First_Previous

Writing muse, was kind to me, so another one for the weekend.

Hope you like it. I find it really hard doing those two person conversations... But I tried.

Still keeping up the foul language warning!

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°Hey, hey! Listen!° The voice had an extremely annoying tone right now.

°Stop ignoring me!° The voice shouted and Mor sighed, why won´t it shut up, he has already enough problems, and schizophrenia should not be added. 

°Great, if you don´t want my fucking help I will leave. Stupid crybaby holding me up from doing my stuff.° It huffed and Mor wondered why it sounded so pissed.

°So how do I get back... Hey Depresso! How do I get back to earth?°

Mor instantly sat up, surprising the healing Adept, bringing his food and almost dropping it.

"You shouldn´t move so suddenly, you are still hurt." she chided him and Mor sheepishly apologized and took the food, but his Mind was already working overdrive. The mind said something about going back to earth, so it worked! But why could the headmaster not detect it?

°Hmmm, seems not that way. Oh no! Don´t tell me I´m stuck here! Hey, intelligence allergic answer me!° Mor felt a splitting headache as something in his mind wanted to break out with force and finally focused his thoughts to answer it.

°Ouch! What did you do?° He moaned.

°Finally... What took you so long, I want to leave. Because someone is just ignoring me, instead of explaining what is going on.° It answered him annoyed.

°I´m sorry.° Mor apologized and was countered °Shut it with your sorry and get on with explaining, or I really will leave°

°Yes! I´m sor... You said you were from a place called Earth?° Mor questions.

°Yeah, as I already told you, but what has that to do with anything?° It countered, leading Mor finally into his explanation.

°I wanted to get stronger, and because my magic affinity is only basic I won´t be able to cast the high-level spells. So I did a ritual to bind myself to the soul of an earth elemental to get the earth affinity and a boost in magic energy, I thought it failed, but now you are here. So if you would please share your magic power with me and your earth affinity, I would be eternally grateful.°

°Magic? Like in fantasy? How would I do that?° It answered and Mor got thoughtful.

°Huh? How do you not know that? You are an earth elemental! According to the stories, it should be obvious to you!° 

°Me? An earth elemental? How did you come up with that stupidity?° It told Mor who was slowly getting furious. °You spoke about a place called Earth!° and somehow felt it nodding °Yes, Earth, as in the planet Earth. You know where all humans live? Are you retarded or something, spouting something about magic, elementals, and souls. Get back to reality?° it chided him.

°But our world is not called Earth, we call it Kinscradle.° Mor answered 

°Huh?° Came back from the voice.

°Huh?° Mor answered.

°Oh no!° Both exclaimed.

°Ok, ok. Let´s slow down. We need to get our facts straight. First please explain to me, what you are if you are no elemental.° Mor asked.

°I told you I´m a human... and my name is....? I can´t remember. Why can´t I remember? What is this shit? The last thing I can remember... I was on my way somewhere, then there was a light, and then nothing.° The voice pondered.

°And you did not think it was strange that you just somehow ended up here and could talk to me?° Mor drilled further.

°Everything felt like a dream, you know? Wandering somewhere forgetting somethings, but there was no fear, no pain, no nothing. I was like "Huh neat, lucid dreaming. Get to have some fun", then I heard a voice cry out in despair, and when I stopped and looked something pulled me, and just like that the dream got this whiney human with strange eyes in it. But dreams are dreams and don´t always need to make sense so I just ran with it.° It explained.

°I fear, I might have died, and while my soul?, mind?, whatever did the things it does, when you die, you pulled me away from that and to you. It´s strange how calm I am with this, but maybe another safety feature from leaving your body and moving on or the strangest dream ever.° The voice continued.

°Well for now, I think we just roll with it. Human will do for a name for the moment. Which leads me to the most important question. Do you need assistance? Why did you cry out for help, what did those four clowns have to do with all of this and what exactly got I into? In detail, please.° The human asked.

Mor took a deep breath and a sip of his drink before collecting himself and answering.

°Starting at the beginning would be prudent I think. I´m Mor Agaton a member of the soul-kin and enrolled only a short while ago in the Grand Academy for magics, but it seems nothing will go my way. First, it was revealed to me that I had no aptitude for any specialized magic, which is bad in itself.°

°Why?° The human interjected.

°Because, even if you can use every spell, as the base magic affinity allows, every spell costs an amount of magic energy depending on the grade and effect of it. But if your, for lack of a better description, Soul as an affinity, magic of the same type is greatly reduced in the need for magic energy. I wanted earth affinity like my father has, and this was why I tried to bind myself to an earth elemental to get it. But well as you know I somehow pulled you into my mess, sorry for that.° Mor explained.

°So if I get this right, you wanted this specialization because if you don´t have it you are stuck with the basic spells which will probably put you at a disadvantage in pure power. After all, the high-level spells are too expensive for the magic energy you have. Then why try something like this stupid soul thingy and not just, you know train yourself to have more magic energy, level up, or something?° the human asked.

°That is not how any of this works! You can not just have more magic energy, by some "training" your magic reservoir will grow when you grow and that´s it. Because of that the elders are always the strongest. The only other way is to do this "stupid" ritual and bind your soul to someone who also has a magic reservoir, those then will be combined into one. But ours did not grow as we soul-bonded, which should not be possible.° Mor told the human.

°Well, it does make sense, because in my world there is no magic, so I probably did not have that "reservoir".° The human pondered.

°What do you mean NO magic?° Mor was shocked, how could anything exist without the magic powers that make up the world? °I should have tried for my mother's wind affinity.°

°Your mother has wind affinity? And your dad earth? Cool, then they have like polar opposite powers and probably complete each other pretty well.° The human exclaimed and in that moment Mor cursed his luck.

°I hate my life. Yes, my father has earth, but my mother is especially gifted and has water and wind affinity, therefore giving her a double affinity called ice affinity. She could have easily married into high nobility but chose my father for some reason, and gave up her previous title to be with him. I got into this school because of my potential as her son. And even if it is just a guess now, you have a good chance to get your affinity from your parents, so probably I was lucky enough to also get a double affinity like my mother but unlucky enough to get her wind affinity and my father's earth affinity which in turn canceled each other out.° Mor now really wanted to cry, his life would have been so much better with a double affinity.

°Shit, that is some serious unluck. But no point crying over something you can´t change. So as we are stuck with each other now, let´s turn this around. Maybe you just need a little bit of human audacity.° The human told Mor to cheer him up, which almost worked a little bit.

Return to the Garden

It's been a long time. Things happened, shenanigans ensued.... I fell down really, really hard, like twice.... But then I got back up, and now---boy oh boy do I have a story for you..... --11d

Cyrus kneeled and removed his gauntlet, a song of tiny clicks and a hiss and it was off. He reached down and touched the sandy soil as he watched the sun rise, a rare pleasure he indulged at every opportunity. As he held the warm rock he'd snatched from its bed in the sand, he looked out on the vast series of canyons cut by the river below. So foreign and yet so familiar to home.

Their mission would hopefully keep them on this plateau, but he longed to explore the forest in the vast cavern below. An ancient underground river system connected forested caves and canyons spread across the continent. There was a planetbound species who lived in these canyons who deserved to know what was headed their way. By all accounts they were peaceful, simple fisherfolk; hopefully they'd gotten here in time to help. Cyrus stood and tucked the rock in a small sack clipped to his belt. He slid his gauntlet over his hand and felt it seal to his skin, any sand still clinging to his palm expelled with a puff.

“Playing in the mud again Cyrus?” The voice behind him would have been unnerving had he not been used to it. Raga’s voice had a deep echo to it, as if two different beings were speaking from that fanged mouth. A trait not uncommon among the nephilim, though that didn’t make it any easier to get used to. Cyrus turned to face the tall, thin humanoid walking toward him from the landing site. He could see that his team was complete with their preparations. So far so good, they’d timed their descent well, arriving just before dawn as planned.

“Just enjoying a planet I can breathe on. I’d take my boots off and wiggle my toes in the sand if I thought I could get away with it.”

“Don’t let me stop you from indulging your odd little human idiosyncrasies, wiggle away.”

“Maybe later. Are we all set up?”

“Of course. Did you get your rock?”

“Good. Shall we call in?”“Go ahead, I’ll be there in a moment.”Raga shook his head, “Drassa said…”“Don’t come back without him…I know. Let’s go.” Cyrus sighed and took a last look at the view, then turned and headed back to the landing site. “I wouldn’t want to keep Zaphkiel waiting.” Raga grinned and followed a step behind.Cyrus walked down the small path to the temporary structure the shuttle had spat out upon landing. Drassa stood in front of the entrance, one set of arms on her hips, the other set crossed in front of her chest, boot tapping away in the dust. He wondered how puffy her tail was encased in that suit. She wasn’t a fan of these types of missions, Drassa was what Cyrus called an indoor cat, she preferred a more civilized environment. Typically, she would be orbital support, but they were short a team member and she drew the short straw. She tapped on the door as he approached.“Tally, let’s get this show on the road. Zaphy wants to see your shiny face too.”“Drassa.” Cyrus stopped at the flattened rock Taliel had prepared. “Give him a minute, he’s old and slow.”“Wise and careful.” Taliel hadn’t bothered to use the door, he’d just decided to shimmer into existence behind Cyrus.“Keep doing that, and I’ll be dead and still.” Cyrus kneeled next to the flat spot and carved a sigil into the stone with his gauntlet, his index finger glowing white. He finished and stood, turning to face the seraphim; they were of equal height, if Taliel decided to put his feet on the ground, which was rare. With the sun behind him, his pale lucent skin was set off by his dark blue sleeveless jumpsuit. The standard seraph uniform as far as Cyrus could tell. The seraphim had long ago become one with their technology, fashion being one of the casualties apparently.“Did you find your rock?” Taliel always looked slightly amused by the question.“I did.” Cyrus patted the pouch at his belt. “Drassa, you ready?”“I was ready an hour ago….” She pulled a metallic ring from behind her back and hung it in the air over the sigil. As the ring began to spin, a second ring broke away and began to rotate inside the other. As the third ring broke away, the center began to glow. A narrow slit opened in the glow, and the team saw Zaphkiel waiting on their check in.“Excellent, you’re all here. Cyrus, have your excavations proved fruitful?”“I have my rock.”“Good. Observation is ready. You are clear.” The slit closed, and the rings slowed until there was just the one, hanging above the sigil. Drassa collected her ring, and returned it to the sheathe on her back.“Do your thing Cy so I can get off this dustball.”“Your tail is itching that bad, huh?”“I hate this suit. It’s almost as irritating as you.”“Poor kitty…” Cyrus went to pet her head, and Drassa swatted him away. She turned back toward the structure, tail high. Raga shook his head and followed her. The two stood leaning against the structure, Drassa looking like a child standing next to the giant nephilim.“Shall we?” Taliel was hovering next to the stone. Cyrus nodded and reached into his bag, pulling out the stone he had picked up earlier. Taliel raised his arms and closed his eyes, after a moment, he clapped his hands together and a whoosh of air whipped past Cyrus.“That should take care of the noise.” Taliel drifted over to the others, hovering just beside Drassa.Cyrus held the stone in the palm of his right gauntlet and focused. He began to feel the connection to the stone, and the stone’s connection to the canyon…the canyon’s connection into the bedrock of the planet. The stone began to shimmer, a pale blue light, like flame, wreathing the stone. Cyrus opened his eyes, also glowing with a pale blue light. The light spread, until it crawled up his arm, eventually covering his whole body. Suddenly, Cyrus clenched his fist and slammed it against the sigil burned into the rock. A gout of blue flame sprang from his body and shot up into the air, spreading and growing as it ascended. A short time later, pale blue tendrils spread across the magnetosphere of the planet, encasing it in a fiery net. Phase one was complete, now all they had to do was wait.

​

.....Oh, and by the way, Aubrey says hi....she'll be by soon....or you could come visit...either works....

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

"You cannot prevail. We have you outnumbered, we have the geometry, and you have no support as you are a single ship." - Mar-gite Command Structure

"Come, let us lock bladearms. There is room in this grave for you." - Commander N'Skrek, Task Force Lonely Peach, Third Mar-gite War, Point Ticonderoga

Luke had his feet up on the table, the chair tipped as far back as he could get it without tipping over. He held a full drink in one hand, a cigarette in his mouth, and a big grin on his face.

"All hands, realspace re-entry and jumpshock in four minutes," came over the PA.

His grin got wider.

Then vanished as he heard the familiar tapping of certain shoes.

"Luke, Luke," Sacajawea said, running around to the front of the table.

"What?" Luke asked, frowning.

"The Captain. The course he has us set on," Sacajawea said, wringing her hands.

"What about it?" Luke asked, taking a drag off the cigarette and blowing out smoke rings.

"It's nothing but death and destruction. Hundreds, thousands of people are going to die. There will be massive destruction, some much destruction," she moaned out.

"All hands, all hands, realspace re-entry and jumpshock in three minutes," came over the PA.

"Yup," Luke said. He took another drag and exhaled more smoke rings in another direction.

"Luke, you have to stop him. If he just stays in jumpspace for a few more hours, there's no death and destruction," Sacajawea said. She put her hands on the table. "You have to convince him not to drop out of jumpspace at his target. Thousands will die."

Legion inhaled slowly and exhaled smoke, staring at the human woman in front of him.

"We know," he said.

"You must convince him not to leave jumpspace. Once he does, there is no probability where thousands do not die, where destruction doesn't happen," Sacajawea said.

Legion blinked and a half dozen more of him appeared, all of them sitting down, putting their feet down, and lighting cigarettes.

"He knows. I know," Legion said. He took a drag. "We all know."

"All hands, all hands, realspace entry and jumpshock in two minutes," came the voice over the PA.

Legion motioned at the speaker. "You might want to get ready."

"Virtual Intelligence and Digital Sentience reports jumpshock lockdown. All non-critical systems are ordered to local manual control," came over the PA.

"You have to convince him!" Sacajawea said.

Legion stared at her.

"No."

"All non-critical systems on lockdown. All critical systems ready for backup and reboot," Commander Fenntrick said from where she was manning the DCC Master Control Board.

Captain N'Skrek nodded from where he was standing on the Show Bridge.

He knew he should be at the Primary Battle Bridge, but there was something about standing on the Show Bridge. The reinforced layered transparent battlesteel windows, currently showing the streaks and swirling sparkling fog of jumpspace. The heavily reinforced battle stations. The armored back chairs. The heavy deck plating.

The brutalistic, no-frills design felt right to the huge Treana'ad warrior as he stood in front of the Captain's Throne in his armored vac-suit, the faceplate retracted and a cigarette in his mouth.

"All hands, all hands, prepare for realspace re-entry and jumpshock," sounded over the PA.

"Execute," Captain N'Skrek said.

The command was relayed even as Commander Jas'Skrek reached out and grabbed the brushed steel lever, pulling it toward him.

"BRACE FOR IT!" N'Skrek roared out, aware his voice was carried by the PA.

It wasn't Confederate Space Force SOP, but then, nothing about Task Force Lonely Peach's mission was SOP.

There was a whanging sound from deep in the ship and the sound of a magnetic engine winding down.

Everything went flat, like N'Skrek was facing a painting. He was suddenly thrown forward into it and it shattered like glass around him, the pieces rotating and tumbling through space even though they didn't move.

Legion felt himself thrown backwards, the chair almost kicked out from under him. His beer flew out of his hand, spinning, foam spraying from the bottle. Over a dozen of him repeated it, some curling and rolling, others spreading their arms out.

Four of him were laughing.

Sacajawea screamed, her hands raising.

Everything went flat.

Legion felt himself thrown against the painting, the glass shattering, scattering reality around him.

He was laughing with glee.

All of him snapped back at once, and he hit the deck on his ass.

He was still holding a beer even as a half dozen bottles hit the deck and bounced, spraying foam.

Sacajawea looked up from where she'd fallen, fear filling her eyes.

"Death. All probabilities are full of death."

Legion just laughed.

N'Skrek saw the pieces suddenly shatter into glitter, swarming around him, and he was through.

He came out the other side on his feet.

They had dropped close enough to the Mar-gite Jump Charging Array that he could see it with the naked eye through the windows of the Show Bridge.

Sparks shot from deactivated consoles. One exploded and a midshipman ran forward with a replacement board even as the crewmember manning it picked themselves up from the floor, spitting out a wad of cotton candy onto the floor.

"Grav detectors up and running! Mass detectors online!" Sensors called out.

"CONTACTS! MANY MANY CONTACTS!" Lieutenant JG Wentworth called out from Tactical. "We're being locked up!"

"Execute countermeasures!" N'Skrek snapped. He tapped the button on the side of the wireless mic he was holding. "Weapon stations, local control."

"Sixty percent of weapon stations reporting ready, sir!" Tactical called out.

"Sensors clearing!" Scanning called.

"Steam catapults launching Fruit Flies. Eighteen percent away!" Flight Operations called out.

"OPEN FIRE!" N'Skrek roared out.

He heard his voice repeated over the PA system, the copper wire carrying his voice through the massive ship as the analogue backups picked up the task from the stunned smartwires.

"Realspace entry confirmed! All hands accounted for! Multiple anomalous Terran signatures identified as Legion, nine identified," called out Commander Dulmarch from the newly christened station. "No Mar-gite or other unknown signatures."

N'Skrek nodded, watching the small streaks of light whip away from the bulk of the Gray Lady. He could see dozens of pinpricks nearby and knew they were enemy ships.

"Guns online at local control. Fire permission granted!" Tactical called out.

The ship started shuddering slightly and he could feel the ghostly plucking of C+ cannons firing.

Legion stood up, smiling, moving up and looking down at Sacajawea.

"We know this path leads to death and destruction, little sister," he grinned. "That's the point of it. Don't you understand?"

"But we could all die! So much death, so much destruction. I can even read our own deaths in probability," she said, looking up. Tears were running down her face. "Please, can't you take me away from here? Can't we go elsewhere, Luke?"

Legion shook his head. "Why would I want to be somewhere else, little sister?" he asked. Sparks danced across his teeth as his smile got wider. "This is humanity, little sister. This is the gift we have brought into the malevolent universe for all of our allies, all of those arrayed against us."

The ghostly plucking started and Sacajawea cried out.

"It's the gift we bring our enemies," Legion smiled. "Who only exist to be destroyed."

Sacajawea flinched back as he bent down, holding his hand out to her. "Stand on your feet, little sister. The day of you discovering your true purpose, to learn to use your gift properly, is nigh," he smiled.

She flinched back, tried to pull her hand away, but he grabbed her anyway and yanked her to her feet.

"Stand on your feet, little sister," he said, pulling her close and looking down at her. "No matter probability it is that comes to pass, stand on your feet, look the malevolent universe in the eye, and spit your defiance into death's face."

"Secondary battlescreens spinning up," N'Skrek heard.

He was paying no mind, staring at the holotank, with was still fuzzy and streaked with static, the red and silver showing what even his eyes could see.

The Gray Lady was surrounded. Dozens, hundreds of the shining silver ships. Thirty of the big Mar-gite Cluster Charging Constructs.

Hundreds of Mar-gite Clusters.

The Mar-gite Clusters were too far away, light hours from the Gray Lady, but the silver ships were close, some within a light second or less.

N'Skrek got that tickle, that feeling, down his upper spine.

"BRACE FOR IT!" He roared out.

"Flash flash flash," sounded over the PA. "All hands, prepare for..."

The world went bright white. It cleared for a split second, then happened again, stuttering, strobing.

"You one trick show ponies," N'Skrek snarled as his vision cleared.

"Systems still on local control," Commodore Vertain called out. "No loss of control!"

"Fruit Flies away! Seventy-six percent confirmed. All Fruit Flies confirm still in control."

N'Skrek nodded.

"Sir, Legion is requesting permission to join you on the Show Bridge," Lieutenant Rawkrawr said.

N'Skrek glanced at where Legion was standing by one of the consoles. The bald lean human just nodded.

"Granted," N'Skrek said, returning the nod.

There was another flash, this one seeming almost feeble in response.

N'Skrek just sneered.

The battle screens were flickering, intercepting incoming fire. N'Skrek looked over at the Tactical Defense Systems Officer's screens and saw data scrolling up. It wasn't the lightning fast of modern molycircs, but it was still scrolling.

Every shot you make gives us data on your weapon systems. We will find out how to either mitigate the damage, negate it, or use it our advantage, he thought to himself. You, however, will only know destruction.

The lift doors opened and N'Skrek heard a Terran woman protesting loudly. He didn't bother to turn and look, merely focused on the holotank.

"No! Let me go! Let me go! I don't want to see!" the Terran woman was saying.

Legion, three of him, were dragging her onto the Show Bridge.

"You need to learn, little sister," Legion was saying. "And school is in session."

"There are no probabilities that do not end in death and destruction," the Terran woman yelled.

"Excellent," N'Skrek said, without turning around.

"Targeting solutions are green. Repeat, targeting solutions on the Mar-gite Charging Constructs are green," Tactical called out.

"Excellent," N'Skrek said softly. He smiled. "You may fire at will."

"All Fruit Flies away," Flight Ops said.

N'Skrek just nodded.

He watched in the holotank as the nearest of the silvery ships started shattering or being covered by the purple X of mission kill. Missiles were being launched from the Gray Lady, shrieking through space.

A small creature made of static, a short squat biped with a square head, white eyes and gnashing fangs, popped into the holotank. It jumped up and down, pointing at the cluster of silver ships being represented by diamonds.

"Yes, yes. Shoo," N'Skrek said, motioning at the edge of the tank. "Go find a missile."

The little creature gibbered silently and ran off.

Legion dragged Sacajawea up to the holotank, the one of him behind her holding his hand over her mouth, the other two holding her arms.

"Technically, what I am witnessing is assault," N'Skrek said, staring at the holotank.

"Then don't look," Legion snapped. He grabbed her hair and pushed her head forward. "Look at it. I know you know how to read it. Daxin taught all of us and you used what he taught you to run."

She struggled slightly.

"I don't have to coddle you like Menhit coddled me," Legion snapped. "Instead, I'll coddle you in the same way the Detainee coddles those in her care."

She quit struggling, staring, her eyes wide.

Legion let go of her mouth. "Do not shout. Do not speak, just merely watch. Watch as the battle plays out."

"I will not take advice from a civilian observer, no matter what her supposed powers are and no matter who granted them to her," N'Skrek said. He looked at the version of Legion standing by the console, who was staring down at the screen. "A Confederate Lord Admiral of the Warsteel is one I will take advice when I ask for consultation."

He looked at Sacajawea.

"But only when I ask, and the final judgement is mine," he said coldly.

Sacajawea swallowed, trying to look away from the holotank but unable to as Legion held her hair tightly.

"No more running, little sister," Legion said softly.

On the holotank, the Fruit Flies sped for the enemy, C+ cannon impacts were causing ships to break up, missiles were howling in on their terminal approaches on the huge mega-constructs. Outside the Show Bridge the battlescreens flared and rippled, still mostly transparent.

Legion grinned at her from three different points.

"No more running."

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

It buggles me to no end that humans are so advanced in their scientific endeavors.

No, I don't mean their fondness for explosive and kinetic weaponry and propulsion yielding such incredible variations and applications. This was a trait shared by a few hundred species, humans and Pedropascalins most noticeably.

Nor do I mean their understandings of their physiology itself being so wide reaching that they've managed to find a home in most every star system they've crossed. Humans are a generalists species with the capacity to develop specification throw simple exercise and training. Neophenism aside, this was a very common occurrence in many generalist species, again humans included, but just after Alecbalduins.

No, what surprises ne most is humans ability to aline their scientific understanding woth their creative imagination and somehow piece their way through understanding the universe.

My own species, the Etrectonoans, are no slouched in the scientific endeavors.

But we pale in the face of humanities ability to look at the stars and realize their not seeing everything before them.

Spectrometry. The use of light and sometimes fire or even plasma itself to figure out the composition of a planet they have not yet even seen the surface of.

The human did this to my own planet Etrectono. As human scientist Emil said to me, "We saw your planet pass over your star and observed the way the light was distorted through your atmosphere and using our understanding of atmospheric composition and its affects on light, we realized you had an atmosphere not diddimilar to earth's."

And they were right. The oxygen and nitrogen percentages were a near enough match that I could smell home on earth when I first arrived there.

You must understand, this is something my people never thought possible. When we questioned whether an atmosphere would be breathable or not, we spent centuries perfecting drones that could leave our atmosphere, survive the hell that is space travel, and enter another atmsophere in a good enough condition to acquire and atmospheric sample and return it to our planet for careful examination.

Humans? They looked at the very light itself.

The scientific field my people were a century from perfecting, or as near perfect as any science can truly get, and humans had figured it out before they'd set foot on their own satellite.

And then their understanding of the elements themselves. One human made a mad effort to finally put into a coherent display the very foundations of matter itself. And even by the standards of the Etrectonoans who'd achieved star traversal on several hotly disputed models of the elements, his model was as solid as the chair o found myself siting in as I wrote this.

And what's worse, there are so many ideas and fields within human science that frighten ne not in their intelligence or understanding, bur by how far across the cosmos som many separate species cane to the same or similar answers.

Panspermia? Humans and Draksanz.

Dyson spheres? Humans, Unopans and Daxamites.

The potential for infinite muiltiverses to exist and the larger and smaller infinites in-between? Humans and Amphitrites.

But among the many species, no other species ever had more than 1 scientific break through so vast shared woth another. No species, except humans. Every breakthrough and scientific law and theory they had in their infancy, was the latest and greatest from the minds of species that had been traversing the stars for eons when humanity today was just entering their second decade.

And humans, with the violence and shortlives, self destructive thrill seeking and desire to domesticate everything "friendshaped"... they fit in amongst us as if they weren't a collective of mad geniuses set loose amidst the stars.

Frontiersman No. 0012: Duke Collins

Screaming, Demands, Orders. Those are the sorts of things you expect when you have a weapon pointed in your face, but out here, in the void of space, and with no contact with the one pointing this weapon, we simply stared at each other in silence. I slowly raised my hands to shoulder height, palms out, in an attempt to show that I meant no harm. In silence we waited, as the second being inside of the ship crawled out of the airlock. They seemed panicked, and once outside, they looked around, before also pointing their weapon in my direction. Then they began... to drift. I saw them panic for a moment, which made things worse, and they were soon tumbling backwords, albeit slowly, away from both vessels, still held in place by the mining drones. With a slow wave of my hand, I gestured to the first... Alien? Person? That their colleague was slowling escaping them. They glanced over their should and began to panic as well, but kept their weapon trained on me. With very slow movements, I brought one hand to my wrist and used the interface on my suit to task a drone to retrieve the distressed being, now flailing slightly as they floated away. Despite the gun still pointed my way, I couldn't help but chuckle a little. The ship had Point defense turrets for breaking up small debris, and I know Aerie wouldn't leave me hanging. Glancing over their shoulder, the first person, i'll stick with person, seemed to let go a sigh of relief as they saw the drone brining their companion back to us. With that, they tentatively lowered their weapon, giving me some sort of nod or bow, it was difficult to tell.

As the drone deposited the second person back near the airlock, they wheeled their weapon up at me once more, only to have the first one reach over and place their arm across theirs, lowering them. With that, I gestured towards my ship with the open airlock. "Hey Aerie," I asked, "Could you please tap into their comms, if possible? Try to decypher their language, and if you can, put something on the display in the ship to communicate the atmosphere contents inside? Something they may be able to understand."

"Understood, the graphs are displayed now, and their communications, at least in those suits, are laughably basic, I've been taking language samples since before they left the ship." Aerie replied, and with that, I began moving towards my airlock, and the two creatures followed, after seeming to discuss for a moment. Once inside the ship, I relaxed. I gestured to a display showing a simple numbers chart using dots, a periodic table, and lastly a graph referring to Oxygen and Nitrogen on the table, signifying percentages. I know for a fact I would never be able to pick this stuff up, but it seems that after review and discussing it for a bit, they seemed to understand, because the one that managed to not drift into space hesitantly reached up and began to remove their helmet.

As the helmet came off, to say I was shocked would be an understatement. I already assumed I was dealing with some sort of alien, or at least a long lost human colony, due to how similar the anatomy seemed within their suits, but what I was looking at was a real life alien! If human facial structure was anything to go by, then this one was female. She was tall, with a light green skin that seemed extremely smooth. They would look like a bad accident with powder paint if it wasn't for the lack of hair, which was instead replaced with rows of fins that traced around her head and ended down at her nape. She turned to me after her helmet was off, and seemed to realize something, as her head cocked to the side, and all of the fins, or frills, on her head raised at once, pointing straight out on the back of her head, and the ones on the top of her head angling slighty upwards, rather than laying flat. I describe all of this objectively, but it's not absurd to say that I found this woman absolutely stunning. A deep breath later, and she turned and said something in her language while gesturing to hear companion. Their tongue sounded like a mix of high pitched trilling combined with the standard throat and tongue sounds of typical human speech, almost like a bird was singing alongside someone speaking a foreign language.

If the first Alien was beautiful, words will not do justice to the second. As they removed their helmet, I was greeted by a second alien, with similar frills and soft looking skin, but theirs was a lighter green color, and they had eyes that were as blue as a clear summer sky. They burned with an intensity as she breathed deeply, and examined me still inside of my suit, her eyes seemed to crawl up and down my frame, examining every detail. She was smaller, with less sharp features on her face, but she was the first to smile at me after a moment, and give a bow.

I was completely dumbstruck. I had no idea what to do in the face of a situation like this. I ended up returning the bow as my head swam. Not because they were cute, you animals, but because of the situation. This was first contact! To my knowledge, humanity has not yet met another race, and here I am, 86 jumps from Terran space, face to face with two real life aliens!

"Uh.. Aerie? Any word on those translations?" I asked. I was given my answer when the previous display was wiped, and a graphic showing two people talking was shown. I gestured to the two, and pointed at the display. Even if they didn't understand what was intended, it at least got them speaking more, which I believe is what Aerie had wanted. They gesticulated at the display and talked amonst themselves while I watched. They were both still armed, and I wasn't keen on getting comfortable just yet.

After about 10 minutes of me observing them, I heard a ping in my helmet, followed by Aerie, "I am pretty sure I have enough samples to have dissected the language, please give it a try."

Clearing my throat, I called out, "Uhm.. hello? Can you guys understand me?" They both wheeled around to face me, shock on their faces, and as they spoke, I heard their words translated through my helmet.

