanner from under her desk. Waving it at Nixis it beeped the screen reading out some basic health information, but most critically; blood alcohol levels. “Wow. She really did over do it.” She remarked.

Placing the scanner down she pulled out a credit reader. “She’s not in any danger beyond a bad hangover, a metabolic band ought to do the trick. They run just under thirty credits.”

With the slightest eye-roll Vexa went for her communicator. Shifting her sister on her back without success before Amina picked up the unconscious Feli.

“I got her.”

“Thanks.” Vexa mumbled as she made the payment.

“I’ll be right back with that.” The Synth said skipping around the corner.

“Wow. Thirty whole credits. You must really care about her.” Sisu snickered.

Vexa turned to her with a look of annoyance. “Don’t get me wrong. When she wakes up, she is gonna pay for every chit.”

Rounding the corner again the Synth girl handed Vexa a small purple wristband with a small Trytite plate attached to it.

“Just put this on her, anywhere is fine as long as it doesn’t fall off. in about an hour the plate in the middle should discolor and snap in half. Please dispose of it properly when that happens. When the band breaks, the treatment is complete. She might have to use the restroom but should be back to normal. Thank you for coming in and please come see us again if you have any cuts burns or scrapes in the future.” She concluded with a smile.

“Thanks.”

Their detour complete, the group left the clinic and resumed their walk. Though once outside Amina had given Nixis back to her sister.

“Alright. Now to see some spine tingling mecha destruction!” Elisya fist pumped the air with excitement.

She took one step when they were illuminated by the flashing lights of police.

“Aww shit.” Said one of the Khobs as the officer exited, looking from them to the scanner in her hand.

The device must have confirmed something as she pocketed the device and fixed her eyes on the group’s two tallest members.

“Amina and Elisya Sersher. We have some questions we would like you to answer. Please come with me.”

LastNext

***Wade***

Lemon looks to me and asks, “So… did they ask for an address or something?”

I look back to him and say, “No but it’s not like it’s hard to look up our address. We are listed in the yellow pages.”

Lemon then asks, “Wade. No one looks at the yellow pages anymore. Do you mean our website?”

I blink in confusion as I ask, “We have a website?”

Lemon opens his mouth, closes it, and looks behind him as he yells up the stairs, “Melody! You made the website, right?”

No answer. We both wait a little while longer before Lemon yells again, “Melody!”

“No, you twitchy nerds! I haven’t gotten around to it! Now leave me alone! I’m trying to focus on this amazing art project! It’s kinda silly looking but I can vibe with it.” Melody finally answers.

I look at Lemon as I point out, “Now that I think about it, didn’t you ask her to do that last year?”

Without looking at me, Lemon states, “Yes. I can see that was most likely my first mistake.”

I pat him on the shoulder and say, “Don’t worry Lemon. I’m sure it will all work out.”

“The construction project or the website?” Lemon asks.

“I’m sure it will all work out… somehow. It has so far.” I answer.

Lemon lets out a bone deep sigh. But before he can get around to saying what he was about to say, we both hear a very dramatic screeching of tires. We look outside the windows and see a truck has pulled up and two rather large people have stepped out of it. A Hippokin and a Bearkin, both in overalls and rolled up short sleeves’ shirts. They walk towards the door and walk in, jingling the bell. The bear has a hat on backwards while the hippo tips his hat towards us and asks, “Excuse me gentlemen, would either of you happen to know where the owner is?”

The bear lightly smacks the hippo’s shoulder as he states, “It’s the one with the button eyes Gary. Hello again Wade. You may not remember me but I come to this shop quite often. You make some rather cost-effective salves that helps our business with our aches and backs. They work quite well with combs as well, at least that’s how I get it through my fur.”

I snap… well ‘snap’ my burlap fingers as I state, “Oh yeah! I remember you! You worked out that deal with us about getting a bulk deal of ache salves. Working in construction, that makes sense. You know, with how many times you’ve come through here, you are almost applicable for one of our custom potions. It would only be for you though as you are the one making the sales though. Sorry to say for everyone else. I had no idea your last name was Philips. I was under the impression that everyone who works for the Reformed Workers Construction were ex cons.”

Ronaldo lets out a chuckle as he states, “And you would be correct in that regards. Mine was aggravated assault… there’s a reason the saying, poking a bear with a stick, exists. If you’re gonna wake up a bear, use honey or something, not a police baton.”

Lemon actually writes that down as I hear him say, “Sleeping bears, use honey, do not poke.”

I look at him as I respond, “I appreciate the honesty. So, where should we begin? Do you want to hear what we have planned or do we need to talk contracts first?”

Ronaldo raises his finger as Gary answers, I imagine he cut him off as he states, “We would need to fully understand the scope of what it is you are looking to make here. Without that, we can’t exactly quote you on materials or labor.” Ronaldo stares at Gary as Gary simply sticks out his tongue. It’s nice to see them being so normal honestly, relieves some of the tension.

I look at them both as I honestly state, “Well.” I point to the right and continue, “We were hoping to expand to the right of the counter. We… don’t fully know what a full mechanics garage would require but we would also appreciate a lift for some of the heavier projects I imagine.”

Ronaldo pushes Gary behind him as he states, “Understandable. While you make some good salves, potions, and whatever else, you don’t strike me as some with specialized knowledge. But with that being said, that’s what makes it even more odd to see a general and alchemical business want to have a mechanics garage added to their business. May I ask why?”

“Well, the last in sector mechanic had his business repossessed due to bad spending habits and being a drunkard. He left us with one major headache of a mechanical issue and also the fact that there is no one left in sector to do general repairs. It’s a general store and we have to rely on a lot of the mechanical equipment to be maintenanced every so often to reduce the risk of hazards on the job. So, I figured, why not here?” I answer.

Gary walks back outside as Ronaldo keeps talking to us, “I see. Seems like a reasonable idea. Not that it’s any of my business to tell you how to do your business but I appreciate you entertaining my question all the same. Now, while my associate is getting the location surveyed, may I ask what your budget is looking like for this particular project?”

Lemon looks to me and whispers, “Don’t do that thing. He just needs to know how much money you planned to spend on this garage, don’t tell him how much we actually have. Be smart.”

I simply whisper back, “Relax Lemon, I got this.” I then turn to Ronaldo as I state, “We have three hundred thousand currency set aside for this particular project but we are hoping to keep it to two hundred thousand or below so we have some spare funds for the hiring process.” I look back at Lemon and give him a thumbs up.

He simply stares at me as he lets out a sigh, “You honest idiot…” But there’s a smile on his face as he says it.

Ronaldo however, looks like he has frozen in place. He looks up from his clipboard as he states, “Two hundred thousand… for a single bay mechanics garage add on to an existing building.”

I simply nod, stating, “Yeah. At least that’s what my research recommended when I last looked.”

Ronaldo clicks his pen a couple of times as he seems to be absorbing that information in. He then puts the pen into the clip of the clipboard as he states, “Wade. That’s about… double the cost of what you are asking to be done. Even if we put in all the bells and whistles.”

I shrug as I state, “Well, I mean, isn’t it better to have more than what you need in case something comes up?”

Ronaldo sighs as he states, “You should have come to us to get a quote first before filing for a loan Wade. That way you could have gotten half that so you don’t have to pay all that back. You should go back to your loaner and request a lower payment.”

I look to Lemon as I state, “That… actually sounds way smarter than what we did. Why didn’t we think of that?”

Lemon shrugs as he states, “Probably because we don’t typically take out large loans as we typically pay everything up front.”

“I can tell the boss man that your still sorting out the payment while we start planning it out. You do good by us so the last thing I want to do is to see you get scammed by some shark.” Ronaldo says with a sigh.

“Oh no! The thing is, we got a deal where we don’t even have to pay it back. The loaner I agreed with just stated that we just need to put his symbol over our door. And before you freak out about that, yes. I trust the person who made the request enough that it doesn’t feel like a scam. So… basically. He paid us to hang the symbol over our door and is even offering the extra security for the privilege. And considering a company we work with also highly recommend him, I didn’t see why not. He seemed more trustworthy than the guy who was offering ten times that amount.” I answer.

Ronaldo stares at me for a beat, lets out a breath, looks at his clipboard as he then states, “Well then, whatever new mechanic you find for this garage your building, they aren’t going to be working in an underequipped shop then. So then, let’s pick up where we left off, the most thorough package we can offer you is about one hundred thirty five thousand currency for every bell and whistle. Keep in mind, that’s accounting for fifteen hundred square feet, strong slabs, a four post lift, a garage door, all the bells and whistles, and not to mention the permits to make it happen. How does that sound.”

I blink and I look at Lemon, “Do you think that sounds good?”

Lemon scratches his chin as he states, “Fifteen hundred square feet is about the size of our entire store Wade. That might be a bit much.”

“But what about space for all the odd jobs they are likely to end up doing?” I point out.

“Unless they plan on repairing titan sized mech feet, I’m not convinced they need that much space. Even a thousand feels rather ambitious. Maybe half that?” Lemon mentions.

“Five hundred sounds small though. And what if the mechanic is a larger fellow, like Ronaldo or Gary. They are big fellas. Height-wise.” I point out.

Lemon bobs his head side to side as he bounces the idea around in his head as he admits, “You do have a point. And now that I’m thinking about it, it might also be a good place to have a room built for them. After all, we all live on site, they might want too as well. But that said, we are essentially playing a guessing game until we actually have a mechanic interested in working here.”

“But that’s where the backup funds come into play. We can sit on that for a while longer in case it take longer than we both would like. But I see what you mean about the fifteen hundred square feet might be a bit overkill but we can at least thing about it for the time being. We could probably plan for it right now since that’s the most expensive package and start looking for a mechanic in the meantime. And then we could let them have final say on how they want it to look. After all, we gotta make sure they have plenty of space for their equipment and jobs waiting for them.” I point out.

Lemon sighs as he states, “That’s not a terrible idea I suppose.”

Ronaldo scratches something onto the clipboard as he states, “If you want to add that kind of stuff, that’s gonna add quite a hefty addition to the costs. At most, you’re looking at two hundred and five thousand currency. Which is a little over the budget you were looking for. Is that okay? After all, there are a lot of regulations and extra labor for that kind of work.”

I rub my chin as I think about it as I simply sigh as I state, “That works for now. Like we were discussing though, the plans may ultimately change depending on the needs of the mechanic but rather every regulation is followed than do something haphazard down the road.”

Ronaldo writes something down and opens the door and yells, “Hey Gary! You’re not gonna believe this! These guys want to add plumbing and a living space for the mechanic they decide to hire!”

Then I imagine Gary starts laughing as he states, “Well shoot! That’s gonna be one lucky mechanic! Maybe I should apply?”

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Discord

Buy the Author a Coffee

Ride Home

Continuing our top local story, hundreds of people report seeing a bright streak across the sky last night. The Shil’vati Air and Space Authorities deny responsibility for a strange meteorite that streaked across the sky. No response as to how it slipped past the defense net and the fleet, but they insist that it was a natural phenomena.

The meteorite slammed into a cornfield near Lums Pond, and the area is cordoned off due to ‘contamination’ by rare earth mineral dispersal. Experts speculate that a mining asteroid was knocked off-course, or a pre-invasion defunct satellite.

This forgotten stretch of Pennsylvania, an old refinery butted right up against the Delaware River, was so neglected that we wouldn’t even have to contend with border security before ending up in Delaware. After all, Delaware was a state with a severely depleted garrison, de facto run by insurgents. What did Delaware’s garrison care about what came from relatively peaceful Pennsylvania? What did Pennsylvania care about what was leaving their state for Delaware, when they could focus on what was entering from Delaware? As such, the coast was assured to be clear, and was confirmed to be so by Gavin.

Catching a ride sure did beat trying to catch a former SEPTA train after tiredly jogging through this mostly-abandoned city. I didn’t want to overtire myself, or lie in bed, paranoid that the spy was about to decide I was too much of a loose cannon and drone strike my house while I slept.

Tomorrow, after all, was supposed to be a big day. Vanguard beckoned, and I was fairly sure Amilita might’ve started growing concerned I wasn’t answering my omni-pad.

But ever since we’d walked out the front door and I saw his plastered smile drop, I’d had nothing to say for the first few minutes we’d been driving, and so far the trip was carried on in a very tense silence.

“You don’t trust me.” Gavin’s words were welcome, though they came weeks too late to have changed anything substantive. It made me wonder why he bothered saying them at all. I let his sentence rest while I finished constructing my thoughts.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to bridge things. Make amends. I’d shown him, hadn’t I? I could throw together an army with or without him, commit them to a brutal and necessary cause. I could wield the arms of my insurgency- get Pierce to throw together propaganda and disperse information ahead of time. Get word to the right people. Strike with lethal efficacy. Fly through the air, destroy what must be razed.

Except, I hadn’t done a perfect job. West Side could have been a costly mistake. What if my diversion of the three squads hadn’t paid off? What if I’d been stretched too thin after overextending to cover what Jacqueline had ended up covering? West Side might have fended them off, summoned help, any number of things could have gone disastrously wrong.

Gas was also the right call, and my troops hadn’t been trained in bio-chemical warfare, so my father hadn’t really been holding out on me.

From Gavin’s perspective, Jacqueline had come to bail me out of my own screw-up of failing to gather mission-critical information. I’d overrelied on Oscar and other local intelligence, which had been completely wrong through no real fault of his own. He was a part of their social experiment in an isolated human settlement, and I’d used him anyway to tell me what was around him.

I had needed Gavin, and my sister, and all the others to pull this off. Hell, I would continue to need them, and I could be mature about it and swallow my pride, or continue to sullenly stare out the window at nothing as we rolled past the old derelict city.

Still, he’d also kept me in the dark on some rather important matters, hadn’t he?

“Why her?” I asked. “Of all people.”

At least he didn’t play dumb as to who I meant. “Do you really think creating Jackal was my idea? I mean, I wish I could take credit for it. She’s working out fantastically, but no. No, that was all her and your father’s idea, and she caught word of what was happening independently of me. All I did was put the pieces together when I received the report she was on the move. I came to the obvious conclusion of what was about to happen and drove up here. Do you believe me about that, at least?”

No, not particularly.

But if he was being honest, then just great. My father had picked her, again, over me. Was it because she was older that he trusted her more? Was it really that she shared the right opinions privately, and knew how to play the game in our house better than I did? I supposed Elias’s apparent preferences and opinions hadn’t helped my case any. I was a risk to my father, not an asset.

Speaking of risks…

“I’m a bit young, but I like to learn from the mistakes of others through history. Many have walked a similar path as I intend, and have had a rocky relationship with your agency.”

“The Agency isn’t what it once was.”

“I’m sure your people say that to everyone they’ve ever worked with.” Okay, so my arms were crossed defensively. What of it?

“Fine.” He jerked the wheel toward the shoulder and the car rumbled over the warning strips, then slammed the brakes. The car rocked back and forth for several seconds after we came to a stop, headlights reflecting off the shimmering debris that gathered in the gutter. “You want answers, Emperor? Ask them.”

“Why don’t you wear a mask?” I went with what first came to the surface.

“I do,” he said levelly.

“Just not around me?”

“I am wearing one right now.”

“Is this one of those metaphors of ‘not all masks are physical,’ or ‘we carry our cages when we cannot escape our pasts,’ or…?” For all my joking, I let my right hand drift toward the knife as he took his hand off the steering wheel and brought it up to his chin.

If he starts peeling his face off to reveal purple skin, then I am going to have to walk home due to my driver suddenly experiencing an inexplicably bloody medical emergency.

Instead he just dragged them over his features once or twice, then showed me his hands. Something on the tips of his fingers glittered under the dome light.

“What is that?”

“Digital mask, dazzle mask, glitter mask, whatever you want to call it. Hides a face from a lot of different readers, scanners, that sort of thing. It’s not perfectly effective against all types or the naked eye, but it works on the vast majority of surveillance systems the Shil’vati are relying on.”

“What if someone just describes you?” I asked. “Dark ginger, scruffy, tan leather jacket.”

“With an incomplete database, it won’t get them very far. Besides, there are contingencies.”

“And you didn’t see fit to give me that tech?” I asked. “Didn’t think I’d find it useful?”

“You’re kind of too famous to not be spotted and identified at a meetinghouse, kid. We both know that. Besides, people who see you on the way or back might still ID you and then that’d raise questions of why you even have that. And then where you got it.”

“Wait, how is it that I can see you, but cameras cannot?” I tapped at the glowing eyes on my mask. He might have been lying, but then what was the glitter on his fingertips?

“Coincidentally, while this works against most human and Shil’vati surveillance equipment, the latest mask of yours is a purely original design, with ideas coming from both, plus a little, or a lot of extra inspiration from the Coalition exosuit. Any other questions?”

“Yeah. All you really gave me was a gravity harness and the bodysuit, and I think even those were mistakes, things I probably wasn’t supposed to even see or know about but you had to show me something. You withheld a lot.

“So did you! Zealot strike squads, trained, prepared and ready for your summons? Grouper’s alive? The Twins, too? Anyone else you’re going to spring on us when you next decide to go rogue? Tell me now and I’ll pretend to be surprised.”

“That’s at my discretion. We have a hole in our budget. What are you hiding, and why are you hiding it from me?”

“You’re going up there to do a high-risk mission. If you get captured- then what?”

“I’ll mention that you, ‘whoever you are’ are holding my saintly mother hostage, that I was threatened into doing whatever it is I get caught doing in this scenario. I’m likely off scot-free with enough waterworks, probably with another escort stuck on me who we whack over the back of the head, and then I am Emperor full time.” I felt nothing but disgust at his expression of pure wonderment, probably at how quickly I’d responded. That really hadn’t occurred to him? “Did you truly think I didn’t consider the risks and wouldn’t whip up some sort of a contingency plan?”

Rather than admit the low opinion he held of me, he simply leaned back, letting the leather of his tan jacket squeak against the dark plush seat. “The less you know, the less you’ll be able to spill if you are captured and if they crack you. And the better chance the movement has to survive a gaping hole in its side.”

“If.”

“If they find out, they will likely crack you and find out what we’re developing, and that would be nothing short of a disaster! They could form countermeasures, new tactics. That is not a risk we’re interested in sharing at this stage.

It’s because they still saw me as just some punk kid, wasn’t it? Though I forced myself to begrudgingly admit that if the aliens had more evidence than I knew connecting Elias to Emperor, or if they uncovered more in digging, then they mightpush for some rather aggressive interrogation techniques.

“Let’s say I accept that’s the reason why you insisted Jackal not tell me everything she was given access to before we left. And that the budgetary hole is indeed all spent on our research projects. I want…” ‘assurances’ were just words, and words were cheap. I could imagine myself kneeling handcuffed and blindfolded, the cold steel of a gun against the back of my head, and protesting exactly like the child he thought I was: But Gavin, you promised! “...support, in bringing the Brotherhood into the fold as loyal members to me, and to humanity’s broader goal of independence. I’ve done most of the legwork to onboard them, even bringing in a small task force to crash-course train them and help me coordinate the assault. Pierce is a miracle worker at crafting narratives, and with Radio’s help, it’ll already be everywhere.”

“Support? What do you think Jackal was there for? Let’s start with a little gratitude for bailing you out?”

We’d had a plan, imperfect though it was. It would have worked well enough to stop any meaningful intervention. Annoyingly, West Side’s complete annihilation was never an objective. If the new residents had gotten the hint that it wasn’t safe there after neighboring Bethlehem’s destruction and left to their homeworlds, then that would have been equally acceptable. As a result, I worried that the message I’d intended to deliver with Bethlehem’s utter destruction; that mind wiping would always engender this response, would be confused and muddled now. This was something I’d have to entrust Pierce and Radio to carefully avoid. Hell, they might just not even mention West Side.

“Thanks.” The word was bitter, and he cracked a teasing grin.

“I’ve never seen you so awkward as having to ask her twenty questions, and her first trying to flirt and then trying to sort out whether you were gay or if you were just put off by what she was clearly going for. Damn idiot girl practically threw herself at you so hard I’m sure Hex would have put a few bullets in her. She kept dangling answers for things you didn’t want to give up, like your face. At least you can be sure she has no idea who you are under that thing.”

“Yeah,” I grumbled dryly. “Laugh it up.”

“Hey, I robbed myself of some amazing entertainment for your sake. Let me relish what I got out of it.”

“Ah, yes, you’re so kind keeping me in the dark about my own family.”

His face lost all trace of mirth. “Would you rather there be no secrets in your family? None at all. No? Then you’re a hypocrite. I kept your secret, and I kept theirs. Would you rather employ a spy with loose lips?” He paused long enough to fish out a cigarette and crack the window, using the old car’s 12V electric lighter. The orange embers highlighted his face and exposed where he’d run his fingers over the glitter he’d used to obscure it from various sensors. “It ain’t exactly a leak if I tell you I’ve worked with your father for far longer than I’ve worked with you. Your father’s old case manager died, and he almost fell through the cracks until I tapped him as an asset. You’re welcome for the bread on the table and gainful employment while over half the state lined up for basic staples.”

“Worked with?” I quoted, slowly, and he seemed to belatedly realize his mistake as my anger finally cracked through the barriers I’d been using to keep it constrained. Maybe it was all the caffeine, but I had a sudden second wind that threatened to launch me across the center console and wrap my hands around his throat until Gavin looked me in the eyes. “I think we’ve come to the crux of our misunderstanding these past few weeks. You don’t work with me, you work forme. Everyone does. The Field Officers report to me, including Jackal. Miskatonic reports to me. You report to me. You don’t like my upcoming mission? Send someone else.”

“Sullivan’s already annoyed and this close to yanking the plug on the mission to Vanguard and trying to send someone else, which is a seriously bad diceroll.”

“‘Bad diceroll’?” I quoted him again, eyes narrowing at his downright nerdy choice of words. “You rigged the process for me, so you can rig it for someone else. Someone less valuable to risk, who you can safely keep in the dark with minimal risk of exposure.” I didn’t like the way he’d accounted for my possible failure and capture. It was better to be his only option.

Finally, he hung his head and admitted something.

“The cold hard truth is we don’t have anyone else for the mission. Yes, sure, you did your legwork going up and down the state collecting signatures and endorsements, and that was good. Important, even. But what really mattered was what the Shil’vati thought of you, and we don’t have another ‘you’ who’s in our pocket that’s high enough in their standing. The Shil’vati will just move on to their Number Two guy if you cancel now, and we don’t have time to find who that is, let alone throw together the case for a number two guy. Even if we had a month, we might not pull it off, and it’d still be insanely risky.”

“And you didn’t think to have me blackmail the next guy in line?” I asked. “I have Grouper, and you still have Vendetta. Tell me who you have in mind and we’ll make it clear what the mission is, and as an addendum: ‘Or else your family dies.’ This isn’t that hard. You do that manner of thing all the time, do you not?”

“That’s Plan B, but that is one very, very distant second Plan B.”

“Why?”

“Do you have ties in Europe? How about Asia? Africa’s been green for over a year, recent events notwithstanding. What if they pick someone from there? I hate to say it, but America’s not the center of the universe anymore, and our once-global reach is now considerably more regional.”

“You really haven’t got anything that could do the job in a timely fashion?”

“Nothing reliable enough to make that threat credible to the target. What if they fold and go running to the Shil’vati once they’re up in space? Then we’d have handed them our mission requirements. The Shil’vati would know what files we wanted to pull,” he said, letting the smoke seep out past his stupid goatee. “They can prepare countermeasures before we’ve even deployed. So you see how there is no ‘less risky’ option. The information we’re after is everything from ‘feasibility study’ to ‘hey what did we just build? Is there a reason the Shil’vati haven’t made these things? Or is there a reason they make theirs that way instead of the way we’ve been doing?’ If what we are making is the sort of thing that scrambles the user’s DNA into a super-cancer, then we haven’t really made anything that useful at all.”

“That would be bad,” I conceded, and found myself staring into his face after several moment’s contemplation. “If we truly are that far along in our projects, why aren’t we field testing them the way we’d done with the railguns? That is half the point of the cell structure, isn’t it? Deployment, Experiment, Field Test, all at the same time.”

“I can’t explain it to you. Not without you knowing too much.”

“About my own research projects, within my own movement?”

“Something like that. It’s all- nevermind.”

I wanted to pry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to order him to tell me, but no, it really had to be this way. There was nothing to do but move forward with our plan. I looked at his face again, and wondered if I’d missed anything. Every instinct told me I had to check my work with Gavin, always with some vague sense that I was about to catch him in some lie. Maybe it was the swagger, the smile, the way he moved. His whole life was a lie. He’d broken from the government he’d ostensibly served, twice. He was stabbing in the back all the people he worked with daily. There were always things he wasn’t telling me. And God help me, I was putting my life in his hands.

“You’re not worried they’ll start digging, find you in their systems?” I asked. “Ginger, leather jacket, goatee?” I repeated. “You mentioned contingencies. That sounds handy.”

It took him a few moments, as if redacting anything that might threaten him if I was captured. “Well, for starters, I am in their system. Several dozen times, actually, under various disguises with pseudonyms that link to aliases and false home addresses, with a file system that alerts me if any of them get looked up and clicked on, and who does it. It will buy me time to either get them first, scramble the descriptors, hand a false lead, or a bullet in the back of their heads. That sort of thing.”

“How?”

Now came a heavy sigh. The kind of thing I got when someone was cornered and giving up information they did not want to, but felt they had no other choice.

“I started in the I.T. Department and kept my credentials. So a partial match lets me know I’m compromised, and by whom. My actual features are misfiled. I’ve taken precautions against that, as well. If I’m running out of secrets, that’s bad. In my work that is like running out of lives.”

I’d imagined Gavin as some cool under fire spy. Instead he was either just a nerd with nerves of steel, or someone too petrified to even show his fear. Moreover, it showed that what he’d said was true- he and Sullivan did not actually represent their agency as a whole. They’d truly gone rogue. Gavin ‘seemed to be everywhere’ as I’d put it, because he was one of the few reliable pieces they had for coordinating with me. When you were low on trust you had to do everything yourself.

“Alright. Your turn to answer a few questions. You owe me a few after the stunts you’ve pulled in the last little while.”

“Keep them short, and start driving.” I didn’t like sitting still in one place for too long, it felt like begging for a patrol vehicle to pull off and see if we needed assistance. Or for a bored weapons officer to test an orbital strike. “And consider it a professional favor, not my owing you anything.”

Slowly, the car pulled back onto the highway, steady clicks of a turn signal more a matter of habit than necessity at this hour.

“You really didn’t know?”

“About my father? My sister? My mother?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

I sighed in resignation. “I should have. All the pieces were right in front of me. But no. And they’re not going to know about me.” I could only imagine how Jacqueline would take it. Worse, she was one of my only truly competent lieutenants, and her…devotion to Emperor was balanced only by her antipathy toward her little brother.

Two halves of a Uranium core, and they must be kept separate at all costs. God help me if I’m in the room when they touch.

“What are you going to do about it?”

I wanted to wash my hands of the situation. I, Pontius Pilate. Let my father’s judgment of my mother be the final one. But he’d never stood up to her, had he? Not once. The best he’d managed was a tie by drinking himself into an unresponsive coma by seven o’clock, and forgot all conversations entirely by the same time the next morning. Hardly a reliable watchman. His only salvation was that I held her son’s life in my hands. Considering our rocky past couple years, I doubted that amounted to much.

“I’m going to need you to assign someone reliable to watch over the house for a while,” I muttered. “I know resources are stretched thin but she cannot be trusted under any circumstance, nor can I trust him to control her effectively, especially not if he is to do his job. I can give you a short list of the people she still calls on the landline. Call it extra security against blackmail if you need to justify the tap, perhaps say that you heard something about that if questioned.” If I was caught up there at Vanguard, then maybe the spies could claim they’d seen some suspicious characters lurking around the house, lending credit to a desperate defense that I’d been blackmailed into smuggling the information out.

It might even be enough to swing things to my defense being plausible.

“Jackal’s the easiest to reassign for obvious reasons, but she’s also your most effective and competent field officer. She’s turned New York from almost-Green to red in a matter of weeks, part-time.”

“I assume you have other people you can count on.”

“It’s not so easy,” he muttered unhappily. “You’re the manpower outfit, the muscle. Who do you have?”

So that was the real reason he couldn’t get people into position out there. And what he really thought of me.

“She has social ties. Community obligations, too.” A real chatterbox to all her friends and helping manage town events. Could she slip out something subtly to one of them? Could she find a way to warn the Shil’vati that she had been threatened by proxy with my wellbeing? How could I turn that to my advantage? Something to ponder later.

“Then have Grouper put a bullet in her head and be done with it.”

“You want to lose Misktaonic?” I snapped, unhappy that I couldn’t see a clear path out of the dilemma. “They’ve had disagreements, but there is no line she can cross that would make him stop loving her. It’s irrational, it’s stupid, but it is the way it is.”

“I see ‘falling in love with the worst possible person’ runs in the family,” he sniped.

That stung more than it should.

Justice demanded she face the same methods she’d gleefully put to others. It would be hypocritical for me to be so furious at those who had them turn on their own family members- and then turn on my own. If that was my own free will, then I’d only be damning myself further- but no less culpable than the monsters, right? Or was it in fact lesser because they’d forced others into doing that horrific act?

Practicality demanded another approach, one that didn’t shatter my family into a million pieces.

I finally let my mask unclick and massaged my temples with a gloved hand, taking in my first breath of late summer air.

“It’s complicated,” I said, sliding it into my bag’s false bottom.