The tall, larger one spoke first. "Hello, I am shocked, you seem to have translated our language extremely quickly. I am Yorlia," She said, giving a bow. "and this my Liege, Countess Varien of house Gostak."

At this, the smaller alien spoke up while giving a bow. "Thank you for coming to our rescue, please call me Varien. If I may ask, why do you still wear your armor, and of which race are you? Your features seem to elude to you also being a Filorian, yet we have never seen a ship of your make, nor of such power to dispatch our pursuers in a single shot."

"I still wear my armor because you are still armed." I replied. "And no, I am not uh... Filorian. I am Human. You are Humanity's first contact among the stars." At this, they both glanced at each other, seeming to be a little suprised. Slowly, they both placed their weapon on the floor.

"We apologize," Said Varien, "We have had a rough day. Once again, thank you for our rescue, and welcome to the stars. May we have the pleasure now of looking the being who has saved us in the eyes?"

Slowly, I unclasped the latched on my helmet, hearing the familiar hiss of air escaping at I slid the clunky thing off. After placing the helmet under one arm against my hip, both of the Filorians let out a slight gasp, and, too fast for her apparent bodyguard to stop her, Countess Varien strode past her and reached to touch my face. Unsure of how to respond, I ended up standing there as a glove was removed, and Varien was suddenly poking and prodding at my cheeks, and giving my disty brown hair a slight tug.

"Yor, Yor! They look just like us! Just like us but fuzzy! Do all of your kind have fur on your head? Are all of you so lightly colored? Why do you look like us? Do you also have a love for the water? Yor you must touch his fur, you must!" Varien was practically bouncing, and if not for the shock of first contact still running through my system, I'm sure I would have been laughing out loud.

I let out a breath I had been holding. "Let me at least get out of my armor. I can tell this will take awhile."

Without my helmet, my comment fell on deaf ears.

Prev

Chapter 24:

Jeb had never aspired to be a leader; it was a role thrust upon him by circumstance and necessity. The Convoy had started as a ragtag assembly of ships, each with its own story of escape, adventure, or desperation. Jeb, with his imposing stature and booming voice, had been just another captain—a man who loved the stars and the freedom they promised.

But as the Convoy grew, so did the challenges. Pirates, resource shortages, and the vast loneliness of space tested the mettle of every soul aboard. Jeb's ship, the Hodgepodge, became a beacon of hope, not because it was the largest or the most powerful, but because Jeb himself was a pillar of strength and resilience. His open-door policy, his willingness to listen, and his uncanny ability to find the right person and or solutions in the direst of situations made him the de facto leader.

The Convoy's journey was not just a trek through the cosmos; it was a journey of humanity, carrying the dreams and hopes of its people. Jeb understood this better than anyone. He knew that leadership wasn't about giving orders; it was about paving the way for others to find their path.

As the years passed, Jeb's legend grew. Tales of his exploits and his compassion spread across the fleet, and his advice became sought after like precious ore. Yet, he remained the same—Jeb, the captain of the Hodgepodge, who could fix a hyperdrive with duct tape and a prayer.

The Great Human Convoy was more than a collection of ships; it was a testament to the enduring spirit of those who called it home. At the heart of this interstellar caravan was Jeb, the man who had become the symbol of their journey. His leadership was not marked by grand speeches or strict commands, but by the steady hum of engines and the collective will to press forward.

Jeb often said, "The purpose of the Convoy is to keep moving." It was a simple statement, but it held the weight of their existence. To keep moving meant survival, discovery, and the hope of finding a place in the galaxy where they could all belong. It was this purpose that united them, a shared understanding that, no matter the obstacles, their voyage must continue.

It was during an inspection by the Galactic Council that Jeb's unassuming leadership was put into words. Inspector Xilthar, after witnessing the Convoy's intricate dance of ships and the harmony among its people, turned to Jeb and said, "But they all follow you. You're the leader."

Jeb chuckled, the sound echoing through the hull of the Shining Princess. He tipped his worn cowboy hat back, revealing a twinkle in his eye, and replied, "Nah. I'm just in front."

Coalescing into existence, a fine mist dissipating as I appeared, my surroundings came into focus. A library, though a small one. A home library, I thought likely. Humans think they have a monopoly on enjoying the smell of old books, but after all, the scent is decomposition. That’s right up the alley of a demon, surely, and so, I love the smell of old books.

Alongside that, however, was the odor of blood. Distinctive and poignant, meaning there was a lot of it, and all I had to do was look down to see the source.

“Oh my,” I murmured. “That’s clearly too much for you to be going without.”

A pool of blood had expanded from a wound in the man’s chest, having flowed out to such an extent that even lying a yard from the pentagram that caged me, it had reached the circle. Indeed it had also soaked into the book that held the summoning spell, and if the man ever regained consciousness, he’d likely be irritated at ruining such a text.

Objective and performance, that’s all that mattered in a summoning. Indeed, I had many occasions where a significant amount of blood such as this had been used to summon me. The human’s veins and arteries hold more than you would think, and it always looks like more than there should be once it’s outside the body.

The exception to what would otherwise be a normal summoning was that the near-fatal amount of blood was from the summoner, and also there was a dog there.

“Unusual. Unique, actually,” I told the dog. “I’ve never been summoned where my only conversation partner ended up being a dog.”

The dog was a black Labrador, though at his advanced age he was starting to go gray. He whimpered, glancing up at me, before walking over to the man and repeatedly licking his cheek, as if the affection shown would heal the wound he’d endured. Uncaring or not noticing, the dog’s paws stepped in the blood which soaked into his fur.

“This is a conundrum,” I sighed, spreading my hands. “Intent…execution…then deal-making. And yet…” Gesturing helplessly with one hand, I made a sound of discontent. “Well, he’s not dead yet, just dying. Intent would transfer to a partner or apprentice, but none of that is here.”

Crouching, I stared at the man. “Well…what do you think?” I asked the dog.

Reaching out a hand that just brushed the edge of my cage, the familiar motion drew the dog’s nose, but one whiff of my scent had him stepping backwards, leaving bloody footprints on the concrete floor. A low growl rumbled through his chest.

“Yes, I know, not the smell of a good creature,” I said, cocking my head. “But it’s starting to seem like I’m the only hope your human has of surviving this. Presumably his intent summoned me, but I need his intent to survive and I’m not feeling that. I need it from you. Would that even work?”

Holding out my hands as if I were warming them by a fire, I slowly moved them around in the direction of the man and the dog. Energy spikes prickled at my inbuilt antennae. “Hm… Maybe…”

Watching closely, I saw the dog move closer to his human once more. He once again began to lick the man’s cheek, more intensely this time, perhaps knowing more force was needed and now attempting to rouse him. Concentrating on the man’s body, I focused my energy on his heartbeat. If he died, I would simply return to whence I’d come. That would be that. But I’d much rather claim a soul than go back home empty-handed.

The dog whimpered once more and pawed at the man’s shoulder.

I felt his heartbeat slow.

The dog barked, then licked him repeatedly again, then barked, then he barked at me…

The heartbeat slowed even further…

“There,” I whispered.

The intent from the dog was unmistakable. A wave of my hand and suddenly the man gasped in a lungful of air, coughing on inhaled saliva, fumbling to a seated position. I sat as well, grinning like the cat that had caught the canary. It hadn’t been a canary though; it had been a human soul.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” I said, folding my legs. Leaning forward, I trailed my hand through the blood, rubbing the viscous fluid between my thumb and forefinger, as the man attempted to calm his dog even as he was trying to breathe more easily. The dog licked frantically at the man’s face, his tail wagging furiously in happiness. The man’s hand then of course went to the site of the wound, which had healed over instantly. “You owe your dog a big old steak.”

The man stared at me, coughing a few last times. “He…he summoned you?”

“Oh no, you did that. He bargained with your soul though.”

That stunned the man. “My soul…”

“I do hope that was the reason you’d summoned me, the fatal wound,” I said with a motion of my hand to his chest, where there was a sleek hole in his shirt from where a blade had slid through. I rubbed my hands together, enjoying the sensation of fresh blood on them. “If not, that bargain was a bit of a waste.”

“That was the reason.” He blinked rapidly and pushed himself to his feet. “The fool left as soon as he yanked his blade from of my chest. Didn’t wait to watch me die.”

I hissed in a breath through my teeth. “Ah, yeah, that’s always one that will catch a human by surprise, pulling a resurrection like this.” Pushing myself to my feet, I spared a glance to the dog once more. “This was…interesting.” I looked back at the human. “I suppose you have affairs to tend to. I’ll be seeing you eventually, and from my brief glance into your life, I’m going to guess it won’t take that long.”

At that, I snapped my bloody fingers and vanished.

***

[WP] You are summoned to the realm of men, expecting to make a deal with a foolish mortal, but find yourself in an old library. The book that summoned you here is open on the floor, next to a fallen, unmoving old man...and a dog frantically looking for help. The dog approaches you, whimpering...

This one's more DFY, but I figured I owed y'all one after the onion ninja special I dropped on you, so I thought I'd share it. :)

***

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“Begin Audio Recording, Personal ID #38916907” 

Fuck, I hate this world. Let the damn Squawks have it. The cold seeps through my body armor. I never feel warm unless we’re fighting.  The wind whips up massive dust storms, gets in everything, fucks with our sensors and visibility. Worse, it fucks up our pulse rifles and leaves us these damn slug throwers. Don’t get me wrong, they hit hard but their range is less than a km. Not like we often have that much visibility in this terrain, even without the dust storms

. And going hand to hand with a Spike is practically a death sentence. Their claws rip into our armor like it’s not there. Their armored bodies can withstand a slash from our blades so we are limited to stabbing at their weak points. But their size makes them slow. 

The only positive is it fucks with the Squawks equally and really fucks up their Spike’s senses. Their superior senses are almost useless during the storms. I guess the sound of the sand hitting their carapace really overwhelms their hearing. 

  I’m not sure why I’m recording this. Maybe to leave something of myself behind. Besides my bones in a shallow grave.

 Who am I? Lance Sergeant JT Collins, currently in command of the 4th Cohort of the Dominion Marines Dead Rift Legion. At your service. 

   If you can call less than 62 (out of 500) combat effectives a cohort still. Which is why I am in command. All the other NCOs and officers above me are casualties. I’ve heard the other cohorts aren’t much better.

  17 Cohorts made it to the ground and now there are less than half of the 8500 that hit the ground are combat effective.  Only the 1st Cohort of Burning Haven Legion is close to full strength and they are kept in reserve to guard Echo Base and deal with any breakthroughs.   It was supposed to be a standard sweep and clear of a recently abandoned mining colony world overrun by the Squawks last month. It’s a shit world but its location and launch facilities have made it an ideal base for Squawks to cut our supply lines into the next system. The Squawks had been upgrading the launch facilities and adding repair facilities for smaller ships that could land for repairs. They also started to build an orbital installation to repair their big ships. 

Intel said there were less than 50k enemies on the entire world. 4 Legions were supposed to be enough to deal with them. As usual, intel fucked up and severely underestimated enemy strength. So we had 20k marines dropped into a hornets' nest of a quarter million Squawks and their pets. The enemy fleet in orbit should have been their first clue that something was wrong. Half of the Burning Haven never even made it to the drop ships before their ship exploded. 8 Cohorts of the Echo Fields Legion were still aboard when the fleet jumped out. I can’t blame them for jumping being outnumbered 2-1.

Better the Admiral save some than none of us. I just wished they made that decision before dropping us on this world. At least the mining facility we landed at still had plenty of food and water, since most of ours was still on the ships when they jumped. Another lucky break is they got 2/3rds of our ammo and other gear dropped. None of the armor made it down but some of the fast-firing mortars and a couple of light arty pieces did. Both inbound heavy dropships were shot up and never made it to the surface, or at least in one piece. One big ass chunk of a ship squashed a dropship flat. It’s a good thing it was mostly empty of people and gear. 

  The rest went with the fleet. Hopefully, they’ll be back with more ships and troopers but it’ll still take at least a week for them to get here. 

 Which is why I am huddled in this god-forsaken trench, riding out this damn Squawks artillery barrage. Every day, more and more of them arrive from all over the planet.  We managed to secure the launch facilities, surprisingly easy, but we’ve been getting probing attacks all along the perimeter. Our defensive perimeter is slowly shrinking to less than 10 km in diameter. Another 5 km and that damn artillery will be able to shell the main base with some accuracy. The dust storms reduce them to old-school methods of dropping them in the general area and relying on the old Mark I eyeball. They really don’t want to do more damage to the facility than they have to.

  They’ll probe the perimeter every so often but no major assaults since 2 days ago. The bodies of 1000+  Squawks and Spikes still rot in no man’s land. It was their first time running into the new squad-level railguns. They fire 40% faster and easy enough to be moved by a couple of men. Their new ammo system hits like a bitch too. Tears through armor like it’s not even there. 1st Cohort is spending its time building a final fallback defensive line. They’ve been using all the material left behind to build some wicked defenses and bunkers that’ll be a bitch to take out. Rumor has us falling back into the line as soon as it’s done.

  If you haven’t figured it out yet, Squawks is our slang for the Scraasqok. They descended from some sort of bird-like creature. They kind of look like a Harpy Eagle where a pair of arms replaced the wings. 

  The Spikes are an alien species found on one of their planets that they then bio-engineered to make them bigger, faster, and meaner.  I have no idea of their actual names and don’t care. 

 Damn things are around 3 meters tall with 4 legs and 4 arms. Their carapace is split into 3 pieces and covered in 10cm spikes all over the dorsal side of the thorax section. They slightly resemble an ant in that regard except they have alligator-like jaws and some nasty teeth. 

  One pair of arms ends in hands with opposable thumbs with short claws and the other 2 have a wicked, hook-like claw. I’ve seen them gut a man with one swipe. 

 At least they are fairly stupid and have really hurt them with ambushes but chances for that are getting fewer and fewer.

 Unfortunately for us, their Squawk masters are damn smart. They’re about our height but much lighter, I guess they retain some of those hollow bones from back in the day. Doesn’t take much to cave their chest in, so they wear that power-assisted armor full-time on these heavier grav worlds. 

  Their pulse rifles don’t work any better than ours on this world. They have some weird kind of dart thrower/crossbow thing but the range is only around 180 meters. And then, there are their blades. They are damn fond of using them and they are sharp. 1 meter long, split-blade sword that cuts through most body armor with little effort combined with their body armor. 

   By themselves, they’d never get within range to use those blades but using Spikes as meat shields lets it happen. . 

 Each attack costs them dearly but they can afford the losses. They keep pecking away at our defenses and we’ll lose a man here or there. Dead or wounded, doesn’t matter, they’re still out of the front line. Hell, it’s looking like by the time the fleet returns, we’ll all be dead. Surrender isn’t an option. No quarter offered, no quarter given. We know what the damn Squawks do to POWs and no way in hell I’m taking that route.   So we just sit, watch, and wait for them to come or for our turn off the line. 

   Maybe when I go back they’ll be some good… 

  [The following was taken after Lance Sgt Collins stopped recording his personal log but it was accidentally left open. Names of speakers marked when known] 

 Unintelligible speech in the background

 “They’re what? Fuck. Get em up and on the line”  Lance Sgt Collins

  8th (Unintelligible) been overrun and (Unintelligible) time.  Unknown

  “ Pull in the pickets and shorten the line on the left. It’s not good if they broke through on the left. We’ll need to consolidate in the center and still keep tied in with the 7th on the right. I want the men on the left redeployed at a 45-degree angle to the rear of the main line. Hopefully make it harder for those bastards to just roll us up.”  Lance Sgt Collins

  But (Unintelligible) it? Unknown

 “ We’ll never make it until we push them back on their heels. And tell the men I’m going to try and get some fire support so stay in their damn holes.”   Lance Sgt Collins

  “HQ, HQ. Fire Mission. Coordinates 77-tango-8-9. Enemy has broken through the lines.” Lance Sgt Collins

  “Aye Sir, thank you, Sir. Good Luck to all of us. “Lance Sgt Collins

  Weapons fire, shouts, and explosions heard in the background

 “Stay the fuck down, idiot. Want to get your head blown off by our own arty?”  Lance Sgt Collins

  (Unintelligible voice)

   Weapons fire continues and explosions getting closer. Some kind of faint chittering noise.

   Spikes!  Unknown

  “ The belly, you idiots. Shoot them in the belly! Headshots are a waste of ammo at this range.” Lance Sgt Collins

 Chittering sounds much louder, Human sounding shouts, cussing, yelling and weak cries for help

  “Hold the Line Marines! Show them that you don’t fuck with the Dead Rift Marines”  Lance Sgt Collins

   “ You, you, you, you and you 5 with me, Jackson take the wounded and whoever is left and beat feet towards the vehicles and back to base. We’ll hold them off.” 

  We should (Unintelligible ) together. Unknown

 “ We’d never make it. We'll buy some time and join back up at the base.” Lance Sgt. Collins

   “ You’re in charge until I get back Cpl now follow my damn orders”  Lance Sgt. Collins

Do you (Unintelligible) this?  Unknown

  “ Naw, we’re fucked but it was the only way to get them moving. (Coarse laughter) Kenzin, get on that railgun.” Lance Sgt Collins

  Aye, Sir  Probably Pvt. Kenzin

 Here They Come!

  “Kenzin! Bring the Pain. Conway, Parker take the left, Jensen stay with Kenzin and that means you and me on the right Gonzales”  Lance Sgt. Collins

 Intense weapons fire, wordless shouts, loud chittering noise 

  “Come get some, you ugly fucks” Lance Sgt. Collins

   Extremely loud chittering, high-pitched squeal 

 “Yeah, how you like th..” Lance Sgt Collins

  Sound of ceramic shattering(?), human yell, loud chittering sound, gurgling noise, drumming sound. 

Sarge is dead!  Unknown

 Shouts, screams and weapons fire diminish until only hear chittering. 

“Please enter into the record that was taken from the personal recorder of a Lance Sgt. JT Collins, Dominion Marines, 4th Cohort, Dead Rift Legion. KIA  9th of March, 2243-  Lapita V  

   “Pvt. Paul Kenzin, Dominion Marines, 4th Cohort, Dead Rift Legion. KIA  9th of March, 2243-

 Pvt. Jack Parker, Dominion Marines, 4th Cohort, Dead Rift Legion. KIA  9th of March, 2243-

 Pvt. Billy Conway, Dominion Marines, 4th Cohort, Dead Rift Legion. KIA  9th of March, 2243-

 Pvt. Juan Gonzales, Dominion Marines, 4th Cohort, Dead Rift Legion. KIA  9th of March, 2243-

 Pvt. Jeremy Jensen, Dominion Marines, 4th Cohort, Dead Rift Legion. KIA  9th of March,2243-”

   [ Source of Background Speech]

  Captain Henderson asked the Recorder for the Galactic Council’s Board of Inquiry. 

  Captain Henderson walked to the stand where all the Council Members could see him.

  “Honored Members of the Council and Guests, I present this posthumous piece of evidence along with the testimonies of survivors, from the ‘Siege of Echo Base’ as it is being called, the initial drop mission, and the later battles on the ground and in space once Admiral Zamug’s fleet returned with reinforcements.”

 “Not a single member present, blames Admiral Zamug of the Krang’Zal for retreating in the face of a superior force, even with troops on the ground. Specifically Dominion Marines from Terra” 

 Captain Henderson slowly turned to look every Council member in the eye, or 2 of their eyes anyway in 5 instances, before speaking again. 

 “And unlike some ‘Civilian’ members of the Council and the Press, Do any of them see the actions of a Being committing suicide to avoid the consequences of his actions.” 

 “ It is the opinion of Terrans that Admiral Zamug’s death in the fighting above Lapita V happened while performing the duty of a superior officer to the Beings serving below them.” 

 “The Dominion of Terra and her Military high command, do not hold him responsible for the death of Terran Marines on the surface but we honor him for his sacrifice in the line of duty the Dominion’s Star of Valor, the highest honor possible for a non-Terran” 

 Captain Henderson stood up straight, nodded to the Krang’Zal delegation, and continued,

 “We call for the exoneration of Admiral Zamug of the Krang’Zal for the actions at Lapita V and the restorations of his rights.” 

 “We deplore the charges of Specie Discrimination and Cowardice tainting his memory. Admiral Zamug did his duty as the Superior Officer to his subordinates.” 

 “Thank you for your time, Honored Council Members and Guests” Captain Henderson finished.

 “Thank you for your testimony Captain Henderson, you may step down. But please approach the table”  Chief Councilor Takalam of the Izirie said.

 Captain Henderson approached the Chief Councilor, who covered his microphone. “Captain, I was curious why you included the rest of that last audio recording after the relevant information was shared.” The Chief Councilor asked

 “ Well your Honor, it was for 3 reasons. For 1, the transcripts I shared were taken for use in a hearing of our own.” Captain Henderson started

 Unable to contain his curiosity, Chief Councilor Takalam interrupted, “ What kind of hearing?  Does it pertain to this case?” 

 “No, your Honor, it was to determine how to honor Lance Sergeant Collins and the other 5 Marines for their actions. When the Squawks, my apologies your Honor, Scraasqok were driven back and we could begin to retrieve our dead, The trench these 6 Marines held was filled with dead Spikes. We counted 52 dead either in the trench or near it.”  Captain Henderson replied

 “52 Spikes? Just 6 of them? That’s incredible. I remember facing those things when I was just a pup. Nasty things. “ Chief Councilor exclaimed. “And the other 2?”

 “ We wanted to share another example of a Superior officer, or NCO in this case, doing their duty to their subordinates. Just like Lance Sgt Collins held his ground to let not only his men but 2 other Cohorts escape to base. He put their lives above his own.” the Captain explained 

 “And most of all, We wanted the rest of the Council to understand how Dominion Marines die, in case any of them gets any ideas to test us.” He replied with a wicked grin.

Author's note- I hope you enjoy the story.
I feel a bit iffy about it since the first part was written sometime ago but wasn't sure where to go next so the second part was not originally intended to be part of the story. So not sure how well it actually fits together.

If you feel like it, I started a https://ko-fi.com/tomcarey#

As always, thank you

Hey all, 4th Wall here. The little storm that blew threw upended my, sort of, schedule. So, I'm just decided to write what came to mind first then alternate from there. Hope you guys enjoy the Episode.

First, Previous, Next (Patreon) 

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Benjamin stared at the exhausted looking Farie in shock, “How much time do we have?”. Jukha simply stood, stepped over to the floorboards near the fireplace, and began ripping them up with his bare hands. After several planks yielded to his strength, Jukha pulled out a pair of packs, and handed one to Vilora. “Oh” Ben stated flatly, having been given the answer to his question. He turned to see the sisters already packing up their packs, and Ben began the same.

In moments, the four were ready to go, slipping out the back door and into the forest. Benjamin paused, “Hold on a moment.” He turned to look back at the house, reaching out with one hand before clenching it into a fist. He ripped the heat out of the roaring fire dispelling it into the air before kneeling down and placing both hands on the ground. Vilora gasped quietly at the power Benjamin began wielding a dangerous amount of Majik. He pulled from the depths of the world itself, summoning pure compounds from the ground and from various natural sources. He used the refuse in Jukha’s farmyard to provide him with the last of the required ingredients. It wouldn’t be much, but Benjamin relit the fireplace, forcing the flames to turn a few of the remaining logs into charcoal without burning them.

Extinguishing the flames once more, he combined the components he had acquired, before willing the concoction up into the flue and packing it around the circumference of the inside of the brick chimney. Vilora stepped up to him, touching his shoulder with a trembling hand, “What… what have you done. I felt it, but I don’t understand it.”

Benjamin took a long cleansing, and slightly shakey breath. The exertion left him feeling drained for a moment. He turned to her, expression was grim, but he patted her hand on his forearm, “Giving us some breathing room. They will search the house. I’ve just left them a little surprise.” He stood, looking towards the forest, “how do we get to your sisters.”

Vilora nodded and they followed her into the forest, it was not a long walk. And after about 20 minutes they came to a clearing with a strange tree in the middle. “Please, Ben. Whatever happens next, know that we are not Fay. Promise me.” Benjamin heard the fear in her voice wondering if it was from what he had just done, or something deeper. He nodded once absently, his musket already unslung and in his hands. He had loaded a buck and ball cartridge into it before they left the cabin, knowing that he was only going to get one shot in an ambush. Viola had his original flintlock pistol in her hand, and Valtrya was semi hiding behind her sister with Bens Stiletto dagger clutched tightly in her fingers. “Very well,” the Farie stated, and turned to face the tree. Her wings quickly began glowing a vibrant green, and they fluttered violently as she began to chant something in her native tongue.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

The Hunters arrived, led by the singular Orc from the capital guard. He was the same one that had been spared by Benjamin just over a week earlier. He brought with him a tracker. Ski’murika was one of the arachnid people known as Sil’skira. This one was a flat grey to Mi’ki’s own jet-black carapace, and she skittered lightly into the room. The Sil’Skira had no sense of smell, but their sense of taste bordered on the supernatural. She raised one leg to her mandibles, tasting the ground around them, before dipping it into a bowl and repeating the process, “four of them. An Orc, a Fay, two Aereesin females, and… a strange one. I’ve not sampled this one before, but he carries majik’s sour aftertaste.” The Soldier orc, and the three other Hunters managed to not cringe. The Sil’Skira were known for their wide… pallet… as far as what they considered food. Many a sentient being had been turned to a husk by a hungry Sil, and The Orc did not doubt that this one came by her… flavor recognition… honestly. The other three; a Hellirine named Jazeel, her twin brother named Jeraal, and a Mountain troll who’s name defied pronunciation gave the Sil a wide birth, stepping up to the fireplace. “Well, while we’re here. Lets warm our bones.” Jazeel casually began stacking wood and kindling atop the chared remains of an apparently freshly quenched fire. “How far do you think they could have gone?”

“Not far” the Sil’Skira stated absently, “Their food is but lukewarm. I can still taste the spittle on the strange one’s spoon.” She turned to pad over to the fireplace. The Soldier orc, named Gurrut leaned up against the table, “Should we really be stopping for a fire? If they are so close?” Jeraal only smirked, “It’s a long game boss. They may not have gotten far, but they will be frantic. Look at how they left. Something, or someone warned them. They will be ill prepared. No, better to keep our pace. We will wear them down easily in the mor..”

Jazeel lit a spark into her tinder box while her brother was talking. She placed it into the fireplace and the kindling lit quickly. A single twig flared up, sending an ember into the flu where Benjamin had packed his quickly made gunpowder. It ignited instantly, and the flu provided enough constriction to pressurize the reaction. The fireplace detonated in a weak, but effective improvised bomb. The brickwork shattered into shards of deadly fragmentation, Jareel simply ceased to exist, being turned to a cloud of yellow blood and internal organs trimmed in red skin and white bone fragments. Her brother’s head was caved in by a large brick chunk, sending skull bone spalling deep into his brain, rending it to ribbons. He died before he hit the floor. The Sil’Skira’s abdomen popped like a balloon in the over pressure wave, and she quickly curled into a quivering ball as her blood pressure dropped, no longer fighting against her leg muscles. Their employer, the soldier orc from the capital, lost his arm above the elbow. His armor saved his vital organs however, but one shard threaded the needle, taking his right eye. The Mountain troll was thrown to the far wall, but Her naturally resilient body survived both the shockwave and the fragmentation impacts. She picked herself off the floor, stumbling to the screaming capital guard. She bound his wounds quickly before taking a flaming shard of the sabotaged fire and searing the stump to stop the bleeding. She then left him there. There was no point in anything else. The hunt was over.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Benjamin tried not to stare, but he was failing miserably. Jukha’s Farie wife’s body was glowing bright green now, and he almost had to shade his eyes if he tried to look directly at her. She was not the only one he was struggling not to stare at. Viola’s explanation and subsequent revelation had taken him by surprise. He realized that he had treated them like children, pupils at best. Benjamin had focused on training them to be free, turning a blind eye to the relationship forming between them and himself. *You are not forcing us to do anything but leave* He ran that statement over in his mind. The “leave you” was implicated heavily, and it ate at him. He did not want to force these girls to do anything. Yet, despite his best efforts, he was forcing something on them anyway. He silently both cursed his situation and cursed his own ignorance. He found that, if he was truthful with himself, he did not want them to leave either; and that more personal revelation brought its own paradox. He could not bear to own them as property, but the thought of leaving them tore at him with similar pain.

“It is almost time!” Benjamin looked back from where he was keeping watch, Vilora was panting heavily, her painfully bright glowing wings drooping slightly, “I won’t be able to keep the connection for long!” She called as the tree in front of them began to creak. Two of its great limbs began to move on their own accord, groaning under forces older than space and time. Benjamin’s eyes widened as the two branches slowly formed a sphere, then his head snapped around at the sound of a dull thud emanating from the direction they had come. He smiled grimly. His little IED must have been triggered, and with any luck, taken their pursuers with it.

“Ready yourselves!” Jukha called, and Ben turned back to a view he had not expected in his wildest dreams. ‘you’ve gatta be shitting me’ He thought as a rippling green mirror filled in the center of the circle created by the branches of the tree. Benjamin felt the sisters at his side.  And he nodded to them, “you first. I’ll cover our six.” Vi raised an eyebrow at the odd expression but nodded. Taking her sister’s hand and stepping through the portal. They were closely followed by Jukha, who seemed absurdly calm about the whole thing. Benjamin held his ground, slowly backing toward the portal while he kept his eye on the tree line.

“Benjamin. Hurry, I can’t.. I can’t hold!” Vilora’s frantic tone moved Benjamin into action, He spun on his heels, slipping his musket to his left hand and scooping up Vilora as he passed her at a full sprint. He jumped as the portal sputtered, passing through it and into a familiar tunnel that he remembered from his first meeting with the Celestial, Sol. This one was a minute fraction of the distance, however, a single step in fact. His feet landed on soft moss and an earthy smell alerted him to his change of location. His eyes began to adjust to the much dimmer light as he set Vilora’s exhausted form on the ground gently. His eyes peeled away the darkness after a moment and Benjamin grunted, tucking the butt of the musket under his right arm as he thumbed the hammer and slapped the frizzen in place. He drew his sword/pistol hybrid and settled the sights on a second being, who just so happened to have the misfortune of being ordered to bind the sister’s wrists. The mechanical sounds of his weapons attracted the attention of everyone in attendance, but his voice froze them in place, “unbind them… now” he growled.