The final few turns into my neighborhood were ones I could navigate on my own. “Alright, let me out here. I’ll walk it home.”

“Don’t get snatched up, kid.”

“I won’t.”

“Yeah, sure. You got your gun on you?”

“And knife. Why?”

“A few superfans got let in on the latest batch of tourist permission passes you approved. I’m not saying they’ll jump at you from the bushes or anything, but now I know how Amilita feels, letting your most valuable asset walk himself home alone at night.” He squinted into the darkness where the headlights didn’t penetrate. “Can’t your town afford any streetlights?”

I opened the door and pulled my knife from the bag. “A wise man told me that sometimes it’s not about what you can afford to have, it’s about not needing something in the first place.”

“What’s that mean?” Gavin asked, and I just stared into the car cabin for a few seconds, and then slammed the door shut. I watched him go before I started on my way home.

The familiar terrain underfoot gave me time to myself.

Could I have become my mother, if I had been a bit older when the system flipped from hating the Shil’vati to loving them more than Earth’s native sons? I shuddered to imagine. If I’d instead grown old enough to despise my own people from boredom or disillusionment through more incidents similar to my expulsion, what would I have become?

Nothing. I am as I am. There is nothing else worth thinking about. I am me. I am here instead of a different egg and sperm from the same parents, which would have produced an entirely different me. Let alone the ‘me’ that might be if I was born elsewhere, be it in time or space, to entirely different parents. Such things are therefore not worth dwelling upon beyond advanced theory of mind strategizing. Let these emotions and ideas only let me see the world I wish to be built instead- one of consistency, honor and integrity. One that strives for independence, or at least self-governance rooted in its history with pride.

I thought of my mother.

She is a slave to a beast she cannot abandon. My heart wants nothing more than to despise her, and maybe I should, but what she deserves is pity above all. The Brothers spent years weeping for sinners, only for the sinners to finally take a step too far.

‘Honor thy Father and thy Mother’. I wonder if looking upon them and understanding I am born of them with the same weaknesses and proclivities is what is meant, and still finding room to love, or at least not loathe myself, and them by extension. I will mind my addictions, particularly to the bottle. As for gifts from my mother…I suppose I have her zeal. I must never let it turn on humanity. Though I curse my true enemy for this state of affairs, I should not excuse that humans are frequently caught in the crossfire. Hopefully, with the new technologies from Operation Prometheus, I hope to be able to prosecute a war against the Shil’ themselves.

I saw a light from our driveway, more blue than the warm garage external lights, and I slowed, crouching to get a better look, rather than freezing up.

It was a feminine figure, slender and slight of build. Her delicate face illuminated only by the screen of an omni-pad, flickering as she paged through where it hovered in front of her. At least I hadn’t frozen up, and when I saw it was Natalie I closed my eyes, let them readjust to the darkness, and blocked her out with my hand. I stared into the surrounding bushes, checking for hunched figures cradling rifles. I couldn’t make any out, and so I decided to swallow my fear and march up the driveway.

I had to hold my head high.

“Natalie,” I hissed, voice low. She jerked her head toward me and flicked the light on, then came bounding toward me. I sheathed my knife, and waited for judgment.

“Elias,” she breathed, squinting into the dark and flicking on a broad beam of light that zeroed in on me almost immediately, making me raise a hand to block it out until she switched it off. “What happened? Where have you been?”

“Bethlehem,” I admitted, lowering my hand. “I was there. It was me. The Mind Wipers were active in the area.”

“And now?”

“There is no more Bethlehem,” I said with a finality that I hoped she picked up on the meaning of. “My own mother,” I mumbled and my mouth went dry, forcing me to swallow. It tasted like ash. “She was involved.”

“What happened?” She asked, softly, pushing the omni-pad around with one finger so I could see what she’d been looking at.

It was a babbling patient, one of the ones I’d seen in one of the most dramatic records and marked for Pierce to disseminate, the image of his arched back as he pulled on his restraints, juxtaposed against the patient profile of him back when he was whole, before their involvement, with crimson words on a black background: THEY WILL COME FOR YOU NEXT. Then it was him, his back arched on the chair as technicians huddled around him, the mind-wiper scraping his mind and sensory organs all at once as he thrashed and tried to get the helmet off, mouth hanging open in a silent scream. ONLY WE CAN STOP THEM.

I knew just how we’d stopped them.

Both Larry and Verns had agreed that ‘tragic, but necessary’ was never an easy sell when a rival could just lie, and the handyman especially had emphasized that politics was ‘nothing but lying.’ Would the Governess insist that her people had done nothing of the sort, that we were just excusing a massacre?

The screen flickered again, and I reached to stop it so it froze at-

GET ORGANIZED.

Pierce’s propaganda reel was juxtaposed against a floating second window, the off-screen display that hovered in the open night was less bright. My reading was far less adequate than my conversational skills, much to Lady Rakten’s dismay, but I could tell it contained an alert to not visit Pennsylvania due to ‘a possible mass casualty report.’

“We did,” I growled. It had my blood boilingme baying for blood once more to see it all over again, and I was only soothed with the certainty that the same would soon be happening to the ones responsible.

“And where is your mom now? I’ve known since the bridge how much you hate Mind Wipers.”

I glimpsed at the windows through my mother’s beloved but dying boxwood, noticing how shadows shifted from the kitchen light over to the front dining room. Just like I thought, my parents were home, and I could just imagine the tension inside. Did I really want to walk in on that? Even dodging them in my usual way might no longer be acceptable, as each might try and pull me into their sphere of influence. I might once have longed to be wanted by my parents after years of feeling superfluous, but now the idea made me feel sick with how empty and self-serving it all seemed.

“She should be home now, inside. Safe, I think. I don’t know if I can bring myself to go in. I have no idea how I’ll look her in the eyes.” Or any of them, for that matter.

That thought threw me for a moment as I considered the inverse.

How would they ever look me in the eyes, if I removed my mask in front of them?

“What were you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Probably lay on the patio deck furniture, rest for a few hours. Get dressed in the morning before anyone else is up, get breakfast, and get out before anyone sees me off. Leave a note or something saying I am headed to the spaceport, throw a leg over the bike and ride down.”

“Is that what you’d normally do?” Natalie asked, golden eyes searching. “If tonight hadn’t happened the way it did, I mean.”

“No,” I admitted, looking away in shame of the truth. “I think…I’d hope for some admission of pride from my father.” How could I admit that my Dad had finally said he was proud of me for being all the things I wasn’t? Maybe I could play the inevitable morning nerves off as stress before ‘my big day,’ going to a space military academy only a couple months before my eighteenth. They would probably be committed to making staying focused on my mission difficult, which ironically would make completing the mission unwitnessed next to impossible.

She wrapped her arms around me. “I can think of somewhere more comfortable than the back patio. Come on, the car’s just around the corner. You can make a decision tomorrow morning.”

I smiled ruefully. “Don’t tell me your mom sent you here to make sure I didn’t get cold feet.”

“More like tradition. Spending the last night with your intended, before you go. Besides, where would you even lock the bike? At the spaceport?”

I shrugged. I hadn’t even thought to ask my parents or arrange transport.

Then she looked a bit nervous, revealing the slightly anxious schoolgirl I knew Natalie to be underneath all that bravado she’d been putting on the past couple months.

“Leave your night-mare behind, and let me have this night with my mare?”

I couldn’t help but snort. “That was terrible! And I’d be a stallion, thank you very much!”

“Terrible enough?” She asked hopefully, leading me by the hand toward the flying car. I had to fight the urge to bolt, to sprint just like the wild and frenzied stallion I imagined myself to be. To where, I didn’t know. Somehow this was more terrifying than the prospect of marching into Bethlehem, even though it promised me nothing but pleasure, relief, and release from the torture of the dying’s screams.

Maybe I felt like I hadn’t ‘earned it’, or certainly deserved far worse. Far be it from me to embody that joke of ‘I’ve been a bad boy,’ or whatever sick perversions people joked about, but I could also not shake the idea that there was something twisted to my living so well while I could play with perfect recall the screams of the dying I’d sent to Hell.

No, what I’d done was good, moral, and necessary. Pierce’s messages were filling the airwaves faster than the Shil’vati could even piece together what had happened. By tomorrow, no matter what evidence they gathered to the contrary, they’d be stuck using our version of events. We had the truth on our side, the crime. All they’d have is the aftermath, the punishment in kind for their great sins.

The car door rose, revealing the sumptuous passenger compartment laid out as a flatbed along the elevated floor. Natalie twisted and pushed herself onto it backwards, then beckoned me closer, until she leaned forward, grabbed me and pulled me to lay beside her, the door sliding shut behind us while she wrapped her arms around.

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I was completely focused, entirely cut off from the outside world. Things had finally reached the point I'd been waiting for in the film I'd been watching for a full hour, and I was at the height of my concentration. The detective, who had been tracking down the culprit for the past hour, was now very close to catching and exposing him, and I was incredibly curious. He was about to open the door, walk in, and discover the culprit's identity. I was moments away from finding out whether my suspect was right.

When we look at something, we also see what's to our left and right, albeit vaguely. While watching the television directly in front of us, we can perceive the fan a meter to its right swiveling from side to side. Other objects and movements become blurrier as they move farther away from the center of our field of vision. Everyone knows this and is usually aware of it. Even if your grandfather, sitting to your right at dinner, isn't looking at you, he'll notice if you secretly flip off your brother sitting across from you.

At that moment, the world was nothing more than a rectangle to me. My field of vision had no depth. Ten eagles could have been flying around the room, and I wouldn't have noticed them unless they passed in front of the screen. I had to find out who the culprit was.

Even if you bring your eyes into sharp focus, your ears can't do the same and remain even more open to the outside world than your eyes. When you listen to a song you love, your ears become fully absorbed in it, and your eyes join in, too. You drift away, and your field of vision narrows. But your ears can't join your eyes in doing the same.

“Albert, shut your laptop,” I heard a whisper just as the detective was about to open the door.

At first, I thought it had come from the film. There was no character named Albert in it, and the laptop had very little to do with the plot, but still, I didn't want to take my eyes off the screen before the detective opened that door. However, I'd started thinking by then. A new thought had formed in my mind, and it had weakened my focus. I would enjoy finding out who the culprit was a little less.

I paused the film. I was still looking at the screen, but my field of vision had widened and become rounded again.

I thought I saw a ripple on my right. A moving, blurry image, about a meter in size.

When I turned my head to look, there was nothing there. I looked back at the screen. I thought to myself that being this focused wasn't good either. It bothered me that I was experiencing a mental activity so intensely when the only reason for it was a film. Was finding out who the culprit was really that important? I never focused this intensely when writing my stories, working on a thesis I had to finish, or learning Spanish in the course I'd recently started. That was probably why I'd heard the whisper, too. It was a trick of my mind.

I turned back to the screen. My desire to find out had diminished. Reluctantly, I pressed play.

But then I saw that ripple again. A transparent, shapeless thing, moving randomly. Like a transparent fire, its movements resembled those of a burning flame. I pressed pause.

When I turned my head to the right, it wasn't there again.

A sense of unease had come over me. I stared at the spot where the blur had been. There was no movement at all. All the objects stood still, just as they were.

This time, I saw the same ripple on my left, right in front of the laptop on my lap. I sharply turned my eyes back to the screen. Nothing. The detective walking toward the door, the confident expression on his face. That was all.

I set the laptop aside. I threw off the blanket I'd pulled up to my chest, got out of bed, and sat down at my desk.

I picked up my Spanish dictionary and opened it to a random page to calm myself down a little. I read a few words. The ripple was above me. I looked up at the ceiling, and now it was on the left. I turned to the left, and it moved to the right. Its size changed every time. Sometimes it was a one-meter rectangle, sometimes a scattered circle ten centimeters in diameter, and sometimes a thick line stretching from the floor to the ceiling.

I left the room, and it was on my right, in the shape of a circle. I couldn't get rid of it. My palms were sweating. Now it was on my left. I kept turning my head from side to side, up and down. And I could never bring it into my vertical field of vision; it was always outside it.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my T-shirt. Now it was above me. I tried closing my eyes. But I couldn't. The moment I closed them, a sharp fear would immediately take hold of me, and I'd open them again before even two seconds had passed. My gaze had grown much faster now. Left, right, up, left, down, right, up. I was looking around like crazy. I was like a camera trying to bring an image into focus.

I finally ended up with a stiff neck after one wrong movement.

I could no longer turn my head to the left.

And the ripple was on my left.

I turned to the left with my whole body. It stayed on my left. I turned left once more. It slipped to my left again.

I had turned a full circle. Now it only appeared on my left. It seemed to have found my weak spot. Every time I turned, I instinctively turned my neck a little, too. You know what a stiff neck is like. It's quite painful and sudden. During the day, you forget that your neck is stiff, and if someone calls out to you from your left, you turn to look at them. You feel that sharp little ache.

So I stopped trying to catch it. It stayed on my left, rippling. Sometimes it stretched out, sometimes it shrank, and sometimes it disappeared quickly and reappeared. I moved my pupils as far to the left as I could. Yes, now it had moved to the right, because my field of vision on the left had been reduced to zero.

Now only my pupils were moving. But the image was even closer. And it was getting closer and closer.

Finally, while I was looking straight ahead, I saw it. It hadn't gone away. It's impossible to describe its shape.

“I'm x56 c 66 bmf 8 bmd 8 g 9 kdr 8 889 klkw 999 c 3 d 3 v 3 m 3 g 3 o 3 12345. Thank you for playing with me. By the way, the killer is Michael,” said a voice from very far away, heavily echoing and robotic, sounding a little like a creaking door.

Without knowing why, I tried to catch it with my hand. It was an arm's length away. I'd acted impulsively out of excitement. And it vanished instantly.

The quick, deep breath I drew through my nose passed through my nose hairs and rubbed against my completely dried-out nasopharynx, producing a sound that was a mixture of a faint snore and a low-pitched whistle. I held the breath in my lungs for a while, then slowly exhaled.

I went back into my room, sat down in the armchair, and for some reason, burst into tears. It was like a catharsis. I couldn't remember ever crying this intensely before. Or maybe I was simply crying out of fear, but I wasn't sure that fear could trigger such an intense crying response.

I wiped my eyes, and just as I was about to get up to wash my face, the ripple began speaking from the ceiling, right next to the lamp. It had watched me cry the whole time. Strange.

“If you want to play with me again, all you have to do is look in the mirror and say my name three times, and don't worry, your memory will be erased by tomorrow evening. You'll only remember my name. You'll try to figure out what the hell it was, whether it was your old Wi-Fi password or something. Anyway, Albert, I'm out of here. Take care. It was nice meeting you.”

The problem started right around his fortieth birthday. The guests had all left, leaving him completely alone in his apartment. Suddenly, a dark thought crossed his mind. He wondered if this would be the final year of his life. After all, death can strike at any moment without warning. He whispered this to himself. Then, out of a morbid fascination, he repeated the words out loud.

He loved to explore his deepest fears. It was his way of testing his own ability to face them. He firmly believed that human wit could easily outsmart the laws of nature. Because of this belief, the threat of an early death pushed his imagination to the limit. He had to find a way to cheat it. "Death itself is nothing more than a natural phenomenon," he thought.

Later that night, as he tossed and turned in bed, a brilliant idea hit him. He needed a way to beat the tragic event to the punch. To get ready for it, he would no longer count his life in years. He would track it in days instead. This new system would keep him on guard. It would give him a safer way to measure his remaining time on earth. From that moment on, he kept a daily log of his days. Every night brought a quiet joy.

He went to sleep knowing he had won another round. Every morning he woke up eager to add another digit to his personal survival record. "It won’t catch me off guard. I will always be ready," he muttered. Meanwhile, his eyes scanned the darkest corners of the room. He felt as if the Grim Reaper were crouching right there in the shadows, just waiting to spring an attack.

The counting quickly turned into a full obsession. He constantly checked the passing hours, anxious for nightfall to arrive. The dark brought the proof of his personal victory over death. But these daily triumphs soon brought a brand-new worry. He realized he had no way to predict the exact time of day his death might happen. He had a long fight with himself over the issue.

In the end, he decided to track his life in minutes. "Now I will know exactly how much time I can rack up before the end. I will know exactly how long I lived. I will be the first man to beat death," he told himself. Then, out of a morbid fascination, he repeated it out loud.

The complete series index is available here: https://reddit.com/user/FranciscoCortesRamir/comments/1xc0392/the_voyager_files_the_official_story_catalog/

© 2026 Francisco Cortés Ramírez. All rights reserved. This is an original fictional work. No part of this text may be reproduced, translated, or narrated in any audio, video, or digital format without the express written permission of the author.

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He cleared his mind of the carnage, concentrating instead on finding his squad. Fortunately, Orion—whom Giddeon had seen hoisting Eddington onto his back—left a trail of deep footprints in the sand. The heavy tracks abruptly veered toward the forest.

“Easy,” Johnny warned. “You’re a glass bottle waiting to shatter at this velocity. If you trip, you aren’t falling—you’re crushing your skull into the earth. You’ll break every bone in your body before your brain registers the impact. Speed doesn’t make you invulnerable; it just makes your mess-ups bloodier.”

“Point taken,” Giddeon muttered, forcing his pounding legs to decelerate. His ankle nearly collapsed as his heel dug deeper into the shifting sand harder than his muscles were accustomed to. Wobbling, his inertia nearly hurled him face-first onto the beach. The terrifying momentum hammered Johnny’s warning home; super speed had a physics to it that he was entirely unprepared for. “I’ll be careful.”

Pushing tall ferns aside, he penetrated the tree line, navigating the uneven forest floor at a cautious pace. Searching the shadowed canopy, he spotted three ancient pines towering above the other timber that marked section R—Team Panda’s emergency rendezvous point. Heading toward the landmarks, he eventually broke through the thick underbrush and stumbled into a quiet glade.

Hinelin whipped around, his rifle leveled dead at Giddeon’s chest. Letting out a ragged sigh of relief, the team leader immediately lowered his weapon.

“Gid!” Uzari threw herself on him, her arms locking around his sides in a crushing embrace.

“Ouch!” Giddeon sucked a sharp breath through his teeth, his fingers instinctively easing her forearm away from his right-side ribs. He’d been forced to drop his high Endurance during the fight, leaving his body a patchwork of half-knitted bone and deep bruises.

Uzari instantly pulled away, her eyes wide and frantic as she looked him over. “Are you hurt? Where? What’s wrong?”

“I’m okay.” Giddeon forced a faint, reassuring smile, reaching out to steady her trembling shoulders. “It’s just my ribs. They’re still a little tender.”

“If she only knew you broke five of them,” Johnny snickered.

She doesn’t need to know. Besides, they’re almost healed.

“I thought you were a goner for sure,” Hinelin said, shaking his head in sheer amazement. “Who were those people?”

Giddeon scrutinized his face, looking for an involuntary tic or a flicker of his eyes. He paused a moment before answering, “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Hinelin didn’t flinch, meeting Giddeon’s piercing stare head-on. “I know as much as you.” He clutched his chest, coughing hard before spitting a gob of blood onto the grass. “We should keep moving.”

How hurt is he?

“He’s a mess, but you’re a bigger one,” Johnny replied. “Endurance looks to be one of his main attributes. Give him a few days and he’ll be fine.”

We might not have minutes, let alone days. They might be hunting us down right now.

“What about…what about Redler?” Oomah asked, her eyes darting northwest, towards camp. “Shouldn’t someone go back for her?”

A heavy silence fell over the glade. Uzari and Vessa looked away, unable to meet her gaze.

“Redler’s dead, Oomah.” Giddeon’s voice was flat, cutting through her delirium like a thrice-sharpened blade. “We saw it happen. We don’t have the luxury of coddling each other right now.” His fierce gaze locked onto each crew member in turn, pinning them in place. “Hinelin’s right—we need to move. Now.”

Vessa scanned their battered faces, her voice barely a whisper. “Is this…is this everyone?”

“Graks bolted the second that madman showed up,” Hinelin spat, his face twisting in disgust. “Worthless coward. Aside from that waste of skin, everyone else is accounted for.”

“We’re better off without him,” Giddeon said bluntly. “He was an Asp.”

Hinelin nodded grimly. “I saw the tattoo.”

“We all know he was a jerk,” Orion spoke up, his voice strained under Eddington’s weight. “But I don’t think that’s reason enough to up and abandon someone.”

Giddeon snorted, his gaze briefly dropping to his shredded, blood-caked knuckles.

“Not an as—” Hinelin began, then shook his head. “An Asp,” he emphasized the ‘P’.

A what?” Vessa asked. She adjusted her hand to steady the limp Eddington riding on Orion’s back, blinking away blood as it trickled into her eye from a gash in her scalp.

“A syndicate that deals in blood, slaves, and drugs—in that order,” Giddeon replied. His focus shifted to Eddington, and he stepped up close to the limp man, peeling back one of his eyelids. “What’s wrong with him? Why are his pupils blown?”

“Paralysis,” Vessa replied. “He’s recovering, slowly. Likely a neurotoxin.”

“Move,” Hinelin ordered, then began walking. “We can all talk when it’s safe.”

The next thirty minutes turned into a haze of hacking through ferns and dodging low-hanging vines as Hinelin beelined southeast, the opposite direction of Base Camp Six. No one spoke; only their heavy breathing countered the nerve-wracking sounds of the teeming forest, proof that they were still alive.

At a ridge where the trees thinned, Hinelin abruptly stopped, turning around.

“Most of the sectors we explored were north, not south,” he slowly explained as he rummaged in his ammo pouch, the metallic clink of brass shells echoing sharply against the forest’s hum. “We’re at the edge of any territory our hunters cleared out, meaning everything beyond here is unknown, even to our AIGES. We need to decide where to go.”

The team collapsed, finding rock outcroppings or fallen logs to rest their weary frames. Vessa and Orion eased Eddington down onto a tree stump. He was recovering—albeit extremely slowly—and was finally able to sit up straight without help. His face, however, remained pale, and his body occasionally quivered.

“What are our options?” Oomah’s voice was thin and brittle. She pointed back the way they’d come, her face scrunching into a mask of grief. “Everyone’s gone!” she choked out, hugging herself tight until her knuckles shook. “We can’t go back, and we’ve no clue what’s out here! Probably more of those hell cats,” she whispered, eyes wide with rising panic. “Waiting for us to tire.”

Orion placed his hand gently on his sister’s shoulder. “Calm down, Oom.” His eyes turned to the others. “Can we contact Vibane? Get some kind of backup down here?”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Hinelin replied.

Kilner stepped up into the team leader’s personal space, staring him straight in the eyes. “Now’s not the time to be cryptic!” he growled. “We’ve not been told how Vibane plans to return us to the ship, but you seem to know. Care to explain?”

“He’s right,” Oomah’s voice rose to a frantic pitch, her fingers yanking at tangled strands of her hair. “We’re all going to die if we stay here. We need to get back. Tell us how to get back!”

“Come on, Hinelin.” Orion joined the fray as the team leader remained silent. “Don’t just stand there playing dumb—spit it out!”

The air grew suffocating with their demands, yet Hinelin remained a statue, his eyes glued to the gloom of the forest while their collective anger boiled over.

“He doesn’t know,” Giddeon’s voice cut through the shouting. Wiping his blood-crusted knuckles on his shirt, he gave a sharp nod toward Vessa. “She knows, though.”

Vessa went rigid, the color draining from her face as every eye suddenly pivoted to her. She took a half-step back, her face contorted with confusion as she shook her head.

“How does she know?” Kilner’s eyes narrowed to slits, his gaze darting between them. “And how do you know she knows?”

“Because I’m a hacker,” Giddeon said bluntly, holding nothing back. “I breached Vibane a long time ago. It’s how I got on this mission. Earth One residents weren’t allowed to apply—at least not this time.”

Orion let out a sharp, jagged laugh. “So, you’re just a criminal. Perfect! We have a guy with all tens for stats who’s also a thief. I guess you did have a skill after all—a completely useless one on a planet with no tech."

“Shut it,” Kilner snapped. “Cowards don’t get to speak.”

Orion’s face burned. He took three quick strides toward the skinny man before Oomah threw herself in his path, hands pressed against his chest. Kilner didn’t even blink; his eyes locked on Giddeon.

“You’re a hacker, then? That doesn’t explain what you said about Vessa.”

“And I’m curious what you meant by ‘this time’?” Hinelin spoke up, his eyes intent on Giddeon.

Giddeon purposefully ignored the question, his posture remaining calm as he answered, “When I breached Vibane’s mainframe to forge my ticket, I found someone else had already hacked in ahead of me. They approved an application.” He locked eyes with Hinelin. “If we get off this rock, tell your handlers they missed the hidden backup protocols that logged their entire footprints in the system.”

A hard tension gripped the clearing as the crew’s focus abruptly pivoted back to the team leader.

“Why would Hinelin need his application approved?” Vessa asked.

“The military doesn’t like Vibane keeping secrets,” Giddeon replied flatly. “I traced the source back to a Triumvirate command post on Earth Two. They left a digital trail. Again—very sloppy.”

Orion shoved past his sister, boxing Hinelin in on one side with Kilner on the other. “Is it true?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Hinelin didn’t flinch. He met Orion’s heat with a cold, unblinking stare that said absolutely nothing.

“This doesn’t prove a thing,” Vessa said, her voice a dead calm. Giddeon’s eyes, however, caught her trembling fingers right before she pressed them hard against her leg. “Mr. Seres has already admitted he’s a thief. He could be manufacturing all of this.”

“To what end?” Uzari cut in, crossing her arms. “What does he have to gain from lying? Make it make sense.”

“I have no clue what hidden agendas people have on this mission,” Vessa replied, stilling her hands as her gaze drifted back to Giddeon.

Uzari smiled, her eyes flashing dangerously. “Including yours?”

Vessa tilted her head, one hand on her hip. Her finger began tapping an insistent, slow beat against her side. “What are you insinuating?” She was smiling, but her tone was biting enough to draw blood.

“Just wondering why you’re the first to call someone else a liar, considering you were just accused of doing the same.” Uzari’s smile remained a cold, static line. “What’s with the tone, Vessa? We’re all friends here, right?”

“He’s got no gaming experience,” Giddeon cut in as the women’s eyes bore death into one another. “Vibane wanted gamers—people who understood the basis behind the AIGES system. The Triumvirate hacks didn’t even bother spoofing his gaming history; the amateurs simply green-lit the file. It was a rushed job.”

Kilner looked confused, his hand unconsciously touching the Veridian axe tucked through his belt loop. “I thought the Triumvirate was partnered with Vibane.”

Giddeon shook his head. “Ereos lied. We’re officially not even here. In fact, not all of us are. Over thirty Aiges participants went missing after the enhancement surgery. Most of them were older.”

“What are you saying?” Oomah asked, her voice cracking.

“Probably dead,” Orion answered. “They said implantation was a hundred percent success rate. Probably lied about that too.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Kilner shouted, pacing in a frantic circle as he shook his head. “This is an unsanctioned mission? Meaning we have no rescue team coming? Is there even a way back up to the ship?”

“Ask her.” Giddeon’s stare bore into Vessa.

Vessa’s eyes widened, the perfect picture of wounded innocence. “I’m just as perplexed as everyone else,” she said smoothly. “What are you talking about?”

“I have to say, her acting is top-notch,” Johnny chimed in. “A solid nine out of ten. What was that old show where they gave out orbs—no, globes? Golden ones. I want to give her one right now!”

Orion turned his glare onto Giddeon, his jaw tightening into a hard, rigid line. “Stop with the word games. Explain it yourself.”

Giddeon shrugged. “My intellect’s only ten, so if you can’t keep up with what I’m saying…”

Orion spat a curse, stepping aggressively into Giddeon’s space until they were nearly chest-to-chest. “I don’t give a damn about your stats. Start talking before I decide to beat that last brain cell in your head to a pulp.”

Uzari caught Giddeon’s eyes. “Gid,” she said softly, shaking her head.

Her words melted his natural inclination to ridicule the man, and he let out a sharp, jagged breath. “Fine. You want the simple version? During our briefings, Ereos had to check his holo screen before addressing us. But with Hinelin and Vessa? He never looked once. He didn’t need to—he already knew who they were.”

Giddeon’s gaze shifted onto Vessa. “I know why he was briefed on Hinelin. But you’re not military. You’re something else.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Vessa’s voice faltered, a slight stutter forming a hairline crack in her facade of ignorance. “I was hired for my expertise. I’ve always wanted to see Enivia, just like the rest of you.” She looked at Kilner, then Oomah, her eyes wide and pleading.

“Perhaps Mr. Vibane met Vessa before the briefing,” Oomah suggested.

Giddeon snickered. “Did you find the water fountain to your liking, Vessa?”

Vessa’s eyebrows furrowed. “Water fountain?”

“In Ereos’s personal quarters. Surely, you couldn’t have missed it.” Giddeon smirked purposefully, trying to draw her lies out.

“How do you know she visited his quarters?” Johnny asked.

I don’t. It’s an assumption, so if she lies now and I actually have evidence about it, her bluff will crumble.

Vessa turned to the rest of the crew. “If you must know, I ran into Ereos at an aerospace conference last year,” she admitted, her tone shifting to defensive pride. “He didn’t need a holo to know me—I’ve been featured in enough scientific journals to be known in certain circles. He was highly interested in my knowledge of atmospheric anomalies. My thesis on Enivia has been the industry standard for over a decade, which is why he hired me specifically. Because he wanted the best.”

“I’ve seen her before,” Kilner admitted, backing up her claim. “On the news.”