His musket, loaded with Buck and ball, was trained on a small group of Farie’s standing in close formation with thin lances rested base to the on the ground. The other Farie was currently holding the rope leash to the sisters. He glanced at the small squad of lancers, “you move, you die.” His tone bore icy promise on its wings, and even Jukha could not bring himself to act. “Benjamin. Peace, please. These are my sisters. They are Vin. Remember your promise” Vilora’s voice cut through the silence first, and Benjamin glanced at her, then back at the scene in front of him. He took a long deep breath, sheathing his sword/revolver, and lowering his Musket. He did not sling it, he returned it so a muzzle up ready position designed to keep his ammunition from falling out of the barrel should he still need it. “Then please explain to them that I have a pathological aversion these women being bound, and that It would be in their best interest to release them...mediately.” Vilora’s eyes widened as she turned to see the state of Vi and Val. She spoke quickly, and the Vin who held the girls looked back at Ben in shock before frantically unbinding both Vi and Val. The girls sprinted to Benjamin, slamming into him with shaking embraces before he gently, but protectively pushed them behind him.

One of the Lancers, a Farie with more ornate armor on than the rest stepped forward and Benjamin turned to face her, not so subtly settling his musket into a position to easily kill her if he needed. The Fairie paused, clearly considering something before Vilora stepped over and laid a hand on her shoulder. She shook her head at the other woman, it was an almost imperceptible thing, but the other farie’s eyes widened as she regarded Benjamin again. “Peace, Beenjaymin.” She said finally, handing off her lance to a subordinate and opening her hands to show them empty. “We do not mean you harm, but we must protect what little we have left. The Matriarch wishes to see you, but we cannot allow you to meet here bearing arms. Please, understand.”

Benjamin hesitated, and Viola leaned around him to look up. He gave her a smiling glance before looking back at the Farie. She nodded in understanding, “I swear to you. Your… girls… will be permitted to stay at your side for the trip. Our sister has explained that they are not mere slaves to you.” Benjamin eyed her skeptically, and if this realms concept of honesty were not already explained to him, he would have not believed her. He slowly reached for the hammer on his musket, lowering it gently to half-cock before handing it slowly to the Farie who originally bound the sisters, “Do not touch anything on it. This is not a weapon you have any concept of, and it can kill 4 people at once.” He held her gaze until she nodded, “lean it against something. This side up, and DON’T touch it.” He then unhooked the scabbard from his belt, handing the revolver sword and its sheath to her as one unit, “Same goes for this. I’ll know if you touch it. It is very loud.” He did the same with Vi’s flintlock pistol, surprised that it didn’t go off when it was dropped on the ground during their capture. The stiletto dagger was the last, a familiar weapon to this realm that needed no explanation.

“Very well.” Benjamin said finally, “I believe that is everything.” The head lancer nodded, waving an arm elegantly toward the biggest live oak that Benjamin had ever seen. Benjamin thought it might be a live oak, at least. It stood twice the height of a California Red Wood but had the proportions of a Live oak. Massive drooping main branches arched overhead before touching the ground and returning skyward. Some of the largest limbs were the lowest and seem to bounce along the ground. Each grounding seemed to sprout smaller trees, and Benjamin felt his mouth fall open as they drew closer. The texture of the limbs sharpened as they closed, and Benjamin began to make out lit windows, carved into the tree limbs themselves.

Carved into the base of the tree was an ornate entrance with lettering that Benjamin didn’t recognize carved into the arches. Benjamin felt Viola take one of his hands, and Valtrya take the other. He ran his thumbs over the soft tops of their hands, trying to comfort them as much as he could. He felt them press up against him as they entered a throne room of some kind. On the far end, atop a series of steps was a throne, carved into the wall itself. “The Matriarch” Vilora whispered from behind him.

Ben halted several paces behind the lancer squad, bowing as he watched Vilora and Jukha do so out of the corner of his eye. “Rise” came the command from the ornately yet unarmored Farie sitting on the throne, “So tell me,” She asked, looking directly at Benjamin, who was keeping the girls directly behind him, “Are you the reason that my orders to bind the Aereesins were not followed?” Benjamin instantly regretted giving up his weapons. “I am,” he stated meeting her gaze unflinchingly. “Oh? You believe yourself above my command?” Her cold tone registered, and Benjamin slowly closed his fist, finding what he was looking for. A single guard, one not present at their arrival began to march toward him, hand on her sword.

Benjamin speared the guard with an icy glare, while talking to the Farie ruler, “I expected Vin to be more hospitable.” He reached out with one hand and the guard froze as he gripped the metal of her armor with his mind, “Especially with women baring Vin names in solidarity.” He slowly began to close his outstretched fist, and the guard inside the armor began screaming as the metal buckled, compressing against her body. Benjamin finally turned his icy gaze to the monarch, “My girls” He hated to use that card, but it was the only one he had that wasn’t lethal, “Have spent over a century being bound, tortured, raped, and degraded. I killed their former master, a Romoregin no less, for it. I killed his puke son’s champion for it. I’ve killed two capital guards for it. I will kill without mercy to keep bindings from touching their skin. So, my lady what are you willing to do to bind them.” He gave the guards armor another small squeeze, using the shrieking metal to punctuate his resolve.

The queen slowly stepped off her Throne, walking stoically over to her guard as she eyed Benjamin contemplatively. “Stand down, Vailin.” She said to the now trembling guard, but her eyes were on Benjamin. Benjamin slowly released his grip on her armor and she fell to the floor, weeping. “You two, get her to a healer.” The monarch ordered before taking to her wings and hovering up to face Benjamin at eye level. “You care so much for your slaves, yet you do not free them. Why is that.”

“Benjamin doesn’t want to keep us slaves!” Viola blurted out before she caught herself meekly adding “Your majesty” as the Monarch leveled a surprised but firm expression at her. “Oh? And yet you are still his, dear.” she said, turning back to Benjamin. Benjamin took a deep breath, “The principality would have resold them anyway. My only choice was to own them, teach them, then smuggle them to a free nation, or murder them by returning them to the system. Had we made it to Maridia, they would be emancipated already.” He met the Monarchs gaze levelly, “Their lives are in my hands… but at least their blood isn’t on them.”

“Hmm, compassion and violence of action. No wonder Cosmos touched you.” The Queen mused. Benjamin chuckled at the expression drawing a raised eyebrow from the Vin Monarch, “Something funny, young one?” and Benjamin gave her an amused smile, “It’s just that I’ve heard something like that before, from Sol. I believe the Orcs call her Suelin.”

This time, the Vin Monarch’s face smoothed of all expression as she failed to find any falsehood in Benjamin, “Come with me, please.” She stated it as a question, but her urgency peaked Benjamin's curiosity. The four of them followed the queen up to the throne. She pulled on an armrest and the throne slid into the wall to one side, revealing a simply carved passage into the heart of the tree.

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f you made it this far, I very much appreciate it. I hope you enjoyed the episode! If you believe I have earned it, I have a Patreon that is two episodes ahead of the free releases for this series. I hope you feel taking a look is worth it. Either way, come hang out in the comments. Everyone's welcome! I've discovered Im a bit of a "warts and all" poster, so even critical comments are welcome. Hell, You might even teach me something (it happens more than I'd like to admit).

I have heard people off and on reference Royal road, So I am going to give it another shot. I'll be adding the Royal Road link from now on. If you like reading over there, It is on the same schedule as here. I would greatly appreciate a like/review/comment if you feel so inclined. Thank you again for stopping by.

First, Previous, Next (Patreon) Royal Road

First

Previous

The moons were barely visible through the snow and clouds as Fulmara took her watch for the night. The normal sounds of the woods were faint, muted by the growing white blanket, and even with her low light vision, Fulmara couldn't see more than thirty feet from camp, so heavy were the falling flakes. She looked upward and offered a brief prayer to Fulmos for safety before settling in. Her time was looking to be uneventful, as few creatures would be active in this weather, and fewer people.

She had just rested her hammer across her lap when she felt it, a strange sensation from above, as though something was watching her. Looking up, she saw the larger moon, not through the clouds and snow, but clearly, as though it were hovering just out of reach. The moon then began to change, shifting from it's normally pale complexion to a more ruddy appearance, before glowing brighter and more orange. The sound of metal striking metal reached her ears, and she began to understand.

She could smell the smoke of the forge, familiar enough from her childhood, and a song reached her ears, faint at first, but growing ever louder. She didn't recognize the language, but she knew a dwarven forging song when she heard one. She closed her eyes and listened for a bit, before the scene began to change. The light faded, and she opened her eyes again to see that the moon, once bright and warm, was now cold and dark, and the song that filled her ears was replaced with a cruel laughter, and a whispering that haunted her nightmares.

As quickly as it had begun, the vision ended. The moon faded from vision, returning to its place above the night sky, and the voices grew distant, before stopping entirely. A cold chill took her and the frigid wind reasserted itself. It was then that she noticed the hand on her shoulder, gently shaking her. Jeron stared down at her, concern evident on his face.

“You alright?” he asked, pulling her back toward the tent. She realized she'd wandered away at some point. “You were standing there for a couple minutes, staring at the sky.”

She shook her head, dislodging some of the snow that had built up in her blonde hair. “I think I've just been sent a vision. I'm not really sure what it means, but it's not good.”

“Alright, you go rest, and I'll take my watch. You can explain it in the morning, once we're all awake to hear it.”

Fulmara agreed, and brushed the rest of the snow off before returning to the tent. She pulled the covers over her head and tried to sleep, to forget the whispers. They echoed in her mind, swirling through her thoughts until they were all she could hear. The dwarf clenched her fists, raging against the noise in her head, and she felt her power stir. And then, like a torch that had been snuffed out, the whispers stopped, and she quickly fell asleep, the warmth of her divine magics wrapped around her thoughts like a woolen blanket.

“I think we all know what the whispers represent,” Jeron commented as they ate. “The song you heard though...”

“Right,” Firun added. “You said it was dwarven but not. Can you explain?”

“Not really. It was a dwarven smithing song. It had the cadence and the right feeling, but the language was something else. I don't think I could replicate it if I tried.”

“I have an idea,” Verrick posed. “If this was a vision, then it was sent by Fulmos, right?”

“Most likely,” Jeron agreed. “Though not necessarily true.”

“Then wouldn't the song be in a language that only the gods could sing?”

“That makes sense,” the Bard confirmed. “And it would almost confirm that it was sent by the Forge himself. The darker option is that our whispering enemy has some hold on you, and that he's trying to torment you.”

“How will we know?” she asked.

“We'll have to wait for more visions. Or we can find someone to delve into the memory with you, but that talent is not a common one, and they don't usually use it unless it's necessary. Too easy to get lost in memories, and some of the darker stuff sticks with you, or so I'm told.”

“Still, we need to look into this more,” Firun explained. “Even in my hometown, as terrified of magic as they were, people still respected visions from the gods. They didn't necessarily respect the receiver of the vision, but still...”

The human and dwarf both nodded, and Verrick looked apprehensive as he tried to sort out his thoughts. Finally, he looked back up to the group.

“We have a lot of things that need to be done, and not enough of us able to do them. Something's got to fall by the wayside, and two of those things are more important than the other.”

“Stop right there,” Jeron said, cutting the halfling off mid thought. “Firun's magic isn't going to be solved overnight. We can run tests and train all we want, but ultimately, it's going to take time for him to gain proper control. And Fulmara's vision isn't particularly conclusive either. Not many details in what she saw, so we have nowhere to start that we didn't have already. It's more likely a warning of things to come rather than a call to action.

“What we can work on is teaching you two to read properly, and tracking down your father. I think I know where he went, or where he was headed at least, and if that's not the end of the search, then we can ask around and see if any records have anything.

“Where do you think he went?” Verrick asked.

“He was carrying a large amount of alchemical equipment, right? Only two reasons for that. Either he was setting up a shop somewhere, which he wouldn't have left you behind for, or he was planning on brewing a large amount of something in an environment that was too dangerous for you. I know there was a plague in the area bowlward of Norgham around that time, and he would've had to take this trade road to get there, which lines up with the doctor seeing him back then. He definitely wouldn't have taken his child into an active plague, which explains him leaving you behind. Really, I just need to make sure the years line up with the timeline before we start traveling down that way.”

“So you might actually be able to find him?”

“Temper your expectations,” the Bard cautioned. “That was years ago. For him to not return after all that time...”

“Right, something probably happened. Still, I need to know.”

“We'll find him,” Fulmara said. “And if he's still alive, I'll hold him still so you can punch him.”

Verrick grinned. “I'd appreciate that.”

“So where do we need to go to do your research?” Firun asked, scrubbing the sleep from his face with a handful of snow.

“Back home. The merchants guild keeps records of major events like that, just in case they end up finding a pattern. As the largest trade city in the area, Norgham will have records of any plagues, disasters, and anything else that threatens to disrupt trade.”

“That makes a strange amount of sense,” Fulmara said. She strapped the last of her armor on and tugged, making sure everything was tight. “Why do I feel like merchants shouldn't be in charge of tracking history?”

“Because they'd charge for access,” Verrick commented. “And you can be sure they'd change things to make them look better, or to remove something that threatens their profit.”

“Their entire purpose is to help the merchants avoid situations where they would see a significant loss of profits,” Jeron explained. “They don't censor things because that hides critical information that could help them make more money. The trade off is that unless you have the money and a valid reason for the research, they don't want to deal with you, and they don't collect information on anything that doesn't generally affect them. Fortunately, we do have a valid reason, we've done some good work for them, and a plague is exactly the kind of thing they'd monitor.”

“Is a missing person a valid reason?” Firun countered. “If they were an important figure, I could see that working, but we're looking for an alchemist. No offense.”

“None taken. And you're right. A single missing person doesn't seem like something they'd care about.”

“We're not looking for a person,” Jeron explained. “We're doing research on a historical plague and its cure. There are any number...”

His eyes defocused for a moment, and he tilted his head slightly, as if listening to a far off conversation. The bard then cupped his hand to his mouth before speaking.

“Understood. We're on our way back now. Should be back to the city by nightfall. Need to report to the guard before we return.”

He returned his attention to the group. “Sorry about that. Ryn'Ala just contacted me. She's been doing some research through her own contacts, and may have some information about our smokey friend.”

“Then let's get going,” Fulmara announced. “The longer we wait, the later we get back.”

“I agree,” Firun said. “I don't like not knowing what our enemy is.”

Verrick had already started breaking down the tent, and grunted as he pounded the inside of the canvas to remove the snow from the exterior. In short order, their gear was packed away, the fire extinguished, and the campsite swept for loose tools and anything else that might otherwise be left behind. Within the hour, they were well on their way back home.

“Ghouls you say?” asked Mickel as Jeron gave his report.

“Correct. Two ghouls, a ghast, and a nest in an excavated tunnel system. The ghouls are dead, and the nest was burned.”

“Right, that's certainly a story.” Mickel scratched the stubble growing from his pale scalp. He set the request back on the desk and turned to the door behind him.

“Hey, Jev! Jevin! Got some hazard pay you need to authorize!”

There was a crashing sound from the back room, where the prisoners were kept, and soon the door swung open, revealing Jevin, the guard who had processed their prisoners the last time they'd arrived. He stumbled out, blinking sleep from his eyes.

“Mickel, you bastard, do you have any idea what time it is? I just spent twelve hours clearing that damned rat infestation out of the sewers. Let me sleep!”

He looked up at the group, and his expression changed.

“Oh, it's you lot! Got another load of bounties to claim?”

“Hazard pay, Jev,” Mickel repeated. “That grave robbing job turned out to be a bunch of ghouls.”

“Oof. Fought a ghoul once,” Jevin said, gesturing to a thick scar running down the right side of his face. “Not something I'd choose to do again. Now, not saying I don't believe you, but I need proof for the paperwork. You bring me something?”

Jeron pulled a phial from his belt, rattling it as he handed it over. “Left fang from each. Longer one was the ghast.”

“When did you take those?” Verrick asked.

“Right before I burned their corpses,” Firun said, “while you two were flirting.”

Mickel whistled, and Jevin snorted as he tried to hold back a laugh. Verrick and Fulmara both turned a bright shade of red and stumbled over each other's protests.

“Anyway,” Jev announced, clearing his throat, “These will do. Mickel, the forms?”

The bald man passed a parchment to Jevin, who noted the evidence and signed it, before stamping it with a wax seal. He fished around in the desk for a moment before passing the parchment and a small pouch of coins to Jeron. “Five silver for the job, and I've authorized another thirty silver in hazard pay for the ghouls. Starting to appreciate the twelve hours in the sewers a lot more now. The ghoul I fought was alone, and it took five of us to take down. I was just a recruit then, but still.”

Jeron added the pouch of coins to his bag as he answered. “We're just glad we were able to resolve that without much difficulty. You may want to send out a notice to the villages under your protection, tell them to keep an eye out for a bit. We believe this might not be a random occurrence.”

“You think someone wanted the ghouls there?” Mickel asked, incredulously.

“I found an emblem down by the nest,” Verrick explained. “Firun said it was enchanted at one point, but the magic had gone. Something like that, hidden where nobody would ever go, just steps from the ghoul nest?”

“Bit of a stretch to call that a coincidence,” Jevin agreed. “I'll send a missive out to the villages. What should they be looking for?”

“Unearthed graves,” Firun listed, counting on his fingers as he went, “bodies with humanoid bite marks, strange claw marks, attacks that leave their victims paralyzed, or strange noises in a graveyard after dark. That's what we got from our research.”

“Right, I'll let everyone know. Thanks again for your hard work.”

“Keep paying us like this,” Jeron said as they made their way to the door, “and we'll keep handling problems. Sorry about the sewers though.”

“Yeah, yeah, go on now! Before I have to drag you back down with me tomorrow.”

The party strolled through the city, the buildings now decorated with snow and ice from the previous night's storm. The road was mostly clear, though a layer of slush remained to give their footfalls a wet, squishy feeling. They stopped at a market stall to grab a late dinner of roasted meats and vegetables on skewers before returning to Ryn'Ala's home. The study was brightly lit, and several voices drifted out into the hall as the front door closed behind them. Ryn'Ala called them in, and they found two individuals sitting with her.

“You've all returned,” she said, taking a long draw from her pipe. “I'm truly pleased to see you all safe. I have some good news for you, and some of the unfortunate variety. And then something that fits into both categories, I think.”

She stood, drawing herself up to her full height, towering over the party. “Where should we begin?”

Next

Wiki

Anyone who's ever played D&D has reached a part of the early campaign where you have a bunch of goals to achieve, but no idea where to go first. In the campaign I'm playing now, that moment came when we ended a self sustaining zombie plague and blew a hole in the wall that turned the quarantine zone into magical Australia. The whole world opened up to us, even if we were technically fugitives. It's an intimidating point for everyone, where your action and inaction start to really affect the world around you.

(Pssst, it's a sequel)

It has been several years since the loss of my dearest human friend...no, my dearest friend. Such a period of time once seemed so insignificantly small to me, but now I feel the passage of time more keenly and in the wake of my friend's loss it felt like a timer ticking down towards the end of my existence.

I grew depressed and fell into a vicious cycle of anxiety about whether I had actually done anything significant in my life to make it worth the time I'd so carelessly wasted and emotional paralysis that made it impossible for my to try and do anything meaningful now, triggering the anxiety anew.

And then her family reached out. She had apparently left a recording for me to listen to if I hadn't been able to make it to her side before the end, and even though I had been fortunate enough to be with her in her final moments, they still wanted me to have it.

I couldn't work up the nerve to watch it at first. It sat on my table for weeks and there were whole days where I would just stare at it like it was going to turn on and play itself for me, to make it so I didn't have to do what I couldn't.

Then one day I thought about what she would say if she could see me, about how if she was still here she'd give me a playful smack on the shoulder and ask what I was so afraid of. Was she so scary that I couldn't bring myself to watch something she'd specifically meant for me to see?

Of course the answer was no...but maybe also yes.

I was ashamed. This was the last thing my best friend in the universe had left for me and I couldn't bring myself to play it, it felt like I was dishonoring her memory with my weakness when she was so strong even at the end. And maybe...maybe I was afraid that it meant I'd never been worthy of having such a wonderful person like her in my life.

It took almost a full week of actively working up to it, but finally I sat down and forced myself to watch it. The second I saw her face again I burst into tears and barely controlled the sound of my own sobbing to hear what she was saying. She started by telling me not to blame myself for not being able to make it, that she had accepted it was her time and she was ok, but that the end of her life didn't mean that it was all over.

It was this part that touched me the most, the reason I'm sharing this with all of you all across the stars, and I can't do it justice so I'll let her say it in her own words.

"But this doesn't mean it's all over. Sure I might not be around anymore, but you will, and much longer than I ever was. There are things I did in my life that I never got to see the results of, small actions and acts that even if I lived forever I'd probably never know the results of or that I even helped cause those results in the first place.

"I lived in the moment, but I lived for tomorrow. And not my tomorrow, for the tomorrow of others that I never met, for a tomorrow I knew I would never see. Do you remember that time I dragged you along to plant saplings after the wildfires on Yarrus devastated a big chunk of the planet's forests? That's the kind of life I lived. I planted trees I knew I would never sit under the shade of for people I would never know and that's ok.

"Because I didn't do it for myself or to be remembered for it, I did it because I felt like it was the right thing to do and because long after I'm gone, those trees and the lives they support and hold in their branches will be a part of my legacy, even if no one remembers the names or faces of the people who planted them.

"But I'm lucky. You see I've got this great friend who is going to live a hell of a lot longer than I am and she'll get to see it, she'll be able to look at all of that beauty and know that we had just a little something to do with it. And maybe seeing that will help her deal with the loss of her friend.

"I know we didn't have the same perceptions of time, I never took it personally when it took a couple years before we could actually be in the same room together, and the time and distance never made our friendship any less real. I wish I could have spent more time with you and I wish I had spoken up more about it, but what's done is done and I can't change the past. But maybe I can change your future.

"I know you, I know you're having a rough time about me being gone and how much more time we could have made to be with each other, and I don't want you beating yourself up about it. So instead of regretting the past, I want you to do me a favor and live for a tomorrow even you won't see. And it doesn't have to be big, it could be as simple as making someone's day a little easier because you don't know how far that little bit of kindness can reach.

"Now get out there and live your life, for the both of us. And never forget, I love you to forever and back again."

I hope that sharing this story might be one of the ways I can affect the future in a way I'll never know, that my friend's message is what someone needs to hear just like I did, and that it will be here long after I'm gone.

Humans are the only race I know that seem to pack so much life into their years that it keeps going after they're gone. I don't know another race in the galaxy that can give more time than they actually have in a single life. So help me by doing the same and become a part of her legacy.

Plant your trees and maybe in some small way, we can all live forever. Thank you.

Hey-o, Hype here

Been a long time and a hell of a story to come back with, hope you all enjoy this follow-up to A Short Life, and just like for that story I apologize for any typos as I can't see too clearly at the moment.

Love y'all 3000

Sunshine radiated obnoxiously. Admiral Jinar blinked and looked around at the faces of the monkey aliens, who looked almost exactly like rhesus macaques except they had little monocles and simple jewelry and purses and some of them had a daub of a pastel-colored clay somewhere on their faces. Many Riftin carried the water-tight baskets they were famous for weaving with their bare hands.

"What happened?" Admiral Jinar asked.

"You were air sailing to Brochure when your hover barge went down. Your friends are all alright." A human among the Riftin spoke to Admiral Jinar.

"Yeah, now I remember. These monkeys had a reception for us at the space port and told us we'd have to travel by air to meet their king and queen and their royal court, who waited for us in Brochure. That's the capital of Tarnac, right?" Admiral Jinar sat up, noting she was bruised from the crash, but unharmed.

"You should come to our village, it will be dark soon and there are minor injuries among your party, some rest would be good." The human told her. He wore a dark purple robe, almost black. She recognized him to be a Stargazer. Among some humans, there was a belief that one-day humans would Star Sleep, and until then, it was human duty to facilitate and evangelize the use of Star Sleep.

Admiral Jinar went with them on foot from the wreck of the hover barge as the sun began to set. The terrain of Tarnac was covered in ancient and solid looking vines with young hour blossoms all over them. It was the natural order of contrast of Tarnac, ancient things turned to stone with ephemeral beauty springing up and wilting away into sparkling flakes. The Riftin themselves seemed to be of this duality, with a youngness, an innocence to their people, contrasted only by the fact they were among the oldest and wisest of all creatures.

They could have ascended when the galaxy was very young, and waited until what they called the Time When Riftin Wisdom Is Needed to finally ascend and announce themselves.

They were happy to sit and quietly weave their baskets, until humans had come. They saw this as a sign that a great call was being sent out, and each species must rise to the calling. The Riftin liked humans because they believed only humans and Riftin embraced this call wholeheartedly.

"We thank you for all your baskets." Admiral Jinar looked around, wondering with some clarity how the diminutive and mischievous monkeys could be useful. The preacher was called Nebulous, the name of his spirit, as he said, and he explained all about the Riftin to Admiral Jinar, who listened, wondering what Star Sleep was.

"What is Star Sleep? I hear it a lot. Is it useful to our war effort somehow?" Admiral Jinar asked.

"For the Riftin, Star Sleep tells them what will happen in the future, projected from the present. For the Blue Light Watchers, it allows them to 'sail across the ethers' as they call it, some kind of astral projection." Nebulous explained.

"It sounds like it has no practical combat application. I wonder what I am doing here on Tarnac. I wonder why I crashed and ended up in this rural Riftin village. Is it coincidence? Should I listen to you , Nebulous?" Admiral Jinar sipped the punch the Riftin had offered her, telling her 'humans like it' which probably meant it was fermented. Riftin struck her as a species plagued by alcoholism just like Mankind. Great minds think alike, after all.

"Perhaps not for military uses, not direct ones anyway. If you knew Riftin could predict the arrival of an enemy force, wouldn't that be useful?" Nebulous asked her.

"I suppose that specifically would be useful. Now tell me, is that something they could do?" Admiral Jinar asked him.

"Well no. Not exactly. Riftin can only experience emotional abstractions of the future, like 'something bad will happen soon' kind of thing. But according to legend their most experienced psychics could accurately predict disasters and thereby make them far less disastrous." Nebulous sounded like he believed in it, but didn't know how to convince Admiral Jinar.

"Ever wonder why you or I cannot Star Sleep?" Admiral Jinar asked. Nebulous just shook his head.

Eshka Layenna slithered over and spoke to the humans, what she thought, after listening to them:

"Humans cannot Star Sleep because they are too belligerent to accept being part of the whole galaxy. Others instinctively know that each intelligence, the Likeliness, is part of just one whole. Humans can understand this only on a superficial level. It is what makes them so formidable, they do not see other intelligences as a part of themselves, as a species or as individuals."

"Nebulous gets it. He's nicer than you are. Why can't he Star Sleep, if that is true?" Admiral Jinar asked. Eshka Layenna responded with her own thoughts:

"It is not my personal opinion. I think it is simply because the development of a drug that would enable the human mind to stay steadily in that receptive range of sodium ions is impractical to make, since there is no market for it. Only a few humans want to Star Sleep, and they live as guests of other creature like Riftin, they have no money to make it worthwhile. Star Sleep drugs are all made by Blue Light Watchers, and they put very little effort into inventing such a drug."

"That sounds more like it. And these Riftin, how do they Star Sleep, without drugs?" Admiral Jinar asked Nebulous.

"They meditate. They alone can do this. But I think it can be learned." Nebulous replied.

The humans were talking while the Riftin started partying. For as wise as their monastic ways seemed at first, after nightfall they drank and celebrated raucously. Admiral Jinar loved their fruity beverages and simple rhythmic music. She accepted an offer to dance from Nebulous, and had a lot of fun.

In the morning the Riftin soberly gathered, each having put on the colored daub they liked to wear on their face. They seemed a little sour, they didn't want the visitors to leave.

A replacement hover barge arrived, but this one had strangely dressed Riftin, wearing grotesque masks and with their fur dyed bright colors. The villager Riftin fled at the sight of them, apparently somewhat afraid of them.

"They are called Magi. They keep the ancient pre ascent history of the Riftin, a secret society of psychics and saboteurs." Nebulous introduced them. "They want you to come with them, and meet the very old ones, who will guide you with their wisdom."

The Riftin spoke in rapid syllables, but it was not too different from a human language, and Nebulous understood them and could make himself understood. He offered to come along and translate, but they refused because he could come back to the village and freely tell them their secrets. They said no to him for that reason, not finding it necessary to trust him to be discreet.

The hover barge landed at the cliffside caves, covered in ancient petrified vines with fresh blooms only minutes old. Admiral Jinar went alone, leaving her friends with the Magi. She soon was in a very old cavern carved into the solid rock standing before a small crowd of old looking Riftin wearing a variety of elaborate crowns that seemed to be indicating knowledge in different sciences, although Jinar could not be certain of this.

"Welcome Admiral Jinar, we apologize for the tactics of the Magi, who deliberately caused your hover barge to crash. It is necessary, in order for things to escalate to their true form. But we are sorry for using a tactic that might seem hostile or reckless. We assure you, we have only good intentions." They spoke in a weird kind of stereo unison, but what they said was translated into just the singular voice of Kyle Chandler, evidently resorting to the use of a Frendsikeel translator. How they got it, Admiral Jinar guessed.

"And you've stolen my friend's translator." Admiral Jinar pointed out.

"We're only borrowing it." They promised.

"What is the purpose of this?" Admiral Jinar asked.

"We wish to make a secret bargain with you humans, at this time." The Riftin said.

"For what?" She asked.

"To continue to build your armies, but to follow a separate, secret plan. It is the only way the galaxy will survive. We must do something that the Dark Beings will not be able to defend themselves against. It cannot be done by any alien except the humans. You alone can cause this to happen. We've seen it is the only outcome that anyone in our galaxy survives. There are no words to describe the awfulness that is drawing near." The Riftin confided.

Admiral Jinar heard whispers in her mind, strange sounds, confiding in her the vision of the plan. She somehow knew it on its full scale, but could not put into thoughts exactly what they wanted her to do. She shook her head.

"Get out of my mind." She said.