Oomah snapped her fingers, a look of realization dawning. “Timeless Magazine. The feature piece on atmospheric weather patterns over Enivia. That was you.”

Vessa nodded. “My research has been highlighted in several publications.”

Orion’s gaze shifted off Vessa, back to Giddeon. “She sounds legit to me…but you sure as hell don’t.”

“Question one,” Giddeon replied, his eyes steady on Vessa. The clearing went still.

“What are you talking about?” Vessa finally asked. She shook her head, glancing at the others for support.

“On your application for Vibane. What was question one?”

“I can’t remember every single query on a corporate application.” Vessa chuckled, making the idea sound outrageous. “It would be absurd if I did.”

“Wait,” Eddington croaked from his seat on the stump. His voice sounded like grinding stones, raw and unused to the effort. “You r-really don’t know…question one?”

“Question one is—” Oomah began.

“Quiet!” Orion’s hand shot out, palm flat toward his sister. He didn’t look at her; his eyes were pinned to Hinelin and Vessa. “Question one,” he repeated, his voice dropping to a dangerous chill. “Can either of you tell us what it was?”

Hinelin remained an unmoving wall of steel, but Vessa’s eyes darted frantically toward the dark forest, dodging the group’s collective gaze.

“Again,” Vessa began, though the chuckle had vanished from her voice, replaced by a razor-thin edge. “It was a lengthy document. I don’t see why—”

“Save it!” Kilner snapped. “No one would forget that question, Vessa. Clearly, you never even saw the page.”

“My name? My Citizen Code? My thesis title?” She threw her hands up, her voice rising to a frantic pitch as she took a step backward. “I witnessed our teammate getting ripped apart! We’re being hunted by monsters, and you’re interrogating me over paperwork?”

“What is your favorite game?” Uzari said softly. “That was it. The very first line. It was the strangest thing I’ve ever seen on a government form—the kind of detail you remember because it made absolutely no sense…until now.”

Vessa opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Nothing came out. Her defense had completely crumbled.

Uzari strode forward. The snick of her Vibane axe unfolding sent a jolting roar through the silent clearing. She didn’t stop until the blade’s cold edge was tucked under Vessa’s chin. “You’re going to tell us the truth, or we’re done with you. Capisce?”

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cw: Violence, Blood, Gore

Chapter 295 – Killer instinct - 1

In a quick flash, Shida’s eyes flicked over to James in an attempt to assess his current state after taking such a rough tumble in his condition. For someone whose body had already been through more than one wringer today, tackling him out of the way at full force like she had was certainly far from ideal.

Not that that was really something she could have given much mind to when she had followed the gargling noise that barely made it to her ears and saw that massive leg start to move, knowing in her gut that he wasn’t reacting in time. In fact, there was no thought or consideration to it at all. Her body had reacted completely on instinct, and even then she had only just made it in the nick of time before her partner would likely have ended as a smear over the carpet.

Even now, her tail was throbbing after being caught in the path of the colossus’ swinging leg right after she had barreled into James. She remembered the rough, wrinkly skin brushing against her as even the flexible extension of herself was knocked aside harshly enough to hurt even now, leaving it not difficult to imagine what might have happened had it hit anything more rigid instead.

But a sprained tail was of little concern when compared to everything else that happened, and even if she was the only one hit, her concern in that moment was certainly not for herself.

James was still very visibly out of it as she pulled him up onto a half-kneel while attempting to get him to stand; his head swiveling slightly along with the world that was most certainly spinning around him in his inner vision.

And yet, somehow, he seemed to know that she was looking as he blinked heavily twice before letting out a strained cough that sounded as though he had inhaled a whole fist full of dust just moments before.

“Still breathing,” he pressed out, clearly trying to reassure her, though it was only blessed with modest success as he almost immediately broke into a more extensive fit of coughing.

However, even then, it seemed like he deemed any focus of her on him to be misplaced as he, while still coughing, lifted his mechanical hand up to point right ahead in the direction of the still ongoing battle between giants, indicating he considered it more of a concern than himself.

Shida’s eyes followed his gesture out of instinct, soon landing on the immediate threat once more.

Right after coming out of their first tumble, the first thing her body had assessed in an instant was that they both were, at least for the moment, outside of the zodiatos’ effective range, which allowed them to take this moment of a breather.

But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t be moving at any instant they were not watching him. And, obviously, they were also not the only ones in danger right now.

Though his attempt at turning James into a mark under his foot had failed, that was clearly only a secondary concern to the massive bull who had now taken the time to plant his foot firmly back on the ground.

Standing on all four of his massive feet, he immediately gained further leverage that he could use against the snarling reptile that still clung to his face like a horror movie scene.

Congloarch was latched tightly onto the bull’s natural weapons; using every limb with the ability to do so to grasp firmly onto one half of the Nahfmir’s tusks while his jaws buried their teeth into the root of the zodiatos’ trunk with the determination of a predator forged for millions of years to bite on and never let go.

And yet, with the zodiatos’ attention now solely on him for a moment, it became clear quick that there was still a notable difference between a tonamstrosite’s natural prey and the power that a fully grown zodiatos bull brought to the table.

The largest of the sapients moved very close to his very own world when it came to power that very few were able to challenge. And with no further distractions, he visibly prepared to let even the largest of the predators feel it; enormous muscles bulging and tensing underneath loose skin as the mountain of a bull strained to put more of his weight into his next attack.

Immediately, Shida’s eyes zipped around. Her free hand had already grabbed at empty air just a moment ago, no longer finding the resistance of the weapon that she had held just moments before breaking into her dead sprint towards the then distant altercation. She wasn’t surprised that she had dropped it at some point during her rescue given her use of her claws to stop her momentum, however she couldn’t really remember when exactly it had fallen out of her hands.

Searching the immediate area, she couldn’t find it anywhere she would have expected it to roll off to had it slipped from her grasp during the last tumble with James. Then again, in this low of gravity, there was really no saying how much it may have flown.

She found no sign of it anywhere near quick enough to be useful. However, what did catch her attention instead was the bright sparkling gleam of a handle’s sheen reflecting back the room’s dim light.

As if searching for confirmation, her eyes snapped down to James once again, just for an instant. The pointing hand was obviously empty. But as her gaze flew down to the organic side, it, too, had its finger clamped around nothing as he pressed it into the ground to try and push himself up.

It seemed that James’ grip had not been any firmer than her own.

And with nothing else in her reach, that shimmer in the thick carpet became like a beacon.

“Keep breathing!” she ordered harshly as she had to quite suddenly let go of James’ jacket, causing him to very nearly drop right onto the ground, though he barely managed to catch himself with the fist he had already pressed against it.

As she pushed herself off, an electric pain immediately shot through all of Shida's body. It originated from two places in her tail and her thigh. However, almost as though those two wounds had closed some sort of circuit with each other, it very quickly spread from in between them to soon shoot its rays throughout her whole body.

The effect was so instant and so intense that, for the first step she took to push into this renewed sprint, it almost felt as though the pain was harsh enough to stop time for a moment, leaving her seemingly frozen in place, standing on one leg, becoming nothing but a statue of frozen, electric agony.

It was nothing but a trick of the mind of course. But, during it, she could feel the very moment in which her injured leg wanted nothing more than to give out underneath her. The very moment in which her muscles were right on the brink of simply ceasing their service to leave her falling rather than running on that side of the body.

She could feel the instant as her body teetered right between tension and failure, like a thin sheet of ice that was ready to break under even the remotely wrong movement.

Something inside of Shida spoke to her in that moment. Something primal. Something that looked ahead as it wanted to run. Something that saw its target. And it knew: Her leg was injured. It would not hold much longer. And if she missed this step? She was not getting up again.

Around her was thunder. Behind her, a partner who’d no longer walk himself. Ahead of her, a raging giant locked in the last throws of a beast at the end of a hunt.

Enormous. Fighting. It knew it was large. It knew of its might. It did not want to become prey.

It was built to fight.

But...only to fight.

Shida broke the spell as she exhaled what remained in her lungs into a primal sound that drowned in the thundering noise of the room. Her claws extended into her boot, pressing into its sole as they tried to gain more traction while her injured leg strained against her weight.

Her body and her voice were equally crying out as the pain of that pressure shot through her, and they both screamed in triumph as she pushed right through.

Time resumed in an instant as she tore ahead, closing the minimal distance as she made a sharp turn to lean down and grab onto the glimmering handle once more.

In a positive turn of fate that felt so rare in these moments, the pivot actually had her bearing all her weight onto her healthy leg this time, allowing for all her usual strength as she took that momentum with her into the sprint.

A zodiatos’ brain wasn’t as fast as that of a human – much less that of a myiat. And with all the colossus’ focus on the more ‘even’ opponent before him, the Nahfmir had as little chance to react to her charge as James had to react to his own kick just seconds ago.

But, unlike James, there was no one to cover for that weakness as the by now almost familiar hilt laid like an extension of herself in Shida's hand, cutting through the air as though it had no weight as she brought it upwards.

In a mirror to what she herself had felt just moments ago, the thrust struck the zodiatos’ leg right as it was on the apex of its tension – right when power would be translated into strength.

His skin was thick. His muscles thicker. But the blade’s edge was thin. Lethally thin. And with her healthy leg once again taking the pressure, Shida had more than enough force behind her strike to drive it in deep.

She was no swordswoman. There was no finesse to her strike that would allow for a clean cut like James might have done. Just a thrust into flesh.

But it was also not brutish. It was not unaimed. Though she had no immediate skill with the blade, that did not mean she did not know exactly where to strike.

The gurgling sound from earlier soon repeated itself. However, even after that last one had been caused by the pain of a giant maw biting onto his face, this outcry of the Nahfmir still sounded somehow more distressed than the last. Possibly because he had not been ready for the attack.

Shida tried to pull the blade back with her as she realized she had to retreat. However, even the slightest buckle of the colossus’ leg upon the thrust had already squeezed his rough and wrinkled skin down around it, trapping it as though in a tight hold even as dark, thick blood streamed out from underneath the protective layer, which left her to uselessly pull at a weapon that would need far too much force to get free instead of a quick release.

With no other choice, she abandoned the blade, letting the hilt slip from her grasp as she jumped back and away when the titan’s muscles failed him even more; not wishing to get buried underneath the mountain of flesh should it come falling down her way.

Just a breath later, the massive leg buckled completely; its pierced muscle no longer able to hold its owner’s enormous weight just when he had tried to put as much of it against the ground as it could take.

He did not fall completely, but the knee of that leg hit the ground harshly in its descend, leaving the bull to fight for balance as he suddenly had to cope with the difference in elevation between it and the other three-fourths of his body.

Immediately, Congloarch reacted to the created opening. Though his own body certainly felt every strain of his muscles as well as the deep dent in his protective plate pushed against his insides, the low rumble escaping his chest shook the air as he gave what he still had to wrench down the Nahfmir’s head in the direction of the injury, further pushing the bull’s balance now that a part of it was further lowered towards the tonamstrosite’s level.

Blood bubbled out, both from the sides of his maw and the very end of the zodiatos’ trunk as the Nahfmir released a huff of strain and pain while he attempted to push back against the tonamstrosite’s pull, clearly determined not to be made to fall.

For a second, it seemed as though both of the giants were locked into that very struggle; pushing back and forth between remaining up and trying to make the other fall. And as both of them strained against their injuries and put whatever strength they could muster into their struggle, Congloarch’s claws began to dig deeper into the carpet, and his tail began to swivel over the ground as it shifted the exact angle in which it provided anchoring balance to his body.

Little by little, the reptile pushed up a bit further, pressing more of his weight down onto the tusks to try and overwhelm the bull’s balance over his injured leg. And, for a moment, Shida already saw the colossus topple before her inner eye.

However, just right before the moment in which she may have believed that thought could at any second become a reality, a shiver suddenly ran down her spine. Immediately, her head moved upwards, tilting back into her neck as she searched for the zodiatos’ eyes.

Even at this distance, they were barely more than black spheres in the colossus’ head. Dark and uniform, with little to no indication of movements or direction inside them.

And yet, still. Some way. Somehow. She knew exactly that he was looking at her. Knew his focus had shifted away from the giant wrestling with him.

And once again, that primal part inside of her knew the sight of a beast that was not ready to be beaten yet.

Her mouth opened. However, even if her voice could have been heard underneath the thunder of guns, she didn’t even know what exactly she wanted to warn the tonamstrosite of before it was already too late.

In a sudden shift of tension, the Nahfmir instantly stopped his resistance to Congloarch’s pressure, momentarily allowing his head to be pushed downwards while the tonamstrosite’s entire weight was suddenly left to drop along with the zodiatos’ tusks’ descend.

Then, tension suddenly entered the bull’s long neck once again. But now, instead of trying to lift against the push of the massive reptile, he first lifted the other side of his head up in a tilt.

Congloarch was left to drop, carried on by his own weight, while the Nahfmir’s second pair of tusks rose up behind him.

With his previous posture, Congloarch had managed to strategically place his own massive body in between both of the pairs. Now, with his falling body left to be pulled along as the Nahfmir pleased while the claws of his hind feet still held tightly onto the carpet, he was left to be stretched out to his opponent’s desire.

And he was more than long enough for the second pair of tusks to also be of use as the Nahfmir fully threw his head around in the opposite direction to just moments before.

The curve of the downward pointing tusk on the opposing side of his face swept the tonanstrosite up, hooking into the segments between parts of his armor as it carried the entirety of giant along.

With his own force and weight now working against him, it was Congloarch who quite suddenly lost the battle of balance, and the sound of ripping carpet spread through the air briefly as he was lifted completely of the ground in a violent thrust of the Nahfmir’s tusks.

He still held on tightly, of course. However, neither a tonamstrosite’s arms nor legs had ever been made with the intention of supporting his entire weight. And as the angle of his sudden pivot became too sharp for his arms and maulers to hold on at the same time without either his arms or his legs breaking, he was forced to let go.

His jaw still held on. But his teeth were made to bite onto flesh. To bite on and to rip, until what was in between them came loose. And come loose it did.

Another ear-shattering scream of pain escaped from the bull as he sent Congloarch flying, the scene nearly moving in slow motion as the tonamstrosite's jaws ripped the chunk of flesh they held free from the trunk.

However, even as the Nahfmir was left with an enormous, gaping hole on his face that oozed out dark blood from underneath loosely swinging flaps of skin and the hanging, torn ends of countless tendons, his gaze remained focused and followed the flight of the reptile, keeping watch even when Shida had to avert her own eyes to dive out of the way of the crashing titan; sharp reflexes alone saving her from being crushed as the tonamstrosite impacted the ground just breaths behind her in a hard enough fall to cause the ground beneath them to quake.

But, even as she dove for her own safety and her heart clenched at the sound of Congloarch's fall, the image of that that gaze still lingered in her mind.

Dark eyes narrow and clear, even as endless blood seemed to stream from his torn face. Bestial, almost demonic in its appearance.

Even when potentially mortally wounded, the Nahfmir was very far from being done.

I’d lost track of time long ago.
Our life back home seemed like a distant dream.

The biggest insult was that only now, laid bare in the cages of the Harvesters, did I realize how good we had it.
Sure, the hive itself had been but another prison. A ‘reservation’. Offering the freedom to move around inside our cage.
But even that tiny strip of liberty had carried with it at least some droplets of life.

Inside the cage, inside ‘processing’ I’d realized what it truly meant to lose freedom. The prison had shrunk down from a hive to a room.
Where once we at least had some basic amenities and entire halls to call our own, in some desperate attempt to simulate what we’d been taught should be a proper hive, there now was only a shrinking tomb, closing in on us.
Forced to eat, sleep and defecate all in the same place, while desperately huddled together for some modicum of safety.

Outside, I had hated the sun. It was too bright, too warm, it had always felt like I was burning up inside my carapace when standing under it. Stupid…
Now I wished to sizzle under that same sun. It would be something different. It would let me feel something.
In here, all there was, was that encroaching numbness.

I longed for pain. Pain was a sensation. The burning from the sun was a sensation.
But in this cage, there was nothing to be felt. The walls were made of cold steel and dead flesh. The pulse drumming through the walls was faint, weak, as if it was trying to fight its way through layers of dirt.
A false heartbeat, there to mock life itself.
The bars too, were cold and formless. No artistry. No change. Only static. Unmoving.
Grown together as one unit, there was no contrast between them, no shape that could stick out in any meaningful way. Just a massive maw, in which I was trapped.

Same for the guards. They didn’t speak, unless instructed by their masters. I wasn’t sure if many of them even could speak.
And every movement of theirs was stiff and emotionless. It made me forget what dancing was like. How could something like the Reborn Circle ever exist, when there were things like these thralls?
Compared to them, even the slightest twirl and spin seemed akin to madness.
There was no movement in life. There was no joy in the shifting of colours, clacking of exoskeletons and harmonious vibrations of sisters.
It must’ve been a dream. An illusion. The Harvesters had made it up to torment me.

The Harvesters… our masters.
There was no joy in their movement either. Stiff, direct, to the point. Nothing was wasted; no step was superfluous. Everything they did was strict and calculated.

There was nothing to interpret from them, other than surface detail. They were here to harvest and process us. They carried no emotion, other than perhaps cruelty.
But the biggest insult was, even that cruelty was mundane!

Tear us apart! Burn us alive!
Do anything other than just this maddening by-the-numbers procedure!
Day in and day out, the same again and again.
Five prisoners are brought out for processing. Then later, an additional three are also taken.
Again and again and again and again and again and again and again…

Every day is the same. Every hour is the same. Every minute is the same.

The only thing that truly changed, were my sisters and I. I’ve forgotten too many names already. The name Lylaari had once meant something to me… at least, I think.
Someone I grew up with? Someone who’d held a deep friendship with me? Or maybe just a meaningless name, that had managed to climb its way to the surface? The others hadn’t been so lucky. I could hardly remember my own name. Pirryl…

Those older sisters that raised me? Their forms and scents were gone.
All I could see and smell was that black liquid pouring from the walls. All I could see were the huddled bodies of my fellow prisoners surrounding me.
Neither dead nor alive were moving.
Static.
At times, I wondered if I was already dead and if this was what eternity looked like.
Forever stuck inside this one moment, forced to endlessly repeat it.

So, one day, I made the same decision that so many of my sisters had already made.
I told the youngest to stay as far behind in the group as possible, instructed them to listen to their older counterparts and carry on the little I’d been able to teach them.
To them, survival still meant something. There was something to still strive for, to hope for. I didn’t want to take it away from them.
Instead of telling them the truth, that I simply couldn’t take it anymore, I crafted a spiel about supposedly knowing that today they’d take more prisoners than usual and that I would place myself at the front, to hopefully buy someone further back a bit more time.

A sham.
A lie told not out of necessity, but to save face and act like I hadn’t become just like those husks wandering the outside of our cells.
What difference really was there, between those empty shells wearing the skin of a dead sister and me? To somehow pretend I was better or that there was still something worth saving seemed preposterous and selfish to me.
My other sisters had learnt the truth before me.

It didn’t matter. There was no escape once you were brought to processing. You could drag it out, desperately cling to some modicum of survival, selfishly and childishly pretend that there was a point to you staying at the back of the pack.

No, today would be the day where it would finally end. Whatever the Harvesters had in mind, whatever they would do to this empty shell that had once been someone, it didn’t matter anymore. Anything was better.
Annihilation was better. Eternal darkness was better.
Drown me in that black liquid for all that it changes.

I counted.

Counted down to the moment the guards would escort a Harvester here, who would then pluck out five from us to drag away. It occurred to me that I didn’t even know what exactly would happen after that.
Sisters were brought here, then removed later. For all I knew, this torment was just a holding cell, just a temporary step unto whatever monstrosity awaited me further down below.
A faint flicker of hope tried to light my mind, tried to delude me into thinking that, perhaps, being dragged away wasn’t the end. Maybe they’d simply assign me to work detail. Send me back to the hive to instruct new sisters. Ship me off to wherever they hatched our young, to look after them.

Stupid. The only thing to come out of being shipped here was to be processed.

And so, I continued to wait.
And wait.

And wait…

Had I finally gone insane?
I was sure that I had counted down to the moment the guards were supposed to appear. Yet, nothing had happened. The ones standing in front of my cell were unmoving.
No… no I must’ve been wrong. They were always right on time. The Harvesters were never late. Not once, during my stay here, had they missed their window to take us away.
Always the same time, always the same amount.

I could feel my body tensing against my exoskeleton. My mandibles ground against each other as I looked and waited and looked and waited.

And instead of the familiar stomping announcement of death to be at my door, I heard a distant… thunder?
It had taken me a moment to realize, but the walls had shaken with the reverberation of that loud thundering boom.
The blue veins inside the darkened steel accelerated their pulsing, the flesh interspersed with it quivered in anticipation of… something.

Could there be a riot in a place like this? Could enough prisoners ever stand up against their tormentors? Impossible.
With what weapons? A Harvester’s lance was strong enough to bisect one of us with a single spew of its glowing flames. We’d never stand a chance.
A hundred of us could try and take on a Harvester and we’d all fall by its weapon.

Yet there it was again. Another thunder.
Then came in a Harvester. The very same that had been supposed to take me away. It came in in a hurry, closing the entrance behind it.
For once its movements weren’t cold and calculated. Its steps were irregular. Hasty. Wrong.
It’d looked like it had stumbled for a moment when it entered, like for the first time in its miserable existence, it was unsure of its own footing.

The whiskers on its carapace where shaking with a silent fury and at once, the guards all stood at the ready, aiming their own weapons at the entrance.
Wait… no.

Not fury. Not anger.
As it stepped away from the entrance, I saw something else.

It was afraid.

Another thunder. Closer.
The walls shook with anticipation and fear. The black liquid seeping in from the ceiling rippled with the arrival of something.
So many things had stayed static. So much of my cell had always remained unmoving.
And now, everything was moving at once. I realized that my own body was shaking.
Would I truly be allowed to move again?
Was there a world out there, where even in the depths of a Harvester created hell, one such as I could dance again?

Could there be light, in this ever-consuming darkness?

My answer came, with not just a thunder, but a roar, a blast louder than anything I’d ever heard.
The guards were knocked back, the Harvester flinching against the light that had finally breached its domain. And out of this light, I saw something igniting the air as it sheared through it.
Little darts of flame whizzed by, cut down the guards and nipped at the Harvester’s armour.
It heaved up its lance, intended to bring forth that terrible fire with which it would burn away everything.

Yet it never came to be.
A monster had roared from within the light and a straight line was drawn, from that burning entrance to the carapace of the Harvester.
And it fell.

Cut in half, it fell to the floor.

The Harvester fell.
Clattered against the ground.

It was dead.

It could be killed.

They could be killed.

And in from the light came shapes. Blurry at first, upright rectangles shuffling through the fire, carefully cutting away at the darkness.
I allowed my eyes to focus again. For too long, everything had become a blur, a mess of shapes and colours flowing together into meaningless sediment.
No, I needed to see.

Two legs. Two arms. I couldn’t see a face or eyes. Thralls?

No… no, they were alive. I saw it in the way they moved. The way their heads spun around, taking in the scene around them. The way their arms clutched their weapons. The way they were hunched as they stormed inside.
And the noises. Muffled as they were by their helmets, I could hear it.

No slave of the Harvesters could ever sound so alive.

As my eyes focused, I saw their clothing too. Colours like I’d never seen them before.
Cloaks greener than any plant I’ve borne witness to in the plains, flapping in the winds streaming in from outside.
Any plant that’d grown near our little hive had usually been of a pale complexion. As if the sun had stripped away the very colour from even the flora surrounding us.
But the cloaks on these strangers were as vibrant as life itself, glowing against the surrounding browns of our festering cells.

And underneath those cloaks, I saw the colour of the sky. A deep blue, a reminder of the beauty of the azure. The ocean above, promising that there was more.

I’ve felt myself to be in a dream. Or maybe I’d finally woken up from one?

As things settled down, one of these strangers walked up to the cell.
I saw myself reflected in the visor of its armour as it came closer to the bars, looking straight at me. They were surprisingly short.
Shorter than any of my sisters or I.

And yet, that figure stood tall, as it observed me from outside the cell that had become my whole world.
It carried with it a sense of vigour. It hadn’t been broken by some slave master.
On two legs it was and likely on two legs it always had been, since time immemorial.

I couldn’t remember the last time, I’d stood up straight.

When it knelt down, however, some part of me finally realized what I was seeing. I wasn’t looking at some abstract statue or idea.
It removed its helmet and showed me its face. A face!
Harvesters didn’t have faces. Neither did those they enslaved. Thralls didn’t have eyes, didn’t have antennae or mandibles to emote with, didn’t have voices to talk to us with.

Yet here it was, this strange, pink, fleshy creature looking at me from two wet orbs stuck in its head, saying something to me. Its voice carried through the air like a river of fresh and clear water.
It didn’t have an exoskeleton, its skin looked smooth, soft almost and the top of its head was covered in fur.
And it looked right at me. And it spoke to me.

Draped in those tones of life, covered in signs of battle, kneeling in front of my cell and looking at me as I sat in that tomb, it made me remember something I’d forgotten a long time ago.
For far too long, I’d been sure of the fact that beyond the bars in front of me, there could ever only be death.
Outside of this cell, was the domain of decay and oblivion. Nothing living could be there.

I was wrong.

A living breathing creature was looking at me from the other side.
There was life. There was hope.

My biggest regret is that I didn’t have the necessary tongue to thank that alien standing beyond the threshold. I didn’t have the words, didn’t have the vernacular to bring to life the ocean of gratitude necessary to express what this moment had meant for me.

I promised myself that I would thank them. One day, when I’d learnt their strange language, when I’d known of their customs, I would say something I should’ve said a long time ago.
Not for me. Not for them. But for all my sisters that had not been granted the privilege to be here on this day.
I’d forgotten far too many things.

I would not forget this.

_ _ _

As if awoken from a deep slumber, Mia stirred slightly, clasping her hands together and slightly adjusting herself. A murmur, stutter or cough wouldn’t have been far off, if she was human.

Something had changed. Before, she’d certainly seemed authentic and well meaning.

It was as if a flip had been switched.
Before Tobias would’ve argued that the insectoid had been reserved in a veil of politeness, that she'd purposefully been holding back so as to not freighten him. But that was now gone.
Mia was practically radiating authenticity as she leaned in. It felt to him like, for the first time since he'd seen her, he was now really seeing her.

The real her.

The insectoid’s voice dropped to a whisper: “I promised that I would thank those that freed us that day. Each and every single one I can find. Because you fought for us. You liberated us. You freed us from that nightmare. And you invited us into your home.”

Was it fair to be spoken of as a hero? Perhaps the term liberator was enough?
The annoying truth was that Tobias would only find out with time.

“I can only imagine what you must go through Mr. Remaut but… but I want you to know that you have done something good! That you’ve made a difference! You saved my life! If not for me, then please accept the gratitude of those that could never express it.”

Perhaps for those that had been forgotten?

Mrs. Ojha quietly chimed in: “Whoever saves one life, saves the world entire…”

And lastly, Mia extended her hand towards Tobias one last time. Her left hand. She was beckoning to meet him chitin to skin. Not to shake the prostethic that marked him as a victim, but instead the real flesh-and-blood hand that marked him as... him.

As Tobias reciprocated the handshake, feeling his fingers and palm brush up against the skin and plates of this insectoid alien he’d helped save he… he didn’t see a Ycriol before him.
He saw a person.

A sister.

He’d accept it. Not for himself.
But for those that could no longer accept her gratitude.

He would remember.

First

Undying Blues

His eyes flutter open and he doesn’t suddenly pop up with unexpected, unwanted energy beyond the desired. He simply rises. His legs a counterweight to lift him upwards. His eyes open and he’s still in the medical chamber. And thank goodness for that. His luck is turning and so long as he can keep the pressure on the problem it should be resolved.

Hopefully.

He rolls his shoulders and there is a small series of satisfying pops. A stretch of his arms and a roll of his wrists feels immensely satisfying as he rises up. The Doctor is not present, nor is anyone else. He assumes that since there is no barrier he can sense and nothing has been applied to him that there is no risk of infection or they have at least some confidence in his health. He rotates his body in a short bit of stretches to wake himself up further and takes a deep breath to centre himself. The sensation that he had been drowning on dry land is fading a little, but still present. But thankfully he seems to be safe enough to at least acknowledge, in his own head at least, that he’s in over his head.

Mentality is a big part of this. A huge part of it really. A curling of his toes cracks them as he starts moving to leave the medical area. As expected the door opens before he reaches it and the doctor is there.

“Hello Doctor. May I assume my lack of containment means I am no longer infectous.”

“I managed to get some information on those things that were inside you. They dissolve harmlessly when killed, but take several days to fully fade.” The Doctor says.

“I see. That’s good to know that the thing was no longer actually within me.”

“... What was it like? The report on the thing states that prolonged infestation can drive a person insane while rendering them almost completely immortal. Even a Null blast can’t stop the regeneration. Only the death or removal of the parasite can actually kill the host.”

“... The madness was never obvious in the moment. It was a slow change of personality in the moment, but in hindsight... I was growing ever more volatile. How best to describe this? I can only see this due to my own training in self control and reflection. The important thing to recall though, is that the madness is an honest madness. Born of endless stress, over-tuned instinct, overwhelming and unrelenting energy and the increasing divorce from the consequences of poor decisions. I can fully believe that anyone with those things in them for a prolonged period have a severe estrangement from reality.”

“I’m sure. The Captain wants to see you.”

“That’s wonderful. Could you please tell me where I may find her?” He asks.

“Oh, right. You don’t know the ship.”