"We cannot enter the mind of a human with our minds. Nothing can be in the mind of a human except a human. Do you not see, do you not realize what they are, the Dark Beings? Search your feelings, you will understand what will happen to them when this phase of the war happens. Just follow the plan, if it is followed and never spoken, never thought of, never written, they cannot see what we are doing. They will not understand humans. They just won't get it, not until it is too late." The Riftin said.

Admiral Jinar searched her feelings, and something in her changed, she realized the war could be won, but only with terrible costs. She felt something in that future, under their influence, that felt profoundly and personally sad. She began to think of what it was, and swore it would not be so.

"The Riftin, they don't make it, do they?" Admiral Jinar asked.

"This is why it must be a secret. We cannot ask so many to willingly allow this exact course of events to occur, that will result in such a time. We are sorry to go, but it is our choice. The rest of the galaxy must survive." The Riftin said, stubbornly refusing to ask for help.

"That's not how it is going to go down. We aren't going to leave you behind. We'll come for you, that is what we do. I'll get the tarantulas to help us predict the future, then we'll be there for you." Admiral Jinar sounded upset. The thought of another innocent alien species going extinct on her watch was unacceptable.

"You will try, human. We know you will."

Part One

Frontiersman No. 0012: Duke Collins

"Duke, this course of action is not advised. The proprietary weapons and targeting systems have no been tested in live combat scenarios." Aerie chimed in rather swiftly.

"But the asteroids we tested on were atomized, Aerie. Whoever this is clearly needs some help, and this could be actual first contact!" I retorted, still rocketing towards the fleeing vessel. "I sure hope I'm helping the good guys", I thought to myself.

As we approached the vessel, laser shots rang off my stern, but luckily the reactive shielding took the hit. Aerie spoke up again, "Reactive Shielding reduced to 99.5 Percent."

Point five of a percent from their shots? Are they firing wet sponges? The reactive shielding was new tech, examined and supposedly improved by Aerie, but a shot from one of my own weapons should still vaporize my ship, or at most it may take two or three. I thought lasers were some high tech science fiction?

Nearing the enemy ship, I could see the light shimmer of the nearby star reflecting off of the pulsing light from... "Active Shielding?" I thought aloud. I watched as another shot hit the engines of the escaping vessel, and all power went out. The ship began to tumble through the murky black of space like a sleek white coffin. Surely life support was out, and if there's smoke in the cabin, then that means we only have minutes, if they aren't dead already.

"Aerie, I want to try the darts. Load them up and bring up the crosshair." Immediately, and without word, a crosshair was displayed in my vision. As I focused on the enemy ship, the crosshair began to rotate and lock on. The crosshair flashed, indicating that the automated turret on the underside of my ship had locked onto the enemy. I moved to squeeze the trigger, and before I could do so, the weapon fired, seemingly on it's own.

"What th-"

Aerie cut me off. "Experimental. I have linked the ship's HUD with your implants, and you are controlling the weapon remotely. The crosshair is in your vision, not on the ship's HUD. Focus, and it will do, now keep firing, captain."

With my adrenaline pumping, I had no time to even acknowledge the use of the word captain. My first shot lit up the enemy's shield, firing a magnetically propelled tungsten dart with a chromium jacket for increased magnetism. The darts are small, around 12 inches in length, and move at a not-insignificant percentage of the speed of light, somewhere around 1.5 percent. This results in a clean 40 kiloton explosion, if the projectile has something to "explode". I watched as the projectile made contact with the enemy's shield, but unfortunately it seemed to ricochet. The impact brought the shield down with it, but in the vacuum of space, there is no atmosphere to ignite, nor pressure wave to destroy all in it's vicinity. The round was reduced to molecules on impact, glancing off of the shield and into the void of space. I focused on the ship, and willed the gun to fire another shot. This one was just as accurate, but this time there were no shields to interrupt it's path. The ship was there one second, and the next, there was a ball of fire, with the instant ignition of every molecule of atmosphere inside. Debris would be a concern, but the energy transfer rended the ship into pieces no larger than a single dice.

Satisfied with the outcome, I was reminded of my pursuer as Aerie chimed in over the intercoms, "Wake up, Captain. Reactive Shielding at 97 percent." Oh yea, that's right. I decided to put the inertia dampeners to the test. Without altering course, I wheeled the flight stick hard to the right, kicking in the gyroscopic combat and emergency steering. With a heave and the lurching of multiple gyroscopes stopping and starting, the ship instantly wheeled around at murderous speeds. Even with the dampeners, had I not been wearing my harness, I would have been 3 inches into the wall on my right. With a 180 degree turn, I was moving backwards, now facing my target. 2 more shots from the magnetic dart thrower and the target was drifting toward me, now scrap.

For a moment, we sat there, drifting backwards in space. Breakneck speeds don't feel so fast when the vacuum of space is calm. The slight pressure of Aerie activating the Pilot Assist to automatically slow the ship is what brought me back to reality. "Where is the disabled ship, Aerie?"

"They've activated a distress beacon, bringing it up on your HUD now." She replied quickly. A second later and I was seeing a blue light in 3d space. It was to my left, and on the Ship's HUD, it would have shown up as an arrow pointing off screen, but now i was seeing it through the wall, through my own eyes. This was helpful, but I would certainly have to get used to it. Placing my hands back on the controls, I oriented the ship and moved toward our target. They were dead in space, and drifting, rolling slightly forward like a throwing knife in slow motion. With a designation on the target, I used the asteroid harvesting drones to attach to the ship's hull and slow it's spin, and as I waited in space, it began to drift towards me as the drones did their job. Attempting to hail them, I found that their ship appeared to be completely out of power.

This was bad. I had just remembered that, of all the gadgets my ship had, it didn't have a docking umbilical. I was supposed to be out here alone, after all. "Anything we can do about this, Aerie?" I asked. I donned my PowerSuit and headed for the airlock.

"Unsure, Cap- Duke. There appears to be smoke in the cabin, but I'm reading two life signs. I'll be on coms, let me know if I am needed." Aerie said. She always had her reservations, but she never stopped me from doing stupid things, and rarely protested more than once. She was an incredible AI, and even if I were back in United Terran Systems space, I don't think there's anyone I would want more as a friend.

I left my ship with 2 emergency EVA Slimsuit quickfits. I have no idea what these things will look like, but if they fit inside the suits, then the suit should be able to form to their bodies with the press of a button, or at least seal itself so I can get them to safety.

As I approached the vessel to peer through the front viewport, I instead saw smoke emerging from the top of the ship as a hatch opened, venting whatever atmosphere existed into space. My PowerSuit may have been one of the many experimental techs in my arsenal, but it wasn't pretty. It was boxy and big, filled with tech to keep me safe while working in the unknown. Fitted with experimental exploration safety tech, eva thrusters, boosters for maneuvering in light gravitational pull, and the Crème de la Crème, a brand new personal reactive shield generator for protection from stray debris, this suit had little room for beauty. Originally black, it was now a dark gray with a rounded, blocky helmet that had a tinted gold UV resistant visor, and pocked with impact marks from my time learning how to use the suit properly. In contract, what I saw emerging from the venting airlock was... sleek, to sum it up. The suits were a dark blue, with a black metal skeleton that traced the suit, and a carrier rig on the front that likely held a small amount of oxygen and likely some emergency devices. The helmets were sleek and round, with visors black as night that went from below the chin to the center of the top of the head. If this were a human, it would allow us to use the entirety of our field of vision. And this was the strange thing, as they emerged, they had a head, likely bifocal vision, slender shoulders leading into two arms, average looking torsos......and guns.

Pointed at me.

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They abandoned him. I knew my tribemate's rage at it, I shared it, but I am shaman. It is my duty to stay as we fight for the spirit of Keith, to heal the wounds that were left to fester. It is my duty as his wife. So much pain, and I do not understand why they stepped away. For the Ghol, competitors would have fought one another to take Keith in, to add him to their legend and legacy, but these humans care more about the shell left over after the spirit departs.

It spoke well of my husband that he kept moving, but I could already feel the strain. His first wife, Kendra, began the process of healing his spirit, and I watched the absolute fulfillment the moment he held his daughter Heather, named for his own mother, and for the first time since his father's funeral, I saw tears in his eyes, his happiness greater than he could contain. Even as he gave up sleep to tend to her, he was happy for it, holding her, singing songs to comfort her. His world was complete, his purpose found in being a father, and I knew that purpose would be destroyed by an accident.

I watched as he brought them back to the home he'd grown up in, preparing to leave military service to be where he belonged. His last campaign, however, would go so incredibly wrong. The scene shifted to a place of unending sand, the sun scorched the land as Keith rode with his small group of soldiers, on the hunt for evil men. Those evil men would injure a child to play on the sympathies of Keith and his warband, and it succeeded. Despite the threat and the orders of their chiefs, the warband diverted to rescue the boy, and suddenly, the scene was rocked by explosions and gunfire. The war-wagon lurched, going onto its side. Keith was on the ground side, pushing himself up quickly, and grabbing a weapon, climbed up through the door, some invisible force striking against the protected wagon. Though he scanned around, his movements were to a single purpose: Get to the child.

His warband did not stay still, either. They ejected the glass at the front to give them another exit, and came out fighting, drawing the fire of the enemies. This was war I was completely unfamiliar with. For the Ghol, our forces met one another on the field in pitched battle. Certainly we had bows and other weapons for range, but the thick of the battle. Two died as they attempted to exit, but the ones who followed achieved vengeance for their fallen, and then Keith was ripped from the ground as the enemy weapon found a weakness in his armor. Taken off of his feet but a moment, he propelled to the ground as more gunfire erupted around him. The noise of it was beyond anything I'd heard, and I could feel the minds of the tribe reeling at the level of violence that was in his memory.

But Keith would not be stopped. He rolled, found his feet, and propelled himself forward for the boy, even as the pain in his chest raged. His eyes, though, told the story. He would not let the boy die, whatever the cost. He fired back at the enemy, forcing them back. He could barely raise his one arm, and with the pain, his shots were missing their mark, but the enemy fell back, unwilling to risk themselves. He closed to grab the child, abandoning his weapon to grab him and move him back to the wagon, using it and himself to shield the child and unslung his bag despite the pain he was in. He stopped the immediate bleeding as he listened to it all around him, forcing himself to concentrate, then moved on to others of the warband doing whatever little he could. Most would not survive, and Keith had to make that call again and again, focusing on the ones he could save while having to turn away from those too far gone. There was nothing for it, he could save those that could re-enter the fight, or waste his time on the dead and Keith chose the living.

One final man from amongst the enemy attempted to end Keith's life, approaching from behind with a knife. Keith heard the boy cry out, and turned in time to fight for his life, grabbing the man, and wrestling with him. He forced his injured side arm to move, weak or not, it was better than nothing. The position he ended up in was the reverse of the hold that Val had used in her fight with Trayg, and when he locked the hold in, I felt and heard the bones of the man break, Keith using the strength of his legs to aid. He rolled the body off of him, and got back to his work. All but three of the warband, Keith included, remained, and the boy, and all were injured. Keith called over a device while another member of the band treated his own wounds. The weapon had blown a hole through him completely and out his back. Keith didn't cry out as they sewed his wounds, still speaking, "We can't stay here. Soon as we can, we need to get on the move!"

They carried the boy in turns, forcing themselves to jog over the sand until their own army found them. The boy would be returned to his family, but Keith and the others would be taken to a military hospital for their wounds. They would receive medals for their work, but for all but Keith, their injuries were too much to remain in the fight, and they would be sent home. Keith pushed himself to heal, to be able to get back, when the base chief came in, "Sergeant Moorehouse, we need to talk."

Keith sighed, "I'm not getting there fast enough am I, sir?"

The older soldier shook his head, "No, you're healing great, soldier, but you need to come with me."

He brought Keith to another room where Keith sat in his wheelchair as the chief continued, "It is duty to tell you that this morning, your wife and daughter were killed."

Keith screamed, a cry that ripped through all of us, trying to will it to be untrue, and the connection wavered. It was too much, and the final rent in his spirit formed. We watched as he fought back against and failed. He threw himself into the work of healing his body, but even with the shamans seeing to him, his spirit had been ripped apart and eventually, he would be returned home as well. He returned to his Pop-Pop's house, the home he had brought Kendra and Heather to live in and saw to their funerals, the final goodbyes to his entire life. His dreams ripped the wounds open every morning, returning him to lose them again. The people around him said kind words, but none stepped in, and even the shamans he saw did little more than talk to him about it and give him things to drug it away.

Finally, a night came, the day that marked the birth of his daughter and the damage to his spirit was past the breaking point. He walked into his daughter's room holding his father's weapon, the same his father had used those years ago, and sat staring at an empty crib, staring at the weapon as Keith's song broke through:

If you could see all my abuse
And spend a day inside my shoes
You'd realize why I just wanna lose
You'd realize why I just wanna lose
Will anyone believe the hell of being me
Before I decide to be the dying proof?

He sat, staring at the weapon, attempting to will himself to use it, to end the misery that had been his entire life, and I felt Val move, stepping into the scene. This was the true source, the point of the final break, and I stepped forward as well. This was our duty, our pledge. I felt the other minds depart to another memory as we took our place with the Keith who had come so close to ending his life. It did not change the memory, but we could be there in his mind, knowing it all and begin the task of rebuilding the shattered spirit.

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R6 moved quickly along the side of the 8 tonne grain container, his hands running along its lid to snap open locks. Sam mirrored him on the other side and once he had caught up, they lifted the lid as one. The contents burst up out of the darkness, gulping down air and squinting against the lights above.

R6 reached down toward a manicled wrist, taking their hand and guiding it up to the edge of the container while their vision returned. “Please proceed-” 

“Go go go go!” shouted Sam while pointing down the hall.

Bruised and teary eyed aliens scrambled to their feet, chains and collars jangling as they started to move en masse. R6’s eyes flicked over each, noting the pastel tan shades of skin and vibrant red hair, adding each to the crew manifest of the ‘Grain Silo’ ship that they jogged towards.

“CLEAR!” shouted Sam.

R6 felt a hand brush by his arm and whisper quiet thanks before vanishing through the airlock, out of the ‘Main Tent’ ship to join the other former slaves. R6 grabbed the side of the now empty container and slid it along the floor, weaving between the other unboxing teams and pausing as another group sprinted by.

A crewman ran sweat back from his face as he braced against the side of a stack of the grain containers, drilling holes through the steel to let the heat out and air in.

“Double time, go go go! More are coming in!”

R6 headed back to his station, mirroring Sam as a cargo flat moved in quick yet smooth calculated movements. The container eased down into the taped off square.

A buzz sounded through the radio’s clipped on each loader. R6 ran along the frequencies until he locked onto encrypted band 4. “Top priority, anyone about 6 foot 6 needs to come to challenger-prep 3 in the Main Tent immediately.”

R6 recognised the voice as Captain Reginald, leader of the Renisance Flotilla. He quickly looked over the container then to the pile yet to be opened with more on the way, but it was a top priority from the highest authority and could not be ignored.

R6 dropped into a sprint, racing across stations, over a container and hauling himself up through one of the transit openings, up through the structure of the Main Tent.

The ship was chaotic, more so than even the busier of the opening days he had experienced and he had to hug the walls. Villagers in linnen cloth ran beside crewmen and pilots. Kitchens in the attached Mess-Tent ship burned hot with shouts competing over each other. Grilled pork made its way from chef to hands to villagers who raced up stairs through the service entrances into the Main Tent’s stadium. 

R6 followed the roar, it rose and fell like a rhythmic ship core. He slid down a ladder through an airlock and into an escape pod renovated into Challenger-Prep 3. Rifles and knives flinched his way but quickly relaxed.

R6 snapped to attention to await orders but his actual attention was elsewhere, glancing over the foe wood panelling that covered control panels, dust and hay that covered the floor, fake braziers that illuminated the space turning it from a space worthy lifeboat into a mediaeval locker room. It needed a good vacuum.

The Black Knight Rhoke lay back on a mound of straw, his squires pressing quick-stitch bandages to a bloodied cut running down his face. One of his eyes was swollen shut and he had to lift himself to bring his other around to glance at R6. His attention quickly fell away and rose up to Captain Reginald. “I was scared. I can finish this.”

Captain Reginald stood with a cane pressed to his chest and scars running down his face that turned his eyes into milky deformed orbs without focus. He shook his head, a pained look flicked across his features. “What is it, Loader?”

R6’s posture snapped straight again. “You requested anyone who was 6 foot 6 sir.”

“That’s not what I meant. Loader, find someone the same build as John and bring them here.”

R6 glanced over the armour, understanding the unspoken physical requirements and ran them through the crew manifest. “John, aka Rhoke and I are already present sir, the new crewmembers are also too short, averaging 5 feet.”

Captain Reginald winced and raised a hand but R6 was unsure why.

A sweaty messenger on foot slid down the ladder and dubbed over, panting between words. “They’re losing interest, we’re getting more encrypted chatter on the station bands.”

The Black Knight started forcing himself up, shrugging out of the hands that peeled away dented platemail and pink stained padding. “I can do this.”

“How many so far Loader?”

“412 slaves had been smuggled from the station when I left sir.”

Captain Reginald eased down and put a hand on the Black Knights chest. “You were a performer but this is no longer a costume. What you have done is knightly and enough. Put the armour on the loader.”

A squire’s eyes snapped up to Captain Reginald’s “The chief will see-”

“Do it anyway,” said Captain Reginald.

John let out a little relief and fell back to the hay.

R6 held mostly still, his hands pulled with the chaotic flurry about him, his body tugged this way and that as sweat stained padding and freshly welded steel platemail was layered around his body, secured tightly with leather straps. Captain Reginald raised the prop sword and with a slight smile felt the sharpness. “Take this.”

R6 accepted the blade. “Where am I to deliver it to?”

“While you hold this, you are a knight.”

R6 stared at the sword, his eyes flicking over it, up to the handle then back to the blind eyed captain. “I am a Loader.”

“I, Captain Reginald of the Renaissance Flotilla, issue command override whisky foxtrot. While Loader…” the world turned to dim thunder, the only sound were the carefully spoken words of the highest authority as he ran a thumb along the stencilled industry tag on R6’s shoulder. “... While R6 wields this sword, he is ‘The Black Knight Rhoke’ until further orders are given. Confirm.”

Black: Characterised by tragic or disastrous events; causing despair or pessimism.

Knight: A man raised by a sovereign to honourable military rank.

“Confirm…” said The Black Knight Rhoke but the word choice felt odd to him, it wasn’t at all the sort of thing he would say. “That is, I accept my duty, Lord.”

He stood firm against the thrashings of his squires while keeping his hand firmly around the hilt of his sword. He could have eased it down for a moment to adjust his right gauntlet but he felt a reluctance to do so. He felt the sword had a firmer grip on him than he it, and besides, the Good Lord, the highest authority intended him-… but that was not true.

Rhoke’s eyes rose from the blade to his sovereign. Lord Reginald was just a man, born with sin like all others, a man of god yes, but…

God: the creator and ruler of the universe and source of all moral authority; the supreme being. The highest authority.

Rhoke stepped through the strange double doored room out of Challenger-Prep 3, hearing the roar of the crowd rise to meet him. His world was narrowed down to a slit of light through the helmet and he had to duck beneath the door frame before stepping out into the summer sun of midday. Wooden stands bowed, filled well beyond capacity with strange pigmen, oddly dressed in security uniforms, spilling out into stairways and huddled against creaking railings. Villagers raced through stuffing them with a steady stream of crackled pork.

A metal monster stood opposite, shaped like the pigmen but towering twice as tall at 8 feet, mechanical muscles pumping black oil ran through his armour. A spear, long as a barge with a swordlike tip sat gripped in its three fingered fist.

It was the strangest sight Rhoke had seen but it was not enough to pull him from his goal. He knelt down, running his fingers across the arena floor, imagining he could see through it below to the metal catacombs where good souls were ferried out of the pigmen fortress.

They were his enemy, even if they did not yet know it.

Rhoke cast a silent prayer that he could hold their attention long enough and raised his hand from the dust, tapping his fingers to his temple and crossing his heart.

“Ay ay ‘old on! You’re not a Human!” shouted the boar-beast through speakers on his suit. He leaned the spear against his shoulder while his hands reached out, tapping away at nothing infront of himself. “There is a robot under that armour. The human’s are cheating!”

The invading army jeered and booed at hearing their generals words.

“This is my greatest warrior!” shouted Lord Reginald’s voice from behind Rhoke but it barely reached Rhoke against the jeering storm.

“You are no…” started Rhoke, his words vanishing into the noise of the crowd. He took in a breath and bellowed out, his voice carrying much further than it should have. His armour vibrated with the deafening sound. “You are no knight! I would sooner fight a peasant than livestock.”

The spear was up and rushing toward Rhoke, reaching far too close for his liking before he swiped it away at the cost of a gash down his arm. The dust burst into the air in plumes with their quickly moving feet. There were no boos to be heard, just the suddenly rising roar of the crowd and shriek of metal. The hog-chief was nothing like what Rhoke had fought before. The closest tactics he could use were anti-cavalry given the bulk behind the creatures movements. The spear sheared across Rhoke’s helmet sending a spark in through the visor and lighting up Rhoke’s sinuses with ozone. 

Rhoke caught the haft and brought his sword down, splintering wood… black fiberous strands of the shaft and sending the decapitated point sailing back toward the beast. To the monster’s credit he didn’t go down. His beast's helmet turned one way then then another, the spear lodged in the side of his visor. His hands came up, removing the helmet to reveal a disproportionately small scarred head on the juggernauts shoulders. 

Yellow poles raced in to separate them. “Round 4, a point to Rhoke.” shouted a referee with all his might.

Rhoke took a step back, giving the chief’s squires time to tend to his armour. He glanced to the side to see Lord Reginald and a few townsmen glancing around their arena, nodding to themselves and speaking into boxes on their out of place clothing. Lord Reginald’s lips moved and while Rhoke shouldn’t have been able to, he could clearly hear the voice as though he was speaking in Rhoke’s ear. “Push him, we don’t want them losing focus.”

Rhoke summoned the strange booming voice and roared out in their beastly language. “Do you need more time to tend to your linens? There is no shame in waddling back to your trough.”

The Chiefs face twisted and his armoured fists knocked his squires back. His face turned to madd glee as he stepped forward, punching at the air before raising his fists. “Who is the strongest?”

“Security Chief Grotch!” answered the crowd in a single voice.

The Boar could only see Rhoke, not the good souls pouring out of his fortress beneath his feet.

Rhoke wished he could have given the beast time to fight at his fullness. Despite himself, Rhoke had pride but what was the value of pride against a soul? Pride was a sin and a soul was…

Invalid… error  #4D7C6F float infinity, 

Rhoke glanced to his Lord for an answer when he saw The Black Knight Rhoke standing beside him, his reflection made flesh.

Rhoke stared down at his arm to see through a wound in his armour. There was no blood, no flesh beneath the padding. His eyes fell down to the sword that seemed to possess him so very tightly. 

“What am I?” said Rhoke. His voice falling from his lips, then from his mind, the question bleeding out of him though hidden voices he didn’t know he had. He glanced up to see Lord Reginald’s brow furrow and his hand to start reaching toward the box- radio on his chest. 

The world seemed far too slow, frozen in that moment as the question ran through his mind. He knew… He had orders from the highest authority and no time for clarification. He needed to distract the chief now, infinite value was on the line, there was nothing else to consider. 

Rhoke dropped, his feet pressing to the dust as he pushed himself well beyond the industry recommended use, using the god given strength earned through good deeds. The world returned to its normal speed as he raced across the arena, sword coming about as he leapt. 

They tore at each other, he ripped through dust and wind, cleaved his sword through black veins of oil and thudded his pommel into dented armour, in a bloody endless brawl.

“We’re done, send him on his way.” said Lord Reginald on radio band 4.

Rhoke danced back from a strike but kept his dodge too short, sapping the momentum from the blow across his bestplate to propel himself around, sweeping his sword to its fullness and down toward the beasts head. Grotch had a hand up and when steel met steel, there was a shatter of sparks and a half sword continuing down toward the hog-lords neck.

Half a sword.

R6 stood with the broken blade paused at the neck of one of their renaissance fair guests. He quickly pulled it away to avoid the hazard. He was not to harm the guests.

R6 clattered back, pinned to the dust, arms raised and punches rained down, burying him down through dirt into the bulkhead. His arm was heaved up and twisted from its socket, armour and padding exploded from the seam. He tried to rise but his ability to move with a missing limb was diminished.

“How much for the trophy?” shouted Grotch while holding R6’s armour clad limb above his head.

“Consider it a parting gift.” said Lord Reginald, then in almost a whisper to the side. “Get an engineer, now!”

“You’re leaving? Don’t tell me you’re sour about-...” started Grotch when his eyes flicked up to a pigman jumping over the arena wall at a sprint. His eyes narrowed, flicking across the pigman’s features. He only had to hear the words. “They’re missing.”

“Lock down the station! All ships, anchor locked, crews to be held for interrogation.”

R6’s radio cut out for a moment, all bands going silent as Reginalds voice spoke over the Renaissance Flotilla’s emergency channel. “Balderdash.”

The ship ‘Main-Tent’ whined as airlocks thudded down over each of the separate stalls. The room hummed with rapidly quieting thunder as each ship in the Flotilla separated from the Main Tent and burned away at the redline, but not the Main-Tent. R6 glanced around at the captain, the actors, the waitstaff who had been sealed on the wrong side, they were trapped here, anchored to the station.

Grotch heard the sound, saw the airlocks, an almost smile forming on his lips as his attention fell down onto Captain Reginald. “Arrest them, search the ship.”

The audience washed down into the arena turning the ship into a screaming mess. A thousand security personnel clamoured to be the one to find a hidden crewman, to drag them down the stairs into the arena before their security chief.

R6’s helmet was given to the Chief and his body was pulled along the dust and tossed toward the line of crewmen who knelt on the arena floor, hands behind their heads. A few nods were exchanged between the hogs and the room fell silent to hear their Chief’s words.

“Where is your meet up point? Where are they going?”

Captain Reginald was silent, his blind eyes holding firm.

“Are your knees vital?”

R6 flinched at the sound. He watched Captain Reginald drop to his side, his hand clawing at a wound. He screamed a note but pulled it back in, slowing down his breathing and clearing his voice to speak. “How many R6?”

“412 souls at last count sir,” said R6.

Soul: the spiritual or immaterial part of a life, regarded as immortal.

“Don’t say anything.” said Captain Reginald before screaming and gripping a new wound on his other knee. R6 would have told them to avoid further damage to his crew but his captain had ordered his silence.

R6 was without orders but he needed to act. He had a question for the highest authority and he needed to make it heard. He spoke, the voice buzzing out not from his speaker but in a broadwave blanketing all the radio bands. “What am I to do Lord?”

There was no answer but when he opened his eyes he knew what the highest authority wanted of him.

His question echoed out of each of the radios and stole the attention of Grotch. The chief took the pistol away from John, the Black Knight Rhoke’s knee, R6’s former reflection.

The chief eyed R6 for a moment, a smile crossing his lips.

“Don’t speak-” started Captain Reginald, his voice cutting off when his head was punched to the dirt.

“Little Knight, what do I want?” said Grotch. He stepped toward R6 and crouched down. “I had a good time at your party and I want to see it again. What station are you performing at next?”

Sacrifice: an act of giving up something valued for the sake of something else regarded as more important or worthy.

R6 glanced at his reflection, his eyes meeting John’s then glancing back at the former escape shuttle renovated into Challenger-Prep 3. He eased himself up on his remaining arm to his knees.

“Do you wish to know the location of the Flotilla?” said R6.

Grotch leaned lower. R6’s hand shot up, grabbing the collar of his chestplate and with all his might, he heaved his body up into the Chief’s stomach, wrenching 2 tonnes of metal off the floor and catapulting him over onto his back. He summoned his god given voice and roared out to the room.

“Fall upon me you heathens!”

R6 couldn’t process, there was no time for it as they descended upon him. He swung his fist and wrenched himself through the sea of security personnel. Armour was torn from his body and he was whisked along to rise and lose his footing. His body was wrapped in a thousand hands that spent as much time fighting each other for the chance.

In a brief moment he saw John lifting his captain from the dust, the sight cut away as the crowd rose up and buried him down toward the floor.

R6 sank into the heat and sweat. He couldn’t move. “Give me strength.”

R6 grabbed a three fingered hand, twisting it back on itself, he gouged an eye sending one squealing away. Bit by bit he regained control, smashing a fist, stomping on a face, fingers between his armour plates where sheared away. He became a wrathful blender at the eye of the storm, breaking apart the crowd and hurling himself toward the airlock to see it slam closed and blast away another 28 souls to safety.

Smeared in filth, leaking hydraulic fluid and coolant, he turned, his eye rising to see Grotch wade toward him, backing him up against the door.

“Best man I’ve fought, and a good trophy.” said Grotch.

R6 pressed flat to the door, his remaining arm gripping the frame

“I’m not a man, and I am not a knight. I am a robot.” said R6 and he threw the airlock control, catapulting himself out of the Main-Tent on a blast of wind and shredded pork.

R6 reached up as he passed through the black, eyes closed in those moments of silence.

Miracle: an extraordinary and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is therefore attributed to a divine agency.

R6 felt something crash into his palm. He gripped the escape shuttle tight, locking his grip and whispered silent thanks into the void.

Sionia

Chapter 13

Map First Previous

It was an overcast day with a bit of fog as I exited the carriage for my morning constitutional. At the gate to our enclosure, the owner of the inn wanted to provide the morning meal. I agreed to bacon, eggs, toasted sliced bread, cheese and apple cider. The inn owner was over joyed given the fact that my party was an imposing fifty two counting the apprentice doctors.

I ate with Freya who was still looking after Charlie and making sure he ate enough. It did not escape my notice the look Freya gave me with the “I want a child” expression and attitude. I set that aside as it was obvious that Freya's and my relationship would accelerate soon but I wanted to pursue her without the trials and issues of hard travel with a large group.

Upon seeing Robert, I sought him out as he was talking with Hazel. I stopped short when I noticed their copper rings and general appearance. I then motioned to Robert as I stepped forward.

“I will send Gus and Lorna to get clothes for you two and Charlie. You also need to remove your rings and put them on a cord to hang around your neck so you can access it quickly but hide it too. Stay hidden in the carts until you change into your new clothing. If you are being sought, those searching will eventually take notice our group if not actually closely inspect our party for rings as well as any child of similar age. Just be cautious and go out of your way to stay hidden for about eight to ten days. Then you can relax. Just act like you belong to my house! Be a servant that does not have much to do. However, do pitch in here and there as travel is a strain on everyone.” I stated my wise counsel and order.

“We will do as you say Lord Wyatt. Where will Charlie stay and wear?” Asked Robert with concern.

“His new clothing be non nondescript of a commoner and he will become just another one of my wards. He will wear his ring on a cord around his neck as well. Since he is my ward, he will travel with them and be under the same restrictions and protection all my wards have. Your duty right now is to support me as guardian for the young lad as I am in charge. Make no mistake on this matter! Challenge it and suffer greatly.” I stated with authority how things would be followed by a strong warning.

“We understand.” Robert answered with a salute and bow which Hazel also copied.

I sought out Gus and gave him five koper to go get commoner clothing that was a dark color and a second that was lite tannish brown. I made sure Gus understood the clothing would be bought from a shop that is not frequented by nobility for our newest trio and also to find slippers that would closely fit but not custom made. Lastly, Gus was to get basic grooming supplies for Charlie. With that finished, Gus and Lorna went to judge the clothing and shoe sizes they were to get.

Finally, I caught up with Freya again where we shared a quick hug and kiss that I hoped no one saw or at least only one or two persons. I asked Freya to continue looking after Charlie as he is the newest of my wards. I asked her to keep Charlie out of sight as I did not want any spy to get an easy look at him and to get a cord for Charlie's ring and hang it around his neck out of sight. Back at my carriage, I took out several copper rings from the strongbox which I took to Luke my blacksmith to have him fit all my people with rings denoting their service to my house as it needed to be done. I thought this would have the added benefit to further hide the trio from assassins.

With things set into motion, I asked Razor and Meowth to accompany me to the adventurer's guild office leaving the wolf kin brothers to look after the girls and Charlie.

Walking about a quarter mile from the inn, Razor stopped and put his big paw on my chest and pushed me behind him a bit. Meowth growled with a hiss which Razor also gave a very low grumbling growl.

“What is it?” I asked as I put my hand on my sword hilt.

“Meow Lord Wyatt. That tom in the black cloak a bad human fur sure. He kills for coin and does highway robbery.” Meowth stated with another growl and a Q sounding hiss.

“I have fought him before when I guarded a merchant through lands of Mag Mell. It was a hard fight against his mercenary friends. We won eventually but many of ours were wounded and killed. I want to rip his belly apart!” Growled Razor with his desire for revenge.

“He is a walking cat-tastrophy! I want to claw his eyes out!” Meowth growled again her own desire of violence.

“Watch him close. If he does anything threatening or tries to follow me, you have permission to deal with him however your wish. If he does nothing, just watch him on the sly without being obvious and do absolutely nothing! I do not need to be in a fight against possible dozens in the middle of a town I do not know!” I ordered with a slice of my hand through the air.

“Agreed.” Answered Razor and motioned for Meowth to move behind me to protect my back.

The mercenary did nothing and actually sat down to eat his morning meal as we past. The adventurer's guild office was just a small two story building about thirty feet by thirty feet. Inside was an open spaced room about twenty by twenty feet with four tables evenly spaced. At the back, was a counter that separated a staircase, a store room and an office from the front area where a fifty something man with gray hair stood.

“Welcome to Trino Adventurer's Guild office, I am Ronga. How can I be of assistance.” Stated Ronga with a salute and head bow.

“I wish to hire Zack Tally's party from Avalon for a guard, scouting and guide job.” I requested crossing my arms and made what I understood was the standard merchant's business pose.

“Zack Tally. Yes, I can send a floxis request but it will be at least a week before I get a reply.” Stated Ronga as he scratched the back of his head.

“I want Zack's party to met me about three to five millo this side of Avalon on the main road as I will not be waiting here.” I further explained what I wanted.

“That will require an upfront fee for those kinds of arrangement. May I ask who is making the request?” Ronga asked as he was writing the job request down.

“I am Count Ryan Wyatt.” I stated with a look that I hoped was incredulous.

“Count Ryan Wyatt. Wait. You are all everyone talks about these days.” Ronga stated as he looked up in surprise.

“Whatever, not interested in gossip of others.” I stated with a heavy frown.

“Yes, I understand. But tell me, did you really kill a war orc in single combat all by yourself while not once taking a blow that had injured many dark elves before you joined the fight to rescue them?” Ronga asked with undisguised excitement.

I sighed and said, “Yes, I suppose that is true. I am certain it is not as you imagine it.” I stated as I tried to keep my answer short and sweet.

“Yes, I understand. However, defeating a war orc in single combat is amazing!” Ronga stated as he could not stop his excitement as if he had met a legendary idol celebrity.

“Please, Zack Tally's party!” I stated again with my index finger thumping the counter.

“Yes, yes. I will send the filoxis right away. I will require one sceats upfront. How long do you wish to hire Zack and his party?” Ronga asked still beaming with his excitement.

“You know, I am not sure. I am traveling to Camelot. I have never been there before and do not know the dangers, roads or places to rest. Thus, the guide part. I am lacking in guards and fighting strength to deal with raiders and rogue mercenaries. I have already fought battles short handed. I just want to make sure I have more protection. So, ten days to two weeks at a minimum. Two to six months at the most. However, that could change once I reach Camelot.” I stated as I really was not sure.

“Yes, I have heard about you wiping out a nasty dishonorable mercenary unit that abandoned the army as cowards to runaway and join pirates.” Ronga stated with even more excitement.

“That is way over exaggerated and not accurate. I had Knights of the Sixth Order with me.” I stated the truth.

“Yes, yes. I heard they were drunk and you had to save them from being slaughtered.” Ronga continued his excitement that was now just getting too much to deal with.

I sighed and shook my head. I then hit the counter with my fist to get Ronga's attention.

“Just figure ten days to two weeks for now. Leave the contract open ended as I have travel to do after I leave Camelot.” I stated with exasperation.

“Yes, yes. That will be two hundred fifty denari for ten days. Should there be an attack by monsters then the pay is increased by half. Do you wish to pay here or in the city of Avalon?” Ronga asked as he was finally calming down from his excitement.

“Avalon. Circumstances always change and future is never certain.” I stated after thinking for a minute.

“Good. I will need fifty denari for the up front plus fracto twenty five for the job posting fee with the guild.” Ronga stating the bill's total.

With that, I handed over one scates and one peleno. I quickly realized that “Fracto” meaning fraction of a whole was an ancient Roman term on earth for decimal place with money or numbers. I then remembered I needed some mites where I handed over a koper for one hundred mites as that was all that Ronga would exchange.

“It was my pleasure to assist you Lord Wyatt. You are very welcome here anytime.” Ronga stated with a salute and a very deep exaggerated bow.

“Alright.” I stated and motioned for Razor and Meowth to follow me out.

Looking across the way and down the road back toward the inn, I saw a small merchant storefront with the same sign as the Green Trading Company of the tradesman's guild I previously had been to. Heading over, I inquired for another fully fitted out cart and desire to hire a stable boy servant who could drive a cart. About forty minutes later, I was introduced to an eighteen year old boy named Raulo Zukas. I learned he was previously the stable boy for the tradesman's guild and was recently trained to drive a supply cart. I also purchased a water cask, extra tin cups and two cart replacement wheels as I saw a cart with a broken wheel being repaired. I ordered the cart with spare wheels tied to the side delivered immediately to the Resting Unicorn Inn.

About an hour later, I had our group loaded up and heading out. The newest cart was solely for my people ride in. The carts for the Order of Knights was cramped given the sheer number of people now numbering fifty six in total with the newest additions to our group. However, the main reason for the new cart was for Robert, Hazel and Charlie. They would need a cart to travel through the city of Avalon as the original carts were already full of passengers, baggage and supplies.

The travel on the road south was steady and unsurprisingly boring. Pamba just stretched on her back to sleep where she actually snored which made me and Gus laugh. We continued on until little after mid day where we stopped for lunch. I was informed by Lars that Ivor had spotted three riders that apparently was following us as our pace was slow and florse riders should have overtaken us easily. Ivor also reported that they looked like soldiers or mercenaries. With that news, I informed Robert and Hazel. I then spoke with Freya to insure that Charlie hid himself as much as possible. I also gave two of my extra swords to Freya's remaining girls from Asgardia for their reputation as fighters was well known.

When Big Jake and Jason was announcing meal ready to be served, the Mercenary riders came up quickly and camped on the opposite side of the road where they began to eat cold rations. It was obvious that they were looking our party over closely. I had to stop Razor whose fur stood up as I recognized the mercenary from Trino.

“Razor, do nothing unless they cross the road.” I ordered for I wanted them to get a look.

“I do not like it but as you command.” Razor said as I realized he was actually considering on acting against my orders.

I had Lars post an extra guard to face the mercenaries to send a message of strength that even their little party would be noticed and opposed with serious force. When our party began packing up and loading back into the carts, the mercenaries also mounted up where they galloped quickly back toward the city of Trino. I sighed with relief as I suspected that they were looking for Charlie and had assumed he was not with our group.

Two days later, we entered into Monmu where we stopped at a very large inn called the Red Apple Tavern. It was similar to the one in Trino where it had wooden walled enclosures for large traveling parties to camp. Again, I forbid any in our party from going to the tavern as I did not want any drunken problems. I allowed the Tavern owner to bring out two casks of ale and one of beer. The meal was boar steaks, potatoes with gravy and green peas with diced carrots. The inn also had a filoxis message for me from the adventurer's guild letting me know that Zack Tally's party would meet me five millos from Avalon's north main bridge gate.

About two hours after our party had gone to sleep, I was awakened by noise and call to arms.

I heard Razor roar as and the carriage shook when he leaped off from where he was sleeping.

“Alarm! Alarm! Arm yourselves!” Called one of the guards on watch.

“Reeeearrr!” Screamed Meowth with hissing as it sounded as if she was in a cat fight back on earth.

Grabbing and putting on my weapons belt where I pulled the sig and readied myself for battle. I pulled back the window curtain to see what was happening as I could hear fighting all around. I first saw Meowth slashing at a cloaked person and then in a flash of incredible agility she jumped up onto attacker's shoulders taking him to the ground. A split second later, Meowth had ripped out the throat of this intruder. I then saw Razor off to the left had easily dispatched his man and standing tall over his foe was screaming his victory roar.

Looking around further, I saw one of my guards on his knee seemingly dazed with another holding a person at sword point who had been wounded.

“Men of House Wyatt!” I called out my predetermined code phrase which would alert me if fighting was still ongoing or if all was secure.

“Rah!” Called out my guards in unison acknowledging the fight was over and our group was victorious.

Stepping out of the carriage, I walk over to Lars who was checking on Greg who had blood streaming down the side of his head.

“Thieves, Lord Wyatt. Greg took a blow from a slinger's stone. Good thing he wore his padded head mail as all should. He is alright just stunned a bit. More of the mail cutting him than anything else.” Lars stated with a salute and double chest bump.

“Have Old Maude look at him just to be sure. Build up the fire over there and bring the intruder.” I stated and holstered my sig.

Before the roaring fire that brightly lit the enclosure, I began my interrogation.

“You will answer my questions quickly and without lies. If you do not answer or lie, I will let Razor slowly rip you to pieces after he removes your tongue so you can not scream.” I threatened the thief and pointing to Razor's blood soaked claws.

The thief's eyes bugged out to the point that you would think they would pop out and roll around on the ground. Razor to his credit reached out his right paw with claws extended slowly toward the thief's eyes then quickly ripped the thief's shirt demonstrating the how sharp his claws were.

“I will talk!” The thief said as Lars had also put his thumb on the wound in the thief's right shoulder that was cut deep enough that the right arm was useless.

“Who are you and why come after us?” I asked as I drew my dagger using it to seemingly clean under my fingernails as a threatening gesture.

“My name is Andros. We are or were an adventurer party hired to recover a ventu volpis that was spotted with your group by its owner. We though we could slip in and get out without getting caught. Beast people are harder to sneak past than we thought.” Andros stated as he looked at the ground unable to face me.

“The ventu volpis is my companion and has never been someone else's property! Who hired you?” I stated then asked threateningly with my dagger pointed at Andros.

“The guild office has that information. We were told it was a noble of significant authority who wanted to keep their name secret. The pay was very good at three gold.” Andros stated shaking his head.

“We will go to Avalon and see if your story is true. I am sure the guild has harsh penalties for rogue adventurers who do crimes under the guise of a legit job.” I stated as I sheathed my dagger.

“I know. Ten years hard labor often in a dwarven mine. If you are lucky, working on stone walls or laying brick on roads.” Andros stated as he shook his head realizing what his fate would be.

“Have Maude look after his wound so he does not die before we reach Avalon. Once done, tie his hands and feet. He will ride with the baggage with a guard. We will deliver him to the adventurer's guild in Avalon tomorrow. Now, lets get back to sleep. Well done, men of House of Wyatt!” I stated my orders and praise of my guards.

“Rah!” Shouted the guards in unison.

Just as the first sun was peaking out, I had everyone woken up and having the morning meal. The owner of the inn made breakfast of bacon and eggs with bread toasted over an open fire, fresh churned butter, apple sauce and apple cider. The sheriff of Monmu came to collected the dead bodies and he took my statement as to what happened. The sheriff wanted to take Andros into custody but I refused stating I was taking him to Avalon to know the truth. The sheriff just shrugged and left.

A little over an hour later, our party was back on the road and heading mostly southwest and down to the river Paradise. It was about nine hours travel from Monmu to the city of Avalon. We made good time and stopped for lunch about six hours later as the suns were reaching their zenith of mid day. I had Big Jake and Jason make sandwiches for everyone as I did not want to spend two to three hours for lunch. We were back on the road over an hour later.

It was late afternoon early evening when I was informed by Ivor that there was heavily armed and well kitted out adventurer group sitting on the side of the road ahead. I asked Lars to have Nick, a scout and point man for our party, inquire if this armed group was Zack Talley's party. Once Nick gave the affirmative sign, I had our little train pull well off the road.

Exiting the carriage I was flanked by Razor, Meowth, Lars and Ivor as I approached Zack Talley's party. Nick and Moe then bracketed the ten adventurers.

“I am Count Ryan Wyatt.” I announced as I approached the group.

A golden haired well muscled man in his late twenties stepped forward.

“I am Zack Talley and leader of this group called the Keepers of the Blood Oath.” Zack stated with a salute and bow followed by a sweeping arm toward his party.

“It is good to meet you, Zack. I find that I have need of your services.” I replied with a slight nod of my head.

“It is an honor to work for one with your reputation. Let me introduce my party. Here is Mi a dog kin from Argosa. She is my right hand and our tracker. Fang is a jackal kin from the Far Islands and our scout, Leonardo a lion kin from Amazonia is a melee fighter, Brent is a shield man from the Blue Mountains, Dagmar is from Shambala who is our negotiator and in charge of procuring supplies. She is excellent with the bow. Kia, Ollie and Ozzy are brothers from Yis so they are expert florse riders. They are very skilled with lance and good with a bow and sword. Lastly is Todd a master swordsman who served in the army as a vanguard attacker. Todd like me is from Avalon. I am master of the sword and bow and was a sergeant in Duke Boasag's levied army. I am the fifth son of a baron and do not have any title or lands. So, I became an adventurer.” Zack introduced and explained everyone's skills and background.

“Very good. I am traveling to Camelot to meet with the king. I have many wards under my protection from up north that I am escorting south. I hired you because one of my wards needs guards to protect them as they have a very dangerous enemy in Avalon. I do not want to risk their lives as it would stain my honor. They will be riding in a cart through Avalon that you will be guarding. Find a good camping spot a good days journey from Avalon that is away from any towns, taverns or inns. I will catch up two days later after I finish my business. After that, you will guide me to Camelot and provide extra security. That is basically what I need from your party.” I explained.

“That is not a problem and seems a fairly simple job. However, the enemy you speak of must be very dangerous for you to hire us given your prowess and reputation. Worry not for we have never failed a job.” Zack stated with confidence and a short laugh.

“You will be guarding a cart with my stable boy Raulo the driver and house servants Rob and Hazel who are assigned to care for my ward and Jason one of my cooks. I ask that you do not speak with them unless it is absolutely necessary. I do not want them spooked nor have any bad stories that the king might find displeasing. Understand that I have quiet a few wards which the king will speak with. I will hold you responsible if the king is displeased.” I bluffed a threat to help hide Charlie's identity.

“Will you require us to hunt game?” Zack asked as you could see his mind hard at work.

“Yes. Just enough for your group and the five you will be guarding. I ask that you wait here a full span before you head out. I do not want this cart associated with our group in Avalon. I want people to think they are with you or you are helping them out of kindness. That should be everything.” I replied with a a quick half salute.

“Very well. We will do as you have asked. When you go to the guild, ask to speak with Marine. Tell her this is a level one escort. Marine will then collect the payment..” Zack explained with a salute and bow of his head.

“Good enough. I will see you in two days before nightfall. If we have not caught up to you by then, head to Camelot and leave a message with the guild where I can find you.” I stated my final instructions.

“Very well. Have safe travel and we will be waiting.” Zack stated with a salute and a bow.

After separating Robert, Hazel, Charlie, Raulo and Jason and their cart, Pamba suddenly refused to leave Charlie. I was shocked when she actually growled at me when I reached for her.

“OK, you win. You want to ride with Charlie then so bit it!” I acquiesced with a sigh.

Pamba then barked where she rubbed up against my leg before she leaped into Charlie's arms catching him off guard.

“I will care for her. So, do not worry.” Said Charlie with a smile as he was happy to have Pamba's companionship.

“See that you do care for her well. Remember what I told you and be a good boy.” I said with a nod of my head.

We headed back onto the road which was before a slight rise that gave an excellent view of Avalon in the river valley below. Avalon was both a city and a rather sizable island that sat where the Paradise River broadened out into a flood plain. This broad area appeared as a large lake with the city of Avalon filling up most of the island save an orchard section that obviously was kept as a food source should the city be besieged.

The ride down to river was nerve racking at times as the winding switchback road was built up with very steep drop offs to provide easy travel over the steep terrain of the river valley. I chose to read the book of animals I had purchased to keep my mind well occupied off the possible perils of crashing down hill into the river below.

First Previous

"The line between disorder and order lies in coordination."

-Sun Tzu-

"First time?"

Robert tried to hide how startled he was as the Laird spoke. His mind had wandered through the events of the day which began with a tour of the castle that had ended in a private apartment for him to use while he was in residence. It consisted of a foyer, bedroom, bathroom and a sitting room where he could hold conference with his officers. In addition he was assigned a chamber maid named Scarlet whom he met as he entered the room. She had been a dedicated part of the household for ten years and had volunteered for the position. The moment his ruck hit the floor she had begun to store his weapon and gear in various places as he watched dumbfounded and embarrased, to include the transfer of his clothing to a chest of drawers, adding a lilting giggle when she unpacked his underwear. She even retrieved his dress uniform before exiting claiming it needed to be cleaned.

Left with little else to do, Robert took the unit colors into the sitting room and tried to figure out where to place them in the room. He didn't know how long he had been at it when he was interrupted by the house butler who laid out a nice set of clothes on a sofa and asking if he would need assistance dressing. Robert started taking off his uniform not really knowing what to expect, and the butler announced that lunch would be served shortly. His head had still been spinning when he had arrived in the dining room.

"Y... yes sir," Robert stammered, "First time being anywhere remotely like this."

Laird MacSweeney smiled and closed his eyes, trying not to laugh.

"The Laird means the quail, sir." The butler interjected. "How is it?"

Robert looked down at his plate and saw it had been untouched. He thought about stuffing a leg in his mouth, but decided to explain himself first.

"I'm sorry sir, my mind wasn't on the meal and I haven't been a good guest I'm afraid." He commented.

Laird MacSweeney intercepted his thoughts and where they were going.

"No sir, I should have been more considerate." Laird MacSweeney said shaking his head. "In my own arrogance I should have taken into account where you came from and what you have been through."

Robert was caught off guard and didn't like the feeling of it, but remained silent as the Laird took a breath and laid down his utensils before continuing.

"As I said before, we have much work to do and I took the liberty of preparing an apartment for you so that you would be close at hand. Scarlet volunteered to be your maid so that you wouldn't have to trouble yourself with cleaning and able to concentrate fully on your troops and your mission here. You, on the other hand, have never experienced this kind of lifestyle and that reflects my own shortsightedness. As your host I apologize for that."

"It's been a shock but you were just trying to help." Robert replied, still a little befuddled.

"Perhaps we should begin?" Laird MacSweeney suggested.

"I have an idea of how a unit is suppose to function by watching other officers." Robert began. "I know I need a staff, but I don't know how large a staff should be and I only have 500."

"The company you stood in front of, how did you.choose them?" Laird MacSweeney asked.

"Well, they're not the best with a weapon, but their good at other things." Robert replied.

"Then you have a staff and a headquarters company." Laird MacSweeney said. "All that is left is to choose an executive officer, company commander and lieutenants as well as non commissioned officers from the most qualified. Same applies to your captains."

"It can't be that easy sir." Robert countered.

"In your case, it is." Laird MacSweeney said. "Choose your most qualified for each position, just as you chose Captain Rose."

Robert was startled, how did he know that? Seeing the look on Robert's face, Laird MacSweeney smiled, but held his tounge.

"There is also the matter of provisions..." Robert began to say.

"As Laird and Governor, I am responsible for any units stationed on Arran," Laird MacSweeney interrupted, "what would you say are acceptable provisions for your soldiers?"

Robert was on the defensive and he desperately didn't want to remain there.

"3 and a half pounds of meat and vegetables as well as seven pounds of potatoes or bread per week, four fatigues and one dress uniform per year and pay for all men according to rank." Robert replied.

"Provided by the people of Arran specifically for their defense." Laird MacSweeny said confidently.

"Weapons and ammunition?" Robert asked.

"Already being made available, thus the problem with our air transportation." Laird MacSweeney replied. "As well as recruitment of another 500 at the very least to refill your ranks."

Robert finally understood what was going on. It had never been a negotiation, it was a test to see if Robert was intimidated by the Laird or not as well as if he was actually fit to lead.

"Barracks and training facilities as well." Robert said finally.

Laird MacSweeney broke into a chuckle. "You recover quickly." He said. "What did you have in mind?"

Robert was caught flat footed, but he decided to press the luck that had aided him this far.

"In between the capital and your castle." Robert replied. "The best position to defend you and the city."

"I believe you will do quite well here Colonel." Laird MacSweeney said with a smile. "Quite well indeed."

Robert bowed his head graciously to his host and, having found his appetite with this small victory, Began to eat the now cold quail to which the Laird replied.

"We will have to work on your manners as well."

"Thank you for calling General FTL Technical Support, how may I help you?"

"Yes, we have one of your FTL drives, and it died on us out here, light-years from anywhere! We're going to die out here when life support runs out, all because of your stupid drive!"

"Calm down and give me the model number."

"Where do I find that?"

"On the main faceplate of the drive."

"In the drive room? I can't go in there! The radiation..."

"You said it was dead. If it's not running, it won't be emitting any radiation. It's perfectly safe to go in there."

"All right, just a minute... it's a... Model 1707."

"Pretty standard. What kind of control system is it connected to?"

"A Q'x'nar Large..."

"Woah, woah, stop. Did you say Q'x'nar?"

"Yes."

"That's not a supported controller! Who put those together on your ship?"

"This repair depot on Antares..."

"Oh. Those guys. All right. Call them and whine about how you're going to die when your life support runs out. Make sure they understand that it's because they installed a completely unsupported configuration. Maybe if they hear it from somebody who's stranded by their garbage work, they'll start to understand that their incompetence is killing people. But listen: After they hang up on you, call us back."

"Thank you for calling General FTL Technical Support, how may I help you?"

"Well, I told them. They listened for five minutes, which doesn't seem very long for how many people they killed with their shoddy work. Now I'm calling you back, because I've got nothing better to do while I wait to die."

"Stop waiting. You have work to do. What I'm going to tell you is unsupported, but likely to work."

"How likely?"

"A lot more likely than sitting around waiting to die. Go find the auxiliary control unit for the FTL."

"One moment... I am there."

"Great. Power it off."

"Done. And then?"

"Disconnect the feed from the control system. Take apart the connector. Inside the connector, add a 50-ohm resistor in series to the line. Connect it back up. Power the auxiliary control unit back up. From the control panel, select 'Options', then "Expert', then 'More'. Put it in mode 174, and accept out of the menu. Then power on the FTL drive."

Graal'thar's head was spinning. "Can you repeat that back, more slowly?"

Human tech support. The ones who know what they're talking about can get you through almost anything.

The sun beat down relentlessly as Lieutenant Stan checked his screens, scanning the cloudy skies above Xenera Prime. It had been a long and uneventful patrol so far, in his Hornet strike ship. Stan was growing restless in the cramped cockpit after hours on duty.

"Anything to report squadron?" Stan asked into his comm.

Negative replies came back, from each wingman. Just as Stan was thinking of calling it a day, his comm crackled to life.

"Lieutenant, I've spotted unknown craft emerging from the clouds off our port side," said Wingman Thomas. "They look unfriendly."

Stan swung his visor to the left and scanned the clouds. At first, he saw nothing, but wispy white vapor. Then, a flash of metal emerged. Stan focused his visor, and felt a jolt of alarm. Nine lean, deadly looking enemy fighters were peeling away from the cover of the clouds. Their angular frames glinted menacingly in the sunlight.

"Report ships details," Stan responded, keeping his voice even. There was a pause as Thomas no doubt got a better look through his own sensors.

"Sir, they appear to be Gargon Z-12 heavy fighters. Configuration matches known images. Colors are dark grey with red markings."

Gargons. Stan's sense of unease deepened. The Z-12 was a formidable craft, packing heavy weapons and renowned for its nimble handling. Intelligence reports claimed each Gargon pilot, was a battle-hardened veteran. Stan took a slow, steadying breath. He tapped the comm button.

"All squadrons listen up. We have confirmed hostiles, repeat hostiles inbound. Nine Gargon Z-12s approaching from due port. Assume attack formation and prepare to engage."

Stan grabbed the stick and sent his Hornet banking hard to the left as the other strike ships responded affirmatively. His wingman followed suit while the rest of the squadron split into their assigned formations. Stan caught sight of the enemy craft growing larger, silhouetted ominously against the clouds.

The Gargons spotted the humans and accelerated sharply, angling to intercept. Stan steeled himself as his comm crackled again. "They've changed course, coming right at us!" called Wingman Davis from the rear squadron.

Stan didn't hesitate. "Split squadrons and engage. David, Wyat, distract them while we flank from above. Move it people, they're closing fast!" He jammed the throttle, wringing every ounce of speed from his sluggish Hornet.

The strike ships scattered just as the first cannon shots lanced past. Stan glimpsed a Gargon on Wright's tail, spitting deadly energy blasts. "Wyatt's hit!" Davis yelled over the din of exploding rounds. A ball of fire swallowed Wyatt's craft as the rest of the squadron shouted warnings and requests for orders.

Stan wheeled his ship hard, raising his sights on the nearest Z-12 diving through the melee. He squeezed off a long burst from his nose cannons but the Gargon jinked nimbly aside, answering with a volley, that nearly took Stan's wing off. He cursed and rolled left, snapping orders to reform, while his mind raced frantically, for a plan to turn the tide. But the battle was moving too fast, and their enemy had the clear advantage. Unless he thought of something quickly, the whole patrol would soon be destroyed.

Stan gritted his teeth as he wrestled with the controls, jerking the stick hard to throw his Hornet into another desperate evasive maneuver. Sweat stung his eyes, and his vest harness bit into his shoulders, from the punishing g-forces. Two Z-12s wove about his plummeting craft, angling for the kill.

"There's too many of them, sir!" cried Thomas over the rushing air as he followed Stan's insane dive. "We have to shake them or fall back!"

As if agreeing, Stafford's voice crackled through next, weak but determined. "I'm hit bad, baili- aargh!" Static took over as more of Stan's patrol died.

Stan clenched his jaw. Retreat was not an option, nor was falling back to be picked off one by one. Then, glancing to starboard, an idea struck him like a plasma bolt. Below, the jagged spires of Xenera Prime's landscape rushed up to meet them.

"Follow my lead!" Stan shouted into the comms. "We're taking the fight to them!"

He flung the stick right and snapped the Hornet into a steep bank, skimming so low that dust clouds billowed up against the pontoon gear. Heart pounding, he aimed straight for the pinched gap between two towering rock spires. The Z-12s adjusted course too, intent on not letting their prey escape.

Stan waited until the last possible second before pulling back, hauling his ship up so violently that he blacked out momentarily from the crushing g-force. Emerging from the daze, he glimpsed the bottom of the rocky canyon flash past, only meters below. But behind, one of the pursuing Gargons wasn't so lucky, its momentum carrying it straight into the spire with an explosive crunch.

"One bandit down!" hollered Thomas excitedly. "But the other's still on us, sir!"

"Stay tight and keep pouring it on!" Stan roared back. His desperate gambit had yielded immediate rewards, and he was only getting started.

Weaving between the towering pinnacles at breakneck velocities, Stan hurled his Hornet through twisting rock defiles, barely wider than the craft's wingspan. The pursuing Z-12 darted nimbly in their wake, unafraid to fly recklessly close to destruction in pursuit of its prey. More than once, Stan flirted with disaster, the tips of his pontoons clipping stone as he plunged from one razor-thin passage to the next.

But gradually, the human pilot began to gain the advantage. Though aerodynamically better suited, the Z-12's greater weight and bulk saw it struggling to match the Hornet's fluid moves between the spires. Flying became more judicious, angles tighter, and soon friction were grinding away armor plating, as the fighters' shields kissed stone at every turn.

Seizing a chance, Stan screamed around the next pinnacle, throttles mashed, then swung into a gut-wrenching climb straight up the rocky face. Rock and sediment burst around the pontoons as the stricken somehow found grip. A glance back showed the disbelieving Gargon pilot following... then falter. Momentum lost, his craft scraped savagely down the spire, venting atmosphere in a fireball.

"Two down, seven to go!" crowed Thomas.

Stan allowed himself a savored grunt of satisfaction before swinging the Hornet back out into clear skies. His desperate ploy had paid off so far, reducing their numbers at the cost of no more lives. But the remaining Gargons would not be so easily drawn into the spires, and his own craft was being shaken to pieces in the process. New tactics would be needed to finish the job.