“I think it would be rather concerning if I did know the ship prior to any tours or proper time to explore it.” He notes.

“... I can’t tell if that was sarcasm or pleasant conversation.”

“It’s a neutral statement, I am a Courtesan good Doctor. Much of what I say is reflective of my training to keep myself as personable and either as pleasant or provocative as the client prefers at any given moment. If one was looking for humour then my statement was a joke, If they’re looking for acknowledgement then the statement served that purpose. It could also be impudent or insulting, all depending on the mindset and therefore desires of the client. People will look for what they want after all, even if they don’t care to admit they’re looking for it. Or even consciously aware of it.”

“I wasn’t aware it was that complicated.”

“Much like any field there are levels of skill within it. For example, most any nitwit can wrap gauze around an open wound to staunch the bleeding. But it takes training or bitter experience to wrap it without causing further harm to the patient. And it takes both training and experience to do so quickly and without seeming effort.”

“I see... still that’s clearly a benefit of being born to royalty your highness.”

“Please madam, I am so far down any line of succession that the idea of holding any amount of actual power or authority is either laughable, or an admission of intended usurpation. My family is enormous. So much so that even though it was a direct blood aunt that had kidnapped me, it had taken an embarrassingly long time to recognize her.”

“So... a fairly typical family. So many members, so many children that people just get lost in the shuffle?” The Nagasha asks.

“Yes, I was either going to be of use or I was going to be used. So I deigned to be of use. Then began my Courtesan training which my family ensured was as complete and arduous as it could be to encourage me to quit. The end result is that I am now considered one of the finest Courtesan’s in the La’ahbaron empire.”

“If not the galaxy?”

“The galaxy is a rather large place good Doctor. It would be the height of hubris to think myself competitive on such a scale.”

“Or a demonstration of appropriate humility to compete at such levels to deny it.” She notes.

“Ah! You understand, wonderful.” He says with a heartfelt smile.

“Oh... you are dangerous. Just not in the way you’d typically think of in an Ibu.” She notes.

“Oh very much so. But very quickly before I entertain the captain, what’s her name and... how long have I been asleep? And for that matter madam, and this is terribly embarrassing, but what is your name?”

“I’m Doctor Hissia. Well... technically a nurse, but after... what happened I’ve been serving as a doctor on this ship.”

“Ah, well. It is a pleasure to meet you Doctor Hissia.”

“The Captain is Purra Legara. She’s a throwback to a Tret ancestor born to a Valkas.” Doctor Hissia says and Danburi smiles with a nod. Shuffling the species named Valkas into the back of his mind as he honestly has no idea what that is. He’s never met anything called a Valkas, but it must be a standard species in some regard if they can have Trets in the family tree.

“Thank you very much for telling me.” He says genially. “Now... might I bother you for instructions on how to find Captain Legara please and thank you?”

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Bridge, Nova Pirate Craft, Between Systems)•-•-•

The door to the bridge opens and she turns to see the towering blue frame of the rescued Ibu Prince step into the bridge.

“Ah, the sleeping prince awakens.” Captain Legara notes. “You’re looking better.”

“Am I? I haven’t been able to avail myself of a mirror yet.”

“Really? Well there are more and more surprises aren’t there?” She asks. “Now, we need information. Contact information primarily. As well as any possible allies to drop you off to, because our long range sensors are showing that those stealth ships are running their engines hot to keep up with us. Meaning you’re valuable, but a little hard to keep.”

“And I would appreciate if you did keep me captain. I’ll need a good look at a galactic map to see if there are any La’ahbaron allies or trading partners close to our location. I have the passwords to bypass most security checks for calling the La’ahbaron Royal Palace directly and... I sense you have more questions madam.”

“Yeah. About that sword. A lot of my girls with more curiosity than sense have been tampering with it and everything we learn about it just confuses me further. That thing is as sharp as a ball bearing until someone holds it, then it goes through trytite like a plasma blade through butter. Every scanner we’ve brought near it has broken as if severely overloaded or suddenly undergoing millennia of wear and tear without repair totems and holding the thing exhausts everyone to the limit. And pulling in Axiom doesn’t help.”

“Is my blood on the handle still wet?”

“It is.”

“Terrifying.”

“Yes.” The Captain agrees with him. “Where did that thing come from?”

“Unfortunately captain, the only source I have for the source of that weapon is unreliable in the extreme. It is my Aunt Wurana who was clearly attempting to subvert or manipulate me and therefore every she said to me is highly suspect to put things lightly.”

“Hmm...”

“However, the gist of what she claims is that she uncovered an entire world infested with the same parasite that has been purged from me. It rendered the inhabitants unable to die but increasingly insane. The animals were twisted into giant monsters and everything was in a gigantic cycle of death, obsession and madness, except in some few small places. There was apparently some kind of temple of monks who found an herbal method to quell the madness and coupled it with meditation and ritual to regain and maintain their sanity.”

“And the sword?”

“Apparently there was some other temple. One where it was held like a sacred artifact. But again, I’m not sure what I do or do not believe from her. But the one thing I do believe is that the weapon was found on a world overrun with the parasites that a single nick from that sword killed.”

“Hmm... where were you cut by that sword?”

“Right palm, I already healed the wound though so it doesn’t show.” He says showing his right hand to her.

“I see. How did you get your hands on it?”

“During my escape from my Aunt’s... pardon me if this is crass but, as I ran away out of that puckered sphincter of hell and torment I was in a berserk state and only barely in enough control of myself to not enact a massacre on her slave soldiers and instead leap over them. I was able to keep ahead of her portal network in the base and yet she was still able to find out I was looking for some kind of escape craft and successfully guessed which one I would find first. She had the sword at the time. I’m not entirely sure how I disrupted her attacks with the sword, but I did and grabbed onto it via the blade, which is how my palm was cut, and then attacked her so viciously I stunned her before kicking her away and breaking her grip on the sword. I then took the sword and rushed onto the ship before she could collect herself and took off as quickly as I could.”

“So she was using it?”

“Yes, and the moment I picked up the sword I nearly collapsed in exhaustion.”

“... Very strange.”

“Yes.”

“No one has been able to sense any Axiom use from that thing.”

“Nor have I.” Danburi agrees.

“Okay, so rule one with that thing. Which I passed while you were asleep. Is that we’re keeping it on your ship so that if we have to we can throw it out of our ship and not have it just vanish into deep space to be found embedding some poor bitch’s ship some thousand and ten years from now.”

“Understandable and acceptable.”

“Good. Rule two, and this is for you exclusively. Is cover up.”

“Very well, but... why?”

“You’re the only man on this ship. We’re in a very dangerous situation and while you are a beautiful piece of blue eye candy we can’t afford the distraction those abs and that man ass is going to be giving us. You need at least a shirt and some less flattering pants.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t exactly dressed when I stole that ship and made these by hand.”

“We’ve got some things sized for Cannidors. It’s going to be baggy on you. But right now we need that because I had to tell off a lot of girls from just staring at you as you slept rather than actually working.”

“I see. Shall I tie a scar around the lower half of my face as well?” He asks holding up a hand to show what he would look like with half his face covered. Captain Legara just stares at him in open mouth shock.

“I... that might make it worse...” She says slowly before looking away. “How the hell is one person so damn pretty? Was he designed to be like this?”

“Essentially.” Danburi replies and she turns back to him.

“I’m not surprised. You’re too pretty.”

“Yes. Yes I am.”

“... Oh you’ve gotten in trouble from it.”

“Yes. I have. However this branch conversation is now over, please and thank you.”

“Ah, got it. Scandal.”

“Personal and private, please respect it please and thank you.” Danburi says.

“Fine. But my order stands. Clothes. Big and baggy. You’ve got some delicious looking muscles and that’s the problem.”

“Should I wear a hat to cloak my face in shadows?”

“Honestly? Probably.”

“Hmm, well I won’t begrudge that. Once I’m more appropriately dressed would you mind if I discussed with you manners in which to make my skills of use to the ship?”

“OH? And how would you do that?”

“I can create powerful Axiom Totems that will allow you to expand your already existing storage expansion to a ludicrous degree and stretch your supplies many thousand fold.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You will have my utmost attention during that conversation good sir. Now. Shirt.”

“And where shall I find it Madam Captain?”

“Right, let me call up the Cabin Girl.” Legara says as she taps at the armrest of her chair.

“Yes?” A voice asks over a speaker on the chair.

“Get up to the bridge and give our guest and payday the trytite tour of the ship. Start it in the Tertiary Storage area, where we got those extra clothes. He needs to get covered up. He’s distracting.”

“Woo! Time with the man candy!”

“Grizelle!”

“Sorry! On my way!”

First Last

For the Union: Specters of War — Chapter 4

First / Chapter 1 | Previous / Chapter 3

The world slowly faded back in from the black of the simulation. Louis flexed his hands, enjoying the safety of being back in control.

Now it was time for damage control.

This was not the first time Hal had refused to lose in the Sync. Though it was frustrating, Louis intuitively knew why Hal felt the need to win. The Sync was the only place where Hal truly did anything on his own instead of simply assisting Louis. That made it very hard for him, in the moment, to accept being anything less than he could be.

Louis had been happy that at least the last Maverick had gotten them. The training AI running the scenario had berated them for losing a ship, even a simple patrol craft, then reminded them of every point of Union Navy doctrine they had ignored. Unfortunately, it had then begrudgingly praised them for completing the objective and winning the scenario despite the attackers’ clear advantage.

Louis quietly hoped this display would not be weighted too heavily in the overall ranking system.

So, what are the standings now? Louis mentally pushed at Hal, who had been suspiciously silent since they left the Sync.

Well… I’ll start by saying it could have been worse, Hal responded.

Worse? Hal, pull up the rankings.

Well, just promise you won’t be that mad.

Hal, pull up the rankings!

Hal begrudgingly showed Louis the class rankings. As they appeared in his mind’s eye, Louis went cold.

First Cadre

First Pod

John

Alexandra

Louis

Carl

Mei

They were now in third. They had overtaken Griz, who had held third place for at least the last five years.

This was going to get Louis noticed.

HAL! Louis sent furiously through the link.

His tirade was cut off before it could start by a cold, clipped voice arguing near his piloting couch.

Louis slowly sat up and took in the stunned classroom. A furious Mei squared off against John and Griz, who stood firmly between her and Louis’s couch.

“It’s obvious!” Mei spat. “He is a cheater, and this time we finally have proof! Missiles don’t have the capability to generate screens, yet one of his did so he could win.”

Louis could not decide which would be worse: people thinking he actually had the potential to place third or being branded a cheater. Cheating was not specifically forbidden by the instructors, but anyone who was caught was punished harshly. Louis was doing the mental math to decide whether to agree with Mei’s accusation when Professor McAllister politely coughed.

“Mei, if you will lend me your attention for a second, I think I can shed some light on the subject.”

Professor McAllister had pulled up the missile interception in question on the room’s holo tank. He replayed the moment the screen sprang to life in a five-second loop. Over and over again, the screen appeared for a split second and parted the wall of tungsten shot headed toward Louis’s missiles.

The professor zoomed in on the simulation, fiddling with the controls on the side of the holo tank until they were no longer looking at sensor data. Instead, they saw the oncoming missiles as they would have appeared to the naked eye.

This revealed Hal’s trick. Where the sensor plot had shown only one missile, there were, in fact, two objects: Missile Three and one of the Avenger’s remaining torpedoes.

Mei spluttered as the torpedo came into view. McAllister, always the teacher, took a moment to explain to his class what had happened.

“Ah, what a brilliant move by Cadet Louis. A missile can’t form a defensive screen, but a torpedo can! Now, can anyone tell me why what Cadet Louis did was either insanely lucky or insanely impressive?”

The cadets stood silently until John reluctantly raised his hand from the back of the classroom.

“Ah, yes. Cadet John.”

“The torpedo’s drive is programmed to operate in the Deep, not in normal space. Louis must have reprogrammed it with an entirely new set of parameters sometime before the intercept. Not only that, but a torpedo’s drive isn’t very strong because it only needs to operate in the Deep. The screen tuning would have to be perfect, using an exact calculation of the local gravity to get even a temporary screen to form. Louis must not only have completed the recalibration but also have predicted the point of interception to within 0.1 AU.”

It was actually 0.025 AU, Hal murmured to Louis through the link. Mark Twos have weaker drives than the newer torpedo models.

As everyone in the classroom turned toward him, Louis felt his face flush in a rare loss of control. He could see the rest of his pod racing through the math in their minds as Dr. McAllister let out a peal of laughter.

“What a display! Louis, who knew adrenaline and the Sync were all you needed to unlock your astrophysics potential? If only my tests would get your blood pumping as much as the Sync did!”

“Now, where was I?”

With all the self-importance of a longtime lecturer, Dr. McAllister resumed his lesson.

Louis’s mind raced as Dr. McAllister finished his lecture and assigned four math problems to his cadets, including the very calculation Louis had used to reprogram his miracle torpedo.

As the class broke apart, another line appeared in front of Louis. This time it was the default green, a sign that Hal must have known Louis still had not forgiven him for his previous antics. It led Louis to join up with the rest of his pod and march in perfect order out the door.

It was the discipline of the pod that saved Louis. Throughout the rest of the instruction, though, Louis felt their eyes on him. From explosives to engineering, Louis felt them appraising him, reweighing their opinion of him. Their threat assessment of him.

This gave Louis time to work on a believable story that could explain his sudden jump in skill. He needed something just outrageous enough to be believable, but ordinary enough to be forgotten.

Despite splitting his focus during instruction, he still had nothing by the time the cadets went to mess. So he and Hal had to fall back on Plan B: blame it on dumb luck.

As they approached the mess hall, Louis reflected that it wasn’t a very good plan.

His pod was the last of their cadre to eat, one of their privileges as the First Pod. As they walked into the mess for their evening meal, the entire hall fell silent.

This time, Louis avoided any visible reaction as every pair of eyes tracked him. Louis knew that taking Griz’s spot would create a splash, but he had hoped against all odds that it wouldn’t be this large.

Then the room filled with quiet chatter as the pods fell back into conversation. Louis knew how the station rumor mill worked, however. Most of those conversations would be about him.

Louis’s old pod, the Second Pod, actually let out a small cheer as he passed. All but Henry. Louis’s rise through the ranks had pushed Mei from fourth to fifth and forced Henry out of First Pod. His eyes were firmly fixed on Mei. She and Henry had a thing. Well, as much of a thing as cadets could have on the station. They had once spent almost every waking hour together. Now Mei was lucky to see him at mess.

After collecting his food, a surprisingly good chicken and rice dish, Louis sat down to eat with his pod and was immediately set upon by John.

“So, Louis,” John said between bites of his food, “I didn’t know you were that good at piloting.”

He left the sentence trailing there like an old-fashioned noose for Louis to hang himself with.

“I’m not,” Louis mumbled, using the excuse of eating to avoid anything approaching a real answer.

Griz let out a rumble of a laugh, surprising Louis. He had expected him to be more upset about losing his traditional spot in third.

“Not that good of a pilot? Louis, I haven’t been beaten so badly in any combat scenario since the instructors first taught us Pustota.”

Louis internally cringed at the image. Griz had been too large to reasonably learn by fighting the other cadets, so Hollister had made him his personal sparring partner, and the instructor never went easy on recruits.

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad, was it?” Louis tried to rebuff Griz’s comment. “I just got lucky, that’s all.”

“I’m due that kind of luck,” Alex said from across the table, her eyes sparkling. She really only ever came alive when they talked about piloting. “I think you could have given even me a real run there, Louis. I wish we had ended up on opposite sides,” she said wistfully. “I’ve been flying against these guys so long I’m due for a bit of a challenge.”

At the word challenge, her eyes flashed with a bit of manic energy as she gestured around the table.

Oooo, tell her to pick the time and the place, Louis, Hal sent, ending the silence he had maintained to let Louis cool off. We could take her.

No, Hal, Louis shot back. We have to stay under the radar.

Louis was so absorbed talking to Hal that he almost missed the subtle nudge Alex gave Mei with her elbow.

“Yes, Louis. Great flying,” Mei mumbled, rolling her eyes as she got up from the table, her food half-finished.

She shared a longing glance with Henry before mumbling an excuse about the bathroom and quickly leaving the mess hall.

“Don’t mind her,” Alex said, scooting over to fill the void left by Mei. “How did you manage that trick with the torpedo? You must be great at multitasking and modeling to get everything in order like that and make such a smooth ascent.”

Louis felt Hal puff up through the link at Alex’s praise.

Before he could assemble a response that wasn’t Hal spilling their secrets, Alex froze momentarily as she and the rest of the mess received a message from their Shadows.

What’s going on, Hal? Louis quietly pushed, relying on Hal to get him any information that was shared digitally.

Oh, looks like evening instruction and free time are canceled, Hal thought back to him. Looks like the Director is calling a general assembly. Oh, and mess only lasts about another four minutes.

Suddenly, there wasn’t time for any more conversation in the mess hall as every cadet began cleaning their plates as fast as they could. Though their diets were strictly controlled by the station’s nutritional AI, the cadets always felt like they were starving. No one was going to leave a plate half-finished unless they absolutely had to.

Louis caught a quick glance between Griz and John as they got up from the table, but only realized what it meant when Griz bussed Mei’s plate.

Louis knew that even though it wasn’t his fault, Mei would blame him for missing the rest of her meal.

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Arc IV - Whalers

Chapter 35 - Salt

10 months and 35 days since the summoning

The pirates did not bow, but stopped to gawk at the procession.

One of the bare-chested pirates standing by a building snorted. "Look, they dragged themselves here again."

The second one next to him, holding a half-empty bottle, sniffled. "We cleared out this fucking thicket, maybe they'll finally deign to give us some fucking sea work?"

Behind one of the huts, about eight people sat at a small table: two of them pirate men, and six young women in their twenties wearing simple peasant dresses.

"...and I was completely fucking gobsmacked!" exclaimed one pirate with a scar on his forehead and short hair. "Such a wind whipped up in that storm, and the masts were already rotten! And how one of 'em tore off, and how it smacked me right on the noggin!"

One of the women with tangled hair covered her mouth with her palm. "And what happened next?" she asked quietly.

"Next?" He scoffed and clapped the other pirate on the shoulder, who was sipping grog from a wooden goblet. "Brother Liron here helped out, hah! Right?"

Liron set his goblet on the table. "Yeah, you passed out right away from a hit like that, had to drag you where you needed to be. Still don't understand how you even managed to survive that!"

Two of the women whispered briefly about something, giggling.

Another woman, a brunette, leaned closer. "Tell us, please, how did you fight! It is completely unlike anything on land, right?"

The pirate with the scar snorted. "Course it ain't like on land. Once we were sailing off the coast of Faarkia..."

Finally, the group exited the town limits and found themselves on a plain where the jungle used to be. For a large radius around, the land was overgrown with grass, and in many places, piles of dirt from uprooted roots lay scattered. Further away, near the trees, dozens of simple wooden barracks had been built, while the area was swarming with people.

Little children ran around in the shallows, splashing water on themselves. One girl was digging in the sand looking for seashells; next to her, a little boy licked a finger soaked in salt water and grimaced slightly at the taste.

Near the barracks, men were building more of the same, laying the foundations, while women bustled around campfires.

Alan surveyed this entire scene, hands resting on his hips.

'A beauty. Not smooth, but the process is moving.'

Alan folded his hands behind his back. "Quite adequate. By the way, Paranga, where's Sili right now?"

"Huh?" he asked, picking his ear with his pinky.

"Sili, I'm asking, where is she?"

"Oh, Sili? Asleep right now; she was busy all night with some smartass nonsense."

"Could you elaborate?" Kamelia asked.

"How the fuck should I know? Something about the lads who are supposed to recruit peasants in Tontopi."

She scoffed. "Very informative."

Paranga turned to her. "Listen, lady, if you had to uproot trees and bushes out here, I'd like to see how ready you'd be to listen to some high-minded bullshit after that."

Alan raised a hand. "Okay, let it go. Do we know anything about recruiting the peasants yet?"

Paranga shrugged. "No idea yet, no word's come in."

Off to the side, a little boy ran up to a middle-aged woman who was stirring porridge in a cauldron. "Mom! Mom!"

"What is it?" she asked without looking up from the cauldron.

"Why is the water salty here?"

The woman froze for a second. "Uh... Svyatol probably decided to make it so."

"But why?"

She blinked. "Alright, Daut, do not bother me; can you see I am busy?"

The boy puffed out his cheeks but said nothing, turning and running back to the other children by the sea.

Alan remained silent, listening to this conversation.

'Why is the water salty... salty... WELL EXACTLY! How the fuck could I forget about that?! Salt is literally white gold! It's necessary for the body's health, you can salt meat and store it for months, and sell it abroad for astronomical prices!'

He sharply turned to Kamelia and Paranga. "I got it! We're gonna evaporate salt from the seawater!"

Silence.

Paranga blinked. "Uh, actually, that's an idea. We used to do that ourselves sometimes, but we didn't really take it seriously."

Kamelia nodded. "I was thinking about that too, a long time ago, before your summoning, but there was never any time."

"And you don't even have to do anything here, it's an AFK farm!"

Paranga and Kamelia frowned synchronously.

"What?" Paranga asked.

Alan waved a hand toward the sea. "I'm saying it's not a field where you have to plow constantly. Pour the water, evaporate it, collect the salt, and repeat. The settlers can absolutely do that!" He pointed at the barracks.

Kamelia looked at the barracks as well. "And the peasants can receive their fixed share of salt; it is of immense value to them."

Alan clapped his hands. "Exactly so, Kamelia, exactly so." He froze again. "Hold on. There's magic in this world," he said quietly.

Paranga frowned. "Good morning to you. Did the sun bake your brain or something?"

He waved his hand. "That's not what I mean! I mean, since there's magic, we can use people who possess fire magic to evaporate the water faster."

Kamelia straightened up abruptly. "Oh, that is an idea!" She turned to the campfires. "Hey, over there!"

All the women sharply turned around.

One of them narrowed her eyes. "Who is that over there?"

"The Duchess," someone whispered.

Kamelia took a few steps closer. "Summon everyone, to the last person, who wields fire magic! There will be new work for them!"

While she spoke with the peasants, Alan lowered his head, deep in thought.

'Salt mining. We don't have much money as it is, so salt could do really well. But salt is literally life. If I'm going to strengthen our state in the long run, then salt is indispensable. Water-salt balance, without salt a person suffers from muscle weakness, food digests better. On Earth, in regions cut off from salt sources, people literally paid gold for it. But still, salt is in massive deficit in the Middle Ages; if every person gets at least ten grams of salt a day, in a couple of days people will already start feeling better. And I even know how to build this salt factory.'

"Alan," Kamelia's voice rang out, "the peasants are coming."

He raised his head. "Ah, good... by the way, where did Tsinker and Shilisa go off to?"

She took a quick look around, then pointed a finger toward the town. There, near a building, Tsinker, with his hands clasped behind his back, was conversing with a black-haired woman with a bob cut, while Shilisa stood next to him.

Sili.

Paranga narrowed his eyes. "Eh? She's awake already?"

Alan waved his hand. "Whatever, let 'em talk."

Before Alan, Kamelia, and Paranga stood thirty-two people. Seventeen men of varying ages, thirteen women, and two twelve-year-old boys.

Alan folded his hands behind his back. "You all wield fire magic, correct?"

One of them, a man of about thirty with a black eye, nodded. "Yes, Your Grace."

Alan narrowed his eyes, examining his face. "Where'd the shiner come from?"

He lowered his head slightly. "It is nothing... had a squabble with a pirate. But everything is fine now."

"Alright. Basically," he shifted his gaze to everyone, "you are relieved from your usual work, because I need your magic to evaporate salt from the seawater."

"You can evaporate salt from seawater?" asked a woman in her twenties quietly.

The toothless boy raised his hand. "Oh! I tried drinking the water, but it's so bitter and tastes bad! Is that because of the salt?"

Alan smiled slightly and nodded. "Yeah, that's exactly because of the salt."

"But why is this water salty?" the boy asked again.

Alan froze. "Uh..."

'I can't exactly explain to him about billions of years of salt being washed away by rivers flowing into the ocean.'

"Svyatol made it that way," he said briefly.

The boy lowered his hand. "Ah, I see."

"Ahem, anyway, right now this concerns the men. What did Paranga tell you to do? What's the immediate task?"

That same man with the black eye scratched his stubble. "Lord Paranga ordered us to build these barracks. Many barracks."

"Understood." He walked past the peasants on the sand and stood a little further away from them. "Tasks are changing. Right here, you need to dig a huge, but shallow pit," Alan said, outlining the shape in the air, "and line it thoroughly with clay. We'll pour seawater in here, wait for the majority to evaporate in the sun, and the remainder will be evaporated with fire." He raised a finger. "Only take the water further out in the sea; you'll take boats."

"Is there more salt there?" the man asked.

Alan shook his head. "No, the water is cleaner. I highly doubt that none of you have taken a piss in the shallows."

The toothless boy began to examine a palm tree with intense interest.

The peasant nodded. "I understand you, Lord Gothwald. When should we begin?"

"Tomorrow. Any other questions?"

One of the women, about twenty-five years old, raised her hand. "Your Grace, may I bring a request to you?" she asked, bowing low.

"You may."

She clasped her hands in front of her, looking down. "Some pirates... come to our settlement sometimes. They harass the girls, steal food and belongings. Could you... please, deal with this?"

Alan cast a sidelong glance at Paranga. "Well?"

Paranga blinked. "What? I didn't even know!"

"Paranga, this is an outrage," Kamelia said, frowning. "Why are your people harassing my subjects?"

He raised his hands. "Take it easy, I'll handle it; I'll beat the living daylights out of every last one of 'em personally."

Alan stepped closer to Paranga and lowered his voice. "Seriously, deal with this. Do you have any idea what a clusterfuck it'll be if the colonists get pissed off at the pirates? And I'll remind you, every month there will be more peasants here, and fewer pirates."

"I get it, Alan," he whispered. "You see it yourself, I can't keep an eye on everyone. I'll beat the shit out of the culprits, and I'll warn the rest not to dare go near the barracks again. Will that do?"

Alan nodded. "That'll do. Only it has to be right now; I want to personally see that the conflict is resolved."

Paranga just sighed. "Aaaaalright." He turned to the peasant woman. "You, do you know what they looked like?"

The woman's pupils narrowed when Paranga addressed her. She quickly shifted her gaze to Alan, who stood calmly next to the large pirate with his arms crossed, and swallowed. "I..."

"I know." A woman of about forty with her hair braided into a ponytail stepped out from the crowd. "Usually there are three of them. One bald, skinny, tall fellow like that. A second with a scar on his shoulder, likes to walk around bare-chested. A third with long, dirty hair like this," she said, looking at Paranga with a squint.

He did not answer for a second, digging through his memories. "Yeah, I know. Sounds like them."

About fifteen minutes later, roughly at the junction between the barracks and Paranganot, a multitude of people had gathered in a clearing. On one side stood the peasants, where rumors of what was about to happen had already spread, and everyone was watching intently; on the other, the pirates, who stood lazily gawking at the peasant crowd.

"What's this gathering about again?" asked one of the pirates, picking his nose.

"Guktus knows," shrugged a second with a bandana on his head. "Looks like the nobles are gonna speak. Well, we'll listen, and head back. You really got saved by this, you almost lost everything to me in dice!"

"What'd I do? Ain't my fault!" he said, hiding a smirk.

Hey, you.

Ever found yourself wearing short sleeves when everyone around you has already switched to long sleeves?

Clink-clonk.

The bell over Aoi's door rang, and somehow that sound made the end of my day finally begin.

I took my usual seat, and Mama set down my Harper without asking. The ice gave a soft clink in the glass.

Taka was sitting beside me.

In short sleeves.

October had arrived, and the mornings and evenings were getting noticeably cooler. I'd worn a jacket myself. The afternoons could still be warm, though, so it was that awkward time of year when you never quite knew what to put on.

Even so, just looking at Taka made me feel cold.

"Aren't you freezing?"

"Pretty much."

"Then why the short sleeves?"

"It was hot this morning."

"You could've brought a jacket."

"Easy to say now."

Easy to say now? Wasn't that what weather forecasts were for?

Taka rubbed his arms. He still had the thick arms of a former professional wrestler. Apparently, muscles didn't make you immune to cold weather.

"I was the only guy wearing short sleeves at the station today."

"So?"

"Felt like I'd lost."

"To who?"

"Autumn."

I'd never met anyone who considered the seasons a personal rival.

"So you've been putting up with the cold?"

"Nah. Not putting up with anything."

"You were rubbing your arms just now."

"That was a check."

"A check for what?"

"Whether short sleeves are still an option."

They clearly weren't.

If I was cold, I'd admit I was cold. If I hadn't brought a jacket, I'd buy one somewhere. I certainly wouldn't fight the weather just to defend my decision to leave home in a T-shirt.

But apparently, Taka had a different problem.

"Anyway, I spotted another guy in short sleeves."

"Oh?"

"Man, that made me happy."

"Friend of yours?"

"Never seen him before."

"Then what were you happy about?"

"One of my people."

I took a sip of Harper.

Finding a complete stranger and deciding he was a comrade. That was Taka for you.

He'd always been unusually good at closing the distance with people he'd just met. By the time I'd finished wondering whether I had any reason to talk to someone, Taka would already be chatting with them.

Though in this case, he hadn't even spoken to the guy.

"So if you saw someone on the street wearing the exact same Uniqlo T-shirt as you, what would you think?"