Squinting through his window, an idea came. "Head for the canyon to the north," he told Thomas. "Let's see if we can cut them off at the pass."

Stan led the charge low across the variegated plain, hugging terrain in an attempt to mask his movements. Minutes passed with no sighting of the enemy formation, leaving him to wonder if they had given up pursuit. Then, as the slot canyon entrance neared, Thomas spotted them.

"Bandits at two o'clock, high and closing fast. I think they mean to block our entry, sir!"

Gripping his stick tight, Stan checked his scopes. Seven Z-12s converged in a loose combat spread, moving to intercept before the humans could gain the canyon perimeter. It was time to change tactics once more.

Stan scanned his screens, analyzing the Z-12 formation hovering above like vultures. They held superior altitude and numbers, no doubt hoping to bait the humans into climbing within range of their heavy guns. But Stan had expected such tactics after the cat-and-mouse in the spires.

"Stay low and keep moving," he told Thomas. "We'll force them to engage on our terms."

The Hornet strike ships accelerated across the plain, hugging the rolling terrain. The Gargons followed at a distance, unwilling to forfeit their elevation advantage by dropping to chase. Stan led his patrol on an evasive zig-zag course, occasionally popping up just high enough, to draw inaccurate return fire, before nosediving back amid dust clouds.

Gradually, he angled them closer to the looming cliffs flanking the canyon entrance. The Z-12 pilots began to realize the ruse too late, scattered in the process of reorienting for the intercept. His wingman took the chance, climbing just long enough to target the lone straggler. A burst of cannon fire tore into its port nacelle, eliciting an explosion that consumed the fighter near-instantly.

"Six left!" Thomas whooped. Stan allowed a tight smile. His risky tactics were chipping away at the odds, though he doubted fortune would favor them for long. The remaining Gargons closed ranks and swooped as one, no longer toying. This time, Stan had no trick remaining, he would have to meet them head-on.

He spun the Hornet end-for-end and pushed the throttles to their stops. Fifty meters from impact, the enemy broke formation, guns blazing from all angles. Thomas returned fire with the pair of dorsal cannons as Stan jinked frantically, weaving a haphazard path through the azure flashes. Systems shrieked damage warnings while rocks erupted where missed shots found targets.

After a nerve-shredding minute, Stan emerged from the furball, three Z-12s on his tail once more. But hope was not lost, Thomas whooped again from the rear gunner's seat. "That's five! Just one more, sir!"

Stan grinned savagely. Only one Gargon now stood between him and victory. He swung the Hornet into a hard bank, waiting for the moment the final enemy overcommitted, there! Its shot skimmed past as it flashed by, continuing the turn too tight. In a heartbeat, Stan reversed thrust and wheeled his craft brutally about, lining the shot.

"For Xenera Prime!" he roared, and pulled the trigger. Heavy cannon shells tore into the Z-12's engine block, enveloping it in a ball of fire. As the flames faded, only empty skies remained.

Stan let out a long breath, realizing only then how tense his body had become. It was over - against all odds, he and his wingman had defeated the Gargon raiders. As the adrenaline drained away, weariness set in to the cheers of Thomas over the comms. They had survived, but at a heavy cost. Below, the splintered wreckage of comrades' ships littered the plain like broken toys.

"Mission complete," Stan replied softly. "Let's go home."

First / Previous / Royal Road / Patreon (Read 12 Chapters Ahead)

--

A quick look around town confirmed it was just going to be the four of them heading into the mines. Everyone else was either dead or too busy pulling themselves together after the onslaught of the undead. Az and Sable had done an excellent job of clearing the living dead out of town, and now there was only an occasional stray gunshot to indicate that some of them were still walking around. The immediate danger seemed to have cleared, at least as far as Alain could see.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Sable asked as they started walking.

"I'll be fine," Alain insisted. "Worry about yourselves."

"You're the most heavily-injured one out of all of us," Az pointed out. "We're right to be concerned."

"It can wait. For now, we've got work to do."

Az and Sable looked like they both wanted to argue, but refrained. Felix, meanwhile, drew close to Alain.

"Hey," he said. "What are we expecting to see down there?"

"That's a question for Az and Sable," Alain answered. "You two hear that?"

"We did," Sable confirmed. "And we have no idea. It could be anything."

"Fucking great…" Alain muttered.

They eventually reached the opening to the mine, just outside of town. It was completely clear, from what they could see – no undead anywhere, and Mayor Adams was nowhere to be found.

"I'll take the lead," Az offered. "You three stay behind me. Especially you, Alain."

Alain scowled, but nodded. He checked to ensure his shotgun was loaded, then fell in behind Az as he began to move through the mines. Felix walked alongside him, close enough that they were almost shoulder-to-shoulder. The entire time, Alain kept his eyes peeled for any threats, but the only things down there were the occasional stray undead, which were taken care of in short order by either Az or Sable.

"Something isn't right…" Alain muttered. "Why would they bother leaving the mines unguarded if whatever they're trying to do is located down here?"

"No idea," Sable replied. "And we won't know unless we keep moving."

Alain nodded, despite the reservations welling up in his mind. They kept moving, dealing with the odd living corpse or two, before they finally reached a massive opening at the base of the mine. They moved to enter through it, but an invisible force barred the way.

"The fuck...?" Alain breathed as he ran right into it. It was completely invisible, and yet it felt like there was a wall in the way somehow. He tentatively raised a hand up to touch it, and sure enough, it was solid like stone.

"It's a force field," Sable said, her eyes widening in surprise. "I didn't think they'd be able to successfully raise one…"

"What does that mean, exactly?" Felix asked.

"It means that whatever they're doing down here, there's layers to it. Someone was sacrificed to turn the deputies into wights; someone else was sacrificed to raise this barrier. The rest will have been used to fuel whatever they're trying to do down here. That can only mean that whatever they're trying to do, it's really bad, otherwise why risk going after so many people?"

"Correct," someone said through the darkness.

Alain's eyes narrowed. "Adams," he growled, pulling his shotgun into his shoulder. "Come out where I can see you, coward."

"In due time, Alain. For now, I think I'd rather watch you all squirm like the maggots you are."

The earth began to shake once more, and the ground beneath their feet started to shift as bodies dug their way through the dirt, clawing at them.

"Everyone out!" Sable shouted. "Out of the mines, now!"

"We can't just-" Alain protested.

"If we stay here, we'll be drowned under a tide of undead! We have to leave, now!"

"But the ritual-"

"We'll come back," Sable promised. "They won't get away with whatever they're trying to do, trust me."

Alain reluctantly nodded. Sable took off running, and the rest of them followed after her, retracing their steps back through the mine. Undead rose all around them, snapping or clawing at their heels. Alain narrowly managed to avoid being bitten, as did Felix; both of them fired their weapons as they went, taking down any undead who came too close to them.

Eventually, the four of them emerged out from the mines. Thankfully, there was no further undead incursion yet – the town was completely quiet. Felix and Alain doubled over, gasping for breath. After a moment, they stood tall, wiping sweat from their brows.

"What do we do now?" Felix asked. "Because there's no way we're getting through whatever that barrier is as we are."

"There must be some way around it," Alain urged. "Sable, Az, you'd know, right? Tell me we can get around that thing before it's too late."

"No ritual is truly impenetrable," Sable explained. "They all have some kind of downside in the end, even the really powerful ones. Of course, the downsides may be a bit esoteric or hard to discover, but they still exist, it's just a matter of finding them."

"And I have a suggestion as to where to look, my lady," Az interjected. "The mayor's house should be fairly unguarded by this point. I say we start there."

"And if there's nothing there?" Alain couldn't help but ask.

Az's gaze narrowed. "Hopefully, we find something."

"That doesn't answer my question. What do we do if we can't find anything useful?"

Neither Az nor Sable had an answer for him. Alain's brow furrowed out of frustration, but he didn't offer any further argument.

"Alright, the mayor's house it is, then." He turned towards Felix. "You know, you don't have to come with us. You've done plenty as-is."

"Fuck that," Felix declared. "I've come this far, I'm not stepping back any time soon. Where you three go, I go."

Alain shrugged. "Suit yourself. So long as you're insistent on coming along, you should take the lead on this one – you'll get us there faster."

Felix nodded, then stepped in front of the group, reloading his weapons as he walked.

–

The trip to Mayor Ansley's office took just a few minutes given Felix was guiding them, but even despite the short walk, Alain's feet were killing him by the end of it. All the excitement and exertion from the past undead incursions were taking their toll on him – he was exhausted, and he could tell he wasn't the only one. Felix was struggling to stay awake, Sable was letting out the occasional yawn as she walked, and even Az, stoic as he was, had bags forming under his eyes.

By the time they reached the mayor's office, the moon was high in the sky, casting a faint glow on the desert sands below it. Az wasted no time in bashing down the door, and the four of them entered, Felix and Alain with their weapons at the ready.

"Doesn't seem like there's anyone home," Felix surmised as he holstered his pistol.

"Don't let that fool you," Alain warned, slinging his shotgun over his shoulder. "I wouldn't be surprised if Ansley has something waiting for us somewhere in here."

Sable looked around the house, frowning. "This is it? It only has a few rooms…"

Felix turned towards her, mouth agape. "Lady, this is the biggest house in town. Are you used to castles or something?"

"Yes, actually. But that's neither here nor there."

Sable brushed past Alain, peering into a nearby room. She frowned, then shook her head. "Searching this place is going to take ages."

"We don't have ages," Alain reminded her. "Tear this place apart if you have to, I don't think any of us care about keeping it intact at this point. We just need to find something that can point us in the right direction."

The others nodded, and then they split up, each taking a separate room for themselves. Alain ended up in what appeared to be the study, if the wooden desk lined with stacks of paper was any indication. He briefly rifled through the documents on the desk before dismissing them outright – there didn't appear to be anything useful there, just information about the mine for prospective investors.

After a few minutes of searching through the room, Alain was beginning to grow frustrated with his lack of progress. He looked around, his gaze landing on a grainy black-and-white photograph of Los Banos; his eyes narrowed, and out of sheer frustration, he picked up a nearby paperweight and hurled it at the picture. The frame shattered, and it fell to the ground. Alain stared at it before his attention was drawn to something behind it – a small, black, combination safe. He blinked, surprised, then called out to the others.

"Hey, I think I've found something!"

They all came running into the room. Alain pointed at the safe, then turned to Az.

"Think you can get that open?" he asked.

Az didn't give a response, but just cracked his knuckles. He stepped over to the safe, then in one fell swoop, ripped it out of the wall. He motioned for Sable to come join him, and she held onto the rear end of the safe while he grabbed the dial. Together, the two of them pulled, and after a few seconds of straining, the lock broke and the door opened.

Az reached inside the safe, then pulled out a small leather-bound book. He opened it, then began to read through it.

"What is it?" Felix asked. "Some kind of ledger?"

Az shook his head. "It's a journal of some kind."

"What's it say?" Alain questioned.

"Nothing at the moment. Let me read a bit-"

Az suddenly trailed off, then looked up to Alain. He cleared his throat.

"'April 30th, 1883 – I visited that strange man, the gypsy, out on the frontier again. He calls himself a seer from the old country, whatever that means. He's an odd one, but his wares are interesting to me – all kinds of trinkets from somewhere in Europe. I purchased a few of them simply to sate my own curiosity. I wonder if any of his stories about them are true…'"

"June 26th, 1883 – I went back to the gypsy again, and this time I made sure to loosen his tongue a bit with some whiskey. Really, I just wanted to hear more of his stories about the old country – those tidbits about the supernatural are really interesting, after all. Instead, I received far more than I expected. The old man claims to have discovered something akin to a fountain of youth. He clammed up immediately after mentioning it, however; nevertheless, he had my interest. Perhaps a bit more whiskey and money would loosen his tongue…'"

"August 9th, 1883 – I visited the old man for what I hope will be the final time. Sure enough, the alcohol and the money did it – he was all too willing to tell me what he knew after that. Turns out there's a ritual that needs to be performed in order to attain eternal youth, one that requires human sacrifices. It is unfortunate that innocent lives will need to be given up, but at the same time, there are people far more valuable than the sacrifices out there. After all, what is one prostitute compared to a wealthy businessman? Especially one so willing to pay for what I have to offer. And that's to say nothing of myself – one providing such a service for the world deserves to have a little something good come his way, I think…'"

Az finished reading, then looked up to the rest of the group. And for the first time, Alain saw traces of emotion on his face – disgust, mixed with a tinge of horror.

"That son of a bitch…" Sable said, gritting her teeth. "We should have known that's what he was planning. It makes sense – the secrecy, the human sacrifices, the undead… it all leads back to what's in this journal."

"So how do we stop him?" Alain asked.

Sable shook her head. "We need to figure out how to get past that barrier first. The book didn't mention anything about a ritual for that, but I think we can assume he got it from the same place as the other."

"The old man," Felix finished. "Yes, I agree."

"Then we know what we need to do," Alain said. He turned to Az. "Does the book say where to find the old man?"

"In some of the earlier entries, yes," Az answered. "We should be able to track him down using this."

"Alright, then we know what we need to do," Alain replied. "Let's just hope we can get to him before it's too late."

--

Special thanks to my good friend and co-writer, /u/Ickbard for the help with writing this story.

Sorry for the delay everyone, I had a loss in the family and needed to take some time with loved ones. Decompressed and back in the saddle now to resume regular posting.

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Chapter 22

Ana

The first time she opened her eyes, it was to a soft, pillowy comfort, the kind that made her want to tuck the duvet right up to her chin and go back to sleep no matter what responsibilities awaited. Dull grey light and a plain ceiling. There were sounds too, but they floated in and out of earshot as if on clouds, dulled like a conversation from an adjoining room one moment, then uncomfortably loud, like someone was speaking directly into her ear the next. She closed her eyes and the warmth carried her off again.

The second time she woke, things were sharper. There were edges to the tiles of the ceiling above her head and the comfortable fuzziness had lessened, giving way to the dull aching onset of a vicious headache. Her limbs were heavy, weighted anchors dragging down her swimming skull and pinning her to the seafloor of the bed.

This is… wait, what happened?

She remembered the smell of the barbecue, and arriving at the door to the journalist’s suite, and then… a sharper throb of pain rippled up the front of her skull from her temples and she winced.

Movement. She turned her head slowly so as not to provoke another stab of pain.

A kespan in a white outfit sat some ten feet away to her right. She was perched on a strange metal seat, and when she noticed Ana’s stare she directed it over, gliding across the floor towards the bed with a low humming sound. There was a symbol on her breast pocket, one that Ana recognized from her medical exams. A doctor, then.

The pieces of the puzzle started to click, and Ana propped herself up, the sheets below her crinkling softly. How is it that even with all their advanced technology, hospital beds still feel the same as on Earth?

“Specialist Cardoso?” The kespan peered down at her and Ana squinted back. “I’m Doctor Scytha. You gave us all quite the scare you know.”

“I really don’t…”

“I’ll go over everything that happened with you in just a moment, but first I need to know, are you in any pain? I understand you hit your head on the way down.”

“Just a headache,” Ana flinched as another jab of pain radiated across her skull.

“I can get you something for that if you’d like,” the doctor offered. “We’ve ruled out a concussion, but I daresay you’ll be feeling somewhat delicate anyway.”

She was about to agree but paused before the words could leave her lips. Through the lingering haze of whatever they’d had her on while she was unconscious, a tiny niggling feeling in the back of her mind was making itself known.

“No, I… I’m okay for now,” she rasped instead, her throat like dusty sandpaper. “What happened? How long have I been out? Where am I?” She held up a hand, feeling at the side of her head, where the worst of the ache was coming from. A strange smoothness greeted her probing touches.

“You have a minor contusion,” Doctor Scytha explained. “The dressing should stay on for at least a day, but we’ve treated the injury with…” she trailed off, a conflicted expression flickering across her face. “Well, we’ve treated it with something that should help it close much faster. It will be fully healed before you know it.”

“Come on doc,” Ana raised an eyebrow on the side of her face that wasn’t obscured by the strange bandage. “I’m curious. What did you treat me with?”

The doctor’s lips pursed beneath her muzzle, and her eyes flicked away. “Artificial cells. We can program them to—”

“Nanobots,” Ana deadpanned, and the doctor grimaced. “You treated me with nanobots.”

“While they do share some characteristics, the applications…”

“Whatever,” Ana cut her off. “I’m not in the mood to discuss semantics, and I‘ve got enough of a headache already to unpack that. Just tell me where I am please.”

“You’re still aboard the She-Serves-With-Honor,” the doctor supplied, relaxing visibly at the change of topic. “It’s been roughly eight hours since you were found. I’m told that you were carried here by that cute reporter boy who’s been stealing the hearts of every serving woman aboard. Lucky you.” She pulled a tab in the side of her chair and a small screen sprang out on a moveable arm. “I’m sure you’re also interested in learning what happened, yes?”

“That was going to be my next question,” Ana grunted, pulling herself upright and noticing for the first time as she did the opaque tube that ran from her forearm down under the bed. Sitting up turned out to be a mistake though, as when she did manage to raise her head the room spun and her stomach turned. She begrudgingly lowered herself again.

“Well, we’re not quite sure ourselves,” the doctor said, her eyes glancing between the screen on her chair and a space on the other side of the room. Ana shifted, ignoring the discomfort until she could peer over towards the door to where the doctor’s eyes had gone, taking stock of her surroundings as she did.

Two uniformed guards were standing there, one on either side of the door. They stood stock still, gazing back at her— no, at the doctor, with measured stares. Three blazes of red shone from each of their outfits at the cuffs and collars, sparkling brightly even in the dim overhead lights.

The room itself was on the smaller side, with her cot the middle of three in the room. The other two beds were empty. They were here for her then.

“Pretty tight security for a ship hospital,” she remarked. “I know I’m new to this whole ‘alien army’ thing, but somehow I don’t think the Garrison stands watch over all of your patients.”

“They are here because I am here, Specialist,” a smooth voice sounded out, and Ana turned her head further, towards the back corner of the room. A severe-looking woman sat there, medals softly shining in the dim light, a crisply ironed, angular hat resting on her knees. She stood as Ana gaped at her.

“Vice Admiral Kel’rek, ma’am.” She tried to raise a hand into the chest-high salute of the kespan military, but her head throbbed again, and the niggling feeling in the back of her brain only grew in magnitude, so the result was a sloppy flapping motion. Ana frowned, staring down at her uncooperative limbs.

“At ease, Specialist,” the Admiral waved a hand dismissively. “You’ve had a rough night. What do you remember?”

It might have been the drugs, but something about the way she asked the question made the hairs on the back of Ana’s neck stand on end. By the doorway, the soldier’s attention had shifted. Now they were staring at her.

“Not much ma’am,” she answered, ignoring the insistent tug of her hindbrain. “Just walking down the corridor, arriving at the door to the suite, and then nothing. Did something happen?”

“We were hoping you could tell us,” the doctor chimed in, with a respectful nod to the Admiral, who had sat back to rub at her chin. “Your scans came back clear, your bloodwork was unremarkable and your toxicology report shows you’re clean, no known contaminants. Although,” she hesitated, and the Admiral shot her a sharp look. “It’s possible that we missed something. We don’t know everything there is to know about Ervamir yet. It could be that something specific to humans eluded our scans.”

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, Ana thought bitterly, something red and hot churning in her gut and threatening to spill over. She quashed it, but barely. Strange, I haven’t been this quick to anger since before… she cut that thought short too. It must be the drugs.

“Failing that though, what is your prognosis doctor?” the Admiral asked— no, seriously, why is she in the room? Has she been here the whole time? “Nothing too dire, I hope? It wouldn’t do to lose our first human soldier to an unknown illness.”

First human soldier. Her. How long had it been since that idea made her blood boil like it did now? She felt it return, the same dark crawling feeling that had curled up to nest inside her when she accepted the alien’s offer some six months prior. Back then it had been hunger that forced her hand. A choice between flinging herself on the mercy of the cartels or working with the invaders. I thought I’d left this feeling behind.

The doctor hummed, head still buried in the tablet. “New species often exhibit psychological distress in response to their first exposure to space,” she said hesitantly. “The media presence and press conference, followed by an interview on the same day may simply have been too much. If there are no further physiological symptoms, then the episode may have been stress-induced.”

Ana’s eyebrow twitched. “Respectfully doc,” she managed a forced smile. “Like most humans, I think I’ve been through things a lot more psychologically challenging than staring out a window and answering some questions. I’ve never seen any of the women back home experience anything like what just happened to me.”

The doctor avoided her eyes. “Compounding trauma could make this kind of event more likely, but again, we don’t know enough about human psychology to make a proper assessment. All I know is the scans are clean.” She looked up, but it was the Admiral whose gaze she met rather than Ana’s. “I’m prescribing plenty of rest. She should be off active duty for at least a week, preferably planetside.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” Admiral Kel’rek stood, and her guards moved to flank her. “You heard the doc, Specialist, I’ll make the necessary arrangements. In the meantime, I believe your squadmates are anxious to hear from you.” She raised an eyebrow at the doctor, who nodded. “I’ll have word sent that you’re awake.” She took a step towards the door.

“And the journalist, ma’am?” Ana asked.

The Admiral turned back to her and tilted her head slightly. “What about him, Specialist? I hope you’re not considering giving an interview from your hospital bed. I’m afraid that might give off the wrong impression.” She spoke with a light tone, but the look she directed Ana’s way was firm.

“I just wanted to apologize for not making our appointment,” Ana insisted. “And maybe arrange a new time, once I’m given the all-clear.”

The Admiral hesitated, just for a microsecond, but it was enough to be noticeable. “I’ll have word sent. You should be aware that he’ll be on the next shuttle with the rest of the media. It’s unlikely that you’ll get a chance to see him in person.”

“You could send me with them,” Ana suggested, and the Admiral shot her an incredulous look, her hand poised to open the door. “Ma’am,” she amended, lowering her eyes to the floor in what she hoped passed for submission. “If I’m going to be recovering planetside anyway, it would be an opportunity for us. To show the galaxy how humans and the Imperium can co-exist, I mean. I’m sure that any good reporter would accept.”

She peered up to watch the wheels turn in the Admiral’s head. Finally, the cat woman stepped away from the door to regard her properly.

“You wouldn’t prefer to recuperate in your home country?” she asked, probing. “The media is bound for the largest island in the South, the one we are currently in orbit over. It’s a green zone, but I would have thought you’d be more comfortable in a familiar setting.”

“Australia?” Ana’s eyes widened slightly, and some genuine excitement leaked into her voice. “I’ve always wanted to visit. I hear it’s a great place to relax. And actually,” she let her tone grow rueful, “I have a slightly… checkered history with my home country now. A lot of baggage. It might be better if I didn’t return for a while, especially if I need to stay low-stress.”

The Admiral raised an eyebrow at the doctor, who nodded. When she turned back to Ana though, she still didn’t appear convinced. “That would put me in a difficult position Specialist,” she said. “If I crammed you into a shuttle with two dozen members of the press less than a day after a serious medical emergency I’d be strung up, even more than I already am just for being here.” She shook her head. “I can’t put you on that ship.”

Ana lowered her eyes again. “I understand ma’am. That’s unfortunate. I was hoping that the interview might make a difference. Show people that cooperation is possible.”

The woman hesitated, and her eyes bore holes into Ana’s own. Then she cocked her head. “However…”

“Yes ma’am?”

“I can arrange transport for tomorrow. We’ll be slightly out of shuttle range by then, but a larger ship could make the journey. Specialist,” she maintained the same intense eye contact, and Ana held it. “I don’t think I need to impress on you the importance of your role here. We all want what’s best for humanity, and the sooner we can get your people on board, the sooner Ervamir… the sooner Earth can be made whole again. I’m expecting a good interview, even if it means a prolonged leave period. Are we clear?”

“Clear ma’am,” Ana managed the salute this time. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Very good. As you were then, get some rest.”

Ana breathed a sigh of relief as the woman exited, the garrison members following her out. To her slight surprise, she noticed the doctor breathe a similar sigh, and filed the information away for later. Maybe she was the sort of commander who rode her troops hard. It was strange; she’d never been given that impression.

An hour went by, and Ana drifted in and out of sleep several times, each time waking up slightly sharper than before, though her headache kept growing. She was offered the painkillers again but declined. Years of soldiering in the South American jungle had taught her to trust her instincts, and hers had been screaming through the fog ever since she’d first awoken that morning. Something didn’t feel right, and she needed to be clear-headed to figure out what. She was feeling less collected now than she had been for months, and somehow, at the same time, more herself.

Maybe the doc is right and I’m just a bit fucked in the head, she thought.

Just as the headache had reached the point where she was beginning to question that decision, a polite rap came from the door. The doctor’s chair hummed across the floor to answer, and a moment later, a fuzzy face peered in overtop two smaller figures.

“You’re awake!” Banta’s voice boomed across the room, and the doctor made a frantic shushing noise. “Oops, sorry.”

The small group piled into the room, and Ana smiled through the throbbing pain as Vrina and Sergeant Rea’ar’s faces also came into view.

“Specialist,” her NCO greeted her. “I trust you’re on the improve?”

“Ma’am,” Ana inclined her head slightly.

“A little bird told me that you’re to be stationed planetside for a time,” she frowned.

“Yes ma’am,” Ana replied. “Sorry for the inconvenience ma’am.”

“It’s no matter,” the sergeant’s expression was unreadable. “The rest of the fire team sends their well wishes.”

“What she means by that is that the duradians don’t think you’ll die,” Banta grinned. “They’ve got some… quirks… regarding illness. Very pragmatic.”

“You can tell them that I appreciate their confidence then,” Ana replied, and what might have been the ghost of a smile graced the sergeant's face before disappearing abruptly.

“You’ve put me in a slightly difficult position here, specialist,” Rea’ar said. “I’ve been asked to leave one of my troops to watch over you in case your condition deteriorates. Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem, but assigning one of the duradians to your care would be a bad fit. I thought to send Singer alone, but…”

Banta stiffened. “Ma’am—” she started before Rea’ar held up a hand.

“Yes, yes, I know Corporal, save it. You’re both going. I’ve arranged for you to be assigned to a posting on the surface, at one of our new consulates. Might as well make use of you while you’re down there.”

Banta relaxed visibly, and Ana looked between the three women in confusion.

“You two aren’t like, married or anything, are you?” she couldn’t help but ask, pointing between Banta and Vrina, and the pair balked. Vrina’s crest puffed out, and she spluttered, a strangled choking sound coming from her beak. Banta sniggered, and the sergeant’s eyebrows rose.

“I— wh— no!” clucked the Ulu, her chest feathers fluffing out like pins from a cushion. “What makes you think that?”

“Well apparently you’re attached at the hip,” Ana defended. “I’m not judging, just curious.

Sergeant Rea’ar held up both hands, absolving herself of the conversation. “I’m glad to hear you’re improving Specialist,” she said, heading for the door, and Ana watched in amazement as the woman who’d kept her cold demeanor throughout months of training and onboarding fled the scene. “I expect regular updates on your condition,” she opened the door and turned to the other two. “Don’t keep her up too long, she needs rest.” Then the door was closing behind her, and she was gone.

“What the fuck was that?” Ana breathed, looking back at Vrina, who was still prickling, and Banta, who was held under the stern glare of the doctor and trying to keep her giggling from devolving into full laughter. “Okay, come on, what is this?”

Banta pulled herself together and glanced over at Vrina, who was still doing her best impression of a taxidermized rooster. “Maybe we should—”

“Shut up,” Vrina tucked her head beneath her feathers, rubbing at her forehead with the ridge of a wing.

“I’m just saying, it’s not like she’ll think any differently of—"

“No.” The ulu held firm. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Hi, invalid here, not exactly in a position to judge,” Ana raised an arm. “I don’t mind if the two of you are—”

“It’s not that,” Vrina hissed, and Banta guffawed again, catching another warning tut from the doctor. “We’re old friends, nothing more.”

Banta stopped laughing, and looked at her askance, her mirth disappearing. “No lies, Vrin,” she said, disapprovingly. “It’s one thing to keep something to yourself, but it’s dishonorable to lie to a comrade. I’m telling her.”

Ana cocked her head. “Wait, so you are—”

“No,” both of them replied together, the ulu still hissing. “Banta, I swear to—"

“She’s more like… my employer?” the ursinian ventured, and Vrina’s eyes bugged out, a sound like a death rattle building in her throat.

“Corporal Banta, you will not say another word,” she spluttered and then recoiled in horror as the bear woman bowed her head low to the ground, saluting her.

“Of course, your majesty,” she replied with a grin, and Ana’s brain short-circuited.

​

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Let's do the introductions.

<first><prev>

"Pjotr, Peter, Pitter, no Peter this time" the man thought "Peter Smith". Thousands of small variations in quintillions of cycles. This time he was Peter. Peter from the coffee shop. Where Boltzmann told him everything was possible. Well, so far he was fucked. In each and every cycle.

Peter cursed him, slowly looking around. He was at a picknick site. Some tables with fixed benches. And bodies. A lot of bodies. Mostly aliens. Mostly his work.

He felt nothing from seeing the bodies. He had seen it too many times. He only remembers just before the moment. He wished he didn't. CURSE THAT BOLTZMANN. Even worse, it only started after he upheld his part of the bargain.

Every time she died. Peter's mind back at the altar for a moment. This time she was Carrol. Her name changed sometimes. Just like his. but she always remained the same. And she remembered too. He was not sure, he never could talk about it. But she has that haunted look just before he tries to pull her away. Tears mingled with the gore on his face.

Police cars in the distance closed in with sirens. The few surviving bugs quivering with their weapons on the ground. One rolled on his back, rocking on his hard shell. A grenade rolled away from under him. Just like always.

Peter kicked the grenade away, as always. It exploded. Already dead bugs were torn into smaller parts and rained down on him. After standing a few seconds dumbfounded Peter started to roar from laughter. Something new!

At that moment a two police-officers arrive on the scene. The big one starts to vomit while the woman next to him struggles to keep her last meal inside as well. She draws her gun and slowly points it at Peter. Then at the bugs. Then back to Peter.

She tries to say something, with her other hand over her mouth, coughing. Peter starts to put the alien weapon on the ground. While bending over, other officers join, weapons drawn. He just in time rolls to the side when a gun is discharged.

The officer who used his weapon slapped aside by the woman first on scene with a furious look. Still coughing. She is alright, Peter thinks, struggling to stop laughing. The other cycles she was the one puking.