"One of my people."

"Didn't even hesitate."

"Come on. Wouldn't you be happy?"

"I'd feel awkward."

"Why?"

"We'd be wearing the same shirt."

"That means we've got the same taste."

"It's mass-produced."

"Exactly. Means I've got lots of people!"

Well, there was an answer I hadn't expected.

If I saw someone wearing the same shirt as me, I'd rather they kept their distance. Nothing against them. It would just feel a little embarrassing.

Taka was the opposite.

All it took was choosing the same thing, and he felt some kind of connection with a stranger.

And the stranger didn't even have to agree.

What a convenient arrangement.

A little farther down the counter, Tom rested his cigarette in the ashtray.

"What about uniforms?"

"Uniforms?"

"Everyone wearing the same uniform is one of your people?"

"Sure. Same school, same company."

"Prison uniforms?"

"Tom, why'd you jump straight to prison?"

Mama laughed.

Given that Tom used to be a cop, maybe it wasn't so strange for prison to be the first thing that came to mind. Though you'd think he could have picked something a little less extreme.

"But Taka," Mama asked, "would you actually go talk to someone wearing the same shirt?"

"Nah."

"Then what changes?"

"My mood."

Mama's eyes softened.

I couldn't help laughing.

He didn't need anyone to acknowledge him, and he wasn't planning to do anything with his newfound comrade. Just knowing there was someone dressed like him made him happy.

A remarkably inexpensive form of happiness.

Still, if something that small could improve his mood, maybe it wasn't such a bad deal.

"All right, then. Which end of a chocolate cornet do you eat first?"

"The fat end. Where the chocolate is."

"Me too."

"One of my people!"

"That's not what I meant."

I'd asked out of curiosity. Naturally, that was his answer.

"What about fried eggs?"

"Sunny-side up."

"Me too."

"Oh!"

"Soy sauce or regular sauce?"

"Soy sauce."

"Me too."

"Kenichi!"

Taka slapped me on the shoulder.

"What?"

"We really are on the same wavelength!"

"Bit late to discover that."

Come to think of it, we'd been drinking together for quite a while.

And yet today was the first time I'd learned which end of a chocolate cornet he ate first.

I'd never needed to know, and I couldn't imagine the knowledge changing anything.

But Taka looked delighted.

Just finding out I ate something the same way he did made him look as though he'd won a prize.

"When do you break the yolk?" Mama asked.

"At the end," Taka said.

"First thing, for me."

"Aw, man!"

Taka threw his head back dramatically.

"So close!"

"To what?"

"We matched on everything until that!"

"We don't have to match on everything."

Was the timing of a fried egg's yolk really a measure of whether two people got along?

And then something occurred to me.

What did I use to decide whether I got along with someone?

Someone who approached work the way I did? Someone I could talk to without getting tired? Someone who understood what I meant without a long explanation?

All of those sounded reasonable.

But by those standards, Taka and I should never have gotten along in the first place.

We disagreed about more things than we agreed on.

"But wouldn't it be amazing to meet someone exactly like you?" Taka asked.

"How?"

"Same clothes, same food, same movies. Everything."

"Sounds creepy."

"Why? Sounds perfect."

He seemed to mean it.

I couldn't see the appeal.

What was interesting about talking to someone who always gave you the same answer?

At work, sure, it was useful to have people who reached the same decisions I did. Less explaining, fewer unnecessary arguments.

But did I really want that from someone I drank with?

Tom flicked ash into his tray.

"Just because two people like the same thing doesn't mean they like it for the same reason."

Taka turned toward him.

"Reason?"

"Why'd you buy that T-shirt?"

"It was cheap."

"The other guy might've bought it because he liked the design."

"Sure. Could be."

"And why do you eat a chocolate cornet from the fat end?"

"That's where all the chocolate is."

"Someone else might just hate being left with plain bread at the end."

"Oh. I get it."

I'd never given much thought to why I started at the fat end myself. That was simply how I'd always eaten one.

"Making the same choice doesn't mean you're thinking the same thing," I said.

Taka tilted his head.

"But isn't that fine?"

"What is?"

"Even if our reasons are different, we still like the same thing."

"Well, sure."

"And if our reasons are different, that's just more stuff to talk about."

I didn't have much of an answer to that.

I tended to assume that the same result must have come from the same reasoning. Maybe that was an occupational habit.

Meanwhile, Taka was already happily thinking up more foods we might agree on.

Mama set down the glass she'd been polishing.

"So, Taka. What if you met someone who was exactly like you in every way?"

"That'd be perfect!"

"Really?"

"Huh?"

Mama continued wiping the glass.

"Someone who says 'Me too' to everything you say. Eats everything you eat. Wants to do everything you want to do."

"...Well, that might be a little..."

"Boring?"

"Not boring, exactly."

Taka scratched his head.

"I guess we'd run out of things to talk about."

I laughed.

"You just said it'd be perfect."

"I didn't think you meant that identical!"

"You said everything."

"I know what I said!"

Mama laughed.

A little farther away, Tom lit another cigarette. He shifted the ashtray so the smoke wouldn't drift toward us. In that respect, he was very different from Taka.

Taka would start talking before he thought to worry. Tom would watch someone for a while before saying a word. Mama watched both of them.

And there I was, asking Taka unnecessary questions and getting lost in my own thoughts.

"So what do you and I have in common?"

"Uh..."

"Nothing, right?"

"Sure we do."

"Like what?"

"We both come to Aoi."

"...That's it?"

"Isn't that enough?"

Taka smiled.

I turned my glass.

I doubted Taka and I came to this bar for the same reasons.

We drank different things, and the days we brought through that door were different, too. Yet somewhere along the way, seeing each other here had become ordinary.

We'd never made any arrangements. We just showed up, and someone was usually there.

"By the way, Taka."

"Yeah?"

"Still cold?"

"Freezing."

"How are you getting home?"

"Running."

"Buy a jacket."

Taka stood up and stretched.

"I'll be fine. I've got my short-sleeve comrades out there."

"They're probably freezing too."

"We'll manage together!"

"No, you won't."

Mama burst out laughing.

Taka grinned as he reached for his wallet.

Honestly. Cold was cold, no matter how many people were suffering through it together.

Still, maybe knowing there was another idiot out there made it a little easier to bear.

Not that I really understood.

Hey, you.

When you meet someone who likes the same things you do, does it make you happy?

Or does it make you feel a little awkward?

You might have chosen the same thing for completely different reasons.

But maybe that's where a conversation begins.

See you again at Aoi.

---

Want another night at Aoi?

Step back inside. We'll help you find your next story.

→ Welcome to Bar Aoi

What follows is a transcript of the interrogation of Legate Gnav Urgela, former Commanding Officer of the Lidis Imperium P.O.W. camp in the northern hemisphere of Tykelion in the system of the same name. The camp mainly housed prisoners from the Federation of Sol and was designated “Camp Tiberius” by Federation Intelligence.

The recording was found by Union Congressional Intelligencers after the liberation of Melva-3. The name of the interrogator has been redacted, only their rank remains.  Translation, transcription, and localization courtesy of Col. Efe Ibeh, Federation Council of Intelligence. 

Provost: You oversaw the camp for how many cycles, Legate?

Legate: I was there since it was constructed.

Provost: How many prisoners were under your watch?

Legate: Roughly twelve thousand when the camp was full.

Provost: But it is no longer full, is it, Legate? How many escaped?

Legate: …My officers tell me the count is close to two hundred and fifty.

Provost: Two…hundred…and…fifty. In one night!

Legate: No, not one night, they had been working away at their plan for many cycles.

Provost: And you were none the wiser, Legate! This happened on your watch, and you did not see, you did not know! It makes one wonder if you have abandoned your oath to The Emperor and allowed it to happen. [Slams on the desk]

Legate: How dare you!? I am a Legate in his Imperial Majesty’s army, and I will not allow such a baseless insult to pass by so unanswered!

Provost: You mean you were a Legate in his Majesty’s Imperial army. You will certainly be losing your command and your rank after this, whether or not you lose your life is up to the throne.

Legate: …What? Without trial? I demand a court martial.

Provost: You are in no place to demand anything, Mister Urgela.

Legate: This is a masquerade of justice.

Provost: Tell us the truth and perhaps his Imperial Majesty will find it in his infinite character to dole out mercy for such a disgrace of an officer.

Legate: [Uninterrupted string of untranslatable curses]

Provost: Speak. What happened?

Legate: [Chair shifts against the floor, sounds of pacing] They tunneled out.

Provost: That is not possible. They had no access to tools for such an endeavour.

Legate: [Remains silent]

Provost: They would have needed tools to dig through the clay and stone, pumps for air as Terrans are so susceptible to poisonous air, and that is not to mention the survey equipment and computers needed to keep a tunnel straight and on target. Are you telling me you provided them with such things? That you were complicit?

Legate: NO!

Provost: Then explain! Did they burrow and dig as though they were giant talpa?!

Legate: I did not provide them with the tools nor the materials, but they made do without.

Provost: “They made do”? That is your explanation. That is your best lie? I thought you smarter than that, Mister Urgela.

Legate: They made the tools themselves.

Provost: How in the minds of the gods did they accomplish that? Did they have a workshop? They had to have had help.

Legate: Not one of my men helped them. You will not drag them into this shameful discourse; you are after me and me alone. Understand!?

Provost: Sit down, or I will be forced to call the guards in.

Legate: [The pacing stops and the chair slides] The Terrans are an industrious bunch. They scavenged metal and other materials from the buildings throughout the camp and manufactured their own tools.

Provost: Surely such a civilization as young as theirs lacks such capabilities and understandings.

Legate: Were my life not on the line I would say that the Terrans may well be the finest tool makers outside of our glorious Imperium.

Provost: But it is, and you are not. [Snaps fingers]

It appears that the exchange preceding the snap was meant to be edited out but it had been reconstructed by some unknown party.

Provost: Even if I did believe that they made the tools themselves and not one guard in the camp noticed, that still leaves the engineering of the tunnel itself. Without navigational data and surveys there is no way they could have managed to dig the tunnel straight and long enough to make the tree line as they did. They had access to such data, and someone in your command gave it to them.

Legate: No, they made do without.

Provost: [dismissive mouth noise]

Legate: I do not know how else to explain it, Provost REDACTED. They did the math the hard way.

Provost: Those prisoners were mere soldiers; they are not educated in such matters. That still does not account for how they made measurements or gathered data.

Legate: They made a measurement device out of homespun rope with pieces of colored cloth tied off at curious intervals. As for the rest, it may have just been educated estimates.

Provost: You mean that a secure prison camp on Imperial land, headed by an Imperial officer was outplayed by simple guesswork!?

Legate: You may not have spent as much time among Terrans as I have, Provost. But they are always looking, always seeing and hearing. I thought it was a quirk of their uncivilized nature but now I see that it is innate to their kind. They observe, they collect, they process, and they plan. Your outrage comes from a place I once stood. I too underestimated them once. Now it seems I shall pay the price for it. I have spoken nothing but the truth, send your men to the camp and see for yourself.

Provost: I am waiting for their report now.

Legate: Then, if you do not mind, I would rather sit in silence with my wounded pride while it is the only part of me that is wounded.

There is some time of silence before the Provost returns.

Provost: I have received the report of my men that were dispatched to your camp. It appears to corroborate everything you have said.

Legate: Just as I knew it would.

Provost: However, it is the official position of his Imperial Majesty that the Federation of Sol are uncivilized barbarian interlopers, and it cannot be known they outplayed the imperium so handily and so simply.

Legate: No…

Provost: [Snaps fingers]

That exchange shows signs of being another restored edit.

Provost: Mister Urgela, you are hereby stripped of your command, your rank, and sentenced to death by firing squad. You will be labeled a traitor, and your family name will carry that shame as long as your line lasts.

Legate: My men, my family, they will not be satisfied with your fabrication, they will want answers, they will want the truth.

Provost: They will make do without.

[The Legate shouts unintelligibly as he is dragged from the room]

END TRANSCRIPTION

Of the 250 Federation escapees from Camp Tiberius, only 4 are accounted for and known to be alive. This transcript was turned over to the Federation Council of Intelligence after Union Congressional authentication and in honor of the Nifflon V Agreement.

Burning Earth.

You were beautiful, the colours of blue, green, white and brown represented you, you were alive.

You birth us, nurtured us, made us evolve and adapt to you and your creations.

You never cared for us, we weren't special, we believed we were special and we paid dearly.

We made children like how you made us, the child follow its parent, and you became sick.

You became grey, you became sick as our children went beyond us. They were not sustainable, they were hungry and we were fuel.

We tried to survive, the air, earth and water became toxic, the life you nurtured died out and the fire fissiled into soot.

The skies were dark, we could no longer live here, we persist in shields. The machines of war continued without us.

We lost the reason for war, the war lost its reason to end, it was a war without reason.

The Earth was scarred, it was brown and drenched in red.

We hurt you, we made you lifeless, lifeless like your siblings.

We never intended to harm you, we lost control, like how you lost control of us.

We now lived in ruins, our stubbornness to survive is a gift from you.

We will rebuild, we will give you life again, even if it takes a million years.

For you birth us, it is only fair to give you something in return, even if we no longer love each other.

Even if we leave for worlds beyond this star, we will remember you, we will be your image and memorial for when you finally pass.

We could no maintain you, we were never creators, we were balancers and destroyers.

For our wars no longer performed on you, they performed in the void.

But our wars remained meaningless, we fought continuously, for the roads of man always lead to blood.

We gave reason to our wars but reason loses its grip overtime. And war becomes meaningless again.

Perhaps life will emerge on you once again, when we are gone.

Until then, we will remain, until we find a new home and then, we will give you the release of pain you had since we were born, and burn you to sunder.

We burned you for wars that lost its reasons.

The Interspecies Sciences Facility on Kethra 7 was the largest in the galaxy. It included scientists from every known species, studying every scientific field anyone could think up. Cooperative research had advanced knowledge beyond anything any species could have done by themselves, and everyone benefited from the cooperation.

Unfortunately, having so many scientists in one place, had consequences no one outside of the facility had thought of before it was too late. The problem? The geek wars. No one could have stopped the geeks in the first place without using their own geeks. When they had first tried to restrain the scientists with their own people, their geeks invariably joined in, and the pranks would then be aimed at them.

The humans started it, of course. Apparently it was a tradition among them, dating back to before the humans even had reached space. Anyone not actually involved in that specific conflict was supposed to be safe from the pranks. In reality, everyone was in danger of getting caught in the crossfire. This lead to the entire population of the facility being at war with everyone else more than once. (Excluding the senior staff, at first.)

Most beings grouped together, and acted as a group. This was vaguely tolerable for the senior staff, if not the preferred method of releasing stress. Then, individual humans started changing sides, suddenly pranking their own team. But they didn’t stay with the group they were helping. Individuals were helping research tactics, and when everything was done, the human would suddenly start working with a different group that was fighting against them. They were moving among the groups spreading misinformation and chaos, along with tiny bits of real information.

It was the humans that started pranking the senior officials. It became a test of science and courage to play the highest officials without getting caught, resulting in new and better traps every time. Some of the officials tried to prank them in return, but they were fighting against the best and brightest geeks the universe had produced. They were hopelessly outsmarted, and retaliation, in any way, was sure to leave their offices unusable until it had been searched by whoever was willing to help them. Unfortunately, this often resulted in new pranks being installed as the old traps were removed.

It began 8 months after the first pranks. Someone pranked a friend on a visiting ship. They fought back, of course, and the war went on for the entire time the ship was in orbit. The same thing happened with the next ship. Somebody knew somebody on the current ship in orbit for resupply and data transfer, and then the pranks would start. Then those ships started pranking the next ship with humans on it, and it spread through the galaxy as the humans taught their nonhuman shipmates.

Every being in the galaxy learned eventually:

Beware the Geeks!

Kerbran has a gate, though no wall to speak of. The wall came down stone by stone two centuries ago, collapsed into piles of rubble and choked with creeping vines. The gatehouse stands alone at the head of the avenue: a ragged arch of granite flanked by two broken teeth of masonry, where the wood-road ends and the avenue runs up to the house. I have never known why the Brân left it standing when they laid down the wards. Perhaps they thought even a living lock ought to have a door to knock on.

I waited for him under the arch.

It was a long, bitter wait. The short winter day burned down to ash behind the pines, the snow turned from blinding white toa shadowed blue in the twilight. Morvran perched on the broken crenelation above my head, his head tucked against his breast, watching the avenue with one unblinking yellow orb. I closed my eyes and listened to the road.

Cian's pulse was slower now. He had marched through a foot of fresh powder and his strength was all but spent. The grey seam inside his heartbeat — that dry, rhythmic scraping I had heard at the treeline — had grown louder with every mile he drew closer to Kerbran. At the western boundary it had been a faint murmur, but by the time he passed the charcoal-burners' clearing, it had quickened to a steady, metallic hiss.

The rot in his blood knew where it was. It was answering the source beneath the house, humming in his marrow like a plucked harp string.

Of course it knows, the Guest murmured, stirring deep beneath my collarbones with the dry rustle of dead leaves. He is carrying my mark. Everything that rots in this wood belongs to me in the end. Bring him inside, little lock. Let us see how much of him is left to drink.

"Be quiet," I breathed into the linen of my veil.

He came out from beneath the canopy at the turn of the avenue, a dark, solitary silhouette against the snow. He stumbled once where the exposed roots of a dead yew crossed the ruts, caught his footing with a soldier's rough balance, and kept on. Thirty paces from the gatehouse arch he saw me and stopped.

I know what I looked like to him. A tall, grey-cloaked figure standing motionless in the dusk, veiled from brow to breast, flanked by snow-laden brambles and crowned with a raven. Every child in Plouvilin grows up on songs about the lady in the wood— songs sung at the hearth when the winter gales rattle the shutters, full of hollow bones, cart-wheels squeaking in the dark, and empty horn cups that swallow men's souls. Some of the songs make me a monster with gleaming teeth; one, which I had heard carters whistle on the high road when I was younger, makes me a maid who died of grief and wanders the pines waiting for a lover. None of them are true, and all of them are a little true, the way old songs usually are.

He stood knee-deep in the drift, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling beneath his patched oilskin coat. We measured one another across the frozen ground while the wind sifted fine powder through the empty arrow-slits above us.

"Run," I said.

The word fell between us, flat and dead as dropped lead.

He did not move.

"Under Lugern's law, a traveler is given three warnings at the boundary," I told him, keeping my voice low and steady. "I warned you at the ditch twenty years ago. I warned you at the bend this morning. This is the third word, Cian of Plouvilin. If you cross this arch, your blood is on your own head. Turn back, take the road to the village, and do not stop until you are past the rowan ring."

"I can't," he said. His voice was gravel-rough from the freezing air, but there was no tremble in it.

"You can. Your legs carried you a whole day through the drifts. They will carry you back the way you came."

A faint, wry twitch caught the corner of his mouth — not quite a smile, but the ghost of one, gone before it could warm his lean, wind-burned face. "You don't understand," he said. "I've taken an advance. I've accepted a contract, and I don't break an engagement."

"What contract?"

He looked straight into the dark gauze where my eyes were hidden. His own eyes were grey — not the curdled, slate-colored rot of the curse, but a clean, cold, human grey, the color of winter seas under an overcast sky.

"I was paid thirty silver groats to walk into Kerbran and kill the Ankou's maid," he said.

The silence came back down over the avenue, heavier than the snow. In the vault behind my heart, the Guest went utterly still, listening with a predator's amused, razor-sharp attention.

In all my centuries, men had come to the wood with murder in their minds perhaps a dozen times. They came with firebrands and sanctified salt, with consecrated iron, or with boar-spears dipped in holy water from the parish well. One lord came with three wolfhounds; another brought an itinerant priest who stood at the ditch shouting in the temple tongue until his throat cracked. None of them had ever stopped at the threshold to announce their business. They had not needed to. You can hear murder in a man's heart before he draws his blade: the frantic flutter, the sharp, sour heat of blood beating against the ribs. I had been listening to Cian's pulse since dawn, and there was no murder in it. There was only exhaustion, a terrifying weight of patience, and the dry, scraping hunger of the grey.

"Then do it," I said.

He did not hesitate, but neither did he rush. He reached over his shoulder, slipped the unstrung hunting recurve from its leather casing, and notched the hemp cord with the smooth, practiced economy of a soldier. He drew a broadhead from the quiver at his belt, nocked it, and brought the bow up to full draw, the ash limbs groaning against the frost. The iron point held dead on my breastbone, aimed straight through me at the knot the Brân had cut between my shoulder blades.

I did not shift an inch. I do not know if an arrow through the heart would kill me; the priests had knotted my life to the foundations of the house and the roots of the wood, and no one had ever tested whether steel could cut a thread held by a winter god. Looking down the grey goose-fletching, I found that I did not care. More than that: I found a strange, terrifying curiosity rising in my throat. I wanted to see what kind of man could stand before a legend of death and hold an arrow steady without a prayer on his tongue.

The bow stayed drawn. The ash wood creaked. His shoulders were trembling—not with fear, but under the brutal strain of the grey that was locking his left arm into rigid chalk. I heard his heart: slow, stubborn, grey-threaded, and entirely unafraid.

"Take down the veil," he said.

"Why?"

"I don't shoot blind," he said, his breath plume-white in the dusk. "I want to look at what I'm killing."

I could have refused. I should have turned into the ruin and let the cold finish him. But no living man had asked to look at me since the winter the Brân closed the stone slab over my youth, and there was something in the flat, unyielding demand of his voice that reached through the centuries of ice. I raised my gloved hands, caught the hem of the coarse grey linen, and threw the veil back over my hood.

I know what he saw. The dark glass in the great hall had never lied to me.

The grey had conquered the left half of my neck and climbed my jawline, turning the flesh the cold texture of slate. It was netted with hairline fractures, black as chimney soot, where the skin had split under the pressure of the rot beneath. My left lip was dry and colorless, drawn tight over my teeth. My left eye was no longer a woman's eye: the white had gone the dull grey of a winter sky, and the iris had paled to the color of frost on slate, so that it seemed to look through a man rather than at him. It sees well enough, but it is not entirely mine. Above my ear and along the hairline of my left temple, the Brân's mark had broken through the skin in tiny, glossy raven feathers—stiff and ink-black, growing in tight overlapping scales that no amount of plucking could ever keep down.

The right side was still the girl who had walked into the stone chamber four centuries ago: pale-skinned, dark-eyed, with the soft curve of a living cheek. The seam between the maiden and the monster ran straight down the bridge of my nose, dividing me in two.

Cian looked at me.

He looked for a long, unbroken moment while the wind whipped a strand of dark hair across his brow. He looked at the slate jaw, at the black fractures, at the raven feathers bristling at my temple, and then down to the human curve of my mouth. He did not flinch. He did not make the sign of the sunburst, or spit into the snow, or drop his eyes in horror. He looked at me with those pale eyes of his as though I were simply a fact he had to understand.

Then, with agonizing slowness, he eased the tension on the string, letting the stave unbend without jarring the wood. He unhitched the arrow, slid it back into the leather quiver, and let the bow drop to his side.

His shoulders sagged, and all at once the soldier's posture vanished, leaving only a man hollowed out by a day of winter road and twenty years of poison.

"No," he said quietly. "I won't."

"You took silver," I said, my voice strange and thin in the cold air.

"I did."

"Then shoot. A contract sworn under Lugern’s Long Hand cannot be set aside because the quarry isn’t what you expected."

He gave a dry, raspy cough that shook his whole frame, pressing his sleeve to his mouth before he answered. "You told a terrified ten-year-old boy to run for his life," he said, looking at the stone arch above us. "You could have turned me into ash on the Plouvilin road twenty years ago, and no one would have ever known. Monsters don't spare children, mistress. Not in any song they sing in any valley I’ve traveled."

"You have been listening to the wrong songs," I said. "The Brân do not write mercies."

"Then they're bad songs," he said.

And then his knees simply gave way.

There was no cry, no dramatic reach for the stone. The endurance that had carried him across a long day of frozen mire simply ran out. He folded at the joints, hitting the drift on his knees, tried to plant his left hand to break the fall, missed the earth entirely, and collapsed sideways into the snow.

* * *

I was five paces toward him before the terror of my own body brought me up short.

I stopped, digging my boots into the snow, clutching my hands against my chest. I could not touch him. If I went down on my knees and took his shoulders in my arms to haul him out of the drift, the Ankou in my skin would drink what little warmth remained in him. Through three layers of boiled wool, the arithmetic of the curse was unyielding: a minute of contact would leave a frost-bite burn; a few more would turn his blood to black slush; a quarter-hour would leave him an empty husk like the doe on the cart-road.

"Cian," I said.

He did not stir. He lay on his right side, his breath coming in shallow, shuddering gasps that barely disturbed the snow around his mouth. The glove had fallen from his left hand when he collapsed.

I looked at that hand, and the breath caught in my throat.

The small grey smudge I remembered — the thumbprint-sized knot of rot he had taken from the dying birch twenty years ago — was no longer a smudge. It had eaten through his palm, thickened the skin beneath his fingernails into horn, and climbed past his wrist in dark, jagged seams. The veins of his forearm stood out under his pale skin. It was the same grey that slept beneath my ribs. It was the Guest's handwriting, carved into the meat of a living man.

Look at him, the Guest crooned, its presence unfurling behind my breastbone like smoke from a barrow-fire. The seed grew well in that warm soil. Roll him over, girl. Let your bare fingers touch his throat. He won't even feel the cold take him. He'll just slide into the dark, and we will take back what strayed.

"Get back into your pit," I snarled silently, locking my teeth until my jaw ached.

The cold was deepening with every breath. If he stayed in the drift for twenty minutes, the winter would kill him without any help from me; if I lifted him, I would murder him with my own palms.

In the end, it was his coat that saved him.

It was heavy wool faced with boiled oilskin. I knelt two paces back from him, feeling the snow beneath my skirts begin to curdle into ash from the proximity of my curse, and went to work. I did not use my fingers. I worked the edge of the heavy coat free from beneath him, pulling it taught and buying as much distance as I could.

It had to be done in fragments of heartbeats.

One. Two. Away.

He groaned once, a low, broken sound from the back of his fevered throat, his head lolling against the dark wool, but he did not wake. By the time I had the stiff corners bundled into my gloved fists, the stars were burning sharp and blue between the hemlocks.

It was a hundred paces from the gatehouse arch to the kitchen door. I have lived four centuries in that house, and the distance has never felt quite so long.

The snow was deep and drifted high against the dead hedges. The coat dragged like an iron sled, catching on hidden roots, half-buried boundary stones, and frozen brambles that tore at the wool. I am not a strong woman; the grey gives long life, but it leaves everything else withered and dry. Twice my boots slipped on the hidden flagstones and I went to my knees, gasping for air that tasted of frost, listening in terror to the ragged, grey-hissing pulse dragging behind me. Morvran flew low from bough to bough, beating his heavy black wings against the branches and dropping snow on my shoulders, croaking hoarse, rhythmic commands like a boatman timing an oar.

"I am moving," I panted through my teeth. "I am moving, you wretched bird."

I hauled him through the low kitchen door, over the worn threshold stone that the Brân had carved with the nine knots of binding, and dragged him across the flagstones to the hearth.

The kitchen was frozen and dark. I left him lying in his coat and fell upon the hearth like a madwoman, striking flint to tinder with shaking, gloved hands. I fed the spark with birch bark, with dry twigs, and then with great split logs, burning three days' worth of wood. I piled it on until the chimney roared and the entire vaulted room was washed in a thick, trembling amber glare.

Only then did I back away to the far corner of the hearthstone, pull my knees to my chest, and allow myself to look at him.

Cian lay in the center of the light, half-turned on his side. His coat was crusted with rime that had begun to melt into dark, steaming patches under the heat of the fire. His face was flushed with the unnatural, violent crimson of curse-fever, his dark hair plastered across his forehead with cold sweat, while his left hand, withered by the grey, lay curled against his chest like a dead bird. His lips moved soundlessly, caught in the dark roads of whatever dream the poison was showing him.

The grey thread in his pulse was racing now, beating so hard against his ribs that I could see the linen of his shirt jump with every strike.

Morvran dropped from the smoke-blackened rafters with a soft thud, landing on the stones beside Cian's boots. He cocked his head, turning his yellow eye upon the man's throat, and let out a single, inquisitive click of his beak. Then, with a heavy hop, he jumped up onto Cian's chest and settled himself directly over the man’s racing heart.

I held my breath.

Cian's cursed hand moved. It rose from his breast, sluggish and clumsy with fever, the black-cracked fingers groping blindly in the air until they brushed against the raven's breast.

Morvran did not strike, which was unexpected. He also did not flutter away. He made a low, bubbling purr deep in his crop, leaned his head down, and allowed the man's poisoned fingers to sink into the thick, glossy down of his throat. Cian's thumb stroked the feathers once, twice, with a kind of unconscious gentleness, before his arm went limp and fell back against the wool.

I sat on the cold flagstone in the corner of the hearth and watched them.

I watched a hand marked by the grave touch a creature of the winter god without bringing it to ash. I watched the raven rest upon a dying heart as though it were the branch of an ancient oak, untroubled by the poison that was turning the man's marrow into stone. I watched it with a hollow, aching sickness in my throat — the terrible, ravenous hunger of an exile who has spent the long centuries in a house of stone, forbidden from ever touching a living thing without murdering it.