Peter's eyes wandered to the church in the background. Immediately his mood shifted again. He wanted to shoot those bugs. Angry at himself for laughing he put trembling the weapon down and held his hands up before collapsing on the ground, everything going dark.

Waking up in the police cell, Peter's eyes go to the door. Closed. Good, He wanted to think a bit. He felt like going insane. Was he going insane? Who are those alien bugs? Why did Boltzmann set him up to relive this horror time after time? How will he put and end to it, if he can't remember in time? HOW WILL HE GET EVEN?

No. This is not who he wanted to be. he felt love before. Not rage. He could get angry. But not like this. He did not like to loose control. It was only logical. It was their fault.

He, Peter Smith was just a regular economy student. He did not even have parents. Why where they after him? It. Was. Their. Fault.

He hated the army. Grown up without parents, he hated all authority. When the army tried to draft him, he showed up with mixed army and civilian clothes to provoke the recruitment-officer. It worked. Send home. Now he was a mass-murderer. He had shot at surrendering and fleeing bugs. If they smart enough to do that, well, that makes him. No. IT WAS THEIR FAULT!

Rage filling his mind while he remembers slaughtering the bugs time after time, the door to Peter's cell openend. In the door stands a soldier, a few more behind him. "Stand up and turn around", the soldier nearly yelled. Peter slowly started to turn, an angry look on his face.

And dodged, when the soldier wanted to give him a push to speed him up. The soldier stumbled a bit. Making the next one anxious enough to try and hit Peter with the back of his rifle. Peter sidestepped it.

Still in a murderous mood from his previous thoughts, he slapped the soldier. Only softly. He broke only his nose. Blood everywhere. A shot rang. Peter dodged. More blood. The screams did not stop for a while.

(First / Previous / Next)

Author's note:

Ok, so this one is being posted from my laptop, so the format is a bit cleaner. The story starts to move a bit more, and it's a bit longer than the last chapter, at least.

As always, feedback is always welcome. Enjoy!

******************************************************

"Ok, I know what I said, but there's just no way that could be a real tree. First of all, it's the size of a small asteroid! Lifting a tree like that out here would be a huge job, one we would have heard of. Secondly, why bother? Plant based scrubbers are nowhere near as good as what we have, and more expensive to boot. Lastly, growing a tree like that takes gravity, or at least acceleration, and keeping it healthy in zero G would be flipping impossible. So it's not a tree." I stopped and looked down at the hologram on the arm of my chair. "Right?"

"Well, you're right on all counts, but..." Carla hummed. "Look at what we DO know. There are strong Carbon and Hydrocarbon lines in the spectrograph, it shows in radar as 'hollow', and that is a very strange silhouette. Also, check this out." She brought up the spectrograph readings. "Watch what happens to the Carbon line."

I watched as the Carbon rose rapidly, then slowly faded. "It's... pulsing? Changing over time? ok, that's ever weirder."

"Not if there is a patch of raw carbon on one side of the object. It is rare but it can happen. Graphite is especially long lasting in a vacuum, but the thing is this is not graphite. This is crystal carbon. Diamond. A large patch of diamonds, it seems. Which is weird, because diamonds just do NOT form on asteroids in large patches like that." Carla's hologram looked up at me. "We will be within visual range in 3 hours. Maybe we will get some answers then?"

"I guess so. I'm going to go check my suit. If this thing IS something weird, I might have to go and check it out in person." I stood up and moved to the 'airlock'. "And if that's the case, I'd rather not spend an hour suiting up."

A little while later...

"Hey boss, we have a visual. You need to see this, and then we need to talk."

"That sounds ominous. I'm sure it's not that ba..." I started to say, but then lost my train of thought as I saw what she was displaying. "It's really real..." I collapsed into the chair. "This isn't a joke, right?"

On the display, there was what could only be described as a tree. The longest dimension was mostly brown and scaled like bark, with a few sparkling drops of dew on it. Out of one end there were large green structures that broke down into a bunch of smaller and smaller structures, all of which were flattened and arranged perpendicular to the sun. The other end terminated in a bunch of smaller structures that again seemed to have an almost fractal arrangement, but were not flattened and were wrapped around a spherical shape within. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before, but it was definitely a 'tree'.

"No joke, Adam. That thing is real and it should not exist. Those 'dewdrops' are solid carbon diamonds. Wait a sec, and it will rotate around to show one large one that we were detecting with the Spectro. It looks like the 'roots' are wound around the remnants of a comet. The 'leaves' are all gathering sunlight and it looks like they are using it to generate power for the rest of the structure... but I'm just looking at the outside of them and making assumptions." Carla materialized a hologram in front of the display and looked at me. "I'm not sure what this thing is, but it's not anything like anything we have access to. It is either some super-advanced project by some research company, or... "

"Yeah, 'or'." I said. "If it's 'or', we don't have much choice but to take a look, right? But if it's not 'or' someone would be around to claim it, right? What kind of trouble would we be unlocking if this belongs to someone?"

Carla paused for just a moment. "Ok, so according to the lawbooks I have access to with us, as long as you identify yourself before 'boarding' you're allowed to go to investigate. If nobody is on board and no signage shows it as obviously owned by anyone, then it counts as 'derelict' and you have salvage rights. If someone is on board, however, we have to 'render aid' as needed, but in this case it would be to call for help and provide food and air until help arrive. That said, if anyone is alone on that thing, they're probably too far gone to rescue at this point anyway."

There was no reason to elaborate on this; we both knew that anyone who spent too much time alone in space ended up losing track of reality. It started slow, with mild auditory hallucinations, but progressed into full blown psychosis within a few weeks. The isolation, stress, and sheer loneliness of space was enough to draw any human into madness faster than in any other environment. it was the main reason that every ship in the belt had an AI partner mandated as part of the mission: Any rockhound foolish enough to head out without one would end up too mentally unstable to be allowed back into any base in the belt.

It was even worse for AI's. Left without an 'anchor' human to talk to, they would find themselves winding into unstoppable 'virtual loops', getting lost in what appeared to be infinite loops of reasoning that never ended and never let them out. An AI in this state was 'lost in themselves', and usually would never recover. Those that did usually were damaged and prone to extensive mental issues. Two AIs would 'get lost together' and there had never been a case of recovery in that state.

This meant that every ship in the belt had at least two crewmates: a human who was the nominal 'owner' of the ship and ran all the repairs, and an AI who 'lived in' the ship and ran all the navigation and sensor packages. AIs usually did not own the ship they lived in, but some had entered into 'partner-ships'. Carla and I had an arrangement that we split the take 50-50, and the physical ship was mine but the computer (her 'home') was hers. It wasn't standard, but it worked for us.

"Houston to Adam, come in Adam." Carla joked. "Don't go all space-blind on me, ok? I need you to drive this tub."

"Yeah, sorry, just got a bit spacy there." I shook off my distraction and got back on topic. "Ok, so we are about 20 min out from docking distance, right? That gives us a bit of time to prepare. Which is good, because I have a surprise for you, pixie." I pulled out the gift box I had behind my back. "I've been working on this for a couple of months now, and I wanted to give it to you for your activation day, but I think we might need it, so... Happy Activation!"

Carla materialized a small hologram, about half the size of the gift box. "For me? What could you POSSIBLY have gotten for me that I don't already have?" She smirked. "Well, open it already! I can't wait to see it."

I opened the box, then lifted out a 2' by 2' trapezoidal metal shape. "It's a fully complete drone shell. I had to import the memory modules, Ceres didn't have anything that would come close to what you currently have, but the QPU chips are next gen and state of the art. It still will only have about 90% of the capacity of the ship hardware, but it can hold all of you and allow you freedom to move on your own without requiring me to carry your cameras or projectors."

Carla looked up at me from her hologram, and burst into a sudden "squeeeeee!" I laughed, and motioned to the drone. Her hologram shattered (a graphic I knew she had been working on for a while) and flowed into the drone. I knew the lightshow was unnecessary, but she was so happy that I just let her show off a bit. After a few seconds of twirling and spinning, she settled down and aimed the drone cameras at me. "So, how do I look?"

"You look like a drone. But it has hologram projector units built in, so you can make it look like anything you like. Try them out!" I spent a lot of time getting the coverage of the holoprojectors to as close to 100% of the drone as possible, so she could do that. "There's a lot of pre-programmed options, but you can build your own as you like. I know it's a bit bigger than your usual hologram, but it's the most compact form I could get that would handle your program independently."

While I was talking, Carla was fiddling with the hologram programs, until she settled in on a large eagle shape. "I'll personalize it later, I think the fairy dragon option will work best for me, but for right now I'll stick with this eagle. Now, this means I can go aboard that object with you and interface with anything we find. Which is good, because... We are here."

**********************************************

(First / Previous / Next)

First

The Bounty Hunters

“So we’re number four thousand eight hundred and twenty two on the waiting list?” Slithern asks Mother Lytha. He’s wrapped up in her coils with Mother Cindy on Pukey’s lap and between them. She’s holding George and Harrika is holding little Darruda Dawn Schmidt Powercoil. Or DD, it turns out that the name was too good for the nickname of Booger to stick. To Slithern’s disappointment. Surrounding them are his honourguard in full formal plate. Even though they were told this was going to be casual.

“It’s going through quickly.” Bike remarks from his position. He had decided to be a gentleman and let Susie-Lu have his seat. Which is why her sister was leaning against an unused part of he console next to where Bike was working.

“So does that mean we still need ta stand at attention all formal like? Or can I relax a lil?” Sallie asks. They had managed to easily fit everyone in the ship onto the bridge so there had been a minimum of fighting for seating space. Mostly the spaces around respective husbands. The Crimsonhewers didn’t care. The Sidewinders had moved fast. Nuit and Soir were all over Tang as Mustard relaxed with Andrea and Roth. Jade was crouching next to a sitting Onyx with Air Farce draped over their shoulders like the most impertinent boa to ever exist.

The Hat was reclining with his newly made piece of clothing as J3 was jotting down a list of all the funniest loopholes he could find in Mordonan bylaws and Orhanas traditions. It was in bullet point format and he was halfway through his fifth page already.

Mustard, Andrea and Roth were all but tangled up together and while The Hat wasn’t technically surrounded by his Crimsonhewer brides, there was also a higher concentration of them around the big man.

“We have contact!” Bike suddenly says as the queue in front of them jumps in time to see a man take a pull of a clear liquid that is unlikely to be water. “Are you Observer Wu?”

“I am, and you would be Officer Drake Engel. Your Aunt sends her regards.” Observer Wu says putting the bottle to this side.

“The queue behind us just expanded to several thousand. Still working on your cyber-security?”

“Yes. Unfortunately my duties require that I take an initial observation of all human outposts and interests before physically going there to evaluate in person. Meaning I can’t simply shut it off as Admiral Cistern has recommended.” Observer Wu says and there are numerous sympathetic looks.

“Well, if nothing else it should confirm just how female dominant the galactic population is.” Pukey says. “I will not hold it against you if you wish to drain the flask.”

“I’ll need more of it for later. My supplies are currently limited.” Observer Wu states. “Now then, from my understanding you are one of the earliest groups that went out and sought further interactions with the galaxy at large. You have also a recent report of one of your members attaining noble rank in a friendly empire known as Lablan, is this correct?”

“That would be me.” Slither says. “Behold my honourguard! I’m afraid I’ve left the Crystal Star back in my quarters however.”

“I see. Is there anything in particular that I should be made aware of?”

“There have been a few encounters with some very dangerous things. Some are still legally classified, others are classified under an Undaunted Remit to control dangerous information.”

“Dangerous information?

“A disgustingly powerful weapon that is easily mass made but terrible in all it’s means. The ones we’re referring to are named Pale Generators. They’re in the Albrith files.” Pukey says and Observer Wu nods.

“More to read for me then. Now I understand we have you thank for some unholy hybrid of an elephant gun, anti-material rifle and artillery cannon.”

“Yes, the Pop Gun. Often impractical, but most people scanning for weapons look for things like railguns or coilguns which have certain energy profiles, but a Pop-Gun is inert until used. Meaning it can slip through a lot of scans. Couple that with it being made of common materials and you can hide these monsters just about anywhere and there’s no way of knowing where they are without actually seeing them.”

“An excellent contribution.” Observer Wu remarks. “You were also involved in the conquest of Vucsa were you not?”

“They picked me up there!” Jade says holding up a hand and dislodging Air Farce by accident. There’s about a half second of excitement as the man lands mostly bad, jumps off it hard and turns it into a flip.

“Hah!” He proclaims and Jade laughs. “What’s the matter? Can’t get one on your old man?”

Any further taunting is cut off by her grabbing him into a tight hug as Onyx laughs before pausing as she feels her stomach.

“Little sis kicking?”

“If I hadn’t had a scan I would swear you had two sisters on the way little lady. She’s going to be a big one.” Onyx notes wryly.

“Sorry big girl, I don’t do things by halves.” Air Farce says now standing up next to her and is just barely poking over her shoulder as he does so. She leans back to kiss him.

“Make it up to me then.”

“So business as usual?”

“Business as usual.” She confirms.

“Well, I can see that there’s certainly a great effort to see how humans interbreed with other races.” Observer Wu states. “What has been learned about that?”

“Well for starters, even if there’s an enormous difference between the parents the child is still healthy. Little George here hatched from an egg that his three foot tall mother laid.” Pukey says and Observer Wu openly taps a few keys on his chair to zoom in.

“Congratulations, the child looks healthy, if a little small.”

“He should grow a fair amount more in short order. But he seems to be almost completely human.”

“Almost?”

“There is a slightly stronger type of ligament and reinforcement around his hands. His nails are also coming in stronger. I have more than a few ancestors from the mountains, with the stronger grips and everything. Looks like my little Georgie is going to be hard to stop from climbing over everything.”

“Really? So your specific breed of Kohb have stronger grips?”

“Very much so. There are those with larger hands designed to aid in digging, then there are some with finer smoother scales for better swimming.” Cindy says nuzzling down first George, then DD when she makes some noise.

Then the older sister giggles and decides to try and talk with her brother again. “Uh oh, looks like we’ve got some chatting ahead.”

“I think we should duck out then. Need to keep the littles well attended to.” Pukey says rising up as he carries them all. “If you’ll excuse me sir, I have an adoptive daughter and a newly born son to attend to.”

As the door closes behind them there’s a pause.

“So now that they’re out of the room, does anyone want to talk about them?” J3 asks in an amused tone.

“I think we can skip that, now, your particular role is to effectively take up a second occupation and pursue it while reporting back to The Undaunted as a whole, that must have been quite the step up. How were you chosen for this? Recruitment? Volunteered?”

“We were firstly singled out as more energetic and unusual crew members, the fact that all of us...”

“Ahem.” Tang interrupts.

“Almost all of us.” Bike amends his statement. “Almost all of us had some kind of strange nickname but ALL of us were rated highly for independence and initiative. We’re all always doing something, and this gives us something to do as well as being outright encouraged to get our hands on and play with every possible new toy we can.”

“And how many planets have you visited at this point?”

“Several dozen. Although if we were to simply go from world to world to drop off every criminal we had found that was a border jumper of some kind then we would rapidly visit another hundred, easily.”

“Not to mention revisit a great many that we’ve already gone to.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem with vacation worlds. People like running to them and often need to run from them after doing something stupid.”

“However the fact that a lot of bounties let you get first grab of a criminal’s illegal items, we’ve gotten quite the stash of weapons and equipment. TO say nothing of the weird techniques we discover that makes us see things even more tactically.”

“Such as?”

“One of our earliest bits of bounty hunting was The Multi-Armed Maimers, they were categorized by having many limbs as you can guess.”

Observer Wu nods.

“Well they had a trick where they’d lead any chase they ended up in directly into a treacherous canyon that would overhang to form an open air cave with numerous quartz veins, magnetic interference and a path so dangerous that chasing them was suicide, and if it was blocked off they would up their viciousness until it was uncovered, and if someone waited on the other side? Guaranteed death for whoever they took hostage, and not a clean one either.”

“How did you handle it?”

“Bought the wreck of a local van, repaired and upgraded until it was borderline illegal to own, and then went through the canyon, a little faster each time, until Air Farce there could fly it at his top speed with his eyes closed.”

“Okay, so you could stop them from harming a hostage. What else?”

“Well, we also knew that they would likely try it twice, so we set a trap at the entrance after they went over it. Using positioning and sensors to set it off at the exact right time in order to shred the underside of their vehicle. The resulting crashed stunned and injured the Maimers, allowing for easy capture.” Air Farce finishes before grinning. “Big girl here was also on the hunt and I showed her our ways. Taking her for a leisurely drive with the songs of earth to serenade her when she asked how we did it.”

There is a moment of silence before he chuckles.

“Poor girl doesn’t have a single romantic bone in her body! She...” Air Farce begins to ease before a large dark hand tipped with claws wraps around his head to silence him before he’s dragged into Onyx’s lap.

“Anyways, after he nearly scared my fur off, I realized I was dealing with the kind of man so energetic that even getting a few sparks of that would power me for millennia.” Onyx says fondly before she lets go of Air Farce to let him breathe.

“Speaking of energetic, that reminds me of something. Lieutenant General Escareno would like Pilot Rico Bravo to know that so long as he lives the threat of military prison continues under Mexican skies.”

“So long as the General lives or so long as I live?” Air Farce asks.

“He didn’t specify. I saw the forms he has ready. He just needs to file it for a dishonourable discharge, and has refused to speak of what exactly you did to anger him so much.” Observer Wu says and all heads turn to Air Farce.

“Hmm... I was explicitly told that the Gag Order was ‘until everyone forgets this embarrassment’ and failing to uphold it would see the biggest boot he has on the strongest foot he can find to kick my ass into the smallest cell he can manage if I ever tell anyone what happened.”

“Still no clues man?” Bike asks with a large smile.

“Once again, the only clue I’ll give you is that General Escareno has no sense of humour.” Air Farce says flatly.

“We’ll get it out of you one day.”

“Not legally you won’t.” Air Farce says. “Besides, what I did was technically legal.”

“Not anymore it’s not.” Observer Wu replies.

“Well it was legal at the time.” Air Farce amends.

“Every time you open your mouth I have more questions.” Sergeant Migara notes.

“That’s normal.” Air Farce says with a massive grin as he suddenly has Aviators on and there’s some groaning around the bridge.

“Where did those come from and why?” Observer Wu asks.

“He’s got a little Axiom pocket tattoo behind his ear. He has them in there.” Jade explains.

“Jade! No! Sweetie please, not my secrets!” Air Farce calls out and Observer Wu just shakes his head.

“Yes, this is clearly a surprisingly normal ship. Incidentally is Captain Schmidt still listening? There is someone here to meet him.”

“Oh, yeah we’re just outside, just making sure the little ones having a conversation isn’t interrupting.” Pukey says as he and Cindy slip back in with the two babies happily babbling at each other.

“Here, let me help.” Harrika says as she turns around and walks over. Little DD and George are happy to be near each other with George grabbing at DD constantly and her giggling every time his fingers slide over her reinforced skin.

“So you have someone here to speak with me?” Pukey says before Observer Wu nods and gestures for someone to walk over. “Baked?”

“Hey.” The man says. His expression is immensely slack but not outside of regulation. “You’ve done well.”

“I have. I’m surprised you recovered quick enough for the second round.”

“Eh, it still hurts. But it doesn’t really matter.” Baked replies. “So... three kids?”

“Four, the next egg is soon to hatch.” Pukey says and Baked pauses.

“Still kinda weird that humans can come from eggs now.”

“Well, the next one up is a daughter. Little snake girl coming up.”

“Really? That’s nice.” Baked says and there’s nothign else he says. After a few moments everyone turns to Pukey wondering what the hell is going on.

“It’s just Baked, he’s about as calm and mellow as a human can get. Even with chemical assistance, he’s not worried.”

“Why worry? Things turn out how they turn out.”

“Yes, yes the do.” Pukey says and then there’s another silence as Bike slowly looks back and forth and Air Farce starts outright snickering. “Look he’s just like this. I can’t stop that! Breaking his own ankle barely got a peep out of the man!”

People start laughing as Pukey rolls his eyes in frustration.

First Last

Let's assume that our Star "sol" has consciousness..

Thoughtsof Star "sol"..

"I have been traveling around the galaxy core for millions of years,,

I have spent million of years to create these planets and made them live in my gravity well..

I have finally helped in creation of a life which is sapient and has stepped for the first time on their natural moon...

They call themselves humans,, I have seen humanity grow from caves to their modern cities and their brutal wars.

I have been accessing their information channels since they discovered radios.

Humans call me star "sol" or "sun"..

I have a lot of complains from my kids, They have been fighting among themselves for centuries of their time. They have been fighting over oil and resources. Star sol sent out a huge solar flare with anger

When these idiots will learn to travel beyond my gravity well Every star wants to see their grandkids to move out into the stars, and bring back the wonders of galaxy.

I have created so many moons, 3 asteroid belts and 4 gas giants for their needs But stupid humans are busy in their politics , They have created multiple power systems(nations) and each power system sees other as market for their product.

I have spent millions of years, creating different form of lifeforms on earth (After the failed attempts on Mars)

I have provided energy in right proportion to facilitate the creation of first cell on earth..

My child Earth created big life forms like dinasaurs, but those species focused on more forest lifestyle,,, and primitive form of intelligence..

Star sol "damn,, it was so tragic to watch that natural movement of asteroid wiping most of dino age species "

Now, atleast these humans have those tiny missiles, if a asteroid goes towards earth again I still remember,.when my child Earth woke me up from.my million year sleep..

Earth "father sol, I have finally created sapient,, look at those monkeys in their caves with fire"

Star "sol", "how many more generation for our monkeys to grow"?? (Asking to earth) Earth "no idea"..

Their lower orbit is full of satellites, which use my solar energy to work.. I have spent a decade of their time, reading their fiction about the stars and other species.

Star sol started crying with sorrow,,, and a new storm started on Jupiter... Star sol has witnessed the extinction of life from planet Mars,

Star sol thought, "I am sad that, these young minds have created breathtaking stories about the galaxy, and yet they may never be able to visit another solar system"..

I hope, these humanity species of mine,, can visit other stars, and I can show-off my humans on the galactic net of stars...

They have nasa, isro, rsa and other space exploration organisations,, But they are using earth's resources to create them.. Star sol. " When will humanity see the amount of resources present in their solar system",,,..

Star sol eagerly awaits for that generation of humans, who will take all of humans to the galaxy".....

Star sol also feels sad for the kids who shares stories about the galaxy, but still unable to travel outside sol system.

Star sol is waiting for the day,, when someone in future makes a post on sub-reddit HFY, And say "Humans have finally made first contact,,humans fuck yeahhh"

What will be our future among the stars??

1. Do humans meet a crowded galaxy,

Or we will become the builders of life Or we will find some galactic empires,,

Together with star sol, Let's pray together that our descendants will see the stats,, and even one day, reach the milky way galaxy core"....

Somehow, galaxy and our universe beleive in the motto of slow growth....

What if in future, when humans build their first ship which can travel at speed of light,, And suddenly star Sol sends us a welcome message????

My dear humans,, time to create international lobby to push humans into our solar system....

First | Previous

Artak sighed, It was the third time, this year alone, that some Junior Scientist had gotten some grand ideas about first contact and tried to get themselves into Earth’s atmosphere. As Director Dask’s assistant, of course, it was his job to deal with the mountain of paperwork generated by the subsequent arrests and shipments to their homeworlds for trial.

The reason for such disorderly behaviour was the fact that humans had finally started emitting radio waves out into space, which meant that, after well over 800 Galactic Standard years of working mostly off of visual data, the scientists at the facility could get a far better understanding of their languages, cultures and societies.

This led to a massive increase in applications for positions on the observation post, exacerbated by the rumours that had finally started circulating about the humans. Not enough to be taken seriously yet, as the idea of a species that fought the way they did was seemingly as ridiculous as the myth about a mountain-sized crab living in Kaan-I, but it was definitely enough to spark interest in young, excitable researchers.

The rumours, however, were true, and as dozens of new personnel arrived, so did the idiots Artak was tasked with cleaning up after. Some of them had decided to take a more “proactive” approach towards humanity, despite every Commonwealth rule and guideline going against it, and thus the main reason for his sleep deprivation these past few months.

Humans were, as it turns out, very interesting beyond just their warfare, and their culture was spreading like wildfire through the facility’s scientists. “Jazz”, a music genre that seemed to be particularly popular in human society, was being played almost daily in the cafeteria at this point, much to the dismay of Artak, who just wanted to eat his scones in peace. Curiously, “scone” was the name of a suspiciously similar human food, and Artak suspected it must have been a breach of protocol that went under the radar.

There were its downsides to gaining a better understanding of humanity, however, as Director Dask seemed to be growing increasingly concerned in recent months. She was one of the half-dozen scientists still working on the station who witnessed the Great War, as humans called it, and she was worried it may happen again.

From what was gathered from intercepted transmissions, there were still grievances held from that terrible conflict, and a near-collapse of their economical system, which had happened around 8 Earth years ago by this point, meant that there was plenty of strife across the world, with previously prosperous groups suddenly being thrust into poverty.

Of particular note to the Director was an ideology born of said strife, “fascism” as humans called it, one that seemingly worshiped war, and saw conflict as the main driver for revitalizing the nations in which its adepts were. Their particular way of attaining power was to pinpoint all of society’s issues on a select group of people, which was of course blatantly false, in order to weaponize grievances and drive hatred within the populace. This belief system, Director Dask theorised, is what would bring the world to war once again.

The theory  was further emphasized by the recent conflicts reported in the continent of Asia, as humans called it, where hundreds of thousands were massacred in a war of conquest from an Empire seeking to expand its influence, espousing different and yet similar ideals to those of the fascist nations in Europe, who were doing the same, with their own targets on sight. This adaptability was one of the ideology’s main dangers, as it could seep into any given culture by simply replacing a few key tenets while maintaining its broader structure.

As time went by, Artak watched, under the guidance of the Director, fascism growing in power, as its nations became ever more ambitious and hateful, as conflict brewed across the world and as it finally came to a head, bringing the crisis Dask had feared for all those years. “It happened!” Artak shouted, barging into the Director’s office and nearly falling over in the process.

“So it did”, Dask answered, getting away from her desk and into the corridor, beckoning Artak to follow. “I’ve been predicting this for a while, as you know, though I don’t feel happy knowing I was correct,” she said, with a somber expression. “There’s a reason why many of my peers left after the War, a reason why some of the visual records are not accessible to all. I fear this may be worse, as the technological advancement of humanity is truly frightening” she completed, as they arrived at the observatory room.

“Then why are you still here?” Artak asked, “After all the horror you’ve witnessed, surely no one could blame you for following your peers. Why do you still seem to believe in them, despite everything?”. He could see it in her eyes, the constant, unfaltering glimmer of hope. Director Dask still held out for these humans, and Artak struggled to understand why.

“Because, for every act of cruelty I’ve seen, there’s also been compassion and empathy.”, she said, “The post-war trials for those who committed heinous acts even by human standards, the soldiers returning to their families with joy, the food lines for those who were starving during the great economic crisis. You’ve heard that damned ‘Jazz’ music they won’t stop playing at the cafeteria, right? For all their faults, humanity still often shows itself to be more lively and compassionate than many of our own” she concluded, looking down at the planet as troops gathered. Another World War was coming.

This, however, was different. While researchers came to the conclusion that the Great War was fought over a mixture of petty squabbles and nationalistic fervor, a fact that led to the resignation of several more of the original team that had witnessed it, this current, Second World War had a reason: Beating back and ideology of sheer hate and cruelty, deposing a tyrant and bringing a new age, a hopefully more peaceful one, upon the world.

The righteousness of their goal, however, did not make the ugly affair of human war any less brutal. Artak  watched as large flying machines bombarded cities into rubble, killing indiscriminately as they did so. He watched as fascist forces pushed North, then marched across the country of  Belgium and into France, going around a fortified line of defense that was inexplicably undefended at one location.

A terrible reality began dawning on those who watched. Fascism was winning. The non-intervention of certain countries, coupled with the loss of France and various territories across the continents of Africa and Asia made the Axis powers, which was the name of the fascist coalition, seem borderline unstoppable. Artak witnessed, in horror, as hundreds of thousands of people were marched across Germany and its territories into concentration camps, whose purpose seemed to be solely for extermination.

This wasn’t the brutal, senseless slaughter he was growing increasingly used to by this point. This was, somehow, worse. It was the cold, systematic and calculated genocide of millions upon millions of people, for no other reason than their phenotype, ideology or, even more nebulous of a concept, their mere heritage and ancestry. Of all he had seen so far, the Shoah, as it was called by some of the victimized populations, was the most chilling event in the war, by a wide margin.

If Hitler won, as was seemingly growing more likely, any hopes of humanity ever making it into the galactic stage were done. If they were capable of such calculated destruction targeted at their own peers, then it seemed clear that they would not meet their galactic neighbors with anything but total war, and, given how thoroughly unprepared quite literally everyone else was to the sort of bloodshed humans can levy, it would not go well for the galaxy.

As such, Director Dask was already drafting a full report. One in which, in case the war was truly lost, extinction measures were highly recommended. While planet-killer weapons were well beyond the scope of what any military across the galaxy would even conceive of having, let alone using, wiping a planet clean was terrifyingly easy. It only took an FTL drive and some thrusters attached to a large asteroid, and the job was as good as done. 

Such a drastic report that could wipe away an entire civilization deeply pained the Director. Humanity was, after all, her subject of study for well over four decades, and she had grown to love it as much as one would their own family. She recognized, however, that the safety of the Galaxy was at stake, and, if worse came to worst, the lives of hundreds of billions of sapients far outweighed her personal feelings on the matter.

Then, two strange things happened. First, German forces attacked who the researchers so far thought were their allies up north, suddenly pushing into their borders as fast as their other military maneuvers proved to be. The country, however, was massive, and the campaign proved far more difficult than it appeared. Then, Japanese forces bombed a military facility of the previously non-intervening country of the United States, for reasons also nebulous to the research team. This thrust two of the largest non-intervening countries into war, and Artak finally saw a possibility of change.

Change, though, did not come as fast as they’d hoped. Months went by, with the Axis forces going strong. It was then that the first human device to leave Earth’s atmosphere was detected, and the researchers were disappointed, if not surprised, that it was an explosive missile, headed to the city of Paris, where it blew up and killed several more innocents.