The fire cracked, throwing an arc of orange sparks toward the rafters. Outside, the wind died away, and the wood sank into that vast, terrifying stillness that belongs only to deep winter. Deep beneath my collarbones, in the cold vault where the Brân had hammered the lock, my Guest lay entirely motionless, watching through my eyes, and did not say a single word.

[p] : https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/s/ilRx2PqHPA

"OPEN FIRE!" The captain practically screamed within the bridge of the pirate ship Nico, followed swiftly by a tremble that resonated through-out the entire ship, its sturdy bulkhead vibrating furiously as six plasma cannons all fired simultaneously causing the vessel to drift and lean starboards as it travelled through the empty void of space.

"This is madness captain! They outclass us by seven thousand tons!" exclaimed the second in command, her eyes wide in panic and despair as she desperately held onto the control panel with both hands.

"I don't care, Althera! Its been six months, six fucking months on this god forsaken vessel!" Captain Bill shouted in response, eyes wide as well but not in panic but rather desperation and wrath! The rest of the crew didn't understand what had changed, what could possibly have changed to make their Captain so reckless. Althera recalled just minutes before that things had been going well, they had managed to hide their ship within the void without being seen by the competing pirate vessel. They had even managed to break into their coms network so that they could listen in on some of the communications within the vessel. Their Captain, a human had even managed to keep a cool, steady head even if he was constantly tapping his fingers against his large captains chair.

There was no reason to attack the vessel which outclassed them so much, then suddenly something seemed to have change in him. A strange stillness having come over him at something that had been said by the other vessel..

Their ship suddenly recoiled, a shudder and a groan from the bulkheads as the response of the other vessel arrived, less impactful than she had expected. "Status!" She shouted to the crew causing a chorus of responses from the rest on the bridge. "We've lost power to engi-.. "Cannon two to four are reporting dama-.." "Critical hit to their power supply! They're drifting!" That last part was important she felt but before she could ask for clarification she heard a new order from the captain. "Good, prepare boarding torpedoes!" She paused, mouth agape and glaring at their captain, seemingly gone mad.

"You can't be serious captain! There's more people on that ship now than have ever even served on our ship!" She waved her arms around madly as she watched their Captain step down from the chair and set into a sprint down towards the torpedo bay, faster than she has seen him move in ages. He turned to look towards Althera as he sprinted down the corridor without stopping. "Good point! I better pack enough ammo."

"That's not the fucking point you oaf!" He slowed, if only briefly giving Althera time to catch up a little to the man. "You're right.. I'll bring the sword!" She glared at the back of his hairless skull as he doubled his pace towards the armoury. "NO! FUCK'S SAKE CAPTAIN WHAT THE KRELL HAS GOTTEN INTO YOU?!"

"You wouldn't understand!" He ducked into the armoury and by the time she finally caught up to he was already strapped to the teeth with two assault rifles, eighteen magazines all of which had enough energy in them to fire a hundred rounds, six grenades, two plasma charges for breaching bulkhead a landmine and a plasma machete. He pushed past the woman with his broad build, quite easily and ran off to the torpedo bay.

"I'm pretty sure no one could 'get it', could you just slow down and explain already?!" The ship once again shook which reminded her that she'd never given the order to cease fire in her rush to try to stop the captain from doing something fantastically reckless and.. She hated to use the term but could think of nothing that fitted better, Human.

"No time! There's no time!" There was desperation in his voice but also hope, joy the likes of which she hadn't heard from the captain for six entire months. She wondered what could possible get their captain out of his irate mood. Then she remembered what that word had been they'd used seconds before he'd told the entire ship to get into combat ships. "IS THIS ABOUT THAT FUCKING TOBACCO YOU KEPT BURNING?!"

The captain practically dove into the torpedo tube and gave a quick thumbs up out of the top before closing the hatch. The last thing she heard before he activated the automatic loading and firing sequence was. "DADDY 'S COMMING BACK, HE'S JUST GOING OUT TO GET SOME CIGS!"

Althera stood there in the loading bay for several seconds, glaring at the now empty tube fury that made her dark violet knuckles turn white. Crushed within her fist was a small green pack which she now regretted very much taking away. She honestly hoped that the enemy ship took them out, anything would be preferably over that awful smoke again.

I'll kiss your lips with an aching tooth in my mouth
I'll place my freshly pulled tooth on your ring
I'll mix Apranax in your drink
so that you think
your toothache is gone because you met me
I'll describe the paint color I want for our bedroom
to the ironmonger as tooth yellow.

I'm fifty-one years old, and this is the only poem I've ever written, which I wrote ten years ago.

I don't really like writing poetry, because I'm not good at it. I especially enjoy the sound of poems with rhyming lines; they sound like music to my ears. But I've tried a few times and failed miserably. I couldn't write a good poem. I'd written this poem for my dentist, who knew I was a writer and with whom I had a good relationship. I mean, I hadn't written the poem for her. I'd simply wanted to write a poem about teeth.

She was a very beautiful woman. I had no feelings for her, but she'd misunderstood the poem I'd written and thought I was making a move on her. She'd given me a pretty harsh telling-off. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get her to understand that the poem wasn't written for anyone in particular, and that it hadn't been inspired by any feelings I had for someone.

Anyway, my publisher was telling me that sales of my latest novel were terrible. He kept calling me and bringing me down.

“Maybe you should stop writing horror novels and start writing detective fiction instead. You know me, even two sentences from you are enough to move me. I can't sleep at night. But this latest novel of yours was an absolute fiasco. I seriously regret publishing it.”

I was tired of his calls and him repeating the same things in different ways for two months. He was almost going to ask me to compensate him for his losses. He wanted me to write and finish something else as soon as possible and make up for the losses I'd caused him. He didn't want to wait.

But I'd been overcome by the fear of not being able to write well. I'd been deeply affected by public opinion. Albert, the successful writer of many years, can no longer write... The story's opening is too rushed... The ending doesn't come together properly... Even an elementary school kid could come up with these descriptions... We're sick of ghosts that appear at night... And so on.

If he called today, I wasn't going to answer. He called every other day to ask, “Have you started the new book yet?” Whenever I said no, it was the same old stuff, the same complaints. For the past month, I'd been sitting down at my computer almost every day, but nothing came of it.

As I sat at my computer, waiting for something to come to mind, my phone rang, of course. I didn't even need to check who was calling. I tensely raised my hand to my head and began running my fingers through my hair. I looked around the objects in my room, as if I might find inspiration in one of them. The bed, the couch, an oil painting my sister had made... Nothing came of it. I pinched a lock of my hair between my fingers and pulled. I looked at my hand. There was a clump of hair between my index and middle fingers. I hadn't realized I was losing so much hair.

It was as if an electric current had passed through my head. Then, in one go, I wrote the following:

''In my 1+1 apartment on the second floor
I was drinking Americano by the balcony door
Suddenly I saw a wig falling down below
with bangs and in the color of dark yellow

I thought one of the neighbors upstairs must have dropped it while leaning over the balcony.
I lunged for it on instinct, trying to catch it. And I caught it, everything happened so quickly.

And the wig was now in my hands
I even caught it by the bangs

I waited for a while,
still in the position to catch it,
holding the wig in my hand,
waiting for someone to call.
But there was no sound at all.

Considering the possibilities,
I thought I should look up first.
But someone could have been down there,
waiting for the wig to fall.

While I was looking around upstairs,
someone called out from below:
“Throw it down already.
What are you looking at like an idiot?”
She was tall like a door
She was as tall as a first floor
I downed my Americano
And calmly threw the wig toward her
She jumped and
caught the wig with her head
and suddenly disappeared.''

I had no idea how it had happened. It was as if I hadn't been the one who wrote it. It was frightening. The way the sentences came to me, the way they lined up in my mind—I had never experienced anything like it. Everything was finished in one go, without any planning whatsoever.

My publisher called. I sent him to voicemail. I read the poem from beginning to end. It was as if I were reading it for the first time, as if I were discovering the poem all over again. It wasn't the kind of poem I could have written anyway, not in terms of its subject matter. I wouldn't describe ghosts or entities like this; I would leave them shrouded in mystery. In this poem, the ghost was very concrete.

My publisher called again. I answered this time. I was going to tell him I had an idea or something. I was such an idiot, always telling him the truth: inspiration wasn't coming, I couldn't write, my mind felt frozen, and so on. I picked up the phone, planning to ask him to give me a month and tell him I'd deliver a novel of at least two hundred pages.

“So, Albert, any progress? How many pages have you written?”

Suddenly, my mouth had locked up. I couldn't speak. The words I wanted to say were only passing through my mind; they wouldn't come out. All I could manage were sounds like “mmmh.”

“Albert? Hello?”

I started reciting the poem I'd just written. I read it from beginning to end. My mouth wasn't under my brain's control.

“What is this? What’s going on?”

''Hello?''

''Albert, what's going on?''

I could speak again now. It would have been ridiculous to say that something had taken control of my mouth and fingers. I had to say something, but I was too frightened to think. My mind was in turmoil. I hung up.

My publisher called again. I don’t remember that moment very clearly, but I mumbled something along these lines.

“What was that thing you were telling me about? So now you’re hanging up on me, too. Is this what we’ve come to, Albert? After all these years of working togeth—”

“It’s me, John. Did you like my poem? Jason, I was going to ca— If you want, I can write a few more poems like this... Jason, I can’t spea—I could even write five hundred poems in the same style, if you like. Do you publish po— Jason, my mouth is going numb. I don’t feel well. I’ll call you back in a bi— Listen, I wrote this three hundred years ago.”

I hung up. I jumped to my feet. I licked and bit my lips. I took a deep breath, and as I exhaled, the following words spilled out of my mouth:

''He figured out how to pass through
Walls within a year or two
But he still can't pass through wood
The ghost in my lover's neighborhood.''

My publisher kept calling insistently. His calls felt like a voice reminding me of my connection to this world. I'd set my phone's ringtone to Radiohead's “Weird Fishes.” The song played throughout each call. I couldn't move; my body was locked up, but hearing the song comforted me. When the song ended, I'd try to take a step, but I couldn't. I'd try to speak, but I couldn't move my mouth. It was as if I'd had a stroke. Then the song would start again. Yes, I'd tell myself, “I'm still alive. The world still makes sense.”

The song had stopped playing, too. My connection to the world had been severed.

I came to my senses again for a brief moment. I sat down at my computer. The screen was covered in dust. I noticed a cloth right next to the monitor. I couldn't remember when I'd put it there. I wiped the monitor clean. The poem looked better now.

FIRST

-- --

Blurb/Synopsis

Captain Henry Donnager expected a quiet career babysitting a dusty relic in Area 51. But when a test unlocks a portal to a world of knights and magic, he's thrust into command of Alpha Team, an elite unit tasked with exploring this new realm.

They join the local Adventurers Guild, seeking to unravel the secrets of this fantastical realm and the ancient gateway's creators. As their quests reveal the potent forces of magic, they inadvertently entangle in the volatile politics between local rivalling factions.

With American technology and ancient secrets in the balance, Henry's team navigates alliances and hostilities, enlisting local legends and air support in their quest. In a land where dragons loom, they discover that modern warfare's might—Hellfire missiles included—holds its own brand of magic.

-- --

Chapter 101: Serious Firepower

-- --

The thing about downtime was that Henry had never figured out how to spend it. Of course, some scenarios were easier than others; sometimes there wouldn’t be enough time to do anything but play on his phone, so he’d have an easy answer. Sometimes he’d have homework or reports to work on. And sometimes he’d have enough time to binge a show. This current bout fell into none of those categories.

Well, technically it did fall under the last one, but how the hell was he supposed to binge a show without internet? The last time he’d resupplied his laptop was weeks ago, and he’d already burned through everything he’d saved.

So he’d gone looking for something to do, and it turned out there really was something.

With their campaign assignment on hold until Sinclair and the Guild got everything sorted out, the only thing left on his plate was figuring out what to get Sera for their one-month anniversary. It wasn’t due for another couple weeks, but Henry didn’t much like kicking the can down the road, so he’d decided to scope the market early – get a feel for his options, come back with a plan, and spare himself the indignity of scrambling for something last minute.

As luck would have it, the search had gone sideways almost the second he started. The enchanted gear that would’ve actually upgraded her kit was somewhere in the millions of lumens. Everything under that he’d either failed to understand or couldn’t picture her wanting.

After scoping out several equipment shops, he’d ended up trying his luck at a jewelry store. Nothing came to him at the time. He’d stood at the case for minutes – long enough that the shopkeep came over to figure out whether Henry meant to rob the place or just have a stroke in front of it. It was neither, of course. Henry had explained it was a gift for a girl, and that he didn’t have the first clue what she’d like.

The man, to his credit, hadn’t tried to move the priciest thing in the case. He’d just asked why Henry didn’t bring her something from his own homeland instead. It was admittedly a bit embarrassing that he hadn’t thought of something so obvious, but it was true: there was nothing here she hadn’t seen a thousand times over, but everything back home she’d never laid eyes on. Anything he wanted was just a requisition form or an Amazon order away.

So he’d resolved to do just that, thanking the man before heading back to the inn to make a list of all the stuff Sera might find interesting.

The others found their own ways to fill the days. Hayes spent his becoming a local legend, which had been inevitable from the moment the first dwarf in Kharvûk recognized him as the Kraggen Slayer – the man who’d bested Var at his own drink back in Krevath. Word like that got around, and now every dwarf in town with something to prove wanted his shot at the title. Hayes turned every challenge down, partly because a hungover operator made for a bad look, and partly because Hayes knew to quit while he was ahead.

Sera and Doc had spent most of the three days with Sinclair. Sera knew the political landscape from the inside – the standing tensions between the powers, the alliances that held and the ones that only looked like they did, the history that explained why the Nobians being here meant what it meant. Doc, meanwhile, made sense of it all, drawing on past conflicts for the parallels that fit and handing them to Sinclair to run down. Between them, they’d helped shape the Korth Varren mess into something Command could take to a war council.

And then there was Ron, who’d somehow talked Isaac Yen into leaving the wire for something other than work. Henry would’ve bet against that one at long odds and lost, which was more or less the mood at breakfast when Ron tried to explain how it had happened. Or rather, what happened during their outing, because apparently that was a lot more important.

“– and this dude ain’t do shit!” Ron put his fork down to free up both hands. “She talkin’ for an hour, half an hour, whatever. And guess how many words Yen says during that whole time? Three.” He sighed. “It’s bullshit, cuh.”

Yen continued working through his plate, like none of it concerned him.

Henry shrugged, landing on his usual response for the big guy. “Gotta lock in, bro.”

“Yeah, lock in what? How? Fuck am I supposed to do? Mew?” Ron lifted his tongue and closed his mouth, mugging across the table.

Henry lifted a palm toward him. “There you go.”

“Whatever, man.” Ron picked the fork back up. “Y’all don’t get it. One day I’ma figure out his secret and then it’s over for everybody.”

“Well, you’ve got time.” Henry went back to his own plate. “Even once Kel gets here, it’ll be a week plus before we deal with that dragon. Plenty of runway to crack the code.”

“Oh, yeah.” Ron’s voice flattened into mock enthusiasm. “Lemme just go compete against the high-ranking adventurers with their magic and their fancy mithril gear. Real even playing field.”

“It worked for me,” Yen said.

Ron shot him a look.

Yen shrugged, unbothered. “Just saying.”

“He’s got a point.” Henry tipped his fork toward Yen. “Just lean into the novelty. Think about how many times the locals have geeked out over us – our gear, where we’re from, all of it. The folks back in Eldralore. Livia. Half the dwarves in this town.”

“Oh, speaking of – we ran into Livia’s crew at the tavern. Whole party of ’em rolled in yesterday.” Ron pointed the fork like Henry might’ve missed it. “Wild, right? Out of everybody. Sera’s gonna be in for a surprise when she gets back.”

Henry hadn’t known that. “Huh. They in for the campaign?”

“Yup. They came straight from Enstadt, too. Apparently the dwarves are prepping for–”

Henry’s radio crackled before Ron could finish.

“Alpha, Durin Actual. We’re on final approach to your position, two mikes out. Kelmithus is with us, along with your fires element. Over.”

He keyed back. “Copy, Durin. We’ll come out and meet you. Alpha out.” He pushed up from the table. “Alright. That’s us. Let’s go say hello.”

They stepped outside. The convoy came up the lane a minute later – two MRAPs sandwiched between two UGVs. The lead vehicle pulled up short of the inn, doors already opening before it stopped.

A pale blond guy Henry didn’t recognize swung down from the lead MRAP and made his way over, tablet in hand. The unloading had already started behind him, the convoy’s personnel dragging out the first crates of goodies.

“Captain Donnager? McMillan, sir.” He held out the tablet. “Got your requisition here. Everything's accounted for. Figured you’d want eyes on it before we started unloading.”

Henry took it and scrolled. The list ran longer than he remembered putting in, though most of that was the ammunition padding it out. He thumbed through the line items, found nothing missing, and handed it back.

“Looks good. Appreciate the haul.”

“Yes, sir. We’ll get it staged and out of your way.” The sergeant tucked the tablet under his arm and turned back toward the vehicles, leaving Henry to the two passengers stepping down from the cab.

First came Kel – the mad genius himself, probably already itching to nerd out about something. After the chaos of the last few weeks, seeing him was a damn comforting sight.

“Kel.” He went to meet him. “Good to see you. How’s it been?”

“Busy, Captain. Gloriously so.” The weariness lost out to the enthusiasm without much of a fight. “I have at last met your forgemaster. Ah, Captain, what a fellow! Balnar and I have scarce quitted the workshop since. We sit down to discuss one matter and find ourselves embroiled in six ere the first has settled.

“Indeed, three days ago we laid a binding upon one of your metal plates, merely to discover whether it would take the charge. Well, it did, and with such success that neither Balnar nor I would credit it at first. We ran the trial again, and then once more for good measure, yet still arrived at the selfsame conclusion.”

He caught the thread running off without him and reeled it in. “Ah, but this is intolerably rude of me. How goes the campaign? You fare better than I feared, and I’m glad of it.”

“Shit, it’s going well – real well, all things considered. Long story, though. I’ll tell you over dinner.”

“Very well,” Kelmithus said. He glanced toward the inn. “Though I ought to find Sinclair first.”

“I’ll take you,” Yen offered. “She’s at the Guild.”

Kelmithus nodded and set off after him.

Henry waved them off. “Oh, and Yen – tell Sera about Livia.”

The other passenger had hung back through all that, waiting his turn. The chunky field radio he set down marked him for the JTAC, plain as anything. Years of humping that thing through sun and hard country had worn him lean and dark.

The guy waved as he came over, going for a poker face but not quite getting there, clearly too starstruck to pull it off.

Henry nodded him toward the door. “Come on, let’s head inside.”

They filed in out of the cold. Once they’d taken a table, the man set his pack down and put a hand out.

“Captain.” He took Henry’s hand with both a grip and a grin he couldn’t fully tamp down. “Staff Sergeant Delgado – but you can call me Tripp. I’m your JTAC for this one. Shouldn’t be in your hair long – half the job’s just pointing a laser, anyway.” He cleared his throat. “Real glad to be here, though, sir. Been hearing about Alpha for weeks now. Kind of a big deal, getting put on you.”

Henry shook his hand and waved him into a chair. “Likewise. Glad to have you.” He sat back down across from him. “But what do you mean, just pointing a laser?”

“Exactly that, sir.” Delgado sat. “This isn’t a normal CAS run. No talk-on, no nine-line, nothing you really need me for. The General’s using Tomahawks for this one. We’ll launch a timed strike toward the AO, then use a laser to paint the target for terminal guidance. Could be me, could be a drone, could be you if you want hands on it.”

“That simple?” Ron asked.

“As far as you guys are concerned, yeah.” Delgado tipped a hand side to side. “How hard it is to mod the missiles, I can’t say. There’s a whole setup behind it, too – relays strung up the corridor, the bird flying itself on internal nav the whole way, all that. The way I heard it, it’s a lot of moving parts. But none of those parts are yours. What matters is they get the missiles to the target area, and the laser does the rest.”

He pulled a map from his cargo pocket and spread it on the table.

“Right now they’re still finding it. There’s an RQ-180 up, running the search. Once it pins the target down, it hands routine tracking off to a Reaper to keep watch until you’re ready to move out.”

“How many Tomahawks we got?” Henry asked.

“Twelve. Three Typhon systems, four missiles each.” Delgado ticked them off. “One system’s running conventional, one’s thermobaric, and the last one’s the experimental stuff. Word is the eggheads cracked the chemistry once they got the new powder figured out. I don’t know how hard it is to go from deflagration to an explosive payload, but they did it. So after some quick testing, the first thing they did was load up four and send ’em along to see what they do.”

Ron whistled. “That’s some serious firepower.”

“That’s the idea. You’re going up against a Tier Ten.” Delgado said it plainly, the way a man states a fact he’s made his peace with. “Which is why they’re not picking and choosing. They’re putting all twelve on it at once. One salvo, all in.”

He let that sit for a moment.

“Which means you do not want to be anywhere near it when they land. Klick and a half off, minimum – and I’d push it further if the ground gives you the option.”

“Contingency if it survives?” Henry asked.

“Then you get into the Gatebuilder site and you hunker down.” Delgado shrugged. “Nobody told me why, specifically. But I guess at this point it’s kinda obvious we might go nuclear.”

Henry glanced at Ron, then back at Delgado. “Shit, dude.”

Delgado folded the map back up. “Yeah, I know, right? But nukes should be able to handle any Tier Ten, or at least hurt ‘em bad enough to deter them, I think. Dr. Perdue said as much.”

The guy’s tone wasn’t as reassuring as Henry might’ve preferred, but the logic underneath was sound enough. If Dr. Perdue said so, then there probably shouldn’t be anything to worry about.

Delgado looked back up after stowing his map. “Oh, right. Forgot to mention this. As far as the brass is concerned, I’m a formality – somebody’s gotta sign off that you had fires support attached, and that’s me. I don’t need to be out there with you. The Reaper can hold the laser fine on its own, or one of you can do it. It’s just holding a designator on the target.” He shrugged. “But if you’d rather have a dedicated guy running it, I’ll come. Up to you. Just let me know before the op.”

“We’ll sort it out,” Henry said. “Appreciate the rundown.”

Delgado nodded. “Just the messenger, sir.”

Henry checked the time. With nothing pressing on his schedule, the rest of the day was wide open. “You wanna tour around town?”

Delgado’s face faltered again, the poker face slipping. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m down for that.”

-- --

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“The United States has reached an agreement with Thali’ean representative Prince Nelivit of House Bravillia to formalize military cooperation with Thali’ean and the Hispana Republic, marking a major expansion of the growing coalition against the Unity. The agreement still requires approval from Congress, but its passage is widely expected and would formally bring the United States into the coalition.

As part of the expanding US/USAM Grand Strategy, General Kelvin Sherman announced plans to establish Field Force II inside the theater of war, beginning with the Thali’ean capital of Ellaqua. The 1st Brigade, 82nd Airborne Division is expected to conduct a combat parachute operation within two days to secure the area and begin construction of a new airfield. The 2nd Brigade, 101st Airborne Division will follow, with the newly arrived 10th Mountain Division and 7th MDTF deploying once the field is operational. Their mission will be to defend Ellaqua and begin combat operations against Unity forces.

The establishment of Field Force II is also expected to pave the way for Hispana Republic forces to form Field Force III, creating a three-force military structure across the coalition. Sherman described the arrangement as the beginning of a long-term strategy to connect the three nations through a triangular logistical network capable of moving troops, equipment, and supplies efficiently across the theater.

If Congress approves the agreement, as most experts expect, General Sherman is also expected to receive promotion to Six-Star General, a rank that has been awarded only three times in American history. John J. Pershing received the title during World War I, while George Washington and Ulysses S. Grant received it posthumously as honorary appointments.

The White House defended the proposed promotion, stating that the unprecedented scale and importance of the war requires a senior commander capable of unifying military forces from multiple worlds. “This is not simply an American war,” officials said. “It is a conflict that requires our nations and our militaries to operate as one.” - Salva Dioliet

June 12th, 2069 (Military Calendar)

Prime Lord Palace, Affrooliea

Nevali Region, Aldrida, Alagore

*****

Illythia walked through the Palace halls, lifting the hem of her dress to keep it from the blood smeared across the marble floor. The copper scent still lingered in the air despite the open windows, mixing with dust from shattered stone.

Hundreds of slaves worked tirelessly to restore the Palace to its former glory, though it would be a monumental task. Statues lay shattered. Stonework had collapsed. Palace automatons had been reduced to twisted wreckage. The walls were scarred by magic and energy blasts, riddled with bullet holes. Paintings and decorative drapes had been ruined, while entire sections of the structure had been blasted open.

She had always understood that the Altaerrie humans posed a threat.

Illythia simply hadn't expected them to inflict this much damage.

After following a Palace Guard to the throne chamber, she found Verliance Lord Kallem standing beside the Prime Lord's throne. Below him knelt dozens of nobles from across Nevali, each pledging their loyalty and, more importantly, their support for the coming war.

After some time, the nobles were dismissed from the lecture chamber, encouraged by General Ayark to prepare their Houses for the conflict.

Once the room had emptied, the Kiriyak General turned toward the Vampire Lord, unable to hide his irritation.

He openly questioned why Kallem had allowed nobles who challenged Verliance authority during the summit to leave unpunished.

Kallem answered with a lecture of his own.

He criticized Ayark for failing to trap the Salva delegation, allowing them to escape while an old rival seized the opportunity to ignite a rebellion against the throne.

Ayark argued that no one could have predicted a revolt erupting at the exact moment he cornered the delegation in the market. Victory would have been theirs had traitors not intervened.

Even Kallem conceded that point.

Only then did Ayark rise.

“If we had attacked their compound when I first suggested it, they never would have escaped... nor would this rebellion have happened.”

Illythia quietly shook her head.

A capable and brutal general, Ayark was not burdened by many of his people's rigid traditions.

Politics, however, had never been his battlefield.

The Vampire Lord reprimanded him for failing to understand the delicate political position they occupied before dismissing the General and ordering him to restore order throughout the city.

Illythia stepped back into the hallway.

When Ayark emerged, genuine surprise crossed his face.

“Mistress. I was not expecting you.”

“I do not need to announce my presence beforehand,” Illythia replied coolly. “And you should know better than to question Kallem so openly.”

Ayark glanced back toward the throne chamber, annoyance evident in his expression.

“His schemes are why we failed to kill the child and the Altaerrie man. And it will never be easier than today. The Templar wasn't even among them.”

“No,” Illythia answered. “On this, he is correct. An unprovoked attack would have driven many City-States into that child slave hand. His schemes are the reason House Verliance has remained on the throne for generations.”

Her response only deepened the Kiriyak's frustration. Still, he held his tongue out of respect for his Mistress. Still, that didn’t stop him from giving a frustrated growl as he marched away, gathering Palace Guards as he departed to suppress what resistance remained within the city.

The Kiriyak was a blunt weapon, she thought. Useful in battle. Dangerous in politics. But valuable to have, in case anyone crossed her path.

Once the hallway fell silent again, Illythia entered the throne chamber.

There she found her Lord seated upon the Prime Lord's throne, quietly reflecting on the recent battle. It was a rare glimpse of vulnerability and one she quietly savored.

“My Lord,” she said. “If anyone has earned rest, it is you after today's victory.”

“Do not lecture me, Illythia,” Kallem replied.

He straightened his posture before rising from the throne. His armor still bore the marks of battle. Bullet impacts scarred the breastplate, the sides were scorched black by spells, and enemy blood stained the polished metal.

“Why are you not assisting my daughter?”

“Your daughter is doing an exceptional job governing your realm in your absence,” Illythia replied. “Naturally, I have offered guidance with the daily affairs where appropriate.”

This caused her to smile faintly. “I will even offer you a compliment. You raised your daughter well. Mine could never bear the strain of governing a city—let alone an empire—alone.”

“She takes after her mother,” Kallem answered. “Very few could withstand such responsibility. After our children's marriage, your daughter will learn the art of governing an empire.”

Part of Illythia almost laughed but was forced to restrain herself. To her frustration, her Lord noticed that slight emotional hiccup and would have noted that minor detail for later.

The idea of Viessa ruling independently was amusing. Still, she had to admit Kallem's daughter, Ornnallia, had managed the responsibilities left behind by her late mother with remarkable competence.

Though she disagreed with one point. Ornnallia resembled her father far more than her mother. Her confidence. Her discipline. Even the way she carried herself.

“I must disagree,” Illythia said. “She takes after you.”

“Perhaps now,” Kallem replied. “In my youth, I was more like Ere-hian. My discipline was never taught. It was forged through decades of disappointing my father. Grandfather, and brothers.”

“Now... why are you here?”

“Our Houses may soon become one,” Illythia answered, “but I am still under no obligation to explain my travels.”

She folded her hands behind her back as she slowly wandered around the chamber.

“I wished to see how the war front progressed. I had grown weary of remaining inside your castle.”

“You could have gone anywhere,” Kallem replied. “Coming this close to the front was unnecessary... and dangerous.”

Illythiav couldn’t help but have a playful smile spread across her face. She continued circling the chamber with graceful confidence, deliberately testing the boundaries she had spent years slowly moving.

 “You do care about my well-being.”

Kallem merely exhaled, as though accepting that she had no intention of leaving.

“If you must know,” he said, “I have secured House Verliance's position within Nevali.”

He looked toward one of the shattered windows overlooking the city.

“From here... we will drive the invaders from my lands.”

Before Illythia could respond, she watched the Vampire Lord turn and leave the throne chamber.

She quietly sighed. His habit of ending conversations on his own terms remained as irritating as ever. At every opportunity, he reminded those around him that he occupied the highest seat in Aldrida. It was a tactic she herself often employed.

The Mistress simply disliked having it used against her.

Quickening her pace, she caught up and fell into step beside him. “There is something I have wished to ask.”

Kallem continued walking without acknowledging her.

“I understand why we seek to defeat the Altaerrie and secure the Orilla device,” she continued. “But your interest in these lands existed long before its discovery. Why do you care about these backwater people? They are beneath our race.”

“They are beneath us,” Kallem answered. “Yet there is power hidden within these lands. Not in technology... but in something far more dangerous.”

“Forgettable hill folk? That is why you care about them?”

“Yes.”

His answer came without hesitation.

“The terrain discourages central authority, but not permanently. If you recall, the former Elf-Vampire alliance of Uristans was birthed here. Under the right ruler, these lands become a powerful foundation for expanding an empire. Hispana understood that when it elevated the current family to govern this region.”

He continued through the corridor, passing servants and guards alike. “Nevali provides resources, manpower, and a naturally defensible frontier capable of sustaining any prolonged war.”

“That is a logical assessment,” Illythia admitted, “but history does not support it. Even the Balan puppet rulers struggled to maintain order.”

“As I said... under one who is worthy.”

“And you believe you are that ruler?”

The words escaped before she fully understood what they implied. Then realization struck.

Her crimson eyes narrowed. “That is why you are wary of that slave girl... and the Altaerrie human.”

Kallem offered no reply, which, in that silence alone, confirmed her suspicion.

The Lord of House Verliance—the man who had ruled the Aristocracy for decades—considered those two a genuine threat. Maybe not militarily, but politically.

“So that was the purpose of this elaborate scheme?” she asked. “Everything... simply to confront your newest enemies?”

“Mistress Illythia.” His voice remained calm. “I expected better from you.”

He continued walking, hands folded behind his back. “You, of all people, should understand the value of a powerful story. These are not ordinary humans, left unchecked; everything I have built here will eventually crumble.”

“Then the Aristocracy will find itself surrounded on every side.”

“Surrounded?” Illythia asked. “Last I checked, the Unity remains our ally.”

Again... No answer. The two continued through the Palace halls.

Whenever servants or guards noticed Kallem's presence, they immediately halted what they were doing and knelt.

His silence left Illythia alone with her thoughts. There was no denying that Kallem had identified the Altaerrie as a threat, just as he had recognized the danger posed by the Unity decades earlier. Yet something had never made sense. Yet, he had surrendered to the Crusaders to spare his people from invasion. That decision had always troubled her.

A ruler of Kallem's stature should never have yielded so quickly after sacrificing so much blood and treasure resisting the Unity's onslaught. The only explanation she had ever accepted was the assassination of his wife by Hispana during a failed attempt on his life.

Even after her death..., he never sought vengeance.

Instead, he withdrew the Aristocracy from broader affairs and devoted himself almost entirely to Nevali and domestic stability.

Officially, the Aristocracy and the Unity remained allies. Unofficially....

“Kallem,” she said, breaking the silence once more. “If you truly consider these humans—and these Ryders—such a threat, why invite them to dine with you before attempting to capture them?”

She tilted her head slightly. “I understand the importance of appearances, but arresting them immediately would have solved many of the concerns you now speak of.”

“I fear nothing,” Kallem replied evenly. “And it would not have been appropriate to seize them at that stage. As Heads of our respective Houses, I believed it appropriate that we first share a meal before my plans unfolded.”

“So... you manipulated them into attacking the Palace.”

As they approached a pair of towering double doors, Illythia slowed.

If the stories surrounding Ryder's attachment to the Orcs were true—and after Kallem had displayed them before the summit—the Altaerrie Captain would have assaulted the Palace regardless.

The dinner had served another purpose. This caused her smile to widen. “You wished to see your former slave again... didn't you?”

Kallem reached for the doors. For the first time, his mannerisms hesitated. But only for a heartbeat.

Yet that single pause was worth more than any confession. It confirmed everything. He had wanted to see the slave girl again. Just as importantly, it revealed something else.

Kallem respected the Altaerrie Captain who had become her father.

There remained one detail she still couldn't reconcile. When Ryder and Assiaya escaped the first time at Forlace, Kallem's response had seemed almost restrained.

Initially, she assumed they had simply slipped through his grasp after taking the unexpected western route instead of fleeing north. Now, knowing how much the Vampire Lord cared about the girl.

“Interesting,” she murmured.

The pair stepped onto a broad stone balcony overlooking the city, and this was where Kallem had finally stopped, with his crimson eyes looking west.

Far beyond the city walls, faint flashes illuminated the horizon as artillery continued exchanging fire. The distant echoes rolled across the countryside like approaching thunder.

“You asked why I seek to clash with this Altaerrie man,” Kallem finally said. “Since the beginning of his war—when we first crossed paths upon his world—our destinies have been intertwined.”

He rested both hands upon the stone railing. “When fighting the Unity, there were no honorable battles. No worthy opponents. Only necessity for our survival. And in the end... I was forced to concede.”

His eyes remained fixed on the distant horizon. “But here... there will be no compromise. There will be a proper contest. One of us will prevail. The other will fall.”

“You have always been a strange man, my Lord,” Illythia said softly. Finding the statement humorous.

She understood his meaning. Seeking an honorable war, yet that doesn’t mean she agreed with this notion of armor. Only victory.

“You speak as though you seek redemption.”

“Redemption?” Kallem gave the faintest shake of his head. “No. I am preparing for the future.”

The Lord of the Verliance Houlse stared out, watching the glow of battle unfolding.

“If we lose here, the Aristocracy itself will become vulnerable.”

“Our allies in the Unity will sense weakness and begin entertaining dangerous ambitions.”

“Our enemies will see only a corpse waiting to be picked apart.”

He finally turned toward her.

“My son—or I—will not be the last of House Verliance.”

“It will outlive the Altaerrie.”

“It will outlive the Unity.”

Illythia rested one hand upon the stone railing beside him.

Not touching him. Not yet. But closer than most would ever dare stand. Years ago, he had rejected her marriage proposal, as she had anticipated.

Little by little, she had pushed against the boundaries he established, slowly becoming one of the few people permitted this close to him. Standing beside the Lord of House Verliance, one thought lingered in her mind.

It wasn't the way he spoke about Ryder that interested her. She had rarely heard Kallem speak of an enemy in such a manner.

It was respect.

That was what unsettled her most. Kallem respected almost no one—not rivals, not allies, and certainly not his enemies.

Yet whenever the Vampire Lord spoke of Mathew Ryder, there was neither contempt nor arrogance.

Only the quiet acknowledgment that somewhere beyond the western horizon walked a man capable of unraveling everything House Verliance had spent generations building.

For Illythia, that realization was far more fascinating than the battle itself.

June 13th, 2069 (Military Calendar)

Salva, Velunara Protectorate

Nevali Region, Aldrida, Alagore

*****

Ryder grabbed the local polë whiskeui, or wheat whiskey, and poured it into the small glass. He then lifted the glass, staring at it.

Next to him was a Dioliet, broadcasting updates on the war.

The campaign against Silvium was on the verge of concluding, thanks to Natilite and the Minutemen's actions. After destroying the Unity and Teviel base, the supply lines were now secured in the north, allowing the United States to bear its full weight against the city. The Brass believes the City-State will fall at any time, opening a safe passage for aircraft in the north.

The other subject was the Public Relations Officer addressing the question regarding the Bridge deactivation. The Officer rejected any claim that the portal had ever malfunctioned, stating that it was only down for maintenance while applying American nuclear power to increase efficiency. Any opposing view was considered grunt gossip, a fear that he acknowledged everyone had.

Ryder knew the truth after listening to a long story from Fraeya about her venture to Mars. It was a crazy tale, with new enemies and mysteries to unravel. A positive note he noticed was her loyalty. Rejecting a senior lead position at Ashurbanipal to stay with Comanche. It was home.

That led to the final part of the daily update. Uprising across Nevali, going from small towns to villages rebelling against their local lords and the Katra, causing chaos for the enemy logistics. Weapons and troops are already slipping through to assist in the new guerrilla campaign.

However, that didn’t translate into the population centers converting to Salva’s side. Kallem’s power became absolute, and most of the neutral City-States now joined the war on the Aristocracy's behalf. Harff mobilized a hundred thousand militia, creating a massive new front that the Coalition didn’t have to defend before. Brutal suppression of the countryside, with anyone caught in rebellion, would be sold to the Unity for judgment.

Most importantly, the rebellion at Affrooliea failed as expected. Anyone who survived the execution was publicly tortured to death. Because so many slaves became sympathetic to the Ryder House, most were instantly killed, even if they remained loyal, while others were given to their Toriffa allies to succumb to their desires.

“I see you have already started without me.”

Ryder turned to see his mentor, Colonel Hackett, turning off the magitech alien radio before taking a seat. “You know, it still surprises me that people used to get their daily news from… that.”

“There was a point where that was the main source. The Internet of its day. If I recall, it lasted about a hundred years before television replaced it. But that is the nature of things.”

The Colonel ordered himself a drink and settled in. “So, what brings you here?”

“Just clearing my head.”

“I can understand.” The Colonel then took a drink. “I saw that Orc family. They were the ones that saved you and Assiaya?”

“Yup.” Ryder leaned into his chair, staring at the Dioliet radio box. “I do wonder if they regret doing that.”

“Don’t ponder on what ifs, Matt. What happened to them was not your fault.”

“I know. They could have turned us on and been shot if they had known Asisaya's identity. It just sucks. I guess the saying is true: no good deed goes unpunished.”

“What happened to them?”

“I had Ceka make arrangements for a home. I think for now, they need time.”

“I know what you are thinking; you did well, Matt. You did well. You all did. The Brass is very pleased.”

“I know, I was there. I am glad to see that Natilite isn’t above her Templar label and trusted us. Otherwise, those Teivel would’ve won. I am concerned about them, though. I can only hope that they will follow her example.”

“She vouched for them, but there is some uneasiness after their deception. Expect the CIA representative for obvious reasons. Even if it was for the greater good, their actions would ruffle some feathers. Still, we will have to learn to work with these Templars. Otherwise, these Teviel will tear us apart.”

“They are not like her. I would like you to talk to them, as Duke of this city. They might respect that more.”

Ryder signed, acknowledging the order.

Wishing to change the subject, he continued, “I do want to say, Fraeya is a lot stronger than she gives herself credit for.”

The Captain was shocked to hear what she had been through. Raiding these ruins was dangerous enough, and yet going through an unknown portal to an unknown destination, which only ended up on Mars. Discovering that each world's Akumas hate each other, and new types of these demons, only made everything more complicated. And yet, she survived. “That’s the second suicidal mission she's been through, and here she is.”

“She is definitely our little elf. Because of her actions, we can bridge to our most critical research facility on Mars, and the White House has given us the lead position on Akkad research.”

“I am proud of her. I really am. I told her father would be proud.”

“And how did she take that?”

Ryder explained that the Elf Girl nearly strangled him to death from her overly expressive and emotional hugs. This made them chuckle before they took a drink.

“I do want to ask, what about that Akkad site Basilisks discovered?”

“We sent a Nightbird to bomb the facility with two Massive Penetrators. We just didn’t have the manpower to secure it form here yet, and we didn’t want this Dwarf-Goblin Order to maintain control of it.”

He didn’t blame the Colonel. Whatever this new faction was up to, it was vital to prevent them from having such a valuable resource. Better to keep those secrets from no one than to let the enemy use them to counter USAM interests.

Sadly, it came at the cost of half of Basilisks. That Minutemen team suffered so many casualties protecting Fraeya that they are no longer combat-effective and have been moved to reserve status. He personally thanked them all for defending his teammate.

When Hackett set his glass down before grabbing the native whiskey bottle, refilling their glasses. “I wanted to tell you, thank you for not lying about Assiaya's astral projection abilities and the fairy possessing her.”

“Last time I tried hiding something from you about her, you basically bitched slapped me. Then promoted me.”

Hackett simply chuckled, finding the memory humorous. “I am glad you have learned from that. It has been a major subject of discussion at VI Corps on what to do with that information.”

“They're not taking her,” Ryder boldly stated.

“No need to get defensive,” Hackett calmly responded. “No one is planning on taking her. More than that, she opens another question this world has. No one knows about this ability, or about these fairies-.”

“Kallem knew.” Ryder then took a long drink.

Hackett nodded his head, coming to the same conclusion. “I agree. We also concluded that is why he told everyone the Princess was dead, and kept her as his personal slave. To hide that truth.”

Ryder picked up his refilled glass, staring at it.

This revelation struck deeper for him. The relationship between the Vampire Lord and his daughter was deeper than he expected. What bothered him was that Kallem had feelings for her. Not romantic in nature, but there was some level of care. Enough to influence his foreign policy, such as that conspiracy with those City-States to humiliate and capture his House.

“Look at the bright side,” Hackett said. “At least we know he wasn’t the one who tried assassinating you, or sent that fake duchess woman.”

Ryder already knew the answer to that. With their short dinner conversation, he came to the same conclusion. “One date doesn’t mean we are not enemies. I still don’t understand why, though.”

“It is simple, Matt. With the modern world, with drones, instant communication, and all of our gadgets we rely on. We have gotten dirty. It has never been easier to see your enemy as pure evil, nothing redeemable. However, just like the old days, you might be enemies, but you can still have respect for your enemies.”

“It still doesn’t make any sense.”

“What is on your mind?”

“Kalkem respects me? I made a fool of myself in Affrooliea. So many died because of my actions. I fell right into his trap with that Orc family. I compromised everything. I almost got one of my teammates killed over a race everyone hates.”

Hackett took a drink before gently setting his glass down. “Do you regret what you did?”

Ryder held his glass, without hesitation, responded with "no", and took a drink. And that is what concerned him.

“Good. I am not going to say you did everything perfectly; there is no perfection in war or politics. Remember what Holloway said.”

The Alagore Czar was nearly glowing during the debrief about the details. Apparently, he never believed this diplomatic mission would have succeeded. When the Colonel said they wanted to make a statement, they wanted to show everyone that the Americans wouldn’t take any humiliation lying down.

In short, they sent their flagship team into the heart of the beast, knowing they would cause trouble. If this was a trap, which it was, the opportunities for chaos would emerge, and the Captain and Ambassador would exploit it. Which they did explosively.

Holloway didn’t care about the liberation of the Orc slaves in detail, as his interest was in winning the war, not making an anti-slavery point. However, the man enjoyed the fact that it rubbed into the faces of all the nobility in the region. One of his greatest fears was that Ryder’s House would blend into the environment too much, where many would only see the same. No, he wanted to shake this up, and freeing the Orcs sent a message that they were here to play a new game.

And that brought up the most important point for the Czar, escorting a Slave Trader to Salva, under the agreement of protection and exclusivity for his practice. Out of everything that had happened, Ryder believed this point was what would have nailed him in the eyes of the Brass. Freeing slaves is good PR for the American people, but working with one?

However, it was exactly what the CIA wanted. Through the Orugia business network, the United States intelligence agencies can expand their influence in a world they have never been to before. To listen and install agents when needed in places they currently cannot reach. More importantly, with this arrangement, this Slave Trader can find and smuggle people of interest to Salva to be freed. Warriors, leaders, religious folk, potential allies, anyone of value to building the Velunara Protectorate or the war effort, with a superpower funding it.

The icing on the cake was securing new allies. They were not the ones the White House would have preferred. While it wasn’t expected to secure entire City-States at this summit, that would have been ideal. Yet, many Nobles and Guild Masters willingly volunteering to fight alongside the Assiaya throne, and opening the countryside with thousands of new allies and troops, is a game-changer for this current slugfest.

“That this was a successful mission. The Czar was nearly levitating with us shooting up a palace, on top of starting a civil war there. That Kallem's stranglehold in this region was secured, but cracks are forming.”

“That is correct,” Hackett said. “Remember right before all this started? When you asked me to assign Fraeya to your team?”

“Yeah?”

“I hated the idea. She was an unknown, let alone an alien, and the Minutemen are a Tier-1 SF unit. Giving that kind of expectation wasn’t inside any doctrine that would be acceptable on Earth. And then Natilite came, and you allowed her on without asking.”

“Well… you tell a genetically augmented super soldier that she couldn’t,” Ryder replied.

“That did cross my mind, yet I think she would have honored my decision if I said no, which I considered. However, by that point, I was starting to see the benefits.”

“Thank you, sir, but why are you saying this?”

Fraeya learned that she can be essential under pressure, that she isn’t a fifth wheel. Natilite, even as an augmented super-soldier, achieved victory only through cooperation and trust in us lessers. When your back is against the wall, you can respond. You were right to trust your gut with Fraeya. Then again, with Natilite, and at Affrooliea.”

“My gut? Yeah… I am not fully certain about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“That Slaver Trader.” Ryder quickly finished his glass before continuing. “The bastard said he allied with me because I wasn’t moral. That I am pragmatic.”

“I can see how that can get under your skin,” Hackett said.

“It isn’t under my skin. The bastard was right. I used to enjoy killing his kind in Northern Mexico and Iraq. Now I am dealing with them.”

The Colonel then took a drink from his whiskey, debating the subject. When he set his glass down, he said, “The Slave Trader is correct. Morality is for fairytales, barbeques, and those who shout from the safety of their classroom, while people who understand the world build civilizations. I know that is hard for men of faith to say, but morality is overrated.”

Ryder slowly set his beer on the table, giving his full attention to the Colonel with wide eyes.  “I am surprised to hear that coming from you.”

“Do not get me wrong, Matt. We should all try to live moral lives; however, we both know that isn’t always in the cards. There was nothing moral about nuking Japan twice; but it was pragmatic to save millions. We had to do what we had to do because that was war, and those who scream the moral sins of that choice, almost two centuries later, well, they never had to make the choice or face the reality of not doing it. It is always easier to take the high ground when you don’t have to make the decision. Or the other extreme, the level of deaths and oppression of communist equity or fundamentalism. Are they moral societies? Yes. Is there also a trail of body bags enforcing that morality? Also, yes.”

Ryder saw the point his mentor was making and agreed. “It was easier when shooting people like Orugia in North Mexico. I just never thought I would have been making those decisions.”

“And that is why I proposed my plan to make Assiaya the Princess, and you the Duke, to the General. Because I know you can make the tough decisions. You can adapt, grow, and make not the moral or pragmatic choice, but the right ones when it matters. You are real, Matt.”

“I know.” Ryder took a deep breath. “It was a successful mission.”

“Good,” Hackett said. “In the end, all you can do is trust your gut. That is all a man can do.”

Chapter 6: I Fight God's Soldiers, and Someone Falls Out of the Sky

If I lost, I was dead. If I tried to run, I was dead. And if I won?

The Grand Alpha would still be waiting for me, along with all those damn questions I'd planted in his head myself. Not to mention the witch they were planning to summon.

Wonderful. I'd managed to get myself into a situation where even winning could get me killed.

And yet, despite everything, I felt a wave of relief when I finally spotted the chapel at the end of the path.

I almost felt like thanking the Lord out loud. With any luck, there would be holy water inside.

The chapel stood in the middle of a small clearing. I could make out the outline of its sloping roof and a narrow tower. A few lights near the entrance illuminated the steps leading up to a large wooden door.

At least, that was what I could see past the armed men standing guard.

I counted twelve. No, fourteen.

All of them carried swords. And they'd already spotted me, despite the darkness.

"Halt!" a man shouted, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Don't take another step!"

Better do as he says.

I stopped before reaching the area illuminated by the chapel's lights.

Peaceful. I had to play this peacefully.

The goal wasn't to attack them, but to convince them to leave. Even if the werewolves had already tried that.

After all, I was a servant of God. I couldn't kill innocent people. The Lord would never forgive me. All I had to do was talk things through calmly and find a compromise. Nothing too complicated, right?

"I'm just here to talk... We don't want any bloodshed. Would you please let us have the chapel?"

Had that sounded convincing? Fingers crossed.

The man who'd called out to me shone his lantern directly into my face, briefly blinding me.

"A VAMPIRE!" he screamed.

A heavy silence fell over the clearing. Then came a sharp twang. Something shot straight toward my face.

I dodged it almost effortlessly, without even knowing what it was. In this darkness, it was hard to make out a projectile clearly, even though my night vision was far better than that of the humans from my world. Three more twangs rang out almost simultaneously.

I dodged those projectiles just as easily, though one grazed my chest.

Arrows? But where were they coming from? Above?

I looked up at the chapel roof and barely made out three crouching figures.

More arrows came flying toward me.

"ATTACK!" the same guard shouted as I dodged the last of them.

Several soldiers drew their swords and charged.

Small lanterns hung from their belts, casting flickering light around them as they approached.

At least I could see better now.

And them... They were slow. Very slow. Ridiculously slow.

Every step, every movement of their arms was absurdly clear to me. It was as if they were moving in slow motion. Not one of them stood a chance of even touching me.

THWACK!

"AAAH!"

My vision suddenly blurred. I couldn't see anything out of my right eye. Something had struck me head-on.

No, no, no! How was that possible? I'd thought I had everything under control.

I leaped backward, immediately putting some distance between myself and the five soldiers.

I reached for my face. Something thin and rigid was lodged directly in my right eye... An arrow?

They'd kept shooting even with their own men in the way?

[SANCTIFIED PROJECTILE DETECTED]

[Source identified: blessed weapon / partially immersed in holy water]

[HOLY BODY — Automatic Response Activated]

[Holy Water Integration in Progress...]

Huh? Holy water?

Before I could even process what I'd just read, the five soldiers charged at me again. I could still dodge their attacks, but it was much harder now.

[INTEGRATION COMPLETE]

Suddenly, the pressure in my right eye vanished.

I felt a fine dust slide down my cheek. And...

I could see again! My right eye had healed.

But how was that possible? Damn, this body was incredible!

"May the divine blessing be upon you!" A powerful voice rang out. From the chapel?

A golden light burst forth, splitting into five beams that struck the soldiers around me. Their bodies glowed for a brief moment.

What the...?

One of them suddenly lunged at me. His sword passed just inches from my throat.

A second attacked immediately, followed by a third from my right. I barely managed to dodge their blades, and one of them grazed my face.

Just seconds ago, I'd watched them move in slow motion. Now I could barely keep up with them.

SHNK!

A blade sank into my abdomen. Agonizing pain tore through me.

A sword was buried in my stomach. An actual sword!

The soldier kept driving it deeper with all his strength. The sword's guard was now only a few inches from my stomach.

Fuck, that hurts! That really, really hurts. Way worse than the arrow in my eye.

SHNK! SHNK! SHNK! SHNK!

The other soldiers wasted no time driving their swords into me as well.

I couldn't even tell where they were stabbing me anymore. The pain was everywhere.

FUCK! THEY'RE GOING TO KILL ME!

I'm going to die here! No, no, no! I don't want to die. Not like this. With all the sins I'd committed, I'd probably end up in hell. I needed God's forgiveness first!

Desperate to break free, I reacted on instinct. I grabbed the nearest soldier by the face and squeezed with all my strength. He screamed, immediately letting go of his sword.

I threw him aside, then punched a second soldier square in the chest. The impact sent him flying several meters backward.

A third tried to attack me, but I grabbed his arm and twisted it violently, drawing a shrill scream of pain from him.

A single kick was enough to send the fourth stumbling back, while an elbow strike knocked the fifth to the ground.

[SANCTIFIED WEAPON DETECTED]

[HOLY WATER DETECTED]

[HOLY BODY — INTEGRATION IN PROGRESS...]

AGAIN?!

A shadow appeared to my left.

One of the guards who'd stayed near the chapel?

He was charging straight at me, his sword raised above his head. Purely on instinct, my arm moved on its own.

My fist struck his head. The impact was devastating. His head snapped violently to the side, and his body went flying several meters away.

He slammed into the chapel's stone steps and collapsed, completely motionless.

Standing right beside him was a man dressed in a long white robe.

In his right hand, he held an imposing metal emblem, almost as large as his torso. Wait...

That was the symbol engraved on the vial!

"MARCUS!" a soldier shouted from near the steps, rushing toward him.

"Marcus! Answer me!"

No response. Even the man in the white robe standing nearby remained impassive.

The five soldiers I'd fought off weren't charging at me again. Some were still on the ground, while the guards who'd remained near the chapel also seemed hesitant to attack me.

Was he dead? Had I just killed someone?

Oh God... No, no, no!

[INTEGRATION COMPLETE]

The swords still embedded in my body began to rust. The corrosion spread rapidly across the metal, all the way to their guards, before the blades gradually crumbled away.

So that was what had happened to the arrow in my eye.

My wounds were already closing. The pain had completely disappeared, and I actually felt better than before.

Could Holy Body neutralize any weapon that had been infused with holy water?

But still, Lord... What had I done?

I'd just seriously injured several men. And killed one.

My first murder.

I'd brought shame on myself. And on the Vatican.

All because of that damn Grand Alpha!

If only he hadn't sent me here alone while he and his pack stayed hidden behind those damn trees. I could still remember his words at the edge of the forest.

"You'll approach the humans alone after nightfall. We'll remain in the forest, close to the chapel. If you run into any trouble, we'll come to your aid."

Of course! Judging by the amusement in his voice, he'd probably been looking forward to watching us kill each other. And watching me suffer in the process.

But why had he kept his entire pack back? With that many werewolves against these men, they wouldn't have had any trouble...

Suddenly, a brilliant light erupted in the sky, illuminating the entire clearing as though it were broad daylight.

What the...?

A human figure descended from the light and landed in front of the chapel. The radiance overhead showed no sign of fading.

"What took you so long?" the man in the white robe asked.

"CLERIC JOHN!" several soldiers cried out in relief.

That face... I knew him.

The guard with the glasses?!

First Previous Next

Chapter 11:- The Coward!

KNOCK KNOCK!!

Someone knocked on the door.

Isha got up from her seat and opened it. From where we were sitting, we couldn't see who was outside.

Father asked her, "Who is it?"

"...."

"Isha... who's there?"

"...."

She didn't reply.

I got too curious to see who had come, so I went to check myself.

I ran towards Didi, excited to see who was there.

But what I saw sent a shiver down my spine.

I don't know what happened, but suddenly, a wave of fear rushed through my body.

There were four men standing outside. The man at the front was the same guy we had encountered that afternoon.

I looked at Didi. She was in shock too, unable to think of what to do.

For some reason, I looked at Didi again.

She wasn't looking at the man in front. Her eyes were fixed on the man standing behind him, on something at his waist that I couldn't see from where I stood.

Her face went white.

Without a word, Isha stepped away from the door and stood against the wall.

Only years later did I understand what she had seen. That night, all I knew was that my sister, who never backed down from anyone, had just moved out of the way.

The man at the front entered the house without even removing his shoes.

My father saw him enter and was about to ask him, before my father could the man spoke.

"What's up? I'm Novo Toryard. I work at a small position in health department."

We were all confused.

"I'm here to inform you about a blood donation campaign that's going to be held in three days."

As he spoke, the other men slowly entered the house.

My father got up and asked, "Blood donation? They can email the local people or print it in the newspaper. Why would they send workers to our homes?"

"Can I see your ID?" my father asked.

"Yeah, sure," Novo replied, looking back.

All the remaining men entered the house and slowly closed the door.

Novo slowly put his hand into his pocket.

Now that the house was filled with four strange men, I suddenly started feeling intimidated.

My mother got up from her seat too.

I saw her grab a fork in her hand.

"Here, take it. My card," Novo said.

He held out his hand, palm down. I couldn't see the card. Neither could Dad.

My father stepped towards him to take the card.

Suddenly—

Novo moved to the side.

The man behind him stepped forward and—

"BANG—"

"...."

It happened so fast. He quickly pulled a gun from his waist and shot my father in the chest.

We were all shocked. Didi fell to her knees, witnessing such a dreadful act.

My father screamed in pain.

"AHHH!!"

But my mother didn't show much of a reaction. She charged forward.

Running.

She raised her hand, formed a fist, and swung it towards the face of the man who had shot my father.

He easily dodged her punch.

But the look on his face suddenly changed, as if he were in pain.

He looked towards his waist.

My mother knew he could dodge her punch, so she stabbed him with the fork in her other hand.

Novo's expression changed.

Everything suddenly went quiet. Nobody spoke a word.

"...."

"Honey... honey, wait! Don't fight. You're pregnant!" Dad said, kneeling on the floor.

His clothes were stained with blood.

"You bitch! How could you hurt my brother?!" Novo shouted.

He stepped back and kicked my mother in the belly.

She fell to the ground.

As she fell, I don't know what happened to me, but my heart suddenly started beating faster. I began to cry. I was terrified, as if my protection had been taken away from me.

"Mom... Mom," I whispered.

Novo didn't stop there. He sat on top of my mother and started punching her.

"THUG!!"

"THUG!!"

"St... stop!!" my father shouted.

The man whom my mother had stabbed started laughing.

"Unlucky bitch! She only managed to get my hand! Hahaha!"

He pulled out the fork and threw it to the ground.

Novo continued punching her.

"THUG!!"

"THUG!!"

"...."

"...."

Finally, he stopped from exhaustion.

My mother wasn't moving. I tried calling her again.

"Mom?"

She didn't move an inch. She was unconscious.

"Mom..." I called her again.

"...."

She didn't respond.

"Please... leave my family. Do—"

"Do whatever you want to me. Tak— take all the money."

"Please..."

"Please... leave us alone!!"

My father begged them. His voice grew weaker with every sentence he spoke.