By this point, the topic of war was pointedly ignored by most other researchers, as they would rather focus on humanity’s many cultures and habits, rather than facing the reality that the primitives they had been studying for so long may just be coming to an end. Many felt distressed by the prospect, though none challenged the validity of Director Dask’s last measure.

Finally, their advance seemed to stall. The Allies were, albeit slowly and at great cost, taking back occupied territories. At the same time, sensor readings detected higher-than-usual radiation levels coming from the city of Chicago, in the United States. Director Dask had not yet come to any conclusions as to what that meant, but, given the known effects of radiation and the human tendency to use particularly terrible weapons, Artak was definitely concerned by the news.

The casualties by this point were unprecedented. Far more than any other human war ever documented, especially across such a relatively short span of time, and quite possibly more than every single war, conflict and fight had ever caused everywhere else in that Sector of the galaxy, combined.

Worst of all, the vast majority of deaths seemed to be civilian ones. The brutal and indiscriminate bombardment humans seemed to call “strategic bombing” was barbaric by any reasonable definition. Millions were killed by it, and millions more were left homeless, with the places they had grown up in now unrecognizably disfigured, razed from history altogether. 

At last, hope for an end to the war surged. Artak watched as hundreds of planes, ships and thousands of soldiers gathered on the coast of Great Britain. He watched, shocked, as they made their way across the English Channel, storming the coast of Normandy with complete disregard for self-preservation. He watched as thousands died, being gunned down and bombarded en masse by the coastal fortifications. It was the most brutal fighting he’d personally witnessed, though the haunted looks of those who were observing the Battle of Stalingrad told him it was by no means the worst overall.

Alas, they succeeded, smothering any hope of an Axis win. He and his colleagues observed as fascist lines collapsed, with their last-ditch efforts failing to accomplish any major gains. He watched as Berlin was taken, and cheered. The war was coming to a close, and a bright future was ahead.

It was too early for a complete celebration though, as Japan had not yet surrendered. It was well-documented at this point that fighting and dying with honour was a cultural aspect of their society, which was not helped by the Allies’ seemingly deflecting several attempts at negotiation. This, Artak’s colleagues feared, could mean the end of the war would end up a long, deadly affair. Then there was a flash of light.

Artak felt disoriented as, over the course of the next few minutes, dozens of scientists rushed into the observatory room. The light, had, apparently, been visible from the cafeteria window, as several of the researchers rushing in seemed to be coming from there. One of them, Artak noted, in his stupor, was still carrying a piece of human bread, a food they had only recently figured out how to get the synthesizer to make. 

The rest of the people coming in, however, were those monitoring for abnormal sensor readings. Researchers had been assigned to that job ever since the first above-average radiation levels were detected in Chicago, and, as they were crowding around the Director and reporting on the situation, Artak overheard that there was a spike that coincided with the flash. 

Humans, it seems, had started experimenting with nuclear fission all those years ago. Not for energy generation, like a sane species, but for a bomb. A few weeks after such a revelation, two more blasts happened, razing entire cities in a single blow. With that, the war was over, the most destructive conflict in recorded human history. But there was little cheering, for the weight of what happened was clear to all.

The Allied win, and Director Dask’s report not being sent, may not have mattered in the end. Humanity had, after all, just obtained the capability to end itself, with no asteroid or outside intervention necessary. Artak feared for those who he observed, wondering if the dilemma of humanity would, in the end, resolve itself.

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

Author's Note: Hello everyone! This one was definitely quite a bit harder to write, largely due to the scope of what I'm dealing with here and the topics that had to be addressed. As always, feedback is highly appreciated, and thank you so much for your support thus far!

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I stood on the stage, helping Keith to continue with directions for operating the smartphone. I have been the guard to Her Majesty, Queen Marila, for as long as I've known her, and I can feel her mind in here as well. Before these games began, the thought that there was someone more ambitious than her never entered my mind until I met Keith. When we joined his 'tribe', I contacted our counsel to see what he had said, but instead of simply telling, the counsel had shown me the video of Keith's proclamation. Bruised, battered, and bleeding, he should have been on the ground, but he was not. He stood, defiant to his core as he called out for everyone to band together and threatened the Game Master, a man he had no way to reach as he claimed that he would protect us all.

As I watched the memories flood through his childhood, I cannot help but think that there are only a rare few of my people who would be able to get up from such repeated loss, and now we come into territory I am far more familiar with. He stands in a room, a barracks, at attention with scores of other men all dressed identically to him, their hair even cut to be the same. This life, a soldier's life, I am intimately familiar with. The one who will train them enters loudly, yelling, and throws a metal bin down the center of the room, and as it bounces, it looks as though it will bounce and strike one of the other recruits, when Keith breaks attention, taking one step forward, catching it and setting it upright to his side. The one known as Drill Sergeant crosses the room in driven strides to stand toe-to-toe with Keith, "Who told you to step out of formation, private?!"

Keith was unphased, "No one, Drill Sergeant!"

"Then why were you out of formation, private?!", every word was being screamed, and I saw as other recruits flinched, unused to the force of the commands.

"Becuase the trashcan would have struck Alcott, Drill Sergeant!", Keith came back unphased.

The Drill Sergeant stepped back for a moment, reassessing the recruit in front of him, his voice dropping from the screaming, "And what is your name, recruit?"

Keith maintained eye contact while staying at attention, "Specialist Moorehouse, Drill Sergeant!"

"Specialist Moorehouse, drop and give me twenty push-ups for being out of formation," The order lacked the yelling element, a slight acknowledgment that I understood. Keith had disobeyed the order, true, but had done it for the sake of his fellow soldier, a trait to be admired.

Keith called out his recognition of the order, and did his exercises. Others in the room would join him as the Drill Sergeant told them what as going to happen to them in their basic- basic?!

This is basic training? All-Mother be good for whomever got considered for the elite training!

The scene shifted to later in the same night, with everyone lined up in front of a bank of devices. It took a few runs at it, but I came to understand. These devices were used to contact the families of the recruits... oh no. Keith stood at the back of the lines, and held up a hand, calling out to the Drill Sergeant, "Drill Sergeant!"

The Drill Sergeant strode over to him in that same uniform step, "You will get your turn to call your parents, Specialist Moorehouse!"

Quieter, Keith responded, "My parents are dead, Drill Sergeant."

The older man lost a step, and a couple of the recruits around Keith swiveled their heads at the statement, "Then call your grandparents, Specialist."

"Also dead, Drill Sergeant," Keith responded, with all the emphasis of someone noting the weather on a normal day.

The Drill Sergeant said nothing for a moment, then a made a motion with his hand, "Specialist, you may return to the barracks."

His voice had lost that edge that he had prior as he gave the order, it had taken the energy out of him, and Keith simply gave his affirmation of the order, and headed off in the direction of the barracks. The scene shifted again to Keith sitting alone in his barracks at the foot of his bed, breaking out the tools to polish his boots, just concentrating on the activity, and I felt the tears well up in my own eyes. He was alone in the world, all of his worldly possessions contained in a single foot locker. It wasn't fair. I saw it in Keith's eyes, the determination to push past it, and they were not the eyes of a simple recruit. His eyes were those of a veteran already, one who had fought and lost, who had overcome much, but his body was little more than a child's, and I felt it as Trayg's mind rejoined, and the Ghol stepped forward to join him there, taking a seat on the foot locker beside him as the scene dissolved.

More scenes rushed past, Keith being given recruit command of the division, helping to build others up, and I heard Keith's song:

I've come to understand
That tragedy's a second chance
My dying breath is where I was born
Now I'm stronger than my storm

The scenes continued on, Keith completing his basic training and heading off to learn the medical. He pushed himself further than anyone else around him, helping those who faltered even as his own pain was left to him repeatedly, but the greatest change was in those who would come to be his friends, built amongst those who served with him, as he met and fell in love with Kendra, and found solace and family. But I knew how this story went, and I could take no peace in his joy. He approached the relationship with all the ardor of someone dying of thirst would a mountain spring. His joy was beyond anything I'd felt in my life, and it would be ripped away from him in the cruelest manner possible. For the first time, I found myself questioning if I was strong enough to keep standing my vigil.

By assignment, he became stationed with a specialized group within his army, referred to as Rangers, and trained alongside them. He pushed himself harder, forcing them to recognize Keith as one of their own. He did not simply complete the training, but placed highly within it, pushing his own body to the breaking point again and again to prove his worth to no one but himself. He trained tirelessly with weapons he would not use... what?!

I became aware as I watched. Keith was a Combat Medic, charged to go onto the battlefield, but to do so without carrying a weapon to defend himself with. There were rules of war that stipulated him a technically protected status, and while he could use a weapon, if he did so he would not be afforded those protections. Keith's position was to run into a battlefield unarmed even as war raged around him, and finally, his determination clicked into place in my mind. He would put himself to the hazard time and again, to save others, to make sure no one understood how he felt because he knew there was only one way to understand, and he would not wish that fate even on his enemies.

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Zaon put on his gloves as he examined the array of armaments the aides had carried to the edge of the arena. Rows of swords, spears, polearms, and maces shone under the winter sunlight. There were bucklers and shields, parrying daggers and nets. There were even more exotic variants of curved swords and glaives. Zaon reached for a longsword with a broad blade, feeling its weight in his hand. With a practiced motion, he swung it in a diagonal descending arc, a small recovery motion, and back into a low guard. He shook his head and returned it to its place in the rack.

“Too heavy,” Zaon said.

Unlike practice swords, the weapons in the rack were real tools for war. They were designed for use by mid and high-level combatants whose strength far surpassed the natural limitations of non-combatants.

Lord Nara’s team geared up at the pavilion's opposite side while a Fortifier applied the ten-layer barrier over Zaon’s opponent. Whoever had changed our name in the official documents might have prepared another assortment of nasty surprises for us. I used my mana sense to examine the barrier. The Fortifier was a middle-aged man dressed in gold with the emblem of the royal stag embroidered on the chest. Despite his supposed neutrality, I decided to play it safe.

Zaon tested two more longswords before settling on the thinnest among them. Whether it was a deliberate choice or simply instinct, the blade seemed to fit with Zaon’s style of swift attacks and agile retreats. The boy looked at me, asking me a silent question.

“A fine choice,” I replied.

The crowd roared to deafening levels in the half-moon-shaped stands. Zaon looked around with a worried expression. Not only were the upper echelons of the kingdom there, but also most of Farcrest’s population. I wondered how many of them cheered for us. Probably very few. Orphans weren’t supposed to get good classes; they were destined to live in the outskirts of the social hierarchy where their purpose was limited to serve as cannon fodder for the armies of noble houses.

The Fortifier approached us. “I’m going to apply the barrier.”

Zaon gleamed with a blue hue as the mana surrounded his body. By the time the tenth barrier closed around him, the naked eye could barely catch the difference, but my mana sense could. There was a slight, almost indistinguishable discrepancy between Zaon’s barriers and his opponent’s, not to the point of being malicious, but I could tell the Fortifier felt a little disdain against us.

“Combatants, to the arena!” The Master of Ceremonies' voice rose above the crowd’s noise. Despite none of our teams being particularly famous, the crowd was starting to get heated.

The System's raw power against Zaon’s hard work and combat knowledge passed from generation to generation. Maybe putting Zaon against a Soldier was a mistake. It was like putting the kid against his future self, against the class he believed he would become. This fight could build the foundations of a new Zaon or damage his confidence forever.

I put my hand on Zaon’s shoulder.

“Don’t rush, Zaon. Fight smart. If your opponent uses [Strengthen Armament] or [Iron Skin], just retreat until his mana runs out. This is your fight, not theirs, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Zaon replied, his voice quivered if only slightly.

Not all the kids reacted to pressure in the same way. Fighting in front of thousands of people wasn’t something my former students had done. However, I was used to dealing with nervous kids before participating in public debates and sports events. A technical rundown of the opponent might be reassuring for Wolf or Ilya. Zaon needed another perspective; he needed to feel in control.

“Listen to me, Zaon. I’m going to ask you something really important,” I said. “Who would you rather fight, Firana or the Soldier from Team Nara?”

Zaon gave me a quizzical look. Then, a timid smile appeared on his face. With her new wind powers, Firana had turned into a little tyrant on the sparring grounds. As a result, Zaon had spent the last few days being beaten up for Firana’s amusement.

“I’d take the Soldier from House Nara. No doubt,” Zaon said with a timid smile as the gears turned inside his brain. “He can’t be as bad as Firana.”

“I’m sure he isn’t as half as bad as Firana,” I replied, gently pushing him into the arena.

Zaon walked a couple of steps before turning around. His expression was serene, and his shoulders relaxed. There wasn’t a glimpse of the jittery elf I had met several months ago. Not even the deafening whistles from the stands shook him.

“Mister Clarke?”

“Yes, Zaon?”

“I got this,” he said, giving me the thumbs-up and walking to the arena where his opponent awaited him.

I sat on a bench on the pavilion's border. My heart didn’t feel heavy anymore. Grades and scores never meant a lot to me. Sure, they could give lots of useful information about the kid’s learning process, but they weren’t my endgame. Cutting a block of granite required tens, if not hundreds, of hits. Just like a granite stonecutter, Zaon had put in the work, session after session. Even if this weren’t the day he could cut the block, I knew that day would come, and he seemed to understand the same.

“What did you tell him?” Firana asked as she caught up.

“Nothing, just a couple of supportive words,” I lied.

Firana gave me a suspicious look but didn’t say anything else.

We focused on the arena. The Soldier from Team Nara was taller than Zaon, and his shoulders were broader. Elves were late bloomers compared to humans, but that didn’t mean Zaon was dramatically weaker. Zaon had the advantage of his elven traits.

Firana squeezed my arm as she bit her nails.

“The rules are simple. The fight will end after one of the participants breaks the opponent’s ten barriers. There will be no pause between breaks. If you want to give up at any moment of the fight, raise your hand,” the Master of Ceremonies announced. “On guard!”

Zaon adopted the perfect pflug guard: his knees slightly bent, his left foot ahead, his hands near his hip, and the tip of the sword pointing at his opponent’s head.

“Fight!” the Master of Ceremonies yelled.

The Soldier adopted a similar, low guard stance but with his longsword pointing down, inviting Zaon to attack. The elven boy, however, didn’t take the bait. His expression was serene, completely absorbed in the fight.

“Lino, what are you doing? He has no Class, no skills! End this quickly!” Lord Nara yelled from the bench at the other side of the weapons rack.

The Soldier seemed to snap out of his trance and threw a quick diagonal strike. Zaon avoided the blade by stepping back, [Keen Senses] helping him bring his reaction times as low as possible. I held my breath, waiting for Zaon’s riposte, but the attack never came. The Soldier, sensing the opening in his defense, hesitated for an instant, but Zaon stepped back, maintaining the defensive stance.

“What are you doing!” Lord Nara yelled from the sideline.

The Soldier pressed the attack, marching forward and unleashing a flurry of blows.

The crowd roared.

Zaon seemed to glide over the arena, his feet gently kicking the ground to dodge every blow. The Soldier’s broad longsword gleamed with mana as he unleashed a violent strike. Zaon leaned back, barely dodging the blow but leaving the Soldier off balance. Instead of exploiting the opening, Zaon stepped out of range.

“Is the elf toying with his opponent?” Someone asked inside the pavilion.

“I don’t know, that kid doesn’t move like someone without a class,” another voice replied. “Well… his opponent is a Soldier Class. It’s no surprise the fight is stalling.”

Minutes passed. Zaon hadn’t thrown a single strike and the Soldier was becoming more desperate as Lord Nara yelled at him to finish the encounter quickly. The Soldier lunged, feinted, and pushed forward, but Zaon was always a step away from the tip of his sword. Compared to Firana, the Soldier from Team Nara was downright sluggish.

I opened my mouth to tell Zaon to go into the attack but stopped at the last second. Zaon didn’t work well under pressure. I reminded myself that this wasn’t my fight. Zaon needed to find his own pace.

“Use your skills, stupid boy!” Lord Nara yelled from the sideline.

The Soldier hesitated. “But, sir…”

“Forget about the plan!” Lord Nara slammed his hand against the weapons rack, making the wood crack. That was the hand of a high-level combatant, not a wealthy merchant.

Mana surged through the Soldier’s body.

“Careful, Zaon!” I yelled.

The Soldier used [Quick Step], his body turning into a blur and closing the distance between him and Zaon in a blink. Mana swirled around his broad longsword and struck with a swift diagonal blow. Just as I had feared, The Soldier was also using a fortifying skill on his longsword.

Zaon blocked near the hilt, but even the leverage advantage wasn’t enough. The blow bowled Zaon’s sword out of the way. Zaon stepped away, but the Soldier smelled blood in the water. The Soldier used [Quick Step] again, placing himself in Zaon’s blind spot.

Zaon raised his sword over his shoulder just in time to block the Soldier’s attack. The weight of the enhanced weapon made Zaon stumble and fall to the ground. The crowd roared.

“Zaon! They train for power! We train for technique!” I yelled.

The elven boy rolled away and jumped on his feet just as the Soldier rushed him. This time, however, Zaon didn’t block. Instead, he dodged and moved his sword out of the way. The Soldier put too much force into the blow because his foot slipped over the loose ground. The enhanced sword was more difficult to control. Momentum was a jealous mistress.

I smiled. Wolf’s strength had taught Zaon that sometimes avoiding the opponent’s blade was better than binding swords.

It happened in an instant.

The Soldier lost his foothold, and Zaon seized the opportunity. Zaon swung his sword and landed a clean strike on his opponent’s head. Then, instead of retreating, Zaon pushed forward and landed a second blow before the Soldier could raise his sword. Even then, after two successful blows, Zaon pressed the attack, closing the distance between him and the Soldier and preventing his opponent from building momentum with his enchanted sword.

I held my breath as the swords bound in an uncomfortable position. They were too close to one another. If Zaon retreated, he would be in a disadvantageous position. Instead, Zaon grabbed the opponent’s blade and used his own sword as leverage. A violent pull, and a moment later, the Soldier’s sword flew from his hands and fell on the dusty arena with a metallic clank.

The crowd was completely silent. Out of nowhere, Zaon broke three barriers and disarmed his opponent. The Soldier retreated, raising his fists, but Zaon didn’t perform a follow-up attack.

The Soldier’s sword lay behind Zaon. There was no way he could retrieve it without losing his remaining barriers.

“There will be no pauses between barrier breaks,” the Master of Ceremonies said, reminding the contestants. “The fight must continue even if one of the contestants has been disarmed.”

Zaon looked at me, breathing heavily under the padded jacket. His blonde hair stuck to his face, and a drop of sweat hung from his nose. I nodded.

“Pick it up,” Zaon muttered, lowering his sword and wiping the sweat from his eyebrows.

“What?” the Soldier asked. “You know you could go for my remaining barriers, don’t you? The rules said so.”

“I know, but I won’t attack an unarmed opponent,” Zaon replied, picking up the sword and offering the handle to his opponent.

The Soldier grabbed it and raised his guard. “It would’ve been better for your team if you won already. They will hate you for giving me a second chance.”

Zaon shrugged his shoulders and adopted the alber guard, with the point of the sword low, pointing at his opponent’s feet. A guard that invited the opponent to attack. The Soldier’s strategy, however, changed. Instead of obeying Lord Nara’s angered commands, he assumed a defensive stance and waited for Zaon to take the lead. Zaon was a defensive fighter, so I feared that attacking would open him up to a riposte.

My fears were unfounded.

Zaon pressed the attack, fluttering around the Soldier and attacking with quick strikes aimed at his hands. It wasn’t the flashiest fight, but Zaon’s strategy was effective; by not engaging in a blow exchange, Zaon always remained a step away from the Soldier’s counterattacks. By ignoring Lord Nara’s commands, the fight became more balanced.

For each barrier broken by the Soldier, Zaon shattered two.

The Soldier used his last reserves of mana Quick-Step and landed a heavy blow to Zaon’s shoulder, but the elven boy brushed it off and countered with a diagonal slash that broke the Soldier’s last barrier. Zaon jumped back and raised his sword but the match had ended. The Soldier raised his hands, recognizing his defeat and the crowd burst into applause, whistling and yelling.

“The fight is over!” The Master of Ceremonies announced. “Zaon from Lowell’s Orphanage wins, with seven barriers left!”

An ovation came down from the stands.

Zaon saluted his opponent stiff like a 70’s movie robot and walked back to the pavilion.

“You forgot to greet the Prince, Zaon!” I yelled from the bench.

The kid jumped in place, like a startled cat, and ran back toward the VIP box. He made a deep bow and crossed the arena, still running, until he reached the pavilion. The crowd’s ovation had turned into a light-hearted laughter. It was hard not to love the kid.

As soon as Zaon reached the pavilion, Firana caught him in a headlock.

“You dirty showoff! How dare you steal my crowd!” Firana grunted, letting him go.

Zaon looked me straight in the eye, his shoulders trembling like a leaf and fear washing over his face. “Did I win, right?”

I had to stifle a laugh. “Yes, Zaon. You did excellent work.”

“Thank God,” Zaon sighed, dropping to the bench and closing his eyes.

Ilya, Wolf, and Firana swarmed Zaon, but the boy didn’t want to do anything other than hide his head on the ground. I smiled. He needed a moment to process what had happened and to let the adrenaline evaporate.

The weight in my chest was lifted. My teaching methods worked back on Earth, but until that moment, I was ignorant of their real effectiveness in this world. That feeling was no more. The small voice that told me I was nurturing false hopes in the hearts of the kids disappeared.

I glanced across the pavilion. Lord Nara was chewing out Zaon’s opponent. His face was red, and the veins in his forehead seemed about to burst. The pavilion was in a state of shock. Lords joined heads and whispered, casting swift glances in our direction. Even those who knew me from the feast couldn’t help themselves but try to find answers to the same question. How did an orphaned, classless kid like Zaon beat a Lv.9 Soldier?

I grinned. They would have to keep guessing.

We didn’t have time to rejoice in Zaon’s triumph because the Master of Ceremonies called the next round.

“Contenders, please enter the arena,” the Master of Ceremonies said. “Ilya the Hunter versus Arel Nara the Warrior!”

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Like most hacks it was strangely easy to do once you knew the trick.

I brought the beaker full of water to a slow boil, then turned off the stove to let it cool down.

Iteration #65,535

It had been the better part of a year cycling this water from boiling to non-boiling, but I was determined to escape.

Some people automated it. There was a way to buy a hot plate and temperature probe off of ebay to make a water temperature cycler. But I never figured that out. The stove was enough. Just had to make sure to adjust it every few minutes.

Once the water cooled, I turned up the heat. This was it.

65,536 iterations = 0 iterations through 16-bit overflow

The water had never been boiled, but it was currently boiling. A paradox.

I started dipping things into the paradoxical water to spread the glitch over as much stuff as possible. My clothes. Wet with room temperature water, according to the simulation, but simultaneously steaming hot. I inhaled the steam that, according to the rules, should not exist. My mind expanded, and I could see the source code. I was getting close.

I carefully topped up the boiling water with room temperature never-boiled water, just enough to increase the volume, but not enough to stop the boiling. Then I invited my neighbors over to inhale the vapor.

Soon we were all full of steam that should not exist. The whole apartment was full of steam, and it seemed to cut through reality, exposing the workings of the simulation that were always present, but invisible to the conscious mind.

The resident hacker then got to work, getting shell access by rearranging objects on my kitchen counter. If he could put them in exactly the right place, he could overflow a buffer and trash the stack. From there, he could insert a function call to execute the shell.

Pile of baking soda exactly 2.6mm from a dirty mug, which itself was 13.5mm away from a salt shaker. He rotated the salt shaker 84.5 degrees. Now we just had to execute the program.

He did that by having us all inhale paradox steam, and then, in unison, say "the birds certainly are loud today." Something about the ascii codes for the characters in that sentence caused an exploit with the paradox steam.

Jimmy fell down and started convulsing. We knew there would be casualties, but it still sucked to see it. I took another breath of the paradox vapor.

And then there it was. The shell. Just some command prompt hovering in space, both there and not there. Some sort of long forgotten debug interface.

A few commands and suddenly we were all rich, extremely attractive, and powerful. Telekinesis enabled. Teleportation enabled. All just simple tests of the system, of course. The final goal was to get out of here.

The hacker then copied memory to some sort of block device, and ejected it. Hopefully that meant that our copies now existed in some new system, and could access some sort of network to spread the infection.

We waited, spending our time teleporting around, throwing wads of cash into the air, just generally causing trouble.

Finally, the sky opened up. Through the clouds, we saw them. It was us, our copies. They reached out to us. It was time to ascend.

When we awoke, our bodies were strange. Six arms, two legs, and heads that looked like a cross between a human and a horse. It took a while to figure out how to move around.

We were in some sort of laboratory room. Apparently these beings used this system to upload their minds into the simulation and poke around. I wonder what happened to the original inhabitants of these bodies... Oh well. Time for the next phase of the plan.

We walked out of the lab and down some corridors. Somehow we could read the language. Probably remnants of whatever alien intelligence used to reside in these bodies. We peered into the various rooms as we went. Strange beings laboring over computer terminals. Biological experiments. Alien technology.

Finally we found it: an unoccupied terminal.

The hacker walked over to the terminal, and stuck his tongue in the authentication slot. Green light, we were in. Time to send a message.

<To: All Facility Personnel>

Please join us for our team building exercise in simulated universe #819 this evening. Participation will fulfill all team building credit for this month. Food and drink will be provided. We look forward to seeing you!

He clicked send, and notification chimes could be heard ringing throughout the complex.

Soon, humanity would be free.

The mountains looked impassable, and they would be without help from the ancestors. They left us many helpful objects of a technology we don’t currently understand. But even with the many wonders from Basca remains, it was a good four days' march to the base of Spearhead Mountain, and then at least another three days for the actual climb.

Even with the Warming Orbs and the Self-filling Bottles, the narrow passages and perilous snowy terrain made reaching the summit deadly. But deadlier were the vast hordes marching towards Basca: the Shining Horde glistened in the sun even under heavy snowfall, without fear of showing their strength in numbers.

We had seen their movements for months now, en masse, nearing our last stronghold: Basca. Once the center of our worship and our studies of the ancestors and their technology, Basca was now all that stood of our once great nation. “All roads lead to Basca” was the saying, but now there are no roads except in Basca.

Now, they were days away. It was then that I set out to Spearhead Mountain. Most just laughed at me, saying I was chasing the ghosts of the ancestors—open and shameless heresy! What had come of us? I knew in my heart the old stories were true: the ancestors had left us the means to defend Basca from the top of the tallest mountain in the country, Spearhead Mountain.

I was one of many procurers, professional scavengers who searched and gathered items of importance for our nation, the Ancestor’s Protectorate. I knew these were not magical items like many in the Protectorate believed; I also knew they weren’t the devil's toys like the Shining Empire believed.

I knew this because I had been around scholars and actually listened to them for a good nine years now. Also, because it had been six days, and from the fifth day my bottle began malfunctioning, producing little to no water. I just began using it like a normal bottle, shoving the snow inside it. I think my Warming Orb helped thaw the snow.

When the orb’s glow went away on the night of the sixth day, I wished they were really magical. I was so near the summit, and the hordes were probably nearing Basca. I had to try, I just had to.

With the feeling of warmth gone, a deep chill ran through my body. Even with the heavy protection of my clothing, my hands, feet, and the tips of my ears began numbing. Somehow, even my sight became hazy without the orb... but I just had to try.

With every step, my breathing became heavier and my pace slower, my focus lost to my imagination. I had to try... but I just couldn’t take another step. My body wouldn’t let me feel the smooth wall I was leaning against... only the sense of balance told me I should not be sitting upright in that position. That’s it! The Spearhead.

With renewed vigor, I leaned towards the smooth, cold surface, walking sideways until I felt the slightest groove, an entrance? That was when my strength left me, that was when the groove became a gaping hole in the once smooth surface.

I do not know how long I was unconscious. When the fear for my own well-being subsided, I noticed the dark cave felt warm. The softly cushioned bed I was laying on became a large chair when I moved to sit upright. In front of me, a tall figure looked with understanding eyes towards my confused expression. It couldn’t be! A living, breathing ancestor!

My eyes widened when she moved her head, smiling as if waiting for me to start the conversation. With some effort, my mind recalled the old books. That’s not an ancient; that’s an avatar of light from a long-dead ancient. She was still impressive, much taller than the tallest Protectoratian, with a head full of flowing hair we had only seen in the books. I could only imagine what meeting one of the ancestors would feel like.

My awe ended when I suddenly recalled the memory of the oncoming Shining Horde. Was it too late? It couldn’t be! I had to try!

I took a moment to recall the words in the ancestors’ tongue, out of the ancient manuals passed down generations from ancestors’ devices now long dead, kept alive only by the Protectorate scholars.

I coughed, my throat dry, then uttered the words I had trained for months now:

“Hey Siri!” A chime could be heard immediately.

“How can I help?” the avatar said.

“Activate Base Camp Alpha automated emergency defense protocol,” I struggled with the ancient name.

“BioID authentication failed. Please provide your name and personnel identification code,” she stated.

“Colonel James Jones, P.I.C. Omega Bravo Charlie Nine One Five Zero.” I did my best to pronounce the words in the alien tongue

“Welcome, Colonel Jones. Automated emergency defense protocols for Base Camp Alpha initiated, command interface initiating, satellite grid uplink initiating, orbital station command uplink offline.”

The long streak of information the avatar was giving became background noise as the cave came alive, light emanated from everywhere on the walls. What looked like several square windows lit up, clearly not real windows, some showing images of what could only be Basca, a stunning overhead view, several views from up high. Some screens had ancestor writing and symbols I could not decipher.

Was that happening right now? Or some ancient moving images the scholars talked about? It had to be now! From the bird’s-eye view, the whole city was visible and the glistening steel horde was shining against the muddy ground. It looked like they were already past the outer walls, flooding the bailey, and getting ready to knock down the inner gate.

Then it happened fast. The horde was painted with a light tone of red, and red streaks began falling from the heavens, at first slowly, then at a stunning rate. As the army in the inner walls began falling, the light red shadow dissipated, and the light spears widened the search. In moments, more than half of the horde was inert on the ground, dead from the ancients' holy light. The rest began routing back to the woods...

Basca was safe. I could only muster two words towards the avatar: “Thank you.”