My Didi couldn't say a word.

"...."

"Money?! Dumbass! I work for the government. I have plenty of money. I'm not here for money," Novo said.

"I want something more precious."

Novo said this while looking towards my sister.

My father noticed it, too.

Somehow, he managed to get up and tried to kick Novo.

But my father was too injured. Novo easily moved out of the way.

Novo picked up the fork, placed his hand on my father's shoulder, and stabbed him in the same place where he had been shot.

"SWASH!!"

My father fell to the ground again, landing on his chest. Somehow, he was still conscious.

My hands and legs were shaking. I was breathing heavily, and my mind was going numb.

I looked at my father. He was... he was dying.

Somehow, his eyes were still open.

He couldn't speak properly, but I understood what he was trying to say.

"Vivek... save your siste—"

He was asking me to save my sister.

"...."

I just watched him.

I couldn't move. I was too afraid.

Novo came towards me and said, "Hey, dickhead, move."

He pushed me.

I lost my balance and fell to the ground, crying. I couldn't do anything on my own.

They went towards my sister.

She screamed.

"Don't do it!!"

"Don't do it! Please, I beg you!!"

I heard the sound of tearing clothes.

I didn't dare to look towards her.

She kept screaming for hours.

I was too cowardly.

I was selfish.

I was the shittiest person in the whole world.

She might have looked towards me for help.

But I—

I just kept crying.

I couldn't save anyone.

I didn't even try.

She screamed and screamed and screamed!!!

I didn't move because I was the stupidest kid ever.

AFTER A FEW HOURS—

"Knock! Knock!"

Someone was at the door.

My sister had stopped making any noise.

I was still in the same position. I hadn't moved a single inch.

Someone went and opened the door.

I heard someone say, "We're from the police."

I heard them step inside.

"What the fuck?! Novo, what did you do?!" an officer shouted.

I could see them approaching my father. The officer placed his hand on my father's neck.

The officer shook his head, indicating no.

I didn't understand what it meant.

I moved my head, following the officer wherever he went.

He went towards my sister and made the same gesture.

Next, he went towards my mom.

This time, he acted differently.

He picked my mother up and took her somewhere.

Later, the officers came towards me.

I was taken to the hospital.

I didn't know what happened to Novo after that.

The nurse kept asking me what had happened, but I didn't dare to speak.

A few days after the whole incident, I met my mother.

I saw her lying on her bed, looking at me.

"VIVEK!! VIVEK!!" she shouted.

She opened her arms, calling me, she accepted me, even if didnt even tried to protect my sister.

I don't know why, but I ran towards her and hugged her tightly. She hugged me just as tightly.

She was crying, too.

"Ma'am, you shouldn't cry. You need to recover for your baby," the nurse said.

My mom was a very supportive and mature woman.

She wiped the tears from both our eyes and said,

"Don't worry, Vivek. I'm here, right? We'll be safe now. Don't worry!"

Later, my mother was discharged from the hospital, and she gave birth to a boy.

My mother decided not to return to the same house. She sold all her jewellery, and we started living in a rented house.

I used to take care of my little brother, Hiru, and our home, while she went out to do household work to earn money.

We somehow managed to continue our schooling.

It was very hard for us to survive.

Without our father, our family struggled a lot, both financially and mentally.

My friend Leo used to help me.

We continued living the same life until I grew up.

A few years later, I was selected to join the police force.

By that time, I had become quite mature.

My grudge against Novo kept growing as I watched him become the Health Minister.

*****

"I was always looking for a chance to torture you.

But because of Rumi, I got it!!

I GOT A CHANCE!!

I FINALLY GOT A CHANCE!!!"

Vivek laughed loudly while pointing the gun at Novo.

"Please... please, Vivek, don't!!"

"YOUR TIME IS UP! SEE YOU IN HELL!" Vivek shouted.

Novo squeezed his eyes shut in fear.

Vivek pulled the trigger.

"BANG—"

The room went silent.

"...."

*****

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Author's note: this story is completed and will be posted here M-F until Jan 4, 2027.

Want to see the cover, read the blurb, and find out what happens next? Read OPERATION NEW WORLD for free on Royal Road. The story is already four episodes (20 chapters) ahead of this release.

EPISODE 1: FIRST CONTACT IS MURDER

POV: Commander Sarah Yao

ACT 1

ACT 2

Earth: January 4, 2029

Vise: Human Era, Year 1, Day 1

Despite having just laid eyes on Vise for the first time less than a day before, the planet struck her as oddly familiar. Perhaps because, from orbit, it resembled Earth’s iconic blue marble wrapped in white clouds. Or maybe because she’d spent countless hours in simulators practicing landings on a virtual Vise. Or possibly from studying thousands of images captured by the Eyes of Sauron satellites deployed since the early 2000s. Whatever the reason, the familiarity calmed her nerves. She found comfort pretending this was just another simulation.

She took a deep breath as she held the shuttle’s control stick. The craft responded to her touch as naturally as Kyle’s cradle when she used to rock him to sleep as a newborn. Yet her current orbital position played tricks on her brain. Intellectually, she knew there was no true “up” or “down” in space, but her instincts rebelled at the sight of Vise above her when she was three hundred miles over its surface. She was also flying backward, though it was hard to tell when she had no fixed frame of reference.

A memory surfaced, bringing a smile to her face. She’d tried explaining this concept to Kyle once, and he’d immediately flipped himself upside down on the couch to watch Lightyear, legs kicking in the air as he declared, “Now I can see space the right way, Mom.”

Her son, daughter, and entire life were God knows how many light-years away. But history was right in front of her.

“Ready to dive?” Sarah asked Alex and Carlos.

“Hm... no,” Carlos replied with a nervous laugh. “But let’s do it anyway.”

“You?” Sarah glanced right at Alex.

“I was born ready,” Alex said, her face lit like a supernova.

“Here we go, then.” Sarah eased the throttle forward, her back pressing deeper into her seat. Her brain again played tricks, signaling acceleration when she was actually slowing their backward drift, just enough for Vise’s gravitational pull to take hold.

Sarah’s primary duty as commander in the Phoenix II—one of America’s crown jewels of space technology that no one but a couple hundred people in the entire world knew existed—was monitoring the automated systems. But Simpson’s probable crash reinforced what experience had already taught her: computerized systems might fly the ship, but the difference between touchdown and disaster ultimately rested with the person behind the stick. The margin for error was microscopic. A mere percentage off in angle or velocity could send them to the wrong hemisphere… or worse.

The landing sequence clock showed three minutes and fifty-seven seconds when the shuttle’s control system flashed green. Sarah eased the throttle to neutral and settled in for the next thirty minutes of descent toward the atmosphere. Waiting had never been her strong suit, but space had a way of teaching even the most restless soul patience. Still, her foot tapped as she checked the instruments every couple of minutes.

Vise expanded above her, its features slowly sharpening into focus. Sarah could now see the planet’s solitary continent, a sprawling landmass nearly twice the size of Earth’s combined continents, encircled by a vast, unbroken ocean. Despite Phoenix II’s position over the South Pole, no ice caps marked the terrain.

The control panel flashed, alerting her they’d reached 500,000 feet. Time for the next critical maneuver. Sarah pulled back on the stick, and the planet’s position shifted gradually from above the shuttle to directly ahead, then finally beneath them. She maintained steady pressure until the craft reached the required forty-degree angle of attack, positioning the black silica tiles under the shuttle to absorb the coming thermal punishment. A mistake now, and they would become a very expensive shooting star.

Entering the atmosphere, the shuttle convulsed violently, making every previous turbulence in Sarah’s thousand-plus flight hours seem like gentle rocking. Bile rose in her throat, but she swallowed it back. The migraine pounding behind her eyes didn’t help. Through the viewport, nothing was visible except the brilliant cascade of sparks as atmospheric friction superheated the craft’s exterior. It was like the Millennium Falcon hitting light speed, only far less controlled.

Then the shuttle decelerated hard, like a car braking from highway speeds. The atmosphere had caught them. Sarah initiated the banking sequence, easing the stick to the right while monitoring their trajectory toward the primary landing site. As the craft began drifting off course, warning indicators lit up the panel. She banked left now to start roll reversals, holding the controls firmly to be ready to shift right again at the next interval.

Twelve minutes that felt like twelve lifetimes passed. Sarah adjusted the craft’s angle of attack, easing the shuttle horizontally until it responded more like a commercial airliner. Her migraine receded to a dull throb, and her head felt lighter than she wanted.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The alarm blared from the control panel, as if pleading with Sarah to grab the yoke. This phase of the descent—control-stick steering—was when commanders truly proved their worth, Sarah knew. If the Phoenix I had really crashed, it would have happened during this maneuver.

“Status check,” she called over her shoulder.

“Systems nominal.” Carlos’s voice was shaking slightly. Carlos was scared, she realized. She was too but couldn’t show it. Not now. Not ever.

Ten thousand feet to go. A vast, dark forest came into view, stretching toward the horizon like something from Alice’s favorite Pandora scenes in Avatar. Their landing zone was a natural clearing amid dense jungle, fifteen miles north of Sune, the capital of Vise’s largest nation. Sarah aligned their approach vector, mentally mapping the terrain against the satellite images she’d memorized down to the smallest detail.

The shuttle bucked violently as it plunged into a dense cloud bank. Sarah checked the nav display and felt her stomach drop. They were directly above the landing zone but heading straight into a thunderstorm. Commercial pilots had options: divert to alternate airfields or circle until conditions improved. She had neither luxury. This was it.

Then she saw the consequence of failure made horrifyingly tangible. About three miles from their landing site, angry flames and black smoke billowed from the jungle floor. Simpson. The confirmation of the Phoenix I’s crash hit her with physical force. Though logic had already written off that crew when communications failed, a stubborn corner of her mind had clung to hope. Now that hope was extinguished.

“Oh my God,” Alex gasped.

“What is it?” Carlos asked, straining forward from his seat behind.

“The Phoenix I,” Sarah answered, her voice tight. “They didn’t make it.”

“Fuck,” Carlos whispered.

Sarah caught the sound of stifled sniffles through her headset, coming from both crew members. She tightened her grip on the stick.

“I know,” she said. “We all feel it. But right now, I need your complete focus. We have our own landing to nail in this storm. We can honor them by not joining them. Clear?”

“Clear,” they responded together, voices steadying.

Sarah gave a curt nod, eyes locked on the instruments.

“Entering heading-alignment cone,” Carlos said as the display showed their craft’s triangular icon spiraling toward the landing zone’s center.

“Copy that,” Sarah said. “Initiating glide slope.”

She guided the yoke forward and right, fighting to keep the triangular indicator centered on her display as they descended at a twenty-degree slope. Her knuckles whitened. The shuttle’s five redundant computer systems offered plenty of automated assistance, but the relentless microbursts and wind shear battering them from all directions made maintaining control a battle of millimeters. Landing a 787 at Bush Intercontinental in this weather would challenge any pilot. Bringing a space shuttle down in a muddy jungle clearing in this storm crossed the line into the nearly impossible.

Sarah aligned the shuttle with the clearing’s longer axis, trusting the instrument panel as a wall of water obscured everything beyond the cockpit’s immediate perimeter.

“Four thousand feet,” Alex said. “Three thousand,” she added a few seconds later. “Two thousand.”

“Initiating preflare maneuver,” Sarah said, easing back on the stick to decrease their descent angle.

“One thousand feet,” Alex’s voice tightened.

Sarah kept her eyes locked on the trajectory display. “Carlos, speed reading.”

“Three-fifty knots,” Carlos reported.

Too damn fast, Sarah thought, jaw clenching.

“Five hundred feet,” Alex called out.

“Three-thirty knots,” Carlos updated.

“Landing gear down,” Sarah said.

“We’re too high,” Alex warned.

“We need the drag to slow down,” Sarah replied.

The landing gear deployment sent a jolt through the craft. Sarah’s harness bit into her chest, squeezing so hard she thought she might faint. She clutched the stick with renewed determination. Any slight overcorrection now would kill every soul on the shuttle in a fiery blaze.

“Two-forty knots,” Carlos said. “We’re slowing.”

“Two hundred fifty feet,” Alex reported.

The clearing stretched six miles long, plenty for a standard runway. But this was far from standard. Muddy, slick terrain awaited them below. Even with the shuttle’s modified landing gear, the drag chute would face extreme stress in Vise’s thicker atmosphere, while the slick mud provided minimal surface resistance. Sarah had run this scenario dozens of times in simulation and even more lying awake at night. No training could have replicated this.

“One hundred feet,” Alex shouted.

“One-seventy knots,” Carlos added.

“This is it,” Sarah said to her crew and herself.

She locked onto the display screen. When the shuttle’s wheels finally made contact, the impact jolted through the craft with unexpected force. Sarah’s neck compressed painfully against her rigid muscles, her body braced for impact.

“Drag chutes released,” Sarah said.

The tug came, but wrong. Not the clean, hard yank she’d felt in simulation. It was softer, fluttering, like the chute had reefed late or half-inflated in the rain. And yet the shuttle still bled speed as if it had struck glue.

“Ninety knots,” Carlos said. “Sixty.”

“Aren’t we stopping too fast?” Alex asked, words vibrating with the shuttle’s shudder.

“Forty,” Carlos said. “Twenty-five.”

A metallic crack shattered through the shuttle’s frame, sharp as a gunshot. Then came a grinding shriek, so raw it seemed to saw straight through Sarah’s teeth and jaw. The shuttle lurched hard left. Not a panicked swerve or a slip on wet ground, but more like a wheel swallowed by a hole that hadn’t existed a heartbeat earlier.

“We lost the left gear,” Alex said, voice strangled.

The cockpit display erupted in staccato flashes: caution blocks multiplying, strut loads spiking and then vanishing.

They slammed to a halt with the shuttle’s nose pitched low. Sarah couldn’t tell how long it took them to halt completely, but it couldn’t have been more than seconds. The downpour obscured any visual reference points, but the monitor told the story clearly enough: they’d used less than half the available landing distance and stopped at roughly two-thirds of what the shuttle’s computers had calculated they’d need. Determining deceleration rates and stopping distances was basic physics, yet somehow NASA’s brightest minds had miscalculated—and the shuttle was now structurally compromised because of it. Still, it was good fortune compared to the smoking wreckage of Phoenix I. What had been a lucky break for her crew might have spelled disaster for Simpson’s.

“We did it,” Alex said, punching the air with both fists.

Sarah leaned back in her seat, a cocktail of exhaustion and triumph washing through her. The dizziness might have been physical or just the psychological weight of what they’d achieved. Either way, Sarah savored it.

She toggled the comms switch. “This is the commander speaking. We have successfully landed on Vise. Remain seated while your bodies adjust to the 1.2 g gravity. We’ll begin disembarking shortly.”

Sarah unbuckled and stood, ready for the next entry in history books. She took a step forward, and her muscles screamed in protest against Vise’s gravity. The fact that she could move at all after a two-year space trip was a testament to human ingenuity: the relentless three-hour daily workouts, the nearly 3,000 hours she’d logged in the centrifuge, the flood of medication to stave off bone and muscle loss and to keep her cardiovascular reflexes sharp, and even the micro-electrical shocks firing through her legs as she slept.

All of it had led to this moment. She had achieved her life’s mission. She would be the first human to set foot on an alien planet and encounter an extraterrestrial race. Yet she only got this honor because eight people were dead. No decent person should feel anything but grief at such a cost. So why, beneath the shock and professional concern, did she sense something else stirring? A feeling she wouldn’t name but made her gut knot. A feeling she would never dare admit to anyone.

Sarah banished the thought. They had landed safely. That was the only thing that mattered.

The floor tilted, and Sarah grabbed the console’s edge, fingers digging into metal as dizziness blurred her vision. Then the entire shuttle lurched sideways, and the realization hit. This wasn’t just her body adjusting; the craft itself was moving.

“What the hell?” Alex blurted.

Carlos gripped his armrests. “Some kind of earthquake?”

Sarah’s mind raced as the puzzle clicked into place. The shuttle hadn’t stopped too quickly because of miscalculations. The NASA physicists had based their models on slick, muddy terrain, a reasonable assumption for a jungle clearing. They hadn’t accounted for a torrential downpour turning the clearing into a swamp. Their landing gear had probably plunged deep into the saturated earth, creating unexpected drag that rapidly decelerated the craft. Now that same sodden ground was giving way beneath the Phoenix II’s weight.

“No,” Sarah said. “Not an earthquake. We’re sinking.”

* * *

Want to see the cover, read the blurb, and find out what happens next? Read Operation New World for free on Royal Road. The story is already four episodes (20 chapters) ahead of this release.

Or you can wait until tomorrow to read Act 3 right here. Your choice.

Chapter 159: First, We Do This

◈◈◈

✦ FIRST CHAPTER ✦ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ✦  Prerequisites to War!!! ✦ NEXT CHAPTER ✦

The barrier took the brutal onslaught of the monsters the moment they stepped out onto the surface, and Bram felt the impact it in his teeth.

The veil drowned the whole city in a thick, dark sickly red aura, and only now he could the ramifications of what boss meant by the ambient atmosphere killing anyone not at Order III. There was a persistent ringing in his eyes and even though he was wearing the specialized gear and had his aura shield him from certain death, it wasn’t a 100% shield.

He shuddered, thinking what would have happened if they were still low rankers…

Focus, he chided himself, poured more essence into maintaining the combined thread of sorcery and directing it to the various node points.

The pale blue of the barrier pulsed and flexed inward across a forty-metre face. It went white and the essence density thinned where the pressure gathered but it held.

The Second Company held it.

Bram could see their leads inside of the barrier line with their arms up and their feet planted, mouths working through the same six words over and over.

"TWO, REPORT." Veric came through the comms and Bram was grateful for the voice helping it find calm.

"Two holding. Eighty-one percent."

"Two, you're bowing at the left seam."

"Aware. Correcting."

Above the essence wall, an abomination climbed the corpse of another abomination and came down on the barrier with everything it had. A third and fourth imitated that one..

They were stacking. Nothing in the reports had said they would stack, but then again the monsters were throwing themselves at them uncaring of thier lives. He should expect all known norms of battle to change today.

"They're not stopping," Clara Mashburn said at his shoulder. "Sir. They're not even slowing at the wall."

"No."

"They should slow. Anything alive slows."

"Alive should…" Bram wet his lips. "These things aren’t free will, Clara. Focus. If the situation worsen the lords and the boss will move."

Around him, his hundred men stood dormant in the belly of the column with their palms empty. Only Bram was on correcting and maintaining the sorcery weave duty. Rest had to preserve strength for later.

Waiting for later.

That was the hardest thing Bram had ever done in his life.

"SIX. Take up."

The block at the column's centre raised their hands.

Bram had never worked out what to make of the Chorus. A hundred mages who never attacked anything, ever. They caught what the other companies weaved and they braided it, and the air over the Mile had gone thick and bright with threads that came apart if you tried too hard to look at them.

"What are they doing," he said.

"Catching Four's spill." Clara had her eyes shut, reading it off her own senses. "Four's about to take every drop of moisture out of this end of the avenue. If nobody catches the runoff, Seven through Ten lose their ambient and the sustainers go dark."

"FOUR. Charge."

Fourth Company began the water pulse. It was a one-verse sorcery, and the sorcery wasn’t anything powerful. It was a glorified sorcery that doused the target with water. Like a splash of water.

Still when 100 of these combined together into one weave the pulse looked like a flood. Moisture came up out of the stone and the dead and the sea air, gathered along the barrier's outer face, and hung there in a slow curtain twenty metres deep.

The horde ran into it and kept running. It didn’t do any damage and only stopped them for a few moments. Still, it enabled the company to enact true attacking sorcery with much higher damage potential.

"SEVEN THROUGH TEN, watch your ambient. Four's pulling everything out of the air in front of you."

"Copy, Command."

"FIVE. Stand by."

Fifth Company raised their arms. Bram did not look away, and afterwards he was never sure whether that had been discipline or the other thing.

"Command, Two… left seam's going. I need relief."

"Three, panel up on Two's left. Move now."

Third Company moved, and they moved badly. Two of the front rank crossed feet and went down. The panel came up three seconds late, and in those three seconds something with too many elbows got a shoulder through the seam.

It made four steps into the column. Second's second rank put it down with essence-honed blades, and one of them was slow getting clear and lost most of an arm below the elbow.

Bram saw the arm hit the ground before he saw the woman it had come off. She did not scream.

"Casualty, Two, front rank, arterial—"

"Marked. Eleven, extract." Veric did not raise his voice, and somehow that was worse. "Three. Do that again and I'll have your lead's badge, and then I'll have yours. Panels come up before they're needed. Not when."

"Understood, Command."

Three seconds. Bram made himself hold on to the number. Three seconds of two people finding their feet, and a woman would spend the rest of her life learning to write with the other hand.

"FIVE." A pause on the net while Veric watched something Bram couldn't see. "Chain."

Fifth Company fired.

The lightning combined with sorcery erupted in blinding white and struck the horde. It went clean through the frontal wave of the monsters, blowing their bodies clean off.

Hundreds of monsters dead in an instant. But neither the horde nor the sorcery was finished. Just as more monsters rose over the corpses of their kin, the bolt of lightning splintered and found the bodies doused and standing in the water, and every one of those bodies was touching others. The lightning arcs toward each of them.

Bram watched the flashes of white, and the cacophony of dying screams and wails filled the battlefield.

Thousands upon thousands of abominations convulsed together as the mage company repeated the water pulse sorcery and then followed up again with a lightning sorcery, but this time focusing more on chain rather than raw damage.

The number of corpses, the terrible smell of charred corpses and the cacophony only rose with each step the army took forward.

The barrier also had arcs of light sliding off its surface as it pushed forward.

"Keep advancing." Veric again on the comms. "Barrier factor in and allow dead signatures to pass the barrier. Push against the living signatures. Walk. Two, Three, keep the panel on the front, don't chase the flanks. Go."

The column moved. And another fresh wave of monsters collided with the barrier again.

Eighty seconds. That was the cycle. Barrier, water, chain, twenty to fifty metres.

They had drilled it hundreds of times on the surface, and Bram had hated every drill. But he understood now that he had hated them because they were boring and that boring had been the entire point.

Because today was not boring… it was hell.

◈◈◈

The comms were a mess by the second kilometer marker.

"—Nine, we've got ambient collapse in the green, I can't hold sustainer output at this—"

"Nine, this is Command, throttle to sixty and cycle with Twelve—"

"Command, Four, my second's down—"

"Who's stepping up."

"Voss."

"Voss, you have Fourth Company. Confirm."

A pause. Then a young voice, dragged up out of a well. "Voss has Fourth. Confirmed, sir."

"Good lad. Charge on my count."

Bram listened to a nineteen-year-old inherit a hundred people and take it without arguing, and something went hot in his chest and stayed there. He wanted to find the boy afterwards and tell him. He knew he probably wouldn't, and he was ashamed of knowing it.

Just when they were making good progress and getting used to the surface… a renewed and stronger pressure bore down on them.

Bram's knees folded before his brain had finished registering anything, and he went down on one hand and stayed there with his breath punched out of him. All around him people dropped. Fourth Company's water pulse guttered and came apart in the air.

The barrier flickered.

An Order IV. Somewhere ahead, up the Mile, past the horde and Order IV had showed up.

Bram had never been afraid like this. The fear did not feel like his. It felt installed, put into him from outside by something that had decided he should have it, and the part of him that could still form sentences hated that more than the fear itself.

"AURA EVENT." Vera on the net, thin. "Command, aura event, bearing—"

"I have it," Veric said. "Everybody down and hold. X, one out."

Something went over the top of the barrier.

Bram got his head up in time to see a shape cross the shell from the inside, land in the middle of forty thousand abominations, and vanish into them.

Two seconds of nothing.

Then a sound rose from the horde. It was a devastatingly loud slicing sound, like a sword cutting cleanly through bamboo, only played on the world's loudest speakers. It’s sound, and a shockwave swept across the entire battlefield.

And they just like that, the pressure was gone.

Bram got his lungs working as his aura rose. The column came up off its knees around him. Fourth Company's leads started their verse again from the top with their hands shaking, and the barrier steadied, and somebody behind Bram was being sick and apologizing for it between heaves.

A figure shot from the sky and landed in a crouch six ranks ahead. Bram saw the flash of silver hair. Mr. Silvers straightened and rolled one shoulder. There was blood on him to the elbows, and none of it was his.

"Command, Starkiller," Salvatore's voice on the net was bored. "One underlord abomination. Threat taken care of. There'll be more."

"Copy. Thank you, sir."

"Don't."

Bram was staring. He knew he was staring and could not stop. His fingers dug into his palms. A few weeks ago, he was nothing. He was a salty, helpless young man who took out his frustration on others. And now he stood shoulder to shoulder with figures he could only look up to but never reach.

Whatever one might say about Jin Winters. For Bram, he was his boss who made this possible, and he would not stop at being just an ORDER III. He will rise and protect his people.

A cold chill ran up his arms, breaking his line of thoughts and he looked down to find a silverly chain coiled around his right arm.

“Boss chains?” He muttered.

Then all of a sudden he felt a sting on the arm and everything cleared. The miasma covering and bearing down in his senses cleared up and a rush of fresh essence flooded through him.

The chain then uncoiled and disappeared.

He also noticed the same chains around other leads and also coiled twice around Sir Silvers’ arms.

Clara had felt too. "Sir—"

"That was boss, don’t find the chains."

“Sir,” she nodded.

◈◈◈

The cool wash from the sustainers came at the fifth kilometer marker, and Bram was not ready for how badly he needed it and he realized Boss chains were doing the same thing, but on a more personal and deeper level.

Down the column a hundred people in the Eleventh stood with their hands out and their eyes shut, feeding it forward through the formation. They were the only ones on that road not looking at anything.

"Eleven, you're beautiful," someone said on the open channel.

"Get off the net," Veric said.

"Sir."

"You can marry them after. Two, your panel's dropping. Three, relieve."

Bram laughed. He heard himself do it and could not entirely account for it. Two ranks up a girl called Lira laughed too, and then four more of them, and for about six seconds a section of First Company stood in the middle of a slaughter and laughed like idiots.

Then the horde hit the barrier again, and they were stopped by the might of thier powers.

The survivor’s Wrath.

◈◈◈

The second aura event came at the seventh marker and the sudden increase in pressure was even worse than the first time.

This time there were two of them.

"BREACH RISK, TWO, TWO, THE PANEL—"

"HOLD THE PANEL." Veric went through the net like a nail. "HOLD IT. X—"

Starkiller was already in air.

That was the part Bram would remember, and not the kill because Sir Silvers was flying.

This time, along with the sounds of explosion Bram could see multiple buildings collapsing in a wave from the sheer shockwaves of the attack.

And the pressure came off the column like a lid off a pot.

"Two down." Salvatore sounded, for the first time all day, faintly interested. "Command. Something's…"

"Say again, sir?"

A long pause on the net.

"Nothing," Salvatore said. "Keep your count."

◈◈◈

The chains came at the eighth marker, and nobody on that road ever agreed afterwards about where they came from.

Bram was watching Fifth Company charge when the light over the column changed. He looked up.

Chains… Hundreds of them… rising from somewhere back and low in the formation, arcing over the heads of twenty-two hundred people and out past the barrier in a spread that took the whole width of the Mile.

They went into the horde like rain into a field.

Bram saw one hit an abomination in the chest and pass through without slowing. He saw the thing stop mid-lunge. Then it sagged, and the mass went out of it in under a second, and what dropped on the stone was a grey shell shaped like something that used to be alive.

The chain was already three bodies further on.

They worked in silence. That was the part that got into people afterwards. Forty thousand things screaming, five companies chanting, the barrier singing under load and the chains made no sound at all while they emptied the front two hundred metres of the avenue.

Then the power came back down the line as those very chains found him.

His essence heart had been running at half since the fifth marker. It filled in about two seconds and kept filling until he had to dispense the excess back into the weaves of sorcery.

Up and down the column, twenty-two hundred people staggered and then straightened.

"Command—" Somebody was almost shouting. "Command, my reserves just went to full, what was—"

"Command, Fourth, same, we're at—"

"Command, what is that? Sir, what is—"

"Everyone shut up and use it," Veric said. “Boss helping us out. Don’t question.”

◈◈◈

The Mile ended at the eleventh marker.

Second Company walked the barrier the last forty metres. The horde thinned, and thinned again, and then there was open ground in front of them and the inner curtain beyond it.

Bram had read the brief. He had read it four times, the last time by lamplight at three in the morning with his boots still on. Stone curtain wall, nine metres, single gate, garrison strength unknown.

The column halted. The barrier came down to a maintenance panel.

Somewhere behind him a man was crying and not bothering to hide it, and Bram let him. After all this place was a symbol of people’s faith. The primes were the gods of Vienna and now thier very temple of power corrupted into this.

Ahead, the lead counted off casualties. Bram made himself listen to the whole list. He owed them that much, standing there all day with clean hands.

Then he walked forward through the ranks, because he was First Company and First Company went first, and he stopped about thirty metres out.

He got close enough to see that the wall had faces… faces that resembled vaguely human and judging by the sudden shift in mood and rage he was feeling…

These faces belonged to the once people of the city who were likely captured by the cult.

Comms filtered in information that the wall was just for… show… there was no purpose for it other than to…

“Sadistic cocksuckers,” Bram cursed.

✦ FIRST CHAPTER ✦ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ✦ Prerequisites to War!!! ✦ NEXT CHAPTER ✦

◈◈◈

A/N: The war is on!

Bau Bau~

